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"Surrender, or you are a dead man!" exclaimed George, thrusting the muzzle of his pistol into the face of the as yet only half-awake prize-master. "Oui, oui, m'sieu; oh, yais, I surrendaire," exclaimed the poor fellow, as he felt the firm pressure of the cold pistol-barrel against his forehead; and hastily unbuckling his cutlass, he thrust it into George's hand.
Yais, sair, dat was fine 't was galliard 't was la vrai chivalrie two sojair ennemi to share de same kid, drink de same wine, and talk like two friends.
He would tell them, speaking, its syllables with soft pleasure in their mere sound. "Never heard of it," they always said. "Ships don't go there, Dago." "Ah, but yais." The Dago had known ships call. "Not often, but sometimes. There is leetle trade, an' ships come.
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