Sir,"
turning sternly to Borroughcliffe, "in such a case, I could prove a
Roman, and hang--hang--yes, I do think, sir, I could hang my kinsman,
Mr. Christopher Dillon!"
"Spare the Cacique such unnatural elevation before his time," returned
the captain with a grave wave of the hand: "behold," pointing towards
the wood, "there is a more befitting subject for the gallows! Mr.
Griffith, yonder man calls himself your comrade?"
The eyes of Colonel Howard and Griffith followed the direction of his
finger, and the latter instantly recognized the Pilot, standing in the
skirts of the wood, with his arms folded, apparently surveying the
condition of his friends.
"That man," said Griffith, in confusion, and hesitating to utter even
the equivocal truth that suggested itself, "that man does not belong to
our ship's company."
"And yet he has been seen in _your_ company," returned the
incredulous Borroughcliffe; "he was the spokesman in last night's
examination, Colonel Howard, and, doubtless, commands the rear-guard of
the rebels."
"You say true," cried the veteran; "Pompey! Caesar! present! fire!"
The blacks started at the sudden orders of their master, of whom they
stood in the deepest awe; and, presenting their muskets, they averted
their faces, and, shutting their eyes, obeyed the bloody mandate.
"Charge!" shouted the colonel, flourishing the ancient sword with which
he had armed himself, and pressing forward with all the activity that a
recent fit of the gout would allow, "charge, and exterminate the dogs
with the bayonet! push on, Pompey--dress, boys, dress.
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