“Damn conditions,” roughly replied the man occupied in getting ready the rope; “we know nothin’ ’bout them. Our business is to bind ye; them’s the orders of the captin.”
And so saying, he proceeded to carry them out.
It looked hopeless enough; but still there might be a chance in an appeal to the feelings of a countryman. The captive determined on making trial of it.
“You are an Englishman?” he said in his most conciliatory tone.
“I’ve beed one,” gruffly answered the bandit.
“I hope you still are.”
“I’deed, do ye? What matters that to you?”
“I am one myself.”
“Who the devil says you ain’t? D’ye take me for a fool not to see it in yer face, and hear it in the cursed lingo that I’d hope never to lissen to again?”
“Come, my good fellow; it’s not often that an Englishman—”