“Ah! we’re prisoners now, and you may find out all you want to know if you can,” was our reply.
We were forthwith searched, the result of which was the finding of a slip of paper in one of my pockets with “Mess No. 44” written on it. Not one of our captors could read; and when I asked for a written copy of the charges against us, they were completely dumbfounded. The “squire,” with a kind of glorification in his tones, said:
“A bill, you tarnal fool! I can’t write, I golly!”
My comrade was asked if he could read and write, and on his saying yes, the card was handed to him to decipher. The crowd clustered around, and when he assisted them in spelling out the word upon it, one cute fellow exclaimed:
“Meeser! Meeser! that’s it!”
“Yes, that’s it,” bawled another, who had thrown himself on a bed; “Mr. Meeser, I golly! John Meeser, what lives up in Pulaski county, and keeps a grocery, and sells good whiskey, I golly.”
Here was our salvation; and starting forward, I harangued my wondering auditors with all the eloquence at my command, appealing, and threatening, and reasoning by turns. The result was that we were acquitted, the “squire” himself announcing it in the following laconic style:
“You’re clar, I golly!”
The night setting in with a heavy storm of rain, again we were all compelled to remain in the house together. We, ourselves, pretended to sleep, and heard the rebels several times remark:
“How sound these men sleep! None but innocent men could sleep that way.”