heart, but he died bad, did Flint!”
“Aye, that he did,” observed another; “now he raged, and now he hollered
for the rum, and now he sang. ‘Fifteen Men’ were his only song, mates;
and I tell you true, I never rightly liked to hear it since. It was
main hot, and the windy was open, and I hear that old song comin’ out as







































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