The Negro in America, whatever his drawbacks in other directions, is not indifferent to religious influences. The Negro is not only naturally religious, but the religion he enjoys in America is his own in a sense that is not true, it seems to me, of much of the religious life and work among the people of East London.
A faint color crept into the chaplain's sallow face. This humble and unstudied tribute pleased him.
O’er the moldering stern of the old canoe.
Stinkerville, all white-washed, with flakes of mica glittering in the sunlight, sprawled across the road that led to the Barracks. The village wall, designed to keep wild camelopards from roaming the streets and to keep the tame beasts out of the sunflower-fields, was some eight feet tall. Some Indigenous Hominid had heard the Regiment's clatter and song, for the gates of Kansannamura were open, the brick streets were clear of Stinker commerce. The village seemed deserted. A few blabrigars perched on the tiled eaves of the rammed-earth houses, making echoic comments on the sounds of the troopers, singing fleeting snatches of "Oh, Pioneers!" A camelopard stretched its ridiculous, three-horned head at the end of its fathom of neck to peer, big-brown-eyed, at the caravan of fishbowl-headed men. Up at the head of the column the Regiment's flags were unfurled and the Regimental Band was skirling the Anthem; men were counting cadence as their boots clicked over the scrubbed bricks of Stinkerville's streets.
“I think it pretty well established,” remarked General Jackson, “that the greatest cavalry leader of the Confederacy was Gen. N. B. Forrest. His career was a curious one, as illustrating the heights to which a natural genius, uneducated though it may be, can go in its chosen path. He had twenty-nine horses, in all, killed under him during the war, and yet came out unhurt save when a minie ball one day ploughed through his stirrup and the sole of his boot. After the war, in which he rose to be a lieutenant-general, his fame as a cavalry leader had spread so far that during the Franco-Prussian War, Napoleon III sent a distinguished military tribunal over here to get General Forrest’s mode of fighting cavalry. On their way to Memphis they stopped over at Belle Meade to inspect my stud, and as I had seen a good deal of service with Forrest I was telling them of some of his ways of fighting cavalry. Only one of them could speak English, and I remember how the other two laughed as I told their interpreter how Forrest escaped annihilation by pure audacity, on Hood’s retreat out of Tennessee, of whose army his cavalry covered the retreat. Forrest’s cavalry was really mounted infantry, and he had in it also two of the deadliest batteries in the Civil War. On Hood’s retreat he saved the army by planting his batteries and checking the Federal advance—then, when they came in overpowering numbers he would fall back to another natural hill breastwork and check them again, while Hood was trying to get over Duck River. But one time he came near being annihilated. He held his ground too long when suddenly an officer dashed up and shouted:
"It's not the Machine you're playing, but the programming. Remember?"
Mr Kenyon's keen blue eyes slowly concentrated their gaze with an effect of extraordinary attention on Arthur's face; and as they did so, their lids, which commonly drooped so that the iris was partly hidden, were lifted until the pupils, completely ringed by white, stared with the cold, intense watchfulness of a great bird.
"Would you advise me to speak to Lord Hetherington about my intentions?"
It was an old, old compliment, but it was evi
"I have never 'played about,' as you vulgarly put it," interrupted Rafella furiously. "The boys are just like brothers to me. They miss their women relations at home, and I can give them advice, and listen to their troubles, and often help them very much. They know I don't want them to make love to me, and that I wouldn't allow such a thing!"详情 ➢
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