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Updated: June 19, 2025
The volunteers offered themselves in such numbers that lots were cast to determine who should have the opportunity to enlist in an enterprise so fraught with danger. Harry was one on whom the lot fell. Grant crossed the river below, coiled his forces around Vicksburg like a boa-constrictor, and held it in his grasp. After forty-seven days of endurance the city surrendered to him.
At this first roll-call, forty-seven answered, a number I can swear to, but many of the men were still hunting packs and rations. The next day at reveille roll-call, ninety-three or four answered. Many came back in the night. "This was the strength for many days I still remember, for I was charged with company supply from June 25th.
Forty-seven wonderful love-letters from the sweetest girl on earth! But think of Wade remembering every one! It beats me. He's beyond understanding. "So Jack Belllounds still stays away from White Slides. Collie, I'm sure sorry for his father. What it would be to have a son like Buster Jack! My God! But for your sake I go around yelling and singing like a locoed Indian.
And, to get away from the lure of those eyes, he bent down and raked the grate, saying: "Have you seen Sylvia?" But he knew that she had not, even before she gave that impatient shrug. Then he pulled himself together, and said: "What has happened to you, child?" "I'm not a child." "No, we've both grown older. I was forty-seven the other day."
For quite contrary to what has happened in Oceana, where, the balance falling to the people, they have overthrown the nobility, that nobility of Rome, under the conduct of Sylla, overthrew the people and the commonwealth; seeing Sylla first introduced that new balance which was the foundation of the succeeding monarchy, in the plantation of military colonies, instituted by his distribution of the conquered lands, not now of enemies, but of citizens, to forty-seven legions of his soldiers; so that how he came to be perpetual dictator, or other magistrates to succeed him in like power, is no miracle.
Robert Howard Hutton was born in Westmoreland county, England, forty-seven years ago. He belonged to a family of "natural bone-setters," the most famous of whom was his uncle, who taught him all the mysteries of his craft. He practised surgery in Westmoreland and adjacent counties for several years, where he acquired such a reputation that he was induced to move to London.
Next year he was back on the Spanish Main, in the Pacha, forty-seven men; his brother John commanding the Swan with twenty-six of a crew, only one man older than fifty, the rest mere boys with hate in their hearts for Spanish blood, love in their hearts for Spanish gold.
Ninety-one of those executed were Catholic, and forty-seven Protestants, so that it looked as if the executioners in their desire for impartiality had taken a census of the population.
All this time the prisoner had been studying the wall, his eyes travelling from the right to the left of the frieze, and then from the left to the right again. It was noticeable that his lips moved slightly at each stage of this laborious visual journey. "Forty-seven." "Forty-nine." "Forty-eight." Stokes was immensely interested in that compelling frieze.
Least terrible among the obscene threats were: "Death to the Gringos!" "Kill the American pigs!" "Drown the American dogs in the sea!" Stanton Davies and Jim Wemple shrugged their shoulders patiently to each other, and resumed their conversation, talking louder in order to make themselves heard above the uproar. "The question is how," Wemple said. "It's forty-seven miles to Panuco, by river "
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