A roar like that of a lion met them. An old man, with a high, bald and
extremely red forehead lay in a huge bed by a window. It was a great
head, and eyes, set deep, blazed under thick, white lashes. His body was
covered to the chin.
Dick saw that the man's anger was that of the caged wild beast, and there
was something splendid and terrible about it.
"You infernal Yankees!" he cried, and his voice again rumbled like that
of a lion.
"Colonel Charles Woodville, I presume?" said Colonel Winchester politely.
"Yes, Colonel Charles Woodville," thundered the man, "fastened here in
bed by a bullet from one of your cursed vessels in the Mississippi,
while you rob and destroy!"
And then he began to curse. He drew one hand from under the cover and
shook his clenched fist at them in a kind of rhythmic beat while the
oaths poured forth. To Dick it was not common swearing. There was
nothing coarse and vulgar about it. It was denunciation, malediction,
fulmination, anathema. It had a certain majesty and dignity. Its
richness and variety were unequaled, and it was hurled forth by a voice
deep, powerful and enduring.
Pages:
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218