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Cooper, James Fenimore, 1789-1851

"The Headsman The Abbaye des Vignerons"


The meagre packages of the common passengers had been thrown in a place of
safety, with the sort of unreflecting instinct with which we take care of
our limbs when in danger. This timely precaution permitted each to work
with a zeal that found no drawback in personal interest, and the effect
was in proportion. A hundred hands were busy, and nearly as many throbbing
hearts lent their impulses to the accomplishment of the one important
object.
Baptiste and his people, aided by laborers of the port, had passed an
entire day in heaping that pile on the deck of the Winkelried, which was
now crumbling to pieces with a rapidity that seemed allied to magic. The
patron and Nicklaus Wagner bawled themselves hoarse, with uttering useless
threats and deprecations, for by this time the laborers in the work of
destruction had received some such impetus as the rolling stone acquires
by the increased momentum of its descent. Packages, boxes, bales, and
everything that came to hand, were hurled into the water frantically, and
without other thought than of the necessity of lightening the groaning
bark of its burthen.


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