PART FOUR: The Stockade
Chapter 20: Silver's Embassy
(continued)
Silver's face was a picture; his eyes started in his
head with wrath. He shook the fire out of his pipe.
"Give me a hand up!" he cried.
"Not I," returned the captain.
"Who'll give me a hand up?" he roared.
Not a man among us moved. Growling the foulest
imprecations, he crawled along the sand till he got
hold of the porch and could hoist himself again upon
his crutch. Then he spat into the spring.
"There!" he cried. "That's what I think of ye. Before
an hour's out, I'll stove in your old block house like
a rum puncheon. Laugh, by thunder, laugh! Before an
hour's out, ye'll laugh upon the other side. Them that
die'll be the lucky ones."
And with a dreadful oath he stumbled off, ploughed down
the sand, was helped across the stockade, after four or
five failures, by the man with the flag of truce, and
disappeared in an instant afterwards among the trees.
|