"Beat by a farmer, Salters.

An' you sech a sailor, too!" "'Tweren't fair caount," said he, stumbling out of the pen; "an' I'm stung up all to pieces." His thick hands were puffy and mottled purply white.
"Some folks will find strawberry-bottom," said Dan, addressing the newly risen moon, "ef they hev to dive fer it, seems to me." "An' others," said Uncle Salters, "eats the fat o' the land in sloth, an' mocks their own blood-kin." "Seat ye! Seat ye!" a voice Harvey had not heard called from the fo'c'sle.

Disko Troop, Tom Platt, Long Jack, and Salters went forward on the word.

Little Penn bent above his square deep-sea reel and the tangled cod-lines; Manuel lay down full length on the deck, and Dan dropped into the hold, where Harvey heard him banging casks with a hammer.
"Salt," he said, returning.

"Soon as we're through supper we git to dressing-down.