"'Major, you were in the war, weren't you?'
"'Yes,' said I, 'I was; but (I might as well admit it) I was on the other side of the fence. I was in the Union army.'
"'You were? Well, Major, did you ever kill anybody?'
"'Oh yes,' said I; 'lots of 'em,—lots of 'em, sir.'
"'You don't tell me!' said the Virginian. 'And if I might be so bold as to ask—how did you generally kill them?'
"'Well,' said I, 'I never like to tell, because bragging is not in my line; but I'll tell you. You see, I never liked this thing of shooting people. It seemed to me a barbarous business, and besides, I was a kind of Quaker, and had conscientious scruples about bearing arms. And so, when the war broke out and I found I'd have to enter the army, maybe, whether I wanted to or not, I enlisted and got in as a quartermaster, thinking that in that position I wouldn't have to kill anybody with a gun, anyhow. But war is a dreadful thing, a dreadful thing, sir. And I found that even a quartermaster had to take a hand at killing people; and the way I took for it was this: I always managed to have a good swift horse, and as soon as things would begin to look a little like fighting, and the big guns would begin to boom, why I'd clap spurs to my horse and make for the rear as fast as ever I could. And then when your people would come after me, they never could catch me; they'd always get out of breath trying to come up to me. And in that way I've killed dozens of your people, sir, dozens of them, and all without powder or ball. They couldn't catch me, and always died for want of breath trying to get hold of me!'"
We slept in the woods that night under the dark pines and beside our great camp-fires; and early the next morning took up the line of march for home. We marched all day over the hills, and as the sun was setting, came at last to a certain hilltop whence we could look down upon the odd-looking group of cabins and wigwams which we recognized as our camp, and which we hailed with cheers as our home.
