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Updated: October 4, 2026
"He's gone right off, swoonded, as they call it. Poor old chap! It does seem queer. But it might have been worse, as I said before. Wanted me to run away, did you? Likely, wasn't it? Why, if I had run it would have served me jolly well right if somebody had shot me down again. Not likely, comrade! I mayn't be a man, but my father was a British soldier, and that's what's the matter with me."
He's only swoonded," asserted the man addressed as Eb. "'Twon't do to lebe 'im here to die, Zack." "Sartin not; we'd hab bad luck all our days." "I reckon ole man Pearson will keep him; and his wife's a po'ful nuss." "Pearson orter; he's a Unioner." "S'pose we try him; 'tain't so bery fur off." On the morning of the 24th of December, Mrs.
Wen you swoonded, Missy Mara cotch you in her arms. I eben run away, an lef my honey lam' mysef, but I come back sudden, an dar she was a hol'n you head in her lap right uner a big bildin dat ud a squashed her. I drag you pass dat, an den Marse Bodine jes ordered me an Missy to go to de squar. He spoke stern an strong as if we his sogers.