(Mixed with some wiskey, now an’ then), Pomp he snaked up behin’,
An’ creepin’ grad’lly close tu, ez quiet ez a mink,
Jest grabbed my leg, an’ then pulled foot, quicker ’an you could wink,
An’, come to look, they each on’ em hed gut behin’ a tree,
An’ Pomp poked out the leg a piece, jest so ez I could see,
An’ yelled to me to throw away my pistils an’ my gun,
Or else thet they’d cair off the leg, an’ fairly cut an’ run. 
I vow I didn’t b’lieve there wuz a decent alligatur
Thet hed a heart so destitoot o’ common human natur;
However, ez there worn’t no help, I finally give in 200
An’ heft my arms away to git my leg safe back agin.

Pomp gethered all the weapins up, an’ then he come an’ grinned,
He showed his ivory some, I guess, an’ sez, ’You’re fairly pinned;
Jest buckle on your leg agin, an’ git right up an’ come,
‘T wun’t du fer fammerly men like me to be so long frum hum.’ 
At fust I put my foot right down an’ swore I wouldn’t budge. 
‘Jest ez you choose,’ sez he, quite cool, ‘either be shot or trudge.’ 
So this black-hearted monster took an’ act’lly druv me back
Along the very feetmarks o’ my happy mornin’ track,
An’ kep’ me pris’ner ‘bout six months, an’ worked me, tu, like sin, 210
Till I hed gut his corn an’ his Carliny taters in;
He made me larn him readin’, tu (although the crittur saw
How much it hut my morril sense to act agin the law),
So’st he could read a Bible he’d gut; an’ axed ef I could pint
The North Star out; but there I put his nose some out o’ jint,
Fer I weeled roun’ about sou’west, an’, lookin’ up a bit,
Picked out a middlin’ shiny one an’ tole him thet wuz it. 
Fin’lly he took me to the door, an’ givin’ me a kick,
Sez, ’Ef you know wut’s best fer ye, be off, now, double-quick;
The winter-time’s a comin’ on, an’ though I gut ye cheap, 220
You’re so darned lazy, I don’t think you’re hardly woth your keep;
Besides, the childrin’s growin’ up, an’ you aint jest the model
I’d like to hev ’em immertate, an’ so you’d better toddle!’

Now is there anythin’ on airth’ll ever prove to me
Thet renegader slaves like him air fit fer bein’ free? 
D’ you think they’ll suck me in to jine the Buff’lo chaps, an’ them
Rank infidels thet go agin the Scriptur’l cus o’ Shem? 
Not by a jugfull! sooner ‘n thet, I’d go thru fire an’ water;
Wen I hev once made up my mind, a meet’nhus aint sotter; 229
No, not though all the crows thet flies to pick my bones wuz cawin’,—­
I guess we’re in a Christian land,—­
                                 Yourn,
                                      BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN.

[Here, patient reader, we take leave of each other, I trust with some mutual satisfaction.  I say patient, for I love not that kind which skims dippingly over the surface of the page, as swallows over a pool before rain.  By such no pearls shall be gathered.  But if no pearls there be (as, indeed the world is not without example of books wherefrom the longest-winded diver shall bring up no more than his proper handful of mud), yet let us hope that an oyster or two may reward adequate perseverance.  If neither pearls nor oysters, yet is patience itself a gem worth diving deeply for.