“Well, I haven’t got no land, so they can’t hurt me. Another thing, they say they’re fighting for the old flag we all loved.”
Rallying myself, I answered:
“They’re all abolitionists; and if you and I don’t fight, these negroes will be freed among us.”
“Well, now, gentlemen,” said our new companion, “if you’ll hear me a minute, without getting mad, I’ll tell you all about my case. I’m a conscript, and I’ve got to go soldiering for eleven dollars a month. If I’d get a jean like that of yours”—pointing to an old cotton coat that I wore—“I’d have to pay eleven dollars a yard for it. These shoes I’ve got on cost ten dollars; corn-meal is two dollars and fifty cents per bushel, and salt one dollar per pound. Now, how in the d——l can a man soldier under them circumstances?”
I felt myself completely beaten; but still fearing a catch somewhere, I resolved to try the fellow again.
“Why, you’re a regular-built Yankee!” I exclaimed, “and ought to be taken up, and if I had my way, you would be.”
At this he changed the subject, and we told him the Pulaski county story. He then invited us to his house to get something to eat, to which, of course, we had to consent. While there enjoying our meal, which consisted of corn-bread and sour milk, and watching him closely all the time, in marched fifteen conscripts. They immediately seized the master of the house, and put him under a heavy guard. Here was a new dilemma, and I winked at my comrade to answer all questions, as I was fearful that if both of us undertook the task, some fatal mistake might occur. He did so, and succeeded remarkably well, for he was shrewd and quick at perception. I stood carelessly by the fire, drying the only stocking I had, and playing the idiot to what I thought perfection. The intruders were dressed savagely, their heads being covered with rudely-made caps of coon-skin, the tail of the animal hanging down their backs. Several of them were eating the clay which has so often been noticed by travellers in the South.
These miserable creatures despatched one of their number on a jenny, who shortly after returned, bringing with him the “squire,” a long, lanky, knock-kneed man, with hollow eyes and lantern jaws. He had a law-book tucked under his arm, to give weight, I suppose, to his appearance. This dignitary (?) stepped to me, and began questioning me with much official haughtiness, in fact so offensively, that I became enraged at last, and throwing off my assumed character of an idiot, exclaimed:
“Who are you?”