"Ramseur's old brigade; and there's nothin' this side o' hell can lick it."
"You're brave enough," said another; "but damn you, you've killed our best general."
"Who's that?" I asked.
"Rodes; killed right in front of you."
"I thought Early was your best General."
"Not by a d— sight. Old Jubal's drunk—drunk as a fool."
I was never more highly complimented than at this moment; but the stunning consciousness of being a prisoner, the bitterest experience of my life, the unspeakable disappointment, the intense mortification—these are even to this day poorly mitigated, much less compensated, by the excessive praises heaped upon me by those Confederate officers for my supposed bravery. That they were sincere I cannot doubt; for it was customary on the battle-field for the rebels to strip prisoners of all valuables, but no one of the fifty or one hundred near me was robbed. Tiemann, whose life I had perhaps saved, was even privileged to keep his canteen of whiskey, of which he gave me a drink by and by to keep me in good spirits! I realized the truth of Burns's lines:
Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil;
Wi' usquebaugh, we'll face the devil!
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Personal Memoirs, vol. i., p. 487.