I reckon ye discern him,
Now over goes he, durn him,
Unless he squares the Hoodoo that he’s
brought, by hook or crook.”
(We stood there, grim an’ solemn, an’ we
bent our gaze upon
The stranger “conjer” sailor, that P. I.—
Perkinson.)
He never flinched nor quivered, though we’d
reckoned that he would,