rnishing pickets for the river bank. They were camped just back
of our winter quarters. Those fellows seemed to be very specially strong
in their yearning for vegetable diet, so much so that they attracted
our attention. Every day we would see long lines of those men passing
through our camp. They would walk along, one behind another, in almost
unending procession, silent and lonesome, never saying a word and never
two walking together--and all of them meandered along intent on one
thing--getting down to the flats below "to get some sprouts" as they
would say when asked where they were going.

Later on, we would see them in the same solemn procession coming back to
camp--every man with a bunch of something green in his fist.

This daily spectacle of Tar Heels swarming through our camp interested
us; we watched them mooning along. We tried to talk with them, but all
we got from them was, "We'uns is going to git some sprouts. Don't
you'uns love sprouts?"

We did, but we didn't go after them in such a solemn manner. Our
"sprout" hunts were not so funereal a function; rather more jovial, and
much more sociable. Also this devotion to the search for the herb of the
field excited our curiosity. They were all the time craving green stuff,
and going after it so constantly. We had a story going around which was
supposed to explain the craving of a Tar Heel's insides for greens.

This was the story:

One of these men got into the hospital. He had something the matter with
his liver. The doctor tried his best to find out what was the matter,
and tried all sorts of remedies--no results. At last, in desperation,
the doctor decided to try heroic treatment. He cut the fellow open, took
out his liver, fixed it up all right (whatever that consisted in),
washed it off and hung it on a bush to dry, preparatory to putting it
back in place. A dog stole the liver, and carried it off. Here was a bad
state of things--the soldier's liver gone, the doctor was responsible.
The doctor was up against it. He thought much, and anxiously. At last a
bright idea struck him. He sent off, got a sheep, killed it, took out
its liver, got it ready, and sewed it up in that soldier in place of his
own. The man got well, and about his duties again. One day, soon after,
the doctor met him and said with much friendly interest, "Well, Jim, how
are you?"

"Oh, doctor," he replied in a very cheerful tone, "I'm well and strong
again."

The doctor looked at him