, I almost felt as though it would be better to lose
the horse and be captured, then to put a bullet through the gray head of
that beautiful old man. How I wished that he was a young fellow, and
had a gun, and had it pointed at me. Then I could kill him and feel as
though it was self-defense. But the rebels were yelling and firing over
the hill, and my regiment was going the other way on important business,
and it was a question with me whether I should kill the old man, and see
his life-blood ebb out there in front of his children, or be captured,
and perhaps shot for burning buildings. I decided that it was my duty
to murder him, and get my horse. So I rested my revolver across my left
forearm, and took deliberate aim at his left eye, a beautiful, large,
expressive gray eye, so much like my father's at home that I almost
imagined I was about to kill the father who loved me. I heard, a scream
on the gallery, and the blonde girl fainted in the arms of her brunette
sister. The sister said to me, "Please don't kill my father." He was not
ten feet from me, and I said, "Drop the horse or you die." The old
man trembled, the girl said: "Pa, give the man his horse," the old man
dropped the bridle and walked towards the house. I mounted the horse and
rode off towards the direction my regiment had taken, thanking heaven
that the girl had spoken just in time, and that I had not been compelled
to put a bullet through that noble-looking gray head. The face haunted me
all the way, as I rode along to catch my regiment, and when I overtook
it, and rode up to the colonel, and asked him what in thunder he wanted
to go off and leave me to fight the whole southern Confederacy for,
he said, "O, get out! There were no rebels there. That was the Indiana
regiment that started out day before yesterday, to get on the other side
of the town. The fellows were shooting some cattle for food. What makes
you look-so pale?" I was thinking of whether a man ever prospered who
killed old people.

CHAPTER VIII.

Three Days Without Food!--The Value of Hard Tack--A Silver
Watch for a Pint of Meal--I Steal Corn from a Hungry Mule--
The Delirium of Hunger--I Dine on Mule--I Capture a Rebel
Ram.

After overtaking my regiment, and enjoying a feeling of safety which
I did not feel in the presence of that violent old man who laid savage
hands on my horse, and the girls, I began to reflect. Of course the old
man was not armed, and I wa