“He’s talking to them niggers, and he shall hang for it, before he leaves the place.”
Just then, one of our number said sarcastically:
“Ah, now, my dear old gentleman, you are altogether mistaken. He’s not talking to your children, but your dog!”
This enraged him beyond measure, and he wanted to fight, and demolish the “whole crowd of d——d Yankees at once, and on the spot.”
Captain Collins, at length, thinking that he had amused himself long enough, quietly took hold of him, and passed him over to the guards, who, however, were unable to appease him, until they jagged a sharp bayonet into that delicate portion of his corporeal organization, where, doubtless, his feelings and his brains were seated.
We were soon after on our way to the capital of North Carolina. On our journey thither, we stopped at Salisbury, where many a Yankee head was thrust out at the car-windows in hopes of attracting the attention of some of the kind-hearted negroes. My unshorn beard and straggling hair, charmed a pretty yellow maiden to such an extent that she drew near and said:
“Are you a Yankee, sah?”
“Yes,” replied I, determined to profit by the opportunity, “and I’m a very hungry Yankee!”
“God bless you, sah! I’ll go an’ git you a possum leg dis minnit.”