In a trice I had seized it in both
hands, barely conscious of its weight. Then I ran with it the few
yards that separated me from the scuffle, and, lifting my weapon
above my head, hurled it at the nearest of the group. There was a
sound of fury from the fellow at whom I had aimed, and from the two
beyond him--a sound muffled and all but inarticulate, for the
missile which had fallen like a bolt among them was a large wooden
bin filled with household refuse, and placed in the gutter for the
coming of the early morning scavenger.
Chapter 4: Captain John Benbow.
Our Mohocks suffered some discomfort, I fear, as the contents of
the bin hurtled upon them. Household refuse hath, to be sure, no
sweetness of savor; and the shower of bones, eggshells, cabbage
stalks, potato parings, rinds of bacon, and what not, with a
plentiful admixture of white wood ash, served to stay their
activity in deeds, though I must own it did but enhance the fury of
their tongues. But the diversion gave me a breathing space in which
I drew old Ben within the shadow of a doorway and took his staff
from his fainting hands--not without resistance on his part, for
the mettlesome old fellow refused to yield up his insignia until I
brought my face within an inch of his dim eyes, and he recognized
me for a friend.
"Spring your rattle, man!" I cried, and then to the din of curses
and roars for vengeance there was added the sharp crackle of his
alarm signal.
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