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Flanger's face was so covered and daubed with the gore from his wound that the condition of his prominent facial member could not be determined. "I protest agailst this brutal treatmelt!" stormed the prisoner, as he continued to writhe in his irons. "I am a woulded plisoler!" "I see you are; but you decline to permit the surgeon to dress your wound.
Take him away; I am disgusted." "The fortules of war are agailst me, Captail Passford; but if you ever fall ilto my halds, I will cut your dose off cleal to your face," howled the prisoner, boiling over with wrath. "Take him away!" added Christy with energy; and the two seamen dragged him out of the cabin, leaving only Mr. Flint, the surgeon, and the steward in the cabin.
In a few minutes the two stout sailors who had removed him from the captain's cabin appeared on deck, dragging Captain Flanger after them, for he would not walk, and did all he could with his hands made fast behind him to embarrass his conductors. "Captain Passford, I protest agailst this treatment of a prisoler of war," howled the privateersman. "All right, Captain Flanger."
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