It was the first gun of the battle,—a rifle shot. Without any skirmishing, she had opened battery.
"Your Union soldiers, your thieves and ragamuffins, have stolen all my chickens and turkeys, and I had to kill this one to save it. And you have run off my niggers. I should have lost this turkey if I had not aimed a pistol at the soldier who was about to take it. I threatened to shoot him, and the coward sneaked off."
"Our generals do not permit depredations upon private citizens, when they can help it, but there are thieves in all armies," was the reply.
"O, yes; it is very well for you to apologize! But you are all thieves. General Geary's men, when they were here, stole all they could lay their hands on, and so did Blenker's, and so do McClellan's. You want to steal our niggers. We never should have had this war if you had minded your own business, and let our niggers alone."
"I am not aware that we stole your negroes before the war, but, on the contrary, our free citizens of the North were kidnapped, and sold into Slavery. South Carolina began the war by firing on the flag. It was the duty of President Lincoln to defend it."
"Lincoln! old Lincoln! He's an ape. I would shoot him if I could have the chance!"
"That would be a tragedy worth writing up for the papers. You would immortalize your name by the act. You would go down to history. The illustrated papers would have sketches of the thrilling scene," said my friend with provoking good humor.
"Yes, you would do just as you have done for twenty years,—get up lying pictures and stories about the South. You are a pack of liars. You think you are going to crush us, but you won't. Never, never! We will fight till the last man, woman, and child are dead before we will surrender!"
She was at a white heat of passion, pale and trembling with rage, the tears for a moment hiding the lightning flashes of her eyes.