“'Well, sah! Massa Gen'l, 'spect it be de bes'; for afore de Laud I feels curous when you is fitin'. Somehow I doesn't jes' feel rite all de time dey is shootin'. It seems dey would kill a darky jes'as quick as dey do a white man.' “'Yes,' said the General; 'why not?' “'Well, sah, I doesn't know why; it 'pears like dey wouldn't kill the darkies when we work for dem so long. But de Sesh dey is quar folks dey is; dey fight doe, don' dey, Massa Tom?' “'Yes; they fight like other people.' “By this time they were at headquarters, and Ham got hold of his namesake and devoured it as a wild beast would have done. Ham was very serious and finally said: “'Massa Tom, I guess dey not fight any mo' berry soon, does dey?' “The General replied that he did not know. “'Well,' said Ham, 'I guess I stay wid you a while longer. You won't write home 'bout me gittin' in de bush, will you'uns?' “'No; if you wish us not to do so.' “'O, for de Laud's sake! Marfa she d neber lib wid dis darky no mo' if she know what I do. You won't tell her, Massa Tom, will you?' “'No, Ham; I will keep it a secret from her.' “'Well, den, I will try him once mo'. I 'spects I stay here nex' time. I knows I do. O, I knows de nex' time, sho.' “All right, Ham; you get around now and get our things together, and look after my “traps.”' “'Yes, massa, yes.' “Ham's conduct and explanations afforded great amusement for the boys around headquarters for some time. “Capt. Zeke Inglesby said: “Uncle Daniel, I did not know before that Gen. Stephen Lyon, who was murdered at Bethesda Springs, was your son. I know all about his murder. I belonged to his brigade. That dastardly murder was considered by all soldiers as one of the most outrageous acts and cold-blooded murders ever known in civilized warfare.” “Oh, yes. I grieved over his death very greatly, he being the second one of our dear boys murdered outright--the fourth dead since the war began. It chilled the blood of our whole family. The strangest thing to me was how Gen. Anderson, Capt. Jackson and Col. Peter could restrain themselves so as not to mention the name of his murderer, in all their conversations about his death; but, as I said, I never knew who did it until after the war. I could easily understand the reason for their not telling the name. Mary Anderson, being his sister, was never told the facts; nor my wife nor any of us at the time, the boys fearing that it might cause an unpleasant feeling even to know the fact that a near relative of one of our family could be such a barbarian. “I was kept quite close at home for some months with our family, being their only protection within call. During this time no man ever suffered more in spirit. I can see it all before me now: my poor wife's agony, the sorrowing of David's widow, Mary Anderson's trouble, the two poor little children--their questions about their Uncle Stephen, who killed him, and why? These questions I could not answer.”