l Yankees?"
But this, I think, is only a joke at Jim's expense. Nevertheless, he
was a good solider, of the harmless kind, and a good, jolly fellow
withal, taking it as a pleasure to do a friend a kindness.

As I have said, however, Jim was a great boaster and blusterer,
glorying in the marvelous and dangerous. Had he lived in the heroic
age, I have no doubt he would have regaled the ears of his listeners
with blood curdling stories of his battles with giants, his fights
with dragons and winged serpents. He claimed to possess a charm. He
wore an amulet around his neck to protect him against the "bullets of
lead, of copper, or of brass" of his enemies, through which, he said,
nothing could penetrate but the mystic "balls of silver," the same
with which "witch rabbits" are killed. He would fill his pockets,
after battle, with spent and battered bullets, and exhibit them as
specimens of his art in the catching of bullets on "the fly."

He professed to be a very dangerous and blood-thirsty individual, but
his comrades only laughed at his idiosyncrasies, knowing him as they
did as being one of the best and most harmless soldiers in the army.
He often boasted, "No Yankee will ever kill me, but our own men will,"
his companions little dreaming how prophetic his words would prove.

One night while Jim, in company with some companions, were on a
"foraging expedition," they came to a farm house on Missionary Ridge
and ordered supper. A cavalryman was there, also, waiting to be
served. A negro servant attending to the table gave some real or
imaginary affront, and the soldiers, in a spirit of jest, pretended
as if they were going to take the negro out and flog him. Now Jim, as
well as the cavalryman, thought the midnight revelers were in earnest,
and Jim was in high glee at the prospect of a little adventure. But
nothing was further from the thoughts of the soldiers than doing harm
to the negro. When they had him in the yard the cavalryman came on the
porch, and in an authoritative manner, ordered the negro turned loose.

This was a time Jim thought that he could get in some of his bullying,
so going up on the steps where the cavalryman stood, jesticulating
with his finger, said, "When we get through with the negro we will
give you some of the same."

In an instant the strange soldier's pistol was whipped out--a flash,
a report, and Jim George fell dead at his feet, a victim to his own
swagger and an innocent jest of his comp