"Where are we going, Pompey? Why we're going 'on to Richmond!'"
"On ter Richmon'! An' wid dat dar mule o' mine! 'Clar to goodness, sodgers, can't git along widout dat mule. Better git off'n dat dar mule!"
"Whip him up, Andy!" shouted I.
"Come up, Bucephalus!" shouted Andy.
And we both laid on right lustily. But never an inch would that miserable mule budge from the position he had taken on hearing the darky's voice, until all of a sudden, and as if a mine had been sprung under our feet, there was such a striking out of heels and such an uncomfortable elevation in the rear, the angle of which was only increased by increased cudgelling, that at last, with an enormous spring, Andy and I were sent flying off into the corn.
"Better git off'n dat dar Mule!"
"Yi! yi! yi! Didn' I say better git off'n dat dar mule o' mine? Yi! yi! yi!"
Laughing as heartily as the darky at our misadventure, we felt that it would be safer to make for the river afoot. We had a glorious plunge in the waters of the James, and returned to the regiment at sunset, greatly refreshed.