- end_line
- 7668
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:09.931Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 7648
- text
- against Bello. But they were a fine young tribe, nevertheless. Like
strong new wine they worked violently in becoming clear. Time, perhaps,
would make them all right.
An interval of greater uproar than ever now ensued; during which, with
his tomahawk, the white-headed old man repeatedly thumped and pounded
the seat where he sat, apparently to augment the din, though he looked
anxious to suppress it.
At last, tiring of his posture, he whispered in the ear of a chief, his
friend; who, approaching a portly warrior present, prevailed upon him
to rise and address the assembly. And no sooner did this one do so,
than the whole convocation dispersed, as if to their yams; and with a
grin, the little old man leaped from his seat, and stretched his legs
on a mat.
The fire was now extinguished, and the temple deserted.
- title
- Chunk 4