Then he unrolled the bundle which he had carried under his arm.

It was the British flag.

He slipped it upon the string, and was about to haul it up, when the drunken orator on the platform caught him by the arm with fiery courage.
"Here, you leave that alone: that's not our flag, and if you string it up, we'll string you up, bagosh!" he roared.
Ferrol's heavy walking-stick was in his right hand.

"Let go my arm-quick!" he said quietly.
He was no coward, and these people were, and he knew it.

The habitant drew back.
"Get off the platform," he said with quiet menace.
He turned quickly to the crowd, for some had sprung towards the platform to pull him off.