The MS. in a Red BoxHamilton, John A. (John Arthur)
History
The MS. in a Red Box
Hamilton, John A. (John Arthur)
Axholme, Isle of (England) -- History -- Fiction
reluctantly away with her father, and I was conducted to the room to
which I had been taken at first.
When we--that is, Vliet and I and his three toping
companions--re-entered the room, one of them handed me my coat, but I
did not put it on, for it was drenched with the rain. He then found a
horse-blanket, threw it over my shoulders, and offered me the
spirit-bottle. Seeing him thus far well inclined, I asked for bread,
and he produced some, which I munched before helping myself to a small
quantity of the liquor. It made me shudder to drink it, but it put
life and warmth into me. All this time Vliet lay back in his chair in
a sort of stupor, consequent, I imagined, on his having been, in the
fresh air after so much gin-drinking. After awhile he roused himself
and took a dram. Then he lighted his pipe and began to talk to his
comrades in a snuffling manner, and thickly. By-and-by he turned to
me--
"I spare your life; I will not hang you. Why do you not kneel down and
kiss my boots? Where is your gratitude for my mercy?"
As I did not answer the inquiry, he continued--
"Stupid pig! But I will make you speak. I have given my word to my
wife--my _wife_, you understand--that I will not hang you; but I will
crop your ears and slit your nose. Thousand devils, yes! And then I
will kick you out into the fen, and if you die there that will not be
my fault."
"If you want revenge on me, take it like a man," I answered. "You have
a knife in your belt; give me one and let us fight. You are half
drunk, but I have only my left arm, and am otherwise weak. Come, be a
man."
And I stood up, for I desired nothing better than a duel to the death.
Life without Anna was nothing worth, and if I could by any chance kill
him, she would be freed from the loathsome brute. The other Dutchmen
jabbered among themselves and to Vliet, and, as far as I could
understand, they backed my demand for a fight. Perhaps they would not
greatly grieve, if the bully got the worst of it. He scowled savagely
round on us all, poured out more gin and drank it, let his pipe fall to
the floor, drew his knife, and came at me. But he had drunk too much
to be dangerous. One blow between the eyes sent him to the ground like
a log, and he lay there senseless. The friendly Dutchman took me by
the arm and led me to Doctor Goel's house.
CHAPTER XII
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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