I marched boldly—if limpingly—through the picket gate, up the straight path in front of the house door, and, assuming to be suffering dreadfully from my "wound," I asked the old man—another old bushwhacker—for a drink of water. He didn't fly around with any great alacrity to wait on the "poor soldier,"—that isn't the style of hospitality for poor whites in Virginia—but the old cuss did order a colored boy to bring some water.
"Right away; do you hyar?"
I was just dying for a chance to operate on the old fellow's sympathy, with a view to "accepting his hospitality" for the night, or to the extent of a supper, at least, but I had come up to his door a poor wounded soldier on foot, and the second-class Virginia gentleman has no use for a poor man, even if he should be a wounded Rebel soldier, who had come all the way from Texas to defend his home, etc., etc.
If I had ridden up to his house as a blatant Rebel officer, on horseback, everything his house contained would have been officiously placed at my disposal without a word of question.
As it was, the old rascal began to ask questions, and was so disagreeable, too, in his manner, that a young man, who had come up from the barn, and who I judged to be his son, found it necessary to answer for me, and in a way that put the old man down.
Being thus encouraged by the son, the old lady took a hand in behalf of the "poor soldier," and endeavored in a kind, motherly way to make me more comfortable. I had told them that I had been slightly wounded in the foot, but the wound did not properly heal, and I had been tired and sick lying about the hospital camp, and had determined on my own account to get out to the country some place, for a day or two. I was particular to impress on the mind of the sour old man, that I was not a beggar—that I'd pay for all I got, etc. Now, I didn't have a cent of money, and if that old man had demanded a settlement after supper, I should have been sadly left; but I was going to stay all night, and return to camp for a pass the next day. The old man had said that they all had their orders from the army officers not to entertain any soldiers who couldn't produce passes. To this I replied that, "I had thoughtlessly overlooked the matter, but could easily fix that the next morning, when I'd return."
We had a good supper; the old lady's sympathies were aroused, and she set out her little delicacies for the
"Poor Texas boy, who was so far from home."
I was just hungry enough to have eaten everything they had prepared for the whole family; but, as I was on my good behavior, you know, by a mighty effort and struggle with the inner man I was able to postpone my appetite. There was only the old man, his wife, and the big lubberly son, and a colored mammy in the house. They were evidently "poor white trash," but they owned one slave, so old that she was like a broken-down horse or cow—very cheap.
I heard the old man talking earnestly to the son, and I imagined, of course, that the conversation was about myself—at such a time one's fears are aroused by every little incident.