“Well, for my part, one o' them days was enough to p'ison six months o' sunshine. I declare, I believe I'll feel mildewed for the rest of my life. I know if I pulled off my clothes you could scrape the green mold off my back.” “And I'm sure that if we'd had the whole army to pick from, we couldn't've got in with a better lot of boys and officers. Every one of them's true blue, and a MAN all the way through. It's the best regiment in the army, and our company's the best company in the regiment, and I flatter myself the company hasn't got two other as good men as we are.” “Your modesty'll ruin you yet, Kent,” said Abe, sardonically. “It's very painful to see a man going 'round unerrating himself as you do. If I could only get you to have a proper opinion of yourself--that is, believe that you are a bigger man than General Scott or George B. McClellan, I'd have some hopes of you.” “We'll have one grand, big battle with the Secessionists now, pretty soon--everything's getting ripe for it--and we'll whip them like Wellington whipped Napoleon at Waterloo. Our regiment will cover itself with glory, in which you and I will have a big share. Then we'll march back to Sardis with flags flying and drums beating, everybody turning out, and the bands playing 'See, the Conquering Hero Comes,' when you and I come down the street, and we'll be heroes for the rest of our natural lives.” “Go ahead, and tell the rest of it to the mash-tubs and the still. I've heard as much as I can stand, an I must have a breath of fresh air. I'm going into the other cabin to see what's there.” Kent followed him to the door, with the jug in his hand. “Kent, there's a man coming down the path there,” said Abe, pulling himself together, after the manner of a half-drunken man whose attention is powerfully distracted. “Where?” asked Kent, setting the jug down with solicitous gentleness, and reaching back for his musket. “There, by that big chestnut. Can't you see him? or have you got so much whisky in you, that you can't see anything? He's in Rebel clothes, and he's got a gun. I'm going to shoot him.” “Maybe he's one of these loyal Kentuckians. Hold on a minute, till you are sure,” said Kent, half cocking his own gun. “The last words of General Washington were 'Never trust a nigger with a gun.' A man with that kind o' cloze has no business carrying weapons around in this country. I'm going to shoot.” “If you shoot with your hands wobbling that way, you'll make him aas full of holes as a skimmer. That'd be cruel. Steady yourself up a little, while I talk to him. “Halt, there!” commanded Kent, with a thick tongue. “Who are you, and how many are with you?” “I'm a Union man,” said Fortner, for it was he, “an' I'm alone.” “Lay down your gun and come up here, if you are a friend,” ordered Kent.