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Something's in the wind." So saying, the speaker rolled himself on his breast, bringing his head to the dish. "Och! the mane haythins!" cried Chane, following the example set by his comrade; "to make dacent men ate like brute bastes! Och! murder an' ouns!" "Come, Captain; shall we feed?" asked Clayley. "Go on. Do not wait for me," I replied. Now was my time to read the note.
Wherefore he is clept the grete Chane. Of the Style of his Lettres, and of the Superscripcioun abowten his grete Sealle, and his pryvee Sealle. Zee schulle undirstonde, that alle the world was destroyed by Noes flood, saf only Noe and his wif and his children. Noe had 3 sones, Sem, Cham and Japhethe.
The remark of Chane that followed, although uttered sotto voce, I could distinctly hear. It was sufficiently amusing. "The captain don't want yez to destroy what'll be his own some day, when he marries one of thim young Dons. Here comes the owld one, and, by the powers! he's got a big paper; he's goin' to make over the property!"
I need not describe our mutual pleasure at meeting, which was more than shared by my wife, who had often made me detail to her the exploits of my comrades. I inquired for Chane. The Irishman, at the breaking up of the "war-troops", had entered one of the old regiments, and was at this time, as Lincoln expressed it, "the first sargint of a kump'ny."
"Be my sowl! it ates purty well, black as it is," said Chane, looking ruefully into the empty vessel. "It's got a worse complaint than the colour, didn't yez fetch us a thrifle more of it, my darlint boy?" he added, squinting up at Jose. "No in tin days!" cried Chane, mistaking the "no entiende" for a phrase of broken English, to which, indeed, its pronunciation somewhat assimilates it.
We sat in our saddles for half an hour, not without feelings of impatience. I was beginning to fear that some accident had happened to our comrade, when we heard the faint crack of a rifle, but in a direction nearly opposite to that which Lincoln had taken. "It's the sergeant's rifle, Captain," said Chane. "Forward!"
And whoso that wole, may leve me, zif he wille; and who so wille not, may chuse. For I wot wel, zif ony man hathe ben in tho contrees bezonde, thoughe he have not ben in the place, where the grete Chane duellethe, he schalle here speke of him so meche merveylouse thing, that he schalle not trowe it lightly: and treuly, no more did I my self, til I saughe it.
The woman was evidently pleased, and commenced cramping up what was in fact a very small foot into its faded satin slipper. "Tell me, my dear," continued Chane, "are yez married?" "Que dice?" again asked the woman. "He wants to know if you are married." She smiled, waving her forefinger in front of her nose. Raoul informed the Irishman that this was a negative answer to his question.
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