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Updated: June 29, 2025
Suddenly Poulsson dropped his handle, causing the boat to swing round in the stream, while the men damned him. Paying them no attention, he stood pointing into the blinding disk of the sun. Across the edge of it a piece was bitten out in blackness. "Mein Gott!" he cried, "the world is being ended just now." "The holy saints remember us this day!" said McCann, missing a stroke to cross himself.
"'Tis no news to me," said Terence, stamping his feet on the flinty ground; "wasn't it Davy that pointed him out to us and the hair liftin' from his head six months since?" "Und you like schwimmin', yes?" said Swein Poulsson, his face like the rising sun with the cold. "Swimmin', is it?" said Terence, "sure, the divil made worse things than wather. And Hamilton's beyant."
He turned away to cross the parade ground, followed by the faithful Terence and myself. Others gathered about him: McAndrew, who, for all his sourness, was true; Swein Poulsson, who would have died for the Colonel; John Duff, and some twenty more, including Saunders, whose affection had not been killed, though Clark had nearly hanged him among the prairies.
I am choost like an ox for three days, und chew grass. Prairie grass, is it?" "Mo pas capab', Michie," said the cook, with a terrified roll of his white eyes. "Herr Gott!" cried Swein Poulsson, "I am red face. Aber Herr Gott, I thank thee I am not a nigger. Und my hair is bristles, yes. Let us in the kitchen go."
God knows they must be hungry, and you." Suddenly I remembered that he himself had had nothing. Running around the commandant's house to the kitchen door, I came unexpectedly upon Swein Poulsson, who was face to face with the linsey-woolsey-clad figure of Monsieur Rocheblave's negro cook. The early sun cast long shadows of them on the ground. "By tam," my friend was saying, "so I vill eat.
"Near the Crab Orchard, and the lad killed and sculped a six-foot brave." "The Saints save us! And what'll be his name?" "Davy," said my friend. "Is it Davy? Sure his namesake killed a giant, too." "And is he come along, also?" said another. His shy blue eyes and stiff blond hair gave him a strange appearance in a hunting shirt. "Hist to him! Who will ye be talkin' about, Poulsson?
And when from the camp-fires they perceived the Colonel and the drummer boy eating together in plain sight of all, they gave a rousing cheer. "Swein Poulsson helped get your breakfast, sir, and would eat nothing either," I ventured. "Davy," said Colonel Clark, gravely, "I hope you will be younger when you are twenty." "I hope I shall be bigger, sir," I answered gravely.
That night, as Tom and Cowan and McCann and James Ray lay around their fire, taking a well-earned rest, a man broke excitedly into the light with a kettle-shaped object balanced on his head, which he set down in front of us. The man proved to be Swein Poulsson, and the object a big drum, and he straightway began to beat upon it a tattoo with improvised drumsticks.
And when from the camp-fires they perceived the Colonel and the drummer boy eating together in plain sight of all, they gave a rousing cheer. "Swein Poulsson helped get your breakfast, sir, and would eat nothing either," I ventured. "Davy," said Colonel Clark, gravely, "I hope you will be younger when you are twenty." "I hope I shall be bigger, sir," I answered gravely.
One day Monsieur Vigo's young Creole clerk stood shrugging his shoulders in the doorway. I stopped. "By tam!" Swein Poulsson was crying to the clerk, as he waved a worthless scrip above his head. "Vat is money?" This definition the clerk, not being a Doctor Johnson, was unable to give offhand. "Vat are you, choost?
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