My name is Joseph Coleman, and at the time my story begins I was sixteen years of age. Mark was my twin brother; and he looked and acted so much like me, or else I looked and acted so much like him, that only our very intimate friends could tell us apart. We always dressed alike, and that, no doubt, had something to do with the remarkable resemblance we bore to each other.
My name is Joseph Coleman, and at the time my story begins I was sixteen years of age. Mark was my twin brother; and he looked and acted so much like me, or else I looked and acted so much like him, that only our very intimate friends could tell us apart. We always dressed alike, and that, no doubt, had something to do with the remarkable resemblance we bore to each other.
Many were the mistakes that were made in regard to our identity-some of them laughable, 6others proving exactly the reverse, especially when I was called upon to stand punishment for his misdeeds. On one occasion Mark got into a difficulty with a half-breed. About a week afterward, while I was riding along the road, I met this same half-breed with a big switch in his hand, and all that saved me from a severe whipping was the speed of my horse.
Then there was our old enemy, Tom Mason, who had been badly worsted in an attempt to whip Mark, and ever since that time he had been robbing my traps, shooting at my dog and killing my doves, thinking all the while that he was revenging himself upon Mark, when he was in reality punishing me.
At the time of which I write we lived in Warren County, ten miles below Vicksburg, where our father owned an extensive plantation. He cultivated one thousand acres of cotton and six hundred acres of corn. He owned one hundred and fifty working mules and horses, twice as many young cattle, which ran loose in the swamp, and about twenty-five hundred hogs. It required from sixty to seventy-five cows to supply the plantation 7with milk and butter, and almost as many dogs to protect the stock from the wild beasts.
Just think of that! Think what music this pack must have made when in pursuit of a bear or deer, and imagine, if you can, the delightful concerts to which we listened on bright moonlight nights!
Perhaps you will wonder if we needed all these dogs. We should have been sorry to part with them, for they were as necessary to our existence as our horses, cows or mules.
Warren County at that time was almost a wilderness. Wolves, foxes and minks were numerous, and our henroosts would have been cleared in a single night, if the dogs had not been there to protect them. Wild-cats were abundant, and panthers were so often met with, that traveling after dark was seldom undertaken for pleasure. Bears, however, were the principal pests. They were, to quote from the settlers, "as plenty as blackberries," and employed their leisure time during the night in roaming about the plantations, picking up every luckless hog and calf that happened to fall in their way.
8I must not forget to say that our fellows had nothing to do with all these plantation dogs. The most of them belonged to father, a few to the overseer, and the rest to the servants.
Our pack numbered only five dogs. Mark was the happy possessor of Rock and Dash, two splendid deer-hounds, which, for size, speed, endurance and courage, were unequaled in all that country except by Sandy's Sharp and Music. These four hounds were animals worth having. They could run all day, and when they once started on a trail, they never left it until the game, whatever it was, had been killed, or they were called away.
I laid claim to Zip. He was what we boys called a "bench-legged catch-dog"-that is, his fore legs stood wide apart and curved outward, like those of a bulldog, and he was used for catching and holding game.
He was yellow all over except his head, which was as black as jet. His nose and ears were as sharp as those of a wolf, and he was bobtailed.
Zip was unlike any other dog I ever saw. There were a good many queer things about 9him, and he had at least one peculiarity that every body noticed. He never wagged his tail sideways, as other dogs do, but up and down, and he never wagged it at all except when following a warm trail.
There were five of us boys-Duke Hampton, his cousin, Herbert Dickson, Sandy, Mark and myself. We were near neighbors-that is, we lived about a mile and a half apart-and we were together almost all the time. We always spoke of one another as "our fellows," and we had finally come to be known by that name all over the country. Sandy merits a short description.
His name was Gabriel Lucien Todd-an odd name, perhaps, but it suited him, for he was an odd boy. No one ever thought the race of giants extinct after seeing him. When he was thirteen years old he was as tall and heavy as his father, and much stronger. Indeed Sandy often boasted that he could pull as many bales of cotton on a wagon as any yoke of oxen in Warren County.
That, of course, was saying a great deal too much; but his strength was really something 10wonderful. He could outlift any two of our fellows, without puffing out his cheeks, but we could all take his measure on the ground as fast as he could get up.
There were other noticeable things about Sandy, such as his utter disregard for all the proprieties of language, his bright-red hair, and his extreme good nature, which I seldom saw ruffled. The first was by no means the result of ignorance, for Sandy, besides being a capital scholar in other respects, was looked upon by our fellows as a walking repository of grammatical knowledge.
He wrote splendid letters-and that is an accomplishment that every boy, or man either, does not possess-and he would correctly analyze and parse any sentence you could give him, no matter how complex; but when it came to talking he was all afloat. He twisted his sentences into all sorts of awkward shapes, and sometimes used words that had but little connection with the idea he wished to communicate. It was not the result of carelessness either, for he made some desperate attempts to "talk proper," as he expressed it, especially 11in the presence of strangers; but the harder he tried the more he blundered.
After saying this much, it is scarcely necessary to add that Sandy was as slow as an elephant in all his movements, and that he never got surprised at any thing that happened.
Mark's room and mine was regarded as the headquarters of our fellows. On one side two windows looked out upon a wide porch, and on the other was a fire-place, backed up by an immense brick chimney.
An unpainted board over the fireplace formed the mantel, on which were a collection of books, a couple of lamps, an ornamental clock, and a few articles of curiosity, such as alligators' teeth, bears' claws, stone arrow-heads and hatchets.
Two pairs of deer's antlers were fastened to the wall over the head of the bed, and on them hung our guns, game-bags, shot-pouches, riding-whips, gloves and hunting-horns. These last were of great use to us. They were simply cows' horns scraped thin and supplied with carved mouth-pieces. They were used principally for calling the hounds during a bear or 12deer-hunt (it may astonish you to learn that every dog knew the sound of his master's horn and would obey no other), and with them we could talk to a friend on a calm day a mile distant.
I have lately learned that when boys in a city want a companion, they will station themselves in front of his gate and whistle. We did not go to all that trouble. If Mark and I had any thing exciting on hand, and wanted our fellows to join in, one of us would go out on the porch and blow three long blasts on his horn.
We were always sure of an answer, and in a few minutes here would come Sandy Todd from one direction, and Duke and Herbert from the other. We had written out a regular code of signals, and each of us kept a copy at hand for reference, so that there could be no mistake.
We could tell our friends that we wanted them to go hunting, fishing or blackberrying with us; we could ask them to come over and pay us a visit; and we could tell them when to expect us. We had signals of distress, too, 13and we were all bound to give heed to them when we heard them.
I ought to say that this idea did not originate with us; we learned it from the settlers, who also had a code of signals which had been in use as long as I could remember.
If a planter some evening took it into his head that he would like to go bear-hunting on the following day he would go out with his horn and blow five long blasts and three short ones; and, like us when we called our fellows, he was certain of a reply.
The neighbor who heard him first would respond, then another and another would follow, until all the men in the settlement for two or three miles around, had agreed to go bear-hunting, and that, too, without having seen one another.
Perhaps, now that you have heard so much about our fellows, you would like to have them personally presented. Step into headquarters, and I will introduce you. After that, if you think you would enjoy a four-mile gallop before supper, we will find you a good horse to ride. We are going down the bayou to visit an Indian 14camp: and if you have never seen one, now is your chance.
The boy who sits in that big arm-chair, thrumming on his guitar and tickling the dog's ears with the toe of his boot, is my brother Mark. If you don't find him in some mischief every time you meet him, you mustn't think it is his fault.
Do you see that broad-shouldered, long-legged, awkward-looking fellow sitting on the floor at the opposite side of the fire-place, with a hammer in his hand and a pan of hickory nuts by his side? That is Sandy Todd, the strongest boy and the best shot in our party.
That curly-headed, blue-eyed fellow, who smiles so good-naturedly every time he speaks, and who sits at the table devouring the hickory-nuts as fast as Sandy cracks them, is Herbert Dickson. He is blessed with a good deal of flesh, is Herbert, and sometimes answers to the name of "Chub"; at others, "Ducklegs."
I have known plenty of boys at school to be badly deceived in that same Herbert Dickson. As clumsy as he looks, he can run faster and 15jump higher and further than any other fellow of his age in the settlement. There is nothing in the world that Herbert more enjoys than the astonishment and chagrin of some lithe young fellow who may have challenged him, "just for the fun of the thing," to run a race; for I don't remember that I ever saw him beaten.
On the table at Herbert's elbow is a chessboard with men scattered over it. I am sitting at one end of it, and the tall, dark, dignified-looking youth, in blue jeans roundabout and heavy horseman's boots, who is sitting opposite me, is Duke Hampton, than whom a better fellow never lived. He is an acknowledged leader. He settles all our disputes, when we have any-which, by the way, does not often happen-and is the projector and manager of most of our plans for amusement. He is handsome and polite, and, of course, a great favorite with the girls. He is a boy of high moral principle, strictly truthful, and honorable even in the smallest matters, and these qualities render him a favorite with the men. He is the most daring and graceful rider among our fellows, and, next to Mark, the best wrestler. 16He is a good chess-player, too; but by some unaccountable fortune I have driven him into a tight corner.
I do not suppose there is any necessity that I should again introduce myself. If it will help to place me in your good books, however, I will tell you that I own the swiftest horse and the best dog in the settlement. Black Bess has never been beaten in a fair race, and Zip has yet to find his equal as a fighter and bear dog. I am not so modest but that I can tell you, also, that I am the champion hunter among our fellows. I killed a bear alone and unaided, and his skin now hangs on that nail at the foot of the bed; but my companions, one and all, are determined to equal me in this respect, and consequently I do not expect to hold the honors much longer. But here comes our little negro, Bob, to announce that the horses are waiting, and we must off for the camp if we intend to be back in time for supper.
Excerpt from True to His Colors Rodney Gray, I am ashamed of you; and if you were not my cousin, I should be tempted to thrash you within an inch of your life." "Never mind the relationship. After listening to the sentiments you have been preaching in this academy for the last three months, I am more ashamed of it than you can possibly be. You're a Yankee at heart, and a traitor to your State. Let go those halliards!" "I'll not do it. Look here, Rodney. Your ancestors and mine have fought under this flag ever since it has been a flag, and, if I can help it, you shall not be the first of our name to haul it down. Let go yourself, and stand back, or I will throw you over the parapet." "But that flag doesn't belong up there any longer, and I say, and we all say, that it shall not stay. Here's our banner; and if there's a war coming, as some of you seem to think, it will lead us to victory on every battle-field.
Known as one of the most acclaimed authors of golden-era action-adventure novels, Harry Castlemon penned dozens of novels and stories that have delighted many generations of readers. The gripping tale The First Capture focuses on a series of pivotal battles in the Revolutionary War and the brave men who helped turn the tide against the British forces.
This volume from Castlemon's popular War series for younger audiences follows the ongoing saga of the Gray family, which has been torn apart due to divided loyalties during the Civil War. This novel focuses on Marcy Gray, a boat pilot whose nautical skills are in high demand but whose Union sympathies must remain concealed to ensure the safety of himself and his loved ones.
After three years of loveless marriage, Kira was slapped with divorce papers. She has shown him her unrequited love throughout her entire marriage with him, but he decided to turn blind eyes all because of his lover. Distraught and heartbroken, Kira choose to sign the divorce papers with bitter heart. But then and there, she promised herself that when she's back, he will come crawling to her, but she will make him pay for hurting her. Join Kira as she transform to a wealthy heiress and soared as the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar empire, a remarkable healer and make her ex-husband pay!
They don't know I'm a girl. They all look at me and see a boy. A prince. Their kind purchase humans like me for their lustful desires. And, when they stormed into our kingdom to buy my sister, I intervened to protect her. I made them take me too. The plan was to escape with my sister whenever we found a chance. How was I to know our prison would be the most fortified place in their kingdom? I was supposed to be on the sidelines. The one they had no real use for. The one they never meant to buy. But then, the most important person in their savage land-their ruthless beast king-took an interest in the "pretty little prince." How do we survive in this brutal kingdom, where everyone hates our kind and shows us no mercy? And how does someone, with a secret like mine, become a lust slave? . AUTHOR'S NOTE. This is a dark romance-dark, mature content. Highly rated 18+ Expect triggers, expect hardcore. If you're a seasoned reader of this genre, looking for something different, prepared to go in blindly not knowing what to expect at every turn, but eager to know more anyway, then dive in! . From the author of the international bestselling book: "The Alpha King's Hated Slave."
"You're mine, little puppy," Kylan growled against my neck. A soft gasp escaped my lips as his lips brushed my skin. My mind screamed at me to push him away-the Lycan Prince who had humiliated me again and again, but my body betrayed me, leaning into him before I could stop myself. He pressed his lips against mine, and his kiss grew more aggressive, more possessive as I felt my legs weaken. What was I doing? In a split-second, I pulled away and slapped him hard across the face. Kylan's eyes darkened, but the smirk on his lips exposed his amusement. "You and I both know we can't fight this, Violet," he said, gripping my wrist. "You're my mate." "And yet you don't want me," I replied. "You told me you were ashamed of me, that l'd never be your queen, that you'd never love me. So please, accept my rejection and let me go." "Never," he whispered, his grip tightening as he pulled me closer. "Soon enough, you'll be begging for me. and when you do-I'll use you as I see fit and then I'll reject you."
22-year-old Evelyn Carter is attempting to start over in California while avoiding her past. She will be embarking on a new career path as a private school teacher. She is smart, attractive, and doesn't put up with nonsense. Who wouldn't notice her? However, what happens when she attracts the attention of someone unwilling to let her go? Who wants her and nothing else after falling in love at first sight? A 25-year-old billionaire CEO and single father, Lucian Carrington. He takes what he wants and he is also a very dangerous man. All it needed was one look at a stunning woman to realize she was HIS, even though he doesn't believe in relationships because they always end. Preview: Miss Carter, you will be mine. I say firmly. "Release my arm, Mr. Carrington, before I force you to." She says, seeming to smile at me. I give her a sly smile. Squeezing my wrist with her other hand, she twists it uncomfortably. I gave a painful hiss. "Don't underestimate me, Mr. Carrington." "This is the only time I will allow you to walk away from me, Miss Carter." She glared at me as she turned. "Mr. Carrington, I am no possession of yours." I was left standing there when she opened the classroom door and left.
"Ahh!" She was in a moaning mess. She did not want to feel anything for this man. She hated him. His hands began to move all over her body. She gasped when he pulled down the back chain of her dress. The chain stopped at her lower waist, so when he zipped it off, her upper back and waist were exposed. "D-Don't touch m-ummm!" His fingers rolled around her bare back, and she pressed her head against the pillow. His touches were giving her goosebumps all over her body. With a deep angry voice, he whispered in her ear, "I am going to make you forget his touches, kisses, and everything. Every time you touch another man, you will only think of me." - - - Ava Adler was a nerdy omega. People bullied her because they thought she was ugly and unattractive. But Ava secretly loved the bad boy, Ian Dawson. He was the future Alpha of the Mystic Shadow Pack. However, he doesn't give a damn about rules and laws, as he only likes to play around with girls. Ava was unaware of Ian's arrogance until her fate intertwined with his. He neglected her and hurt her deeply. What would happen when Ava turned out to be a beautiful girl who could win over any boy, and Ian looked back and regretted his decisions? What if she had a secret identity that she had yet to discover? What if the tables turned and Ian begged her not to leave him?
Iris grew from an orphaned child to the adopted daughter of the Stewart family at age ten, finding warmth in her nominal uncle Vincent's kindness. Seven years later, she became his secret lover. When Vincent's engagement was announced, gossip spread about the notorious playboy CEO finally settling down. But only Iris knew the extent of his cold, two-faced nature. Iris fell for Vincent and, through tears, begged, "Marry me," only to be met with his frosty refusal. Defeated, she accepted a lawyer's proposal, sparking public excitement. Then, on her wedding day, Vincent pleaded desperately, "Don't marry him…"