my brother, Dave
Watkins, Uncle Asa Freeman, and J. E. Dixon, all of whom were in
Wheeler's cavalry, at some other point--I knew not where. After getting
my money, I found that I had $133.33 1/3. I could not rest. I took one
hundred dollars, new issue, and going by my lone self back to the old
lady's house, I said, "Madam, some soldiers were here a short time ago,
and took your hog. I was one of that party, and I wish to pay you for
it. What was it worth?" "Well, sir," says she, "money is of no value to
me; I cannot get any article that I wish; I would much rather have the
hog." Says I, "Madam, that is an impossibility; your hog is dead and eat
up, and I have come to pay you for it." The old lady's eyes filled with
tears. She said that she was perfectly willing to give the soldiers
everything she had, and if she thought it had done us any good, she would
not charge anything for it.

"Well," says I, "Madam, here is a hundred dollar, new issue, Confederate
bill. Will this pay you for your hog?" "Well, sir," she says, drawing
herself up to her full height, her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashing,
"I do not want your money. I would feel that it was blood money."
I saw that there was no further use to offer it to her. I sat down by
the fire and the conversation turned upon other subjects.

I helped the old lady catch a chicken (an old hen--about the last she had)
for dinner, went with her in the garden and pulled a bunch of eschalots,
brought two buckets of water, and cut and brought enough wood to last
several days.

After awhile, she invited me to dinner, and after dinner I sat down by
her side, took her old hand in mine, and told her the whole affair of the
hog, from beginning to end; how sorry I was, and how I did not eat any
of that hog; and asked her as a special act of kindness and favor to me,
to take the hundred dollars; that I felt bad about it, and if she would
take it, it would ease my conscience. I laid the money on the table and
left. I have never in my life made a raid upon anybody else.

TARGET SHOOTING

By some hook, or crook, or blockade running, or smuggling, or Mason and
Slidell, or Raphael Semmes, or something of the sort, the Confederate
States government had come in possession of a small number of Whitworth
guns, the finest long range guns in the world, and a monopoly by the
English government. They were to be given to the best shots in the army.
One day Captain Joe P. Lee and