The French squadron…opened fire at a distance far beyond the range of our rifles, and the carnage in our ranks was fearful. We were being gradually duodecimated.
Licence they mean when they cry libertie; For who loves that, must first be wise and good; But from that mark how far they roave we see For all this wast of wealth, and loss of blood.
‘There's always a few old piker bullocks find their way into this country. But mostly cattle don't come this far.’
Let's know if you come back. Might see the sugar harvest. Have some fun. Give you a ride on the sugar train.
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