Not much; only little bit. That fella boy hit me alonga
sword. You catch that fella. Hold 'em.' Me and Cap'n say--'You no run
away, you boy.' 'Me no fright.' He have 'em spear. Me tell 'em--'You
no runaway. Me catch you.' He say--'Me no fright, you fella.' Me say
--'You no runaway. I shoot you.' He say all a time--'Me no fright. Me
fight you.' Me say--'You fool, you carn fight alonga this fella bullet.
He catch you blurry quick.' That fella stop one place. We two fella go
up alongside. Cap'n he say--'Hold up your hand. Le' me look your hand?'
He hold up hand. Quick we put 'em han'cup. That fella no savee han'cup
before. He bin sing out loud--loud like anything. We two fella laugh
plenty. Mr Limsee tie 'em up hand longa tree, and belt him proper. Belt
him plenty longa whip. My word, that fella sing out--sing out--sing out.
Mr Limsee belt him more. All time he sing out. Bi'mby let 'em go. He bad
fella boy that altogether. We fella--go home along camp. Mr Limsee feel
'em sore tchoulder. Nex' day that boy--very tchausey fella--come up along
camp. He say--'Me want fight that fella Cap'n.' Cap'n come up. That
fella catch 'em, Cap'n tchuk him hard alonga ground.
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