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Updated: May 16, 2025
Shtand off, you ragged set of whitewashed Christy Minstrels, you! Where's the Bri'sh Conshul's? Take me, you longshore sons of sharks, to the Bri'sh Conshul's! If there's one white man among you let him stand out and hit a chap his own weight."
"I ketched sight of a bit of scarlet ever so far off, and that must mean Bri'sh soldiers." "No; it might be something painted red or a patch of poppies perhaps." "Oh, go it!" cried Punch angrily. "You will say next it is a jerrynium in a red pot, same as my mother always used to have in her window. It's red-coats, I tell you. There, can't you see them?" "No." "Tchah! You are not looking right.
"Ugh he is horrible," she whispered, and bit her lip and frowned. Then his frightened eyes sought hers and she whispered softly. "Poor boy. Don't be so frightened. Marcella is here." "Marsh Marcella," he said, making a desperate effort to sit up and look round. He looked at her, bewildered, at the room, and then his eyes focussed on the lion over the mantelpiece. "Bri'sh line, ole girl! Shtrength!
"You may say it where you is, for dis yar gen'lem'n is a frind ob mine, an' a hofficer in the Bri'sh navy, an' a most 'tickler friend of Hester Sommers, so we all frinds togidder." "You'll excuse me, sir," said the seaman, touching his forelock, "but you don't look much like a' officer in your present costoom. Well, then, here's wot I've got to say "
"To the bower." "Do you know, sar," replied Peter, drawing himself up and expanding his great chest "do you know, sar, dat I's kimmander-in-chief ob de army in dis yar gardin, an' kin order 'em about whar I please, an' do what I like? Go up to de bower, you small Bri'sh officer, an' look sharp if you don't want a whackin'!"
'Tain't as if it was a Bri'sh rifle and the sergeant coming round and giving you hooroar for not keeping your arms in order. That would be a good way, wouldn't it, because the musket-stock wouldn't weigh any heavier when you had done than when you had begun." "Well, are you satisfied now, Punch, that he isn't talking about you?"
Let 'em see we are Bri'sh soldiers and mean to die game." Pen did not withdraw his eyes from the man who held his life in hand, and reached out behind him to grasp Punch's arm; but his effort was vain.
Wish well to all tribe, and color, and nation. Don't hate Bri'sh, don't hate Yankee; don't hate Cherokee, even. Wish 'em all well. Don't know dat heart is strong enough to ask Great Spirit to do 'em all good, if dey want my scalp p'rap dat too much for poor Injin; but don't want nobody's scalp, myself. Dat somet'in', I hope, for me."
I rose to go soon after, and the keeper joined with his daughter in absolutely refusing to let me pay for my meal. "Glad to have seen you, sir; and now mind that as soon as ever your young friend Mas' Mercer Mas' Bri'sh Museum, as I call him is ready, and you can get a day, I'll take you to our stock pond, where the carps and tenches are so thick, they're asking to be caught.
I call it more than awkward, for we did nearly get the poor old chap into a bad scrape that first night. Tell you what, though. You ask Mr Contrabando to come some night and show us the way." "Show us the way where?" "Anywhere. Up into the passes, as he calls them, right up in the mountains, so that we shall know which way to go when we want to join the Bri'sh army."
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