The whole battery runs away.

Gents, the mules smells water.

It's two miles away,--a big pond she is,--an' that locoed battery never stops, but rushes plumb in over its y'ears; an' I lose sixteen mules an' two guns before ever I'm safe ag'in on terry firmy.
"'It's shore remarkable,' exclaims the Major, settin' down his glass, 'how time softens the view an' changes bitter to sweet that a-way.

As I brings before me in review said details thar's nothin' more harassin' from soda to hock than that campaign on the Rio Grande.

Thar's not one ray of sunshine to paint a streak of gold in the picture from frame to frame; all is dark an' gloom an' death.