- end_line
- 4480
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:58.829Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 4463
- text
- Major, I drink to your good content.
My pipe is out--enough for me!
One’s buttons shine--does Mosby see?
“But what comes here?” A man from the front
Reported a tree athwart the road.
“Go round it, then; no time to bide;
All right--go on! Were one to stay
For each distrust of a nervous mood,
Long miles we’d make in this our ride
Through Mosby-land.--Oh! with the Guide!”
Then sportful to the Surgeon turned:
“Green sashes hardly serve by night”
“Nor bullets nor bottles,” the Major sighed,
“Against these moccasin-snakes--such foes
As seldom come to solid fight:
They kill and vanish; through grass they glide;
- title
- Chunk 6