"It's my opinion," said Sylvanne; "that these English men is too
pig-headed an' ornery to care a whoop in hell whether we get mad
or not. They've a notion Paul Jones is dead, but I reckon we've
got plenty of the breed only waitin' a chance. Mor'n twenty-five
of our merchantmen wrecked each year through being stripped of
their crews by a 'friendly power.' 'Pears to me we couldn't be
worse off going to war, an' might be a dum sight better."
"Your home an' holdings are three hundred safe miles from the
seacoast," objected the man from Manhattan.
"Yes, and right next Canada," was the reply.
"The continued insults to our flag, sir, and the personal
indignities offered to our people are even worse than the actual
loss in ships and goods. It makes my blood fairly boil," and the
worthy general looked the part as his purple jowl quivered over
his white cravat.
"Gosh all hemlock! the one pricks, but t'other festers. it's
tarnal sure you steal a man's dinner and tell him he's one o'
nature's noblemen, he's more apt to love you than if you give him
five dollars to keep out o' your sight," said Sylvanne, with slow
emphasis.
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