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Now glancing below I saw Tressady stand alone and with Abnegation Mings huddled at his feet, but in the gloom of the cave and to right and left, in every patch of shadow and behind every bush and rock, was the glimmer of pistol or musket-barrel, and all levelled in the one direction.
The sun's as low down as that, and here's my musket-barrel so hot you can hardly touch it. But I don't know what you mean." "Well, it doesn't matter," said Pen bitterly. "I only meant that, now the enemy are not coming on, it's growing hotter and hotter, and one's so thirsty one feels ready to choke." "Oh, I see now. It's just the same here. But why don't they come on.
He caught the rebel's bayonet on his musket-barrel and warded it off so completely that the rebel shot by him in the impetus of his own rush. As he passed Si delivered a stunning blow on the back of his head with his gun-barrel. "That zouave drill was a mighty good thing, after all," thought Si, as he turned from his prostrate foe to the others.
This shut off any attempt at retreat in that direction, and he was about to move again when he was startled by a flash of light reflected from a musket-barrel whose bearer was one acting as the leader of a third vedette moving up the side of the valley across the river, and which soon came to a halt at about the same height above the stream as that which he occupied himself.
Every man had an engraved corslet and musket-barrel, and there were many who wore gilded armour, while their waving plumes and festive caparisons made them look like holiday-makers, rather than real campaigners, in the eyes of the inhabitants of the various cities through which their road led them to Flanders.
Every man had an engraved corslet and musket-barrel, and there were many who wore gilded armour, while their waving plumes and festive caparisons made them look like holiday-makers, rather than real campaigners, in the eyes of the inhabitants of the various cities through which their road led them to Flanders.
Not a bough waved, not the gleam of a musket-barrel betrayed the presence of our foes. "Did you hit your man?" asked the captain. "No, sir," replied Joyce. "I believe not, sir." "Next best thing to tell the truth," muttered Captain Smollett. "Load his gun, Hawkins. How many should say there were on your side, doctor?" "I know precisely," said Dr. Livesey. "Three shots were fired on this side.
But he was an old, old man; physically, a very small man; his spine was as an unloaded musket-barrel not only attenuated, but destitute of a solitary cartridge, and his ribs were as the ribs of a weasel. Besides, he was Commodore of the fleet, supreme lord of the Commons in Blue. It beseemed him, therefore, to erect himself into an ensample of virtue, and show the gun-deck what virtue was.
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