On the way he had to pass near the new position taken
up by Beverley and his men. It was a fine test of nerve, when the
Lieutenant's eyes met those of the Governor. Neither man permitted
the slightest change of countenance to betray his feelings. In
fact, Beverley's face was as rigid as marble; he could not have
changed it.
But with Oncle Jazon it was a different affair. He had no dignity
to preserve, no fine military bearing to sustain, no terrible tug
of conscience, no paralyzing grip of despair on his heart. When he
saw Hamilton going by, bearing himself so superbly, it affected
the French volatility in his nature to such an extent that his
tongue could not be controlled.
"Va t'en, bete, forban, meurtrier! Skin out f'om here! beast,
robber, murderer!" he cried, in his keen screech-owl voice. "I'll
git thet scelp o' your'n afore sundown, see 'f I don't! Ye onery
gal-killer an' ha'r buyer!"
The blood in Hamilton's veins caught no warmth from these remarks;
but he held his head high and passed stolidly on, as if he did not
hear a word. Helm turned the tail of an eye upon Oncle Jazon and
gave him a droll, quizzical wink of approval. In response the old
man with grotesque solemnity drew his buckhorn handled knife,
licked its blade and returned it to its sheath,--a bit of
pantomime well understood and keenly enjoyed by the onlooking
creoles.
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