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Updated: May 29, 2025
"Ah, my Prince," he continued, as though no thought had interrupted his greeting, "that you are back is sufficient, and let Hor Vastus' sword have the high honour of being first at thy feet." With these words the noble fellow unbuckled his scabbard and flung his sword upon the ground before me.
The duke looked for a moment as if he was about to spring upon Colonel Hume, but he saw by their faces that his companions also were against him. For the consequences of drawing a sword within the precincts of a palace were so serious, that even the most powerful nobles shrank from braving them. "Very well," he said at last, thrusting his sword back into its scabbard.
My cheeks flushed again, this time with pleasure, and I picked up my scabbard and sent my blade home. "I must beg you to excuse me, Lieutenant Allen," I said. "Colonel Washington says right. My sword is not my own until we have met the French. Then I shall be only too pleased to conclude the argument." Allen's lips curved in a disdainful smile.
He stood in a pair of wooden shoes, from one of which peeped forth some wisps of straw, introduced, no doubt, to make the footgear fit. He slouched and shuffled in his walk, and he was unspeakably dirty. Nevertheless, he was girt with a sword in a ragged scabbard hanging from a frayed and shabby belt of leather. Madame scanned him with interest. The fastidious Marius eyed him with disgust.
Then he removed his horse farther back among the stubs where it could not be seen, took his Winchester from the scabbard under the left fender and went back to the edge of the slide to start a return argument with the individual who had for the last ten minutes been endeavouring to kill him. "Did you hit him?" "I don't think so," replied Racey without turning his head. "Keep down." "I am down."
"Watch it, Captain," said Matesic, "I'll get you on my board." "Get me on it, Hell," the Captain said, "I've never been off." The old man finished dressing. He knotted his tie and brushed off the front of his suit with his hand. He looked fine. He'd fool them, he looked just like anybody else. He crossed to the bureau and picked up the knife. It was still in the scabbard.
I can make a good campaigner I should never make anything else." And he let his sword drop back again into the scabbard, and quarreled no more with fate. His hand touched the thirty gold pieces in his sash. He started, as the recollection of the forgotten insult came back on him. He stood a while in thought; then he took his resolve.
From one moment to the next he expected to drop from the saddle, but somehow he hung on; the spark of life was tenacious. The saber dangled on one side, the scabbard on the other. The blood, drying in places, drew the skin as tight as a drumhead.
Now as I slept I dreamed that Penfeather's long rapier, standing in the dark corner close by, was stealthily endeavouring to free itself from its leathern scabbard with intent to skewer me to the floor as I lay; and, striving thus to draw itself, made soft, strange noises and rustlings insomuch that I presently woke, and staring motionless into the darkness above, knew that these sounds were real.
Within four days Sir Accolon died from loss of blood during the fight, but King Arthur was well recovered. When Accolon was dead the King let send him on a horse-bier with six knights unto Camelot and said, "Bear him to my sister Morgan le Fay, and say that I send him to her as a present, and tell her that I have my sword Excalibur again and the scabbard." So they departed with the body.
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