So what I wants 'ee to do es this:--When I be
dead an' gone, you mus' get a handy box made, so's I shall carry
aisy, an' take me back to England. You'll find plenty o' money for
the way i' the skivet [7] o' my chest there, i' the corner.'
"''Tes a brave long way from here to England,' says Sam.
"'I knaws what you be thinkin' 'bout,' says the Commodore.
'You'm reckonin' I'll spile on the way. But I don't mean 'ee to go
by say. You mus' take me 'cross the bay an' then ship aboard a
train, as'll take 'ee dro Seville, an' Madrid, an' Paris, to Dover.
'Tes a fast train,' says he, 'as trains go i' these parts; but I'm
doubtin' ef et starts ivery day or only dree times a week. I reckon,
tho', ef you finds out, I can manage so's my dyin' shan't interfere
wi' that.'
"Well, Sam was forced to promise, an' the Commodore seemed mighty
relieved, an' lay still while Sam read to 'n out o' the books that
th' ould man had by 'n. There was the Bible, and the Pellican's
Progress, an' Philip Quarles, an' Hannah Snell, the female sodger.
Sam read a bit from each, an' when he comes to that part about
Christ'n crossing the river, th' ould man sets up sudden an' calls,
'Land, Sam, land! Fetch a glass, lad!'--just like that, sir; an' wi'
that falls back dead.
"Well, sir, Sam was 'most out o' hes wits, fust along, for grief to
lose hes maaster; but he warn't the man to go back 'pon hes word.
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