"Yet I do not ask you to forgive me; I
don't expect that you can or will; but unless the devil gets possession
of me again--which, so sure as ever there was a demoniac in this world,
he had this afternoon when you so tempted me--I hope soon to place you
in safety, either in a friendly port, or on board of a British vessel;
and then what becomes of me is of little consequence, now since the only
living soul who cared a dollar for me is at rest amongst the coral
branches at the bottom of the deep green sea."
"Why, man," rejoined I, "leave off this stuff; something has turned your
brain, surely; people must die in their beds, you now, if they be not
shot, or put out of the way somehow or other; and as for my small
affair, why I forgive you, man--from my heart I forgive you; were it
only for the oddity of your scantling, mental and corporeal, I would do
so; and you see I am not much hurting--so lend me a hand, like a good
fellow, to wash the wound with a little spirits--it will stop the
bleeding, and the stiffness will soon go off."
"Lieutenant Cringle, I need not tell what I know you have found out,
that I am not the vulgar Yankee smuggler, fit only to be made a butt of
by you and your friends, that you no doubt at first took me for; but who
or what I am, or what I may have been, you shall never know--but I will
tell you this much"
"Devil confound the fellow!--why this is too much upon the brogue, Obed.
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