“Silence, men!” interposed Tom, sternly, for he could not permit his boys to make fun of the wretchedness of any human being.
“We’ll sell you out for paper stock,” said Ben Lethbridge, who had just returned from three months’ service in the Rip-Raps for desertion.
“Shut up, Ben!” added Tom.
“Dry up, all of you!” said Corporal Snyder.
“Who and what are you?” asked Tom, of the deserter.
“I’m a Union man!” replied the stranger with emphasis; “and I didn’t expect to be treated in this way after all I’ve suffered.”
“They thought you were a rebel. You wear the colors of the rebel army,” answered the sergeant, willing to explain the rudeness of his men.
“Well, I suppose I do look rather the worse for the wear,” added the grayback, glancing down at the tattered uniform he wore. “I joined the rebel army, after I had tried every way in the world to get out of this infernal country; but I never fired a gun at a Union man. Seems to me, sergeant, I’ve seen you before somewhere. What’s your name? Where did you come from?”
“Pinchbrook, Massachusetts; and most of us hail from the same place.”
“Creation!” exclaimed the deserter. “You don’t say so!”