"Ah was goin' to mill wid de ox-caht," Uncle Abe told me, "when de soljas dey kim 'long an' got me. Dey tol' me, 'Heah, nigga! Git out dat caht, an' walk behin'. When _it_ moves _you_ move; when _it_ stops _you_ stop!' An' like dat Ah walk all de way to Savannah [two hundred and fifty miles]. Den, after dat, dey took us 'long up No'th--me an' ma brotha Wiley, ovah deh." I asked him what regiment he went with. He said it was the Twenty-second Indiana, and that Dr. Joe Stilwell, of that regiment, who came from a place near Madison, Indiana ("Ah reckon de town was name Brownstown"), was good to him. An officer whom he knew, he said, was Captain John Snodgrass, and another Major Tom Shay. "All Ah was evvuh wo'ied about aftuh dey kim tuck me," he declared, "was gittin' somep'n t' eat. Dat kinda put me on de wonduh, sometahmes, but dey used us all right. Dr. Pegg--him dat did de practice on de plantation befo' de Wah--he tol' de niggas dat de Yankees would put gags in deh moufs an' lead 'em eroun' like dey wuz cattle. But deh wa' n't like dat nohow. I b'longed to de Secon' Division, Thuhd B'gade, Fou'teenth Co' [corps]. Cap'n Snodgrass, he got to be lieutenant-cuhnel. He was de highes' man Ah evuh hel' any convuhsation wid, but I _saw_ all de gennuls of dat ahmy." Uncle Wiley is older than Uncle Abe. He was already a grown man with three children when taken away by some of Sherman's men. He told me he was with the Fifty-second Ohio, and mentioned Captain Shepard. The two brothers got as far as Washington, D.C. "We got los' togedduh in de U.S. buildin' in dat city," said Uncle Wiley. "De President of de U.S. right at dat tahme he was daid. He was kill', Ah don' s'pose it wuz a week befo' we got to Wash'n, D.C." "How did you happen to come all the way back?" I asked. "Well-l," ruminated the old man, "home was always a-restin' on mah min'. Ah kep' thinkin' 'bout home. So aftuh de Wah ceasted Ah jus' kim 'long back." Many of the old plantation customs still survive. A little before noon the bell is rung to summon the hands from the cotton fields. Over the red plowed soil you hear a darky cry, a melodious "Oh-_oh_-oh!" as wild and musical as the cries of the south-Italian olive gatherers. The planters cease their work, mules stand still, traces are unhooked from singletrees, and chain-ends thrown over the mules' backs; then the men mount the animals and ride in to the midday meal, the women trudging after. Those who rent land, or work on shares, go to their own cabins, while those employed by the hour or by the day (the rate of pay is ten cents an hour or seventy-five cents a day) come to the kitchen to be fed. Nor is it customary to stop there at feeding negroes. As in the old days, any negro who has come upon an errand or who has "stopped by" to sell supplies, or for whatever purpose, expects to stay for "dinner," and makes it a point to arrive about noon. Thus from sixteen to twenty negroes are fed daily at the Burge plantation house.