Nar. Oh! I am sensible of the favour, most gallant Captain Campley; and my father, no doubt, will be very much obliged to you.
Camp. Aye, there's the devil of it! Sir Christopher Curry's confounded good character knocks me up at once. Yet I am not acquainted with him neither; not known to him even by sight; being here only as a private gentleman, on a visit to my old relation, out of regimentals, and so forth; and not introduced to the Governor, as other officers of the place. But then, the report of his hospitality—his odd, blunt, whimsical friendship—his whole behaviour—
Nar. All stare you in the face; eh, Campley?
Camp. They do, till they put me out of countenance.
Nar. What signifies talking to me, when you have such opposition from others? Why hover about the city, instead of boldly attacking the guard? Wheel about, captain! face the enemy! March! Charge! Rout 'em!—Drive 'em before you, and then—
Camp. And then—
Nar. Lud ha' mercy on the poor city!
Enter Patty, hastily.
Patty. Oh lud, ma'am, I'm frightened out of my wits! sure as I'm alive, ma'am, Mr. Inkle is not dead; I saw his man, ma'am, just now, coming ashore in a boat, with other passengers, from the vessel that's come to the island.