Without a word, without a sign, Enschede started toward the beach, where his proa waited. I never hunt the human tiger without being armed. The knight stood upon his defence; but he would unquestionably have been torn in pieces by the savage hounds, if a shower of oaths, seconded by a vigorous application of kicks and blows from their master, had not driven them growling off. None saw, though all felt, his presence, and heard the thunder of his voice. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts.
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