We were regarded as their
liberators. They gave us all the good things they had--eating, drinking,
etc. We felt our consequence, I assure you, reader. We felt we were
heroes, indeed; but the benzine and other fluids became a little
promiscuous and the libations of the boys a little too heavy. They
began to get boisterous--I might say, riotous. Some of the boys got to
behaving badly, and would go into stores and places, and did many things
they ought not to have done. In fact, the whole caboodle of them ought
to have been carried to the guard-house. They were whooping, and yelling,
and firing off their guns, just for the fun of the thing. I remember of
going into a very nice family's house, and the old lady told the dog to
go out, go out, sir! and remarked rather to herself, "Go out, go out!
I wish you were killed, anyhow." John says, "Madam, do you want that dog
killed, sure enough?" She says, "Yes, I do. I do wish that he was dead."
Before I could even think or catch my breath, bang went John's gun,
and the dog was weltering in his blood right on the good lady's floor,
the top of his head entirely torn off. I confess, reader, that I came
very near jumping out of my skin, as it were, at the unexpected discharge
of the gun.
Pages:
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292