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Updated: June 24, 2025
"Ay, black-face!" broke in Jack Molloy at that moment, "and you may tell him that if he has the pluck to go to Suakim, he'll see plenty more British soldiers an' British seamen too who'll give him an' his friends a hot and hearty welcome wi' bullet, bayonet, and cutlash whenever he feels inclined."
They were discovered, and now the betrayal was to come. "Well, what happened?" said the boatswain. "I felt sure that those two were in this place, and I went on farther into the darkness till I kicked against something and fell down." "Out here and stunned yourself." "No, no; in there! I'd got up and picked up my cutlash, and then something seemed to choke me, and I went down again."
"'Cause he'll order the jollies to fix bayonets and feel some o' their backs with the p'ints." The conversation interested me, and I forgot my dignity as an officer, and joined in. "Bayonets make bad wounds, Jecks," I said. "Yes, sir, they do; nasty three-side wounds, as is bad to get healed up again. They aren't half such a nice honest weapon as a cutlash.
Think, then, of the blazing stars, that shook their horrid hair in the sky; the phantom ship, that brought its message direct from the other world; the story of the mouse and the snake at Watertown; of the mice and the prayer-book; of the snake in church; of the calf with two heads; and of the cabbage in the perfect form of a cutlash, all which innocent occurrences were accepted or feared as alarming portents.
Think that's what made her burst?" "Of course it was, Jem." "Bad job; but it's done, and we've got the cutlash and spears. Which are you going to use?" "The spear. No; the cutlass, Jem." "Bravo, my lad! Phew! How my hand bleeds." "I'm afraid we shall be beaten, Jem." "I'm sure of it, my lad. My right hand, too; I can't hit with it. Wish we was all going to run away now." "Do you, Jem?"
I was therefore not very greatly surprised when, after work was over that evening, Svorenssen approached me and said: "See here, Mister, did ye happen to salve the arms chest from the wreck before she washed off the reef and foundered?" "Yes," I said. "What about it?" "Why, just this," he blustered. "Me and Dirk wants a brace of revolvers, cartridges, and a cutlash apiece out of that chest.
"It isn' like un," said Mrs Maggot, shading her eyes with her hand; "sure, it do look like a boatsman." "Iss, I do see his cutlash," said little Grace; "and there's another man comin' down road to meet un." "Haste 'ee, Grace," cried Mrs Maggot, leaping up and plucking her last-born out of the cradle, "take the cheeld in to Mrs Penrose, an' bide theer till I send for 'ee dost a hear?"
Pember prepared to meet his fate with dogged resolution, his dark red countenance turning almost to an ashy hue. Kiddle and Brady, as I cast my eye on them, were evidently preparing to show fight. "Knock the fellow next you down, Pat," said Toby, "and get hold of his cutlash. I will treat mine the same, and if we cannot get away we will die game."
I say, Ben, I'll tell ye what; it's my opinion that if a chap is to turn soldier and carry a musket, he should have soldier's play, and leave to plunder a little now the devil a thing have I laid my hands on to-night, except this firelock and my cutlash unless you can call this bit of a table-cloth something of a windfall."
I'll take one in one hand, and this here cutlash in the other; and you'll take t'other torch in one hand and your pistol in the other, and clap that bit of a broken sword 'tween yer teeth, and we'll give a horrid screech, and rush in pell-mell all of a heap like. "And suppose," said Corrie, in a tone of withering sarcasm, "suppose all this happened to Alice, instead of the dirty nigger?"
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