"I was assistant provost marshal at the military prison at Point Lookout in the years 1863 and 1864, and I recall an amusing character who was brought into the prison with a large number of other prisoners who had been captured at Chancellorsville. I think his name was Patrick Sullivan, a red-haired freckled faced Irishman, clad in butternut homespun; and every available square inch of coat, vest, pants and hat was decorated by military buttons of all kinds and sizes. I asked the prisoner why this superfluity of decorations? and he answered with a drawl as he squinted his left eye; "Wall mister, I reckin ye haint hearn tell how thrivin the cussed Yankees used to be down South twell we un's got to thinnin em out sorter; they come down thar pine blank in gangs, like skeeters in the Savanny mashes, twell weun's run afoul of em like a passel of turkeys chasing hopper grasses in the clover patches; and bless your soul honey the captain lowed that every dead Yankee would fetch a gold dollar at pay day, arter we had licked old Lincum; and I've got just nineteen hundred and seventy-six ginerals and kurnels and captains and privates in the rear rank to my credic at settlin day. That thar button up thar in the tip end of my hat was a Major, that was skeddadlin to the rare arter weun's was plumb licked at Bull Run; and that thar button on the tother end of the hat was the fust giniral I kilt at Seben Pines; and bless your soul honey, killing ginerals and majors after that won't no more than shooting bull-bats down in Georgy; and as to captains and leftenants, I just flung them in with the foot cavalry sorter pomiscuous." "Sad to say," the judge continued, "the poor fellow died in prison. We buried him with all his generals and foot cavalry where the Potomac sings its threnody by night and by day." The narrative with the amusing grimaces of the judge interested Alice, and she laughed until tears came into her eyes. She became serious again however, and asked her guest if he really participated in the battle of Manassas.