"'Twas a great sign of the love o' freedom said to be born in 'em, that they Yankees would rather take to the open on such a night than bide any more pent in that den of Frenchmen and prison evil," mused Beer.
"I'm the last to blame 'em," declared Woodman.
"They'm too blown up as a nation, however," added Beer. "'Twas a very unhandsome thing to get in holds with us just when we had our hands full wi' Boney."
"I reckon these chaps had to do what they were told, like us," declared Mark Bickford. "They'm sailor men, so I hear, an' 'tis no use cussing 'em same as master do. They be only earning their living. A sailor have got to do what he'm bid, like any other warrior."
"God's word! but he makes my blood boil, no matter how cold the weather be—master, I mean. I wouldn't speak to a dog like he speaks to me. The manhood in me will blaze out some day," declared Putt.
"Then you'll get turned off," said Mr. Woodman.
"'Tis very well for you; though Lord He knows how you can stand the mouth-speech you suffer from him in his rash moments," retorted Putt.
"I stand it, like a donkey eats dachells:[*] I be built to. My family's always had a marvellous power of putting up with hard words from our betters. Not from smaller men, mind you, nor yet from our equals; but what's simple impidence an' sauce not to be borne from the common sort, be just greatness of mind in the bettermost. They don't mean nothing. 'Tis only the haughty blood in 'em."
[*] Dachells: Thistles.
"'Tis just their haughty blood that these here American chaps won't sit down under no more," declared Mr. Beer. "There's no bettermost among them, so I'm told. A man have got to work his way to the top. He can't be born up top; though how it answers to have no gentlefolks, I ban't witty enough to guess."