“Never, sir! If you will plunder my plantation I am powerless to defend myself; but I'll not help you to anything.” “Then we'll prospect on our own hook. Perhaps we can find what we want.” “I protest in the name of the sovereign rights of a Virginian.” “Uncle Sam's a bigger man than 'ole Virginny,'” replied the sergeant. We had no difficulty in finding the corn crib and the old Virginian's commissary department. A young darky “let the cat out of the bag” on his master, and we soon had our horses loaded with forage. We had struck it rich, indeed, for the plantation yielded “corn, wine and oil” in abundance. There was food for man and beast. A large number of hams, cured on the plantation, sides and sides of bacon, and a goodly store of “groceries” were among the “forage” we confiscated. But we did not strip the planter of all his provisions; enough was left to run him for several months. “I'll give you a receipt for this forage,” said the sergeant, as we were about to leave. “What would the receipt of a robber be good for?” exclaimed the old planter. “You can present it to the Government when the war's over and get pay for the forage.” “Do you want to add further insult to the injury you have done me? I scorn you and your Government. You can never whip the South, sir, never, and under no consideration would I disgrace myself by taking pay for stores used by the enemies of the Confederacy. Leave my plantation. Go back to your general and tell him that my prayer is that he and his followers will get their just deserts--that they will all be hanged.” The enraged planter walked back and forth on the piazza, and shot defiant glances at us as we rode away with our plunder. I have no doubt that he would have “bushwhacked” us if there had been an opportunity. A couple of miles south of the big plantation we came to a farmhouse on a cross road. We stopped at the well to fill our canteens, and one of the boys explored the premises to see what he could find. He came back with the report that the house was occupied by a widow with a large family of children. “There don't seem to be anything to eat on this farm,” the trooper remarked. “I'll see about it,” said the sergeant, as he rode up to the porch. “Halloo, inside there!” A middle-aged woman came out into the entry and advanced timidly toward the Yankee. “We're out after forage,” the sergeant said. “Have you any corn around here?” “We have nothing but the crap that's gro'in'. We had some provisions until a few days ago a lot of soldiers came along and took all our corn and bacon. We've got a mighty little meal and a trifle of bacon left.” “I didn't know that any of our men had been through here lately.” “They were not Yankees; they were our own soldiers. They said they were hungry, and when they begun to eat it seemed like they would never quit. They fairly ate us most out of house and home. It's mighty sorry times with us. I don't know what we'll do to get along till harvest.”