By this time, the young foxhunter and three servants, armed with pitchforks and flails, were come to the assistance of the dogs, whom they found breathless upon the field; and my cousin was so provoked at the death of his favourites, that he ordered his attendants to advance, and take vengeance on their executioner, whom he loaded with all the curses and reproaches his anger could suggest.

Upon which my uncle stepped forwards with an undaunted air, at the sight of whose bloody weapons his antagonists fell back with precipitation, when he accosted their leader thus: "Lookee, brother, your dogs having boarded me without provocation, what I did was in my own defence.

So you had best be civil, and let us shoot a head, clear of you." Whether the young squire misinterpreted my uncle's desire of peace, or was enraged at the fate of his hounds beyond his usual pitch of resolution, I know not; but he snatched a flail from one of his followers, and came up with a show of assaulting the lieutenant, who, putting himself in a posture of defence, proceeded thus: "Lookee, you lubberly son of a w--e, if you come athwart me, 'ware your gingerbread work.

I'll be foul of your quarter, d--n me." This declaration, followed by a flourish of his hanger, seemed to check the progress of the young gentleman's choler, who, looking behind him, perceived his attendants had slunk into the house, shut the gate, and left him to decide the contention by himself.
Here a parley ensued, which was introduced by my cousin's asking, "Who the devil are you?
What do you want?
Some scoundrel of a seaman, I suppose, who has deserted and turned thief.

But don't think you shall escape, sirrah--I'll have you hang'd, you dog, I will.