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Updated: June 11, 2025
But, you chil'en, put on yer bunnits, an' run an' play in de yard tell I fixes dis chis' uv cloes; an' you little niggers, go wid 'em, an' tuck cyar uv 'em; an' ef dem chil'en git hut, yer'll be sorry fur it, mun; so yer'd better keep em off'n seesaws an' all sich ez dat."
I know her she's old Adam Ward's daughter, she is. An' she lives by grindin' the life out of us poor workin' folks, that's what she does; 'cause my dad and Jake Vodell they say so. Yer touch me an' yer'll see what'll happen to yer, when I tell Jake Vodell."
But the shark had plenty of fight left in him still, as one of the men speedily discovered when, on thrusting a handspike into the great jaws, the strong, stout wooden bar was promptly bitten in two. "Here, lay hold, two or three of you, and capsize him," ordered Ritson; "we must make an end of the beast, or some of yer'll get hurted yet, I can see.
An' dey all laft an' flopped dey wings; an' sez dey, 'Good-bye ter yer, Sis Nancy Jane O. I hope yer'll enjoy yerse'f, sez dey; an' den dey riz up an' stretched out dey wings, an' away dey flewed.
Our sore feet, our aching limbs, the burning sun, and our clothes clammy with perspiration maddened us. Suddenly the man next to me began to sniff and a tear rolled down his cheeks. Our Sergeant observed him and shouted "Halt!" and said: "Don't take it ter 'eart, yer'll soon get used to it. I know it's bloody awful at first. Fall out an' sit down a bit."
"If I help yer I've got ter be protected frum Bill Lacy. He'd kill me as quick as he'd look at me. Then I'd want yer ter tell the judge how it all happened. If yer got the cards stacked, an' I reckon yer have, I ain't big enough fool to try an' play no hand against 'em. But I want ter know what's goin' ter happen ter me. You don't need ter promise nuthin'; only say yer'll give me a show.
"Hit uz Dilsey," answered Chris and Riar in a breath; and Mammy, giving Dilsey a sharp slap, said, "Now yer come er prancin' in hyear ergin wid all kin' er news, an' I bet yer'll be sorry fur it. Yer know better'n dat. Yer know deze chil'en ain't got no bizness 'long o' specerlaters." In the meanwhile Dumps and Tot were crying over their disappointment. "Yer mean old thing!" sobbed Dumps.
"Where else kin he go?" inquired Patty Cannon, severely; "thar ain't no church left nigh yer, sence Chapel Branch went to rot for want of parsons' pay. Let him go to the tavern and learn to fight like a man, an' if the boys licks him, let him kill some of 'em. Then Joe and the Captain kin make somethin' of Cy James, an' people around yer'll respect him. Why, Captain, honey, ain't ye hungry?"
"We're a bloody lot o' fools ter stand it that's the worst o' this mob though, yer'll never get 'em ter stick together an' do anythink." "I bet the C.O.'s enjoyin' 'isself...." A stream of filthy language followed abuse of the Commanding Officer, abuse of the army, abuse of the war, and abuse of the Government. The man could find no other way of expressing himself with adequate force and crudity.
The Sergeant-Major observed them and shouted to the Corporal of the Police: "Corporal, take those men's names have 'em up for orderly room this evening." Then he turned to us. "If you can't turn out a bit smarter, I'll have you on parade ten minutes earlier this is the last warning yer'll get."
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