“Thomas Somers.”
“What d’yer b’long ter?”
“To the army.”
“See here, Yank; I asked yer a civ’l question; if yer don’t give me a civ’l answer, dog scotch me if I don’t give yer pineapple soup for supper.”
By pineapple soup Somers understood him to mean a minie ball, deducing this conclusion from the resemblance of this messenger of death to the fruit mentioned. The rebel seemed suddenly to have changed his humor, and the captive found that it was not safe to give indirect answers; so he told who and what he was in full, without any equivocation.
“Can you tell me what became of the owner of that horse?” said Somers, pointing to the animal, led by one of the rebels; but he did not venture to put the question to Turkin.
“May be I can; but may be I won’t,” replied the man, in surly tones.
“Was he killed?”
“If he was, he was; if he wasn’t, he wasn’t.”
Somers could obtain no information on this subject and he feared the worst.