The captain had a heavy hand--and carried a heavy cane
when he went ashore. He had the cane with him now.
After a long time: "You tell him there is none," whispered Karl.
"Well, what's wrong in there?" cried Schantze impatiently.
"We can't find a single bottle, sir!" I repeated, louder.
"What? Come out here! Speak louder! What did you say?"
"We can't find a single bottle, sir!" I murmured, almost inaudibly.
Then Karl, stammering, reinforced me with, "There are a lot of empty
bottles here, sir!"
"What does this mean? Every voyage for years I have had soda and French
syrup in my locker for Mr. Wollaston."
"Oh, don't mind me," deprecated the little customs man, at the same time
as furious as his host.
Karl had already began to blubber in anticipation of the whipping due.
The captain laid his heavy cane on everywhere. The boy fell at his feet,
bawling louder, less from fear than from the knowledge that his
abjectness would please the captain's vanity and induce him to let up
sooner.
"Now _you_ come here!" Schantze beckoned me.
He raised the cane at me. But, to my own surprise, something brave and
strange entered into me. I would not be humiliated before a countryman
of my mother's, that was what it was!
I looked the captain straight in the eye.
"Sir, I did not do it, and I won't be whipped!"
"Wha-at!" ejaculated Schantze, astonished at my novel behaviour.
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