My rebel called back, "I'm a-comin' with some good stuff."
He went back to his boat, hauled out a lot of leaf-tobacco, and after the style of the Indians trading, laid it down, saying: "It's all I got, but there's plenty of it."
I was not making a tight bargain just then, and agreed to all his terms so readily that probably, under the influence of the commissary, he could scarcely find words to express his good opinion of me, etc.
I broached the subject uppermost in my mind by growling at our hard luck in having to stand out there in the cold. His reply to this put me off my pins entirely:
"Well, why don't you all go to your own home in your own country?"
I explained that we would like to do so, but being soldiers we had to stay here against our will.
I then mildly suggested that we felt like going over to their side, that we might have such comfortable fires, etc.
"A right smart of your men do come over."
"What do they do with them?"
"Oh, they are sent away down to the coast some place, where they are in no danger of getting caught by you all."