“Take hold of the barrel with me and I'll show you.” The sutler was surprised to find a faucet in the rear end of the barrel as well as in the front end from which he had been drawing.

“Somebody tapped this barrel from the outside,” he exclaimed.

“Yes, and retailed your liquor at twenty-five cents a drink while you asked fifty. It's no wonder they drew all the customers,” said the clerk.

“There's but a little whiskey left in the barrel—not more'n a gallon. Don't sell another drop for less than two dollars a glass.”

A Down East Yankee had made the discovery that the sutler's whiskey barrel was so placed that one end of it, as it was resting on boxes, touched the canvas. He went around behind the tent, cut a hole through the canvas, and after borrowing a brace and bit from an extra-duty man in the quartermaster's department and a faucet from another comrade in the commissary department.

Union men, enlisted to put down the rebellion, had a way of thinking for themselves, and of making observations of what transpired around them, that was exasperatingly fatal to the regular red-tape idea that a soldier was a machine and nothing more. When it became necessary to perform daring deeds in the very jaws of death, the intelligent Yankee volunteers were capable of understanding, he tapped the sutler's whiskey barrel and did a thriving business, the enterprise being advertised by word of mouth through the camp.

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It never failed to be noised about that something was in the wind several days before the receipt of orders for any movement of importance. The great multitudes of citizens who bore arms under the flag of the that sacrifice was demanded. And they made it, bravely and without complaint.