But I show ye how a true gentleman and Christian can conduct in adversity.

Back, dogs! Respect a gentleman and a Christian, though he _be_ in rags and smell of bilge-water." Filled with astonishment at these words, which came from over a massive wall, enclosing what seemed an open parade-space, Israel pressed forward, and soon came to a black archway, leading far within, underneath, to a grassy tract, through a tower.

Like two boar's tusks, two sentries stood on guard at either side of the open jaws of the arch.
Scrutinizing our adventurer a moment, they signed him permission to enter.
Arrived at the end of the arched-way, where the sun shone, Israel stood transfixed, at the scene.
Like some baited bull in the ring, crouched the Patagonian-looking captive, handcuffed as before; the grass of the green trampled, and gored up all about him, both by his own movements and those of the people around.

Except some soldiers and sailors, these seemed mostly townspeople, collected here out of curiosity.

The stranger was outlandishly arrayed in the sorry remains of a half-Indian, half-Canadian sort of a dress, consisting of a fawn-skin jacket--the fur outside and hanging in ragged tufts--a half-rotten, bark-like belt of wampum; aged breeches of sagathy; bedarned worsted stockings to the knee; old moccasins riddled with holes, their metal tags yellow with salt-water rust; a faded red woollen bonnet, not unlike a Russian night-cap, or a portentous, ensanguined full-moon, all soiled, and stuck about with bits of half-rotted straw.