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Updated: May 5, 2025
Ira furor brevis est: animum rege; qui, nisi paret, Imperat: hunc fraenis, hunc tu compesce catena. Epist. I. ii. Anger's a fitful madness: rein thy mind, Subdue the tyrant, and in fetters bind, Or be thyself the slave. The next treatise is on Consolation, addressed to his mother, Helvia, and was written during his exile.
Ain't none better on this endurin' Cape no, sir. We got the best cook on the Head. If you are ever lucky enough to get one ha'f as good, Tunis " "Now, you be still, Ira," admonished Prudence, smiling comfortingly at the blushing girl. "You better sing small, Cap'n Ira," said the skipper of the Seamew hoarsely.
Beg your pardon, Elder. No offense. But you don't mean to say that she seems sane and sensible to you?" "Sane yes! As for being sensible, that is another thing," confessed Elder Minnett. "Huh! What do you mean by that?" asked Cap'n Ira curiously. "She has told her story in full to me, and told it twice alike," said the grim-visaged minister, looking at Sheila as he answered the query.
"Did ye, now?" rejoined Cap'n Ira, in apparent wonder. "I didn't suppose you would ever notice her, you not being much for the ladies, Joshua." "Oh, I ain't so blind!" giggled the young man, peering in through the kitchen door, where Sheila was stepping briskly from tubs to sink and back again. "That's a fortunate thing," agreed the old man.
All was in readiness as usual, but the girl herself was smileless, heavy-eyed, and slack of step. That she had suffered both in body and mind since the day before, the least observant person in the world would have easily comprehended. "I swan, Ida May!" gasped the old man. "Whatever's happened to you?" "I did not sleep well, Uncle Ira," she told him faintly. "Sleep?
He began to mutter, holding his sabre above his head, and the men took up the savage chant, standing close together in the road: "'Ça ira! Ça ira!" It was the horrible song of the Terror. "'Que faut-il au Républicain? Du fer, du plomb, et puis du pain! "'Du fer pour travailler, Du plomb pour nous venger, Et du pain pour nos frères!"
As near as I can make out there are six Frenchmen in the camp and nineteen red men, or twenty-five fighters in all. The most we could muster up would be ten or a dozen. That would be two to one." "If they have any captives, and especially Sam Barringford, I wish we could release them." "Let us wait until nightfall," suggested Ira Sanderson. "Something may turn up."
For quite an interval there was no sound but the occasional click of a dish laid upon its pile, with fingers that, however, were firm and untremulous. Presently Sue's low voice was heard. "Wonder if that deputy caught anything yet. I've a good mind to meander up the road and see." But the question brought Ira to the door with a slight return of his former uneasiness.
In a dark corner Tunis Latham saw a huge grain box, for once the Ball farm had supported several span of oxen and a considerable dairy herd, its cover raised and its maw gaping wide. There was something moving there in the murk, something fluttering. "Come here, boy!" gasped Cap'n Ira, hurrying across the barn door.
Ira Ellsworth Lady, had had an amputation of his limb above the knee, and that he also had been gassed. The first question that he asked as we stood by his cot, when he again regained consciousness was: "How am I wounded?" When we told him the misfortune which had befallen him, a shudder ran through his frame as he repeated: "It is bad enough, but it might have been worse."
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