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Updated: June 4, 2025
Here we found an immense division of Pennsylvania militia drawn up in line of battle. Its regiments were larger than our brigades. They were armed with every variety of fire-arms, from light sporting shot-guns to Sharpe's rifles. Their uniforms had quite as little uniformity as their arms.
Bradley that I owe to your generous hands and your disinterested liberality the saving of my California fortune." There was the momentary sound of a pushed-back chair, a stamping of feet, and then Mr. Sharpe's voice rose high with the blacksmith's old querulous aggrieved utterance. "So it's that finikin', conceited Bradley agin that's giv' me away!
While he was rubbing his eyes, to get the sleepiness out of them, pulling up his shirt-collar, and brushing back his hair, the demon of mischief put a thought into Dicky Sharpe's head. To conceive, with Dicky, was to execute. I happened to be descending from the main-deck, when I saw Dicky standing at the door of the berth, with the rib-bone in hand, and a wicked look in his eye.
Still, there were plenty of Rebels in the country, and they hung around our front, exchanging shots with us at long taw, and occasionally treating us to a volley at close range, from some favorable point. But we had the decided advantage of them at this game. Our Sharpe's carbines were much superior in every way to their Enfields.
"Yours will soon be groggy, Rogers, my pet, though you are cock of your beastly water-lilies." After Sharpe's memorable poem, Biffen's house were always "water-lillies" to the rest of St. Amory's. "Ah?" said Poulett, "Jack carries Acton's notes to some yellow-haired dolly down at Westcote. She gives him milk whilst he's waiting for the answer." "Go and poach eggs, Poulett."
He could afford to lose his Sharpe's rifles, while he retained his faculty of speech, a Sharpe's rifle of infinitely surer and longer range. And the New York Herald reports the conversation verbatim! It does not know of what undying words it is made the vehicle.
At first it was thought he was an Indian, but as he came near we saw that he was a white man, and finally when he rode up to us, I recognized him as "California Joe," a noted scout and frontiersman who had spent many years in California, on the plains and in the mountains. He was armed with a heavy old Sharpe's rifle, a revolver and a knife.
More singular still, a wig of red hair stood on the dressing-table, and Mrs. Sharpe's cranium was adorned with a respectable growth of dark, glossy, brown hair. "If they only saw me now," said Mrs. Sharpe to herself, with a chuckle, "I rather think they'd open their old eyes!"
Now it happened to be Dicky Sharpe's watch on deck while dinner was going on, and at one o'clock, being relieved, he came down to his own repast, which he was not long in discussing.
You're a credit to Sharpe's, Poulett; but remember that you've been poaching for Biffen's footer captain. That's something, anyhow. Don't grin, Poulett; it's bad form. Going? To Bourne's, eh? I can recommend you, though it would be no recommendation to him. You can cut, too, Grim, and clear at 9.30. See the door catches."
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