I got him in the wagon, and, with a guard to accompany me, took him to the doctor, who gave him medicine and got a neighboring farmer to take him into his house.
The sick man stuck to his carpet-sack throughout the trip, and, when he was taken to the house, he had his money with him. After he was put to bed, he pointed to his bank and told me to help myself, seeming to be very grateful for what I had done. Of course, I could not take money for any such service, and he would not have offered it had I not been a prisoner and in a position where the possession of money might avoid much hardship. He told the doctor that he would have died if it had not been for that d——d Yankee, and that he was very glad he had kept his promise by not killing us. He dwelt on the idea that, being a Marylander, I should not have forgotten myself so far as to be found on the wrong side.
We saw no more of the captain, but learned from the doctor that he was improving and would be all right as soon as the effects of the "pine-top" whiskey had been neutralized.
We were delayed for several days, and I got permission to go where I pleased, on the promise that I would not run away.
There was something inviting about the house near our camp, the home of the man named Floyd, whose hog our leader had killed, and one day Captain Fee and I went up to see if we could get some buttermilk. Our personal appearance was not prepossessing, as the entire apparel of each consisted of an old hat, a shirt which was much the worse for wear, a ragged pair of trousers and a well-worn pair of shoes. We had dressed up as well as we could, by washing our faces and hands, before starting for the house, but a modern tramp would have disdained our society, and the young girl who came to the door of the house in response to my knock was inclined to shut the door in our faces. We soon convinced her that we were harmless, and she then invited us to take our seats on the back porch in company with a crippled Confederate soldier, Mrs. Floyd and herself. We spent about half an hour in pleasant conversation, when we made known our errand.
Mrs. Floyd promptly offered to fill our canteens with buttermilk, requesting us to enter the parlor in the meantime and talk to her husband, who was confined to the room by sickness. This we did gladly, and found that Mr. Floyd had been a very sick man, but was now convalescent.
The sick man was quite glad to see us and hear what we had to say. The visit was being enjoyed very much when, looking through the open window, he saw the doctor coming, and advised us to leave the room and not let it be known that we had talked together, the doctor being a very strong Southerner and he a Union man. Accordingly, we slipped out of the back door as the doctor approached the front entrance.
The next day the wounded Confederate soldier came down to our camp with a bundle and a note from the young lady. The bundle contained a couple of shirts, and the note read as follows:
"These two shirts are from a friend, and are to be worn by the two who are the most destitute."
It is perhaps superfluous to add that I appropriated one of the garments, but the shirt was not superfluous.