A Soldier’s Memories

“I have been deceived,” Bill whispered. “I thought the Dutch were great churchgoers.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Yes. I held the wall in Mobile with a crusty old Dutch sergeant named Harmonszoon. He named his gun Old Mortality, and he sat up there on the palisade with me and talked Bible the whole time. In between shooting at the Spanish, of course.”

“Of course.”

“One day I told him if he was going to quote the Bible all day, at least he could quote the parts with pretty girls in them.”

“Which parts are those?” Jacob Hop asked.

Bill shrugged. “Apparently, there aren’t any.”

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