When the General invited the Fortescue girls and their friends to spend an evening in the house on the Square, it was always understood that part of the entertainment was to be a “war story,” and, on the special evening I refer to, a barrel of apples, sent from the “northern part of the State,” gave the subject. “Oh yes, Molly,” said the General to the girl, whom the old nurse now called “the eldest Miss Fortescue,” “you can put the apples out; and they’ve just made me remember I never told you about ‘Tobacco Billy,’” and as his eager auditors settled themselves comfortably about the fire, the General, with his peculiar quiet smile, began. “Just hand me down that old photograph in the little black frame; there you are--poor old Tobacco Billy!” “_Old!_” exclaimed Tom Fortescue, in surprise, for the picture was that of a plain-looking, rather gawky lad of only nineteen--a “boy in blue”--with honesty and fearlessness in every line of his homely, gentle face. “Well, I don’t say in years, perhaps,” said the General, “but in wisdom. Anyway, here’s his story. Give that coal a stir, will you. Now, then, here we are: “We were in camp, not very far from Charleston, and it was a pretty serious business with us. You see, we hadn’t the least idea what the enemy were up to. My particular friend, Captain Kard, of the Confederate army, and I were talking about it not long ago, and he said he well remembered how, on their side, they were chuckling over our perplexity. Well, I must tell you that at the extreme end of our camp we had a bridge, and it was regularly patrolled by two of the men I picked out for the purpose, and the ‘other side’ had a place beyond similarly patrolled. If any message had to be sent over, the sentries reversed their guns as a signal of truce, and word was exchanged.