"I aint no Hodge,—taint turnips,—stop,—
Let go,—this here's for sale."
"Powder and grog! be quiet, lad.
Tobacco! by my soul!
Rebel, we've come to take the land,—
Hands off!—I seize the whole."
The Provost wheeled towards the camp.
Hale followed with a cry:
"Give me my pack—now—come—you sir!"
"Clod-shoes, get home!—not I."