“Sambo, what relation are you to Jeff Davis’s coachman?”
The black eyes would roll and the whites enlarge as the grinning nigger replied:
“I ain’t no sort o’ connexion with that ere, sah.”
“You’re a Secesh, I reckon.”
“No, sah; I’m Union boy.”
“Oh, then we shall have to flog you, Sambo. Don’t you know that in this part of McClellan’s army we are all at heart good rebels?”
“Lord ha’ mercy! I never thought o’ that; and now I do think on it, I do agree dat I am a bit of a rebel, anyhow.”
Then all the listeners would burst out laughing at poor Sambo, and he left the camp befogged and bewildered.
Once an old grey-headed negro came into camp, and some young officers began to tackle him.