But a rat's tail is the last that goes in the hole, and as he went in we
made a grab for his tail. Well, tail hold broke, and we held the skin of
his tail in our hands. But we were determined to have that rat. After
hard work we caught him. We skinned him, washed and salted him, buttered
and peppered him, and fried him. He actually looked nice. The delicate
aroma of the frying rat came to our hungry nostrils. We were keen to eat
a piece of rat; our teeth were on edge; yea, even our mouth watered to
eat a piece of rat. Well, after a while, he was said to be done.
I got a piece of cold corn dodger, laid my piece of the rat on it,
eat a little piece of bread, and raised the piece of rat to my mouth,
when I happened to think of how that rat's tail did slip. I had lost my
appetite for dead rat. I did not eat any rat. It was my first and last
effort to eat dead rats.
SWIMMING THE TENNESSEE WITH ROASTINGEARS
The Tennessee river is about a quarter of a mile wide at Chattanooga.
Right across the river was an immense corn-field. The green corn was
waving with every little breeze that passed; the tassels were bowing and
nodding their heads; the pollen was flying across the river like little
snowdrops, and everything seemed to say, "Come hither, Johnny Reb;
come hither, Johnny; come hither.
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