"Go it, little cotton-tail, go it! I'm jest as skeered as you be, an' ef I dar'd, I'd run too."
A number of militia having given way under fire, their commanding officer called out to one of the fugitives:—
"What are you running away for, you —— —— coward? You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"I ain't runnin' away, Gin'ral! I'm just skeered! Them fellers over thar are shootin' bullets as big as watermillions! One of 'em went right peerst my head—right peerst;—an'—an' I wants to go home."
"Well, why didn't you shoot back, sir? You are crying like a baby."
"I knows it, Gin'ral—I knows it. I wish I was a baby, and a gal-baby, too, and then I wouldn't hev been cornscripted."
The regiments of Georgia, North Carolina, and Virginia could never pass each other without some chaffing challenge.
"Hello, North Car'lina," said an officer to a lanky specimen in a shabby uniform.
"Blockade on turpentine making? You all hard up? No sale for tar now?"