“Queer, how them tramps always hang ’round volunteer camps, aint it?” said Sam. “Ther’ aint nothin’ in it for ’em, ’ceptin’ the guard-house if they happens to git collared. An’ yit they turn up reg’lar, year in an’ year out. Must be they’re sent providentially for to give practice to the provo’s. Le’ me see; where was I? O, yes; ye left we two a-settin’ here, an’ ol’ Col’n’l Leatherbee a-settin’ on the floor of his bedroom, waitin’ for the clouds to roll by. Wal, I’ll proceed, but not with no fiction; what I’m given’ ye is solemn an’ sacred fac’s.
“The clouds in the Leatherbee mansion, ’stid o’ rollin’ by, kep’ growin’ heavier an’ blacker, an’ Mis’ Leatherbee’s stock of ammunition didn’t show no signs o’ runnin’ low. So fin’lly the ol’ Col’n’l’s dander begun to come up, an’ ’fore he knew it, he’d forgot that he were goin’ to suffer all things in uncomplainin’ silence.
“‘Mis’ Leatherbee,’ says he, ‘my dear mad’m, like the wintry snow, we are driftin’—hic!—driftin’ apart. At the present moment we’re as far apart’s the two ends of a stick. Which means bein’ sep’rated as widely’s the feeble human intellec’ can conceive.’ Now, anybody with eleven idees to the inch might have seen that the ol’ man wa’n’t in no condition to pass remarks with his good lady; but, oncet havin’ got fair started, he progressed right along, regardless o’ the fac’ that he were violatin’ the agreement he’d made with himself previous.
“‘’Tis best that we should end this painful interview,’ he says, a-climbin’ up onto his mutinous legs. ‘Alas! ther’ aint but one way, an’ that a awful—hic!—awful gashly one! But ye’ve drove me to’t. I ther’fore bid ye farewell, Mis’ Leatherbee. I also trust that your few remainin’ years may be cheered by no remorse. Your very respectful an’ obedient servant, Nathan Leatherbee, Col’n’l commandin’ Tenth Reg’ment Milishy.’ This may sound ridic’lous, but it’s word for word what the ol’ man said. Honest! His brain was so shooken-up by the razzlin’ he’d bin gittin’ that he truly couldn’t tell whether he were makin’ of a speech or writin’ of an official letter.
“Wal, bein’ more or less firm established on his feet, he zig-zagged himself out into the kitchen, his house follerin’ the plan o’ most country houses o’ that time, an’ havin’ a thunderin’ big kitchen, with a lot o’ rooms openin’ out of it. Here he sashayed over to the cupb’d, an’ took out a slashin’ big carvin’ knife, an’ begun to whet it up on the steel which went with it, makin’ more noise than a hay-maker puttin’ an edge onto his scythe. Mis’ Leatherbee had stopped talkin’, an’ ’twas plain to be seen that she were a-listenin’ to the proceedin’s.
“The ol’ Col’n’l fixed the knife to suit him, an’ then slipped into the closet an’ fetched out a ham which happened to be there, settin’ it down careful-like onto the table. ‘Mis’ Leatherbee, do ye relent?’ says he in a solemn tone. If she did, she didn’t say so. ‘Ther’s yet time, ma’am,’ says he, pausin’ for a reply. Not a word come from the bedroom; the silence was truly appallin’. ‘Once more, then,’ says he, in a chokin’ voice, ‘an’ for the last time, farewell!’ An’, with that, he plunked the carvin’ knife into the ham, with a sick’nin’ chug, give a fearful groan, an’ flopped down heavy onto the floor.
“Now, ’twas gol-dum cold out ther’ in the kitchin, an’, as I told ye, the Col’n’l had dispensed with most of his clothin’ before bein’ drove to the committin’ of his rash deed. Consequently, after layin’ ther’ in the dark for a minute, he begun to have chills, an’, to keep his teeth from chatterin’, he had to groan some more, which he done this time in good earnest. But Mis’ Leatherbee staid comfortable in bed.
“Wal, fin’lly Col’n’l Leatherbee give a combination o’ groan an’ gasp an’ guggle that fair rattled the dishes on the closet shelves. An’ then his wife speaks up, an’ says, says she, ‘Aint ye dead yet, Mister Leatherbee?’ To which he answered, truthful, ‘No; but I’m tormented nigh to bein’!’—‘Hurry up an’ die, then,’ says she, ‘I want to be gittin’ to sleep.’ An’ he heard her turnin’ over in bed, an’ smoothin’ down her piller.
“That was the last straw that done the giant-killin’ business. The ol’ man riz up slow, leavin’ the murdered ham layin’ in its gore on the table, an’ sneaked back into the bedroom, an’ crawled in under the quilts, feelin’ smaller’n a cent’s worth o’ soap a’ter a week’s hard washin’. An’, for oncet in her life, Mis’ Leatherbee had sense enough to hold her raspin’ tongue, an’ let her husband go to sleep in peace.”
“Here comes the relief,” said the lieutenant-colonel, as the sentinel at headquarters advanced to meet an approaching knot of men, and sharply challenged, “Halt! Who’s there?”