ufferings, simply doing what he asked of them, and
that, for the most part, with reluctance.

I got him in the wagon, and, with a guard to accompany me, took him to
the doctor, who gave him medicine and got a neighboring farmer to take
him into his house.

The sick man stuck to his carpet-sack throughout the trip, and, when he
was taken to the house, he had his money with him. After he was put to
bed, he pointed to his bank and told me to help myself, seeming to be
very grateful for what I had done. Of course, I could not take money for
any such service, and he would not have offered it had I not been a
prisoner and in a position where the possession of money might avoid
much hardship. He told the doctor that he would have died if it had not
been for that d----d Yankee, and that he was very glad he had kept his
promise by not killing us. He dwelt on the idea that, being a
Marylander, I should not have forgotten myself so far as to be found on
the wrong side.

We saw no more of the captain, but learned from the doctor that he was
improving and would be all right as soon as the effects of the
"pine-top" whiskey had been neutralized.

We were delayed for several days, and I got permission to go where I
pleased, on the promise that I would not run away.

There was something inviting about the house near our camp, the home of
the man named Floyd, whose hog our leader had killed, and one day
Captain Fee and I went up to see if we could get some buttermilk. Our
personal appearance was not prepossessing, as the entire apparel of each
consisted of an old hat, a shirt which was much the worse for wear, a
ragged pair of trousers and a well-worn pair of shoes. We had dressed up
as well as we could, by washing our faces and hands, before starting
for the house, but a modern tramp would have disdained our society, and
the young girl who came to the door of the house in response to my knock
was inclined to shut the door in our faces. We soon convinced her that
we were harmless, and she then invited us to take our seats on the back
porch in company with a crippled Confederate soldier, Mrs. Floyd and
herself. We spent about half an hour in pleasant conversation, when we
made known our errand.

Mrs. Floyd promptly offered to fill our canteens with buttermilk,
requesting us to enter the parlor in the meantime and talk to her
husband, who was confined to the room by sickness. This we did gladly,
and found that Mr. Floyd had been a v