“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.”