God
is just, and that his justice cannot sleep forever_!" I had some
reputation as an elocutionist in those days, and Sergeant Reed, who was
listening with open mouth, broke in with, "I'll be hanged, Colonel, if
you warn't cut out for a preacher! By-- I should like to hear you
preach." The best reply I could make was: "You'll undoubtedly be hanged
sometime; and if I were a minister, nothing would give me more
satisfaction than to be present at your execution and preach your
funeral sermon." He replied: "Now, Colonel, you don't mean that. You
don't think I'll ever be hanged!"--"Indeed I do, if you don't stop your
profanity and general cussedness."--"I'll be hanged, if I will," was his
last word to me.

CHAPTER III

At Staunton--Thence to Waynesboro, Meacham's, and Richmond.

At Staunton we got a little more light on the value of Confederate
paper. A chivalrous surgeon who accompanied the provost guard
(Fontleroy, I think, was his name[4]) politely invited Captain Dickerman
of the 26th Massachusetts and myself to take breakfast with him in a
restaurant. We needed no urging. The Provost Marshal gave consent. The
saloon was kept by a negro named Jackson. His entire stock of provisions
consisted of nine eggs, the toughest kind of neck beef, bread and salt,
coffee very weak, butter very strong. As we sat waiting, the doctor
remarked with a lordly air that under ordinary circumstances he would
not deign to eat with Yankees. I answered good-naturedly: "I'm as much
ashamed as you can be; and if _you'll_ never tell of it, _I_ won't!" The
food, notwithstanding its toughness, rapidly disappeared. Near the last
mouthful the doctor said: "You two will have to pay for this breakfast,
for I've no money." I had fifteen Confederate dollars remaining of
twenty which I had received for a five-dollar greenback at Tom's Brook,
and I answered: "Give yourself no anxiety; I'll foot the bill."--"Well,
Jackson," said I to the sable proprietor, "what's the damage?" He
replied, "I shan't charge you-ones full price. Let's see! Beef, seven;
eggs, two--nine; coffee, three--twelve; bread and butter,
three--fifteen; three of you--forty-five. I'll call it only thirty-six
dollars!" I paid my fifteen; Captain Dickerman pleaded poverty; and the
dignified doctor, who had so cordially invited us to partake of his
hospitality, promised the disappointed Jackson that he would pay the
balance at some future day ("the futurest kind of a day," was adde