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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hot Swamp, by R.M. Ballantyne This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Hot Swamp Author: R.M. Ballantyne Release Date: June 7, 2007 [EBook #21757] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOT SWAMP *** Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England THE HOT SWAMP, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. A ROMANCE OF OLD ALBION. OPENS WITH LEAVE-TAKING. Nearly two thousand seven hundred years ago--or somewhere about eight hundred years BuCu--there dwelt a Phoenician sea-captain in one of the eastern sea-ports of Greece--known at that period, or soon after, as Hellas. This captain was solid, square, bronzed, bluff, and resolute, as all sea-captains are--or ought to be--whether ancient or modern. He owned, as well as commanded, one of those curious vessels with one mast and a mighty square-sail, fifty oars or so, double-banked, a dragon's tail in the stern and a horse's head at the prow, in which the Phoenicians of old and other mariners were wont to drive an extensive and lucrative trade in the Mediterranean; sometimes pushing their adventurous keels beyond the Pillars of Hercules, visiting the distant Cassiterides or Tin Isles, and Albion, and even penetrating northward into the Baltic, in search of tin, amber, gold, and what not. One morning this captain, whose name was Arkal, sauntered up from the harbour to his hut, which stood on a conspicuous eminence overlooking the bay. His hands were not thrust into his pockets, because he had no pockets to put them into--the simple tunic of the period being destitute of such appendages. Indeed, the coarse linen tunic referred to constituted the chief part of his costume, the only other portions being a pair of rude shoes on his feet, a red fez or tarbouche on his bushy brown locks, and yards of something wound round his lower limbs to protect them from thorns on shore, as well as from the rasping of cordage and cargo at sea. At the door of his hut stood his pretty little Greek wife, with a solid, square, bluff, and resolute, but not yet bronzed, baby in her arms. "Well, Penelope, I'm off," said the captain. At least he used words to
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