That was in
her old days, when she carried a blue ens'n. Grant
Sanderson was the party as owned her; he was rich and
mad, and got a fever at last somewhere about the Fly
River and took and died. The captain brought the body
back to Sydney and paid off. Well, it turned out Grant
Sanderson had left any quantity of wills and any
quantity of widows, and no fellow could make out which
was the genuine article. All the widows brought
lawsuits against all the rest, and every will had a
firm of lawyers on the quarter-deck as long as your
arm. They tell me it was one of the biggest turns-to
that ever was seen, bar Tichborne; the Lord Chamberlain
himself was floored, and so was the Lord Chancellor,
and all that time the DREAM lay rotting up by Glebe
Point. Well, it's done now; they've picked out a widow
and a will--tossed up for it, as like as not--and the
DREAM'S for sale. She'll go cheap; she's had a
long turn-to at rotting."
"What size is she?"
"Well, big enough. We don't want her bigger. A
hundred and ninety, going two hundred," replied the
captain.
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