Recollections of a Rebel surgeon (and other sketches); or, In the doctor's sappy days (1899) (14782665493)

Identifier: recollectionsof00dani (find matches)
Title: Recollections of a Rebel surgeon (and other sketches); or, In the doctor's sappy days
Year: 1899 (1890s)
Authors: Daniel, Ferdinand Eugene, 1839-1914
Subjects: Confederate States of America. Army -- Sanitary affairs United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Personal narratives, Confederate
Publisher: Austin, Tex. : Von Boeckmann, Schutze
Contributing Library: Houston Public Library
Digitizing Sponsor: LYRASIS Members and Sloan Foundation



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n, and putting all four feet together, humpedhis back,—gaped,—protruding a long, pointedtongue, turned up at the end like a hook, yawned,thus giving himself a good stretch, lazily remarked: Brew-er-er-er-erh I—something between a howland a bark, curling it up at the end with a risinginflection on the last syllable. Hello !! said I again, louder. The door opened, and a strapping girl of aboutsixteen, perhaps, bare legged to the knees,—barefooted,—with a dirty homespun dress on, came outon the porch, her yellow hair, cut> off square allaround, falling loosely on her neck. Can you tell me how far it is to Damascus,please ? said I. uWh-wh-i-c-hfy said she. How far is it to Damascus, please ? I kin tell you how far it is to the p-o-o-o-1 ?she said, turning the pool up at the far end. What pool is it you are speaking of, Miss?said I. They call it the sevaster-p-o-o-1, said she. Well, how far is it to Sebastopol, then ? said I,jumping at the conclusion that Sebastopol was the220
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IN THE LAND OF THE BLUE DOG. home name of Damascus, my place of destination. Hits about /Vmiles, said the girl. You jesgit inter ther road again, and keep on twell you gitto ther top of ther hill, and then you jes keep ontwell you git to ther bottom of ther hill, and thenyou cross ther creek, and then you keep therstraight pool road twell you git thar. Thank you, Miss, said I, and I drove on. Bre-w-er-er-erh! howled the blue dog, andcrawled back under the cabin, grumbling at havinghad his nap interrupted. I had gone not over three quarters of a mile, Ithink, when I came to a log blacksmiths shop onthe side of the road, and a plank cabin about 10x12feet,—a country store,—closed. The smith wassitting in his door, smoking a corn cob pipe, andlooking very lonely, and well he might,—for of allthe God-forsaken, desolate wildernesses I ever saw,that was the worst. It was near night, and a whitehen and a red rooster had already retired for thenight on the end of a broken wagon, while tw