text_original: "By the Lord!" said Bill Cowan, "and I'll not blame him." He turned fiercely, his face reddening. "Shame on ye all yere lives," he shouted. "Ye're making the best man that ever led a regiment take the back trail. Ye'll fetch back to Kaintuck, and draw every redskin in the north woods suckin' after ye like leaves in a harricane wind. There hain't a man of ye has the pluck of this little shaver that beats the drum.
text_transcription: BY THE LORD SAID BILL COWAN AND I'LL NOT BLAME HIM HE TURNED FIERCELY HIS FACE REDDENING SHAME ON YE ALL YOUR LIVES HE SHOUTED YOU'LL BE MAKING THE BEST MAN THAT EVER LED A REGIMENT TAKE THE BACK TRAIL YOU'LL FETCH BACK TO KENTUCK AND DRAW EVERY REDSKIN IN THE NORTHWOOD SUCKING AFTER YOU LIKE LEAVES IN A HURRICANE WIND THERE AIN'T A MAN OF YOU HAS THE PLUCK OF THIS LITTLE SHAVER THAT BEATS THE DRUM
phonemes: "baɪ ðə lˈɔːɹd!" sˈɛd bˈɪl kˈaʊən, "ænd aɪl nˌɑːt blˈeɪm hˌɪm." hiː tˈɜːnd fˈɪɹsli, hɪz fˈeɪs ɹˈɛdənɪŋ. "ʃˈeɪm ˌɔn jiː ˈɔːl jˈɜː lˈaɪvz," hiː ʃˈaʊɾᵻd. "jˌiːɚ mˌeɪkɪŋ ðə bˈɛst mˈæn ðæt ˈɛvɚ lˈɛd ɐ ɹˈɛdʒɪmənt tˈeɪk ðə bˈæk tɹˈeɪl. jˌiːəl fˈɛtʃ bˈæk tə kˈaɪntʌk, ænd dɹˈɔː ˈɛvɹi ɹˈɛdskɪn ɪnðə nˈɔːɹθ wˈʊdz sˈʌkɪn ˈæftɚ jiː lˈaɪk lˈiːvz ɪn ɐ hˈæɹɪkˌeɪn wˈɪnd. ðɛɹ hˈeɪnt ɐ mˈæn ʌv jiː hɐz ðə plˈʌk ʌv ðɪs lˈɪɾəl ʃˈeɪvɚ ðæt bˈiːts ðə dɹˈʌm.