“’Tain’t matter about de road, so long as ’e cah’y you to de right place,” was the answer.
Thoroughly familiar with the island, McArthur veered westward and turned his face toward Battery Gregg. As he passed it he was challenged.
“Cholly Smif—”
“What regiment?”
“Secon’ South Ca’lina.”
“What duty?”
“Gyardin’ dese d—n rebels.”
“Pass on, you black nigger braggart.”
“I ain’t lahgin’, mister. Take dese white folks to lahge. Niggers cain’t lahge nuttin’ to de Buckra. Sabby?”
“Get on, Combahee monkey,” called the sentry, recognizing the low country lingo.