“Boys, who mout these be that ye got?”
One of the Guards:—“O, these is some Yanks that we've bin hivin' down at Camp Sumter.”
“Yes?” (with an upward inflection of the voice, followed by a close scrutiny of us through the goggle-eyed glasses,) “Wall, they're a powerful ornary lookin' lot, I'll declah.”
It will be seen that the old, gentleman's perceptive powers were much more highly developed than his politeness.
“Well, they ain't what ye mout call purty, that's a fack,” said the guard.
“So yer Yanks, air ye?” said the venerable Goober-Grabber, (the nick-name in the South for Georgians), directing his conversation to me. “Wall, I'm powerful glad to see ye, an' 'specially whar ye can't do no harm; I've wanted to see some Yankees ever sence the beginnin' of the wah, but hev never had no chance. Whah did ye cum from?”
I seemed called upon to answer, and said: “I came from Illinois; most of the boys in this car are from Illinois, Ohio, Indiana, Michigan and Iowa.”
“'Deed! All Westerners, air ye? Wall, do ye know I alluz liked the Westerners a heap sight better than them blue-bellied New England Yankees.”