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Updated: May 20, 2025
It contains no remarkable tombs; I was pleased, however, to observe upon one or two of the monuments the name of Ryce, the appellation of the great clan to which Griffith ap Nicholas belonged; of old the regal race of South Wales.
And in five minutes more they were driving toward Bloomsbury Place. But now the first excitement was over, Dolly's nerve began to fail her. Now that Mollie was safe, she began to think of Griffith. It seemed a cruel trick of fortune's to try his patience so sharply just at this very point. She knew so well what effect his hours of waiting would have upon him.
Though such crowds were collected in other parts of the vessel, the quarter-deck was occupied only by the officers, who were disposed according to their several ranks, and were equally silent and attentive as the remainder of the crew. In front stood a small collection of young men, who, by their similarity of dress, were the equals and companions of Griffith, though his juniors in rank.
"Madam," said Griffith, "I am in your debt for that explanation; but I hope you will be no rarity here, for all that." Supper proceeded; but the mirth languished. Somehow or other, the chill fact that there was a grave quarrel between two at the table, and those two man and wife, insinuated itself into the spirits of the guests. There began to be lulls, fatal lulls.
Griffith went over to the swaying figure, and stared close into the pallid face and glittering, bloodshot eyes. "You damned fool!" he jerked out. "Whash whash 'at? Whash you shay, Grishsh?" "You damned idiot!" "Thash all ri'. Goo' frensh, Grishsh, youm me. Lesh hash a dro-drop." "Come on in," said the engineer. "I'll give you several drops." He shot a glance at the Englishman.
The conversation between Barnstable and his superior soon ended; when the former, beckoning to Griffith, passed the wondering group who had collected around the capstan, awaiting his leisure to greet him more cordially, and led the way to the wardroom, with the freedom of one who felt himself no stranger.
This appalling sound seemed yet to be lingering about the ship, when a second voice cried: "Breakers on our lee bow!" "We are in a bite of the shoals, Mr. Gray," cried the commander. "She loses her way; perhaps an anchor might hold her." "Clear away that best bower!" shouted Griffith through his trumpet.
At a table in the middle of the room, with lighted pipes between their teeth and their glasses of grog handy, were Griffith Hawke and Captain Rudstone. The latter was as handsome and dandified as ever, and by the litter of dishes at one end of the table I knew he had just finished supper. Both had been discussing the Indian troubles, to judge from their grave and thoughtful faces.
The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails, Merrily sing the roundelay; Hur's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage was of Wales, And where was the widow might say him nay? Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay She said that one widow for so many was too few, And she bade the Welshman wend his way.
The Birth of a Nation has been very properly denounced for its Simon Legree qualities by Francis Hackett, Jane Addams, and others. But it is still true that it is a wonder in its Griffith sections. In its handling of masses of men it further illustrates the principles that made notable the old one-reel Battle film described in the beginning of this chapter.
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