"I didn't think much of you Rebs before I came down here," he had concluded
in a precise and energetic shout, "but I guess, after all, you've got souls
in your bodies like the rest of us."
"I reckon we have. Any coffee over your side?"
"Plenty. The war's interfered considerably with the tobacco crop, ain't
it?"
"Well, rather; we've enough for ourselves, but none to offer our visitors."
"Look here, are all these things about you in the papers gospel truth?"
"Can't say. What things?"
"Do you always carry bowie knives into battle?"
"No, we use scissors--they're more convenient."
"When you catch a runaway nigger do you chop him up in little pieces and
throw him to the hogs?"
"Not exactly. We boil him down and grease our cartridges."
"After Bull Run did you set up all the live Zouaves you got hold of as
targets for rifle practice?"
"Can't remember about the Zouaves. Rather think we made them into flags."
"Well, you Rebels take the breath out of me," commented the picket across
the river; and then, as the relief came, Dan hurried back to look for the
mail bag and a letter from Betty. For Betty wrote often these days--letters
sometimes practical, sometimes impassioned, always filled with cheer, and
often with bright gossip. Of her own struggle at Uplands and the long days
crowded with work, she wrote no word; all her sympathy, all her large
passion, and all her wise advice in little matters were for Dan from the
beginning to the end.
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