Explore "Black Bartlemy's Treasure" by Jeffery Farnol on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
In the shadow of the cliff below our hiding-place crept divers of these pirate rogues, and, crouching there cheek by jowl fell to a hoarse mutter of talk yet all too low for us to catch; but presently there brake out a voice high-pitched, the which I knew for that of Smiling Sam.
"We'm done, lads, I tell ye. O love my lights -- we'm done! 'Tis the end o' we since Penfeather hath took the ship -- and here's us shall lie marooned to perish o' plagues, or Indian-savages, or hunger unless, lads, unless -- "