"Confound you, Sir, for an impident dirty dog! What in the name of
jiminy"--I can't give you, Sir, the exact words, for my grandfather
could never be got to repeat 'em--"What in the name of jiminy d'ee
mean by sitting on my clothes!"
"Wee, wee," my grandfather took him up, calm as you please.
"You shocked me dreadful yesterday with your blasphemious talk: but
now, seeing 'tis French, I don't mind so much. Take your time: but
when you come out you go to prison. Wee, wee--preeson," says my
grandfather.
"Are you drunk?" yells Bligh. "Get off my clothes this instant, you
hobnailed son of a something-or-other!" And he began striding for
shore.
"In the name of His Majesty King George the Third I charge you to
come along quiet," says my grandfather, picking up a stretcher.
Bligh, being naked and unarmed, casts a look round for some way to
help himself. He was a plucky fellow enough in a fight, as I've
said: but I leave you to guess what he felt like when to right and
left of him the bushes parted, and forth stepped half a dozen men in
black suits with black silk weepers a foot and a half wide tied in
great bunches round their hats.
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