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Updated: May 27, 2025
Awful glad you're no worse hurt, Monty. Make your way inside there, and you'll find the Surgeon. He'll bring you around all right. We're goin' to look for the other boys." "Alf Russell caught a bullet," said Monty Scruggs. "I heard him yell, and turned to look at him, when that rebel's bowlder gave me something else to think about, so I don't know where he is."
Could a leaf or two of future history have been unrolled to King, Cardinal, and Governor, they might have found the destined fortune of the illustrious rebel's house not exactly in accordance with the plan of summary extinction thus laid down. Not discouraged, the Prince continued to send his emissaries in every direction.
There's a secret passageway or something or other down here. Where do you suppose it goes?" "Hanged if I know," I said; "what about Skinny?" "He's breathing, that's all I know," he said. For a couple of minutes I sat on the edge thinking and I could hear him down there. I didn't know what he was doing. Then I called, "You know Rebel's Cave, don't you?
I wanted to shoot anybody dead, but I could shoot their horses, and make the blasted rebels walk, anyway. And so all that evening I was part of the time trying to see my way clear to get out of a regular fight, where anybody would be liable to get hurt, and again I was wondering if my sickness had injured my eyesight so I couldn't take good aim at the buttons on a rebel's coat.
It is not the rebel's cause that we decorate, but we put a few flowers above his remains to show the people who loved him at home, that there is nothing so confounded mean about us after all, and that we do as we would be done by, and that while we were mad, and sassy, and full of fight, eighteen years ago, we want to be friends, and shake hands over the respective graves of our loved ones, and quit making fools of ourselves.
Mr. Jack's views are respecting Riel. His mother, that is the rebel's grandmother, was a Franco-Montagnaise Metis. From this it will be seen that instead of being a "half breed," Louis Riel is only one-eighth Indian, or is, if we might use the phrase employed in describing a mixture of Ethiopian and Caucasian blood, an Octoroon.
Frank, who had been waiting impatiently for the interview to be brought to a close, gave himself up for lost when he saw a smile of triumph light up the rebel's face. But the major was equal to the emergency. Meeting the lieutenant's gaze without flinching, he replied, carelessly: "Very likely you have. I have been in the service ever since the war broke out.
He halts on a little knoll, wheels his horse to face us, and waves his hat to draw his companions to him. A tall, lank fellow in the next four to me who goes by the nickname of "'Leven Yards" aims his carbine at him, and, without checking his horse's pace, fires. The heavy Sharpe's bullet tears a gaping hole through the Rebel's heart.
It was a decisive engagement. Joab's veterans of many wars were too strong for the rebel's army.
Louis street car early in '61. The Judge shook his head. "We may pull out," he said. "Pull out!" exclaimed Mr. Sherman. "Who's man enough in Washington to shake his fist in a rebel's face? Our leniency our timidity has paralyzed us, sir." By this time those in the car began to manifest considerable interest in the conversation.
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