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At Crecy and Poictiers, the lords are taken prisoners; have to provide heavy ransoms, which, being debts of honour, like gambling debts, are more binding than debts of honesty. But Jacques Bonhomme's back is broad, it will bear everything. Broad as it is, it will not bear this last straw.
I demand to know what you mean by this proceeding, capturing me like a common thief and imprisoning me on this confounded ship?" Captain Bonhomme's countenance quickly lost its factitious cheerfulness. "Monsieur," he replied sharply, "I did not come to you to bandy words.
He feels assured he will never cross the wild Atlantic again. Worn and weary, waiting the approach of old age, he yet participates, with a true Frenchman's patriotism, in the sorrows of "l'annee terrible." Nothing brightens the future! Human nature itself seems giving way. All is disaster. Jacques Bonhomme's blood waters in vain his native fields. Oh, for the great Napoleon!
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