He was still speaking, and now we could distinguish the words.
"So Sir Thomas chains him there," he said,--"right there to that tree under which you are sitting, Jacky Bonhomme." Jacques incontinently shifted his position.

"He chains him there, with one chain around his neck, one around his waist, and one around his ankles.

Then he sticks me a bodkin through his tongue." A groan of admiration from his audience.
"Then they dig, before his very eyes, a grave,--shallow enough they make it, too,--and they put into it, uncoffined, with only a long white shroud upon him, the man he murdered.

Then they cover the grave.

You're sitting on it now, you other Jacky." "Godam!" cried the rascal addressed, and removed with expedition to a less storied piece of ground.
"Then they go away," continued Diccon in graveyard tones.