"Well," added the old man, fingering his rifle's stock and taking
another glance through the gate, "I can't shoot wo'th a cent,
bein' sort o' nervous like; but I'll stan' by ye awhile, jes' for
luck. I might accidentally hit one of 'em."
When a man is truly brave himself there is nothing that touches
him like an exhibition of absolutely unselfish gameness in
another. A rush of admiration for Oncle Jazon made Beverley feel
like hugging him.
Meantime the young British officer showed a flag of truce, and,
with a file of men, separated himself from the line, now
stationary, and approached the stockade. At a hundred yards he
halted the file and came on alone, waving the white clout. He
boldly advanced to within easy speaking distance and shouted:
"I demand the surrender of this fort."
"Well, you'll not get it, young man," roared Helm, his profanity
well mixed in with the words, "not while there's a man of us
left!"
"Ye'd better use sof' soap on 'im, Cap'n," said Oncle Jazon in
English, "cussin' won't do no good." While he spoke he rubbed the
doughty Captain's arm and then patted it gently.
Helm, who was not half as excited as he pretended to be, knew that
Oncle Jazon's remark was the very essence of wisdom; but he was
not yet ready for the diplomatic language which the old trooper
called "soft soap.
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