hardly touch your
tumbler to the old Union. Come, it must have a full glass.' The
authority in the tone of the Captain made the old man swallow it, but as
he did so he muttered something about its being very scarce.

"'Now,' said the Captain, refilling the glasses, 'Here is The Union as
it is.'

"The old Rebel feeling his first glass a little, and they say anyway
when wine goes in the truth comes out, said in rather a low, trembling
tone,

"'Now, the fact is, gentlemen officers, some Yankees--not you! not you!
but some Yankees way up North, acted kind of bad.'

"'That's not the question,' said the Captain, 'there are bad men all
over, and lots of them in Virginia. The toast is before the house,'--the
Captain had already swallowed his--'and it must be drunk;' and the
Major's sabre struck the floor till the table shook.

"With a shudder at the sound the old man gulped it down. The glasses
were refilled and the pitcher emptied.

"'Here's to The blessed Union as it will be, after all the d----d Rebels
are either under the sod or swinging in hemp neck-ties about ten feet
above it,' the Captain shouted, waving at the same time his uplifted
glass in a way that brought a grin on George's face, and made the old
man look pale.

"'Now! now! now! gentlemen officers,' gasped the old traitor, as
if his breath was coming back by jerks, 'that is pretty hard,
considerin'--considerin' my two sons ran off 'gainst my will--'gainst
my will, gentlemen officers, understand, and jined the Rebels;' and
then, as the liquor worked up his pluck and pride, he went on, 'and old
Stonewall when he was here last, told me himself at this very table that
such soldiers the South could be proud of; and Turner Ashby told me the
same thing, and it would be agin all natur for an old man not to feel
proud of such boys, after hearing all that from such men, and now you
want me to drink such a toast. That----'

"'Yes, sir,' broke in the Captain, who had emptied his glass, 'and it
must be done.'

"'The fact is, gentlemen officers,' the liquor still working up his
pluck, 'we Southerners _had_ to fit you. You sent old Brown down to run
off our niggers, and then when we hung him, you come yourselves. Every
cussed nigger--and I had forty-three in all--has left me and ran away
but old George and two old wenches that can't run, and are good for
nothin' but to chaw corndodgers.' The whiskey now worked fast on the old
man, and making half a fist, he said, 'I