Down by the water men were sorting out and piling up their household effects, which had been carelessly dumped upon the shore.  But others not so engaged were gathered in little groups around camp-fires, either discussing their present prospects, or relating their experiences on the vessels, and their hardships during and after the war.  To some of these tales Dane listened with wide-eyed wonder, and a burning indignation in his heart.  What stories he would have to tell when he went back to his woodland home.

All that he heard, however, was not of a sad or gloomy nature.  These sturdy men enjoyed humorous yarns, and as Dane listened to several, he joined in the laughter that ensued.  One, especially, appealed to him.  It was told by a big strapping fellow, who hitherto had taken little part in the talk.

“Your yarns can’t equal that of the shoemaker of Richmond, Virginia” he began.  “When the rebels were passing through the town he stood in the door of his house and cried out ‘Hurrah for King George.’  He followed the soldiers to a wood, where they had halted, and began again to hurrah for King George.  When the commanding officer and his aides had mounted and were moving on, the shoemaker followed, still hurrahing for King George.  The officer, therefore, ordered that he should be taken to the river and ducked.  This was done, and he was plunged several times under the water.  But whenever his head appeared above the surface he would shout for King George.  He was then taken to his own house, where his wife and four daughters were crying and beseeching him to hold his tongue.  The top of a barrel of tar was knocked off, and the man was plunged in headlong.  He was then pulled out by the heels, and rolled in a mass of feathers, from a bed which had been taken from his own house, until he presented a strange, horrible sight.  But through it all, whenever he could get his mouth open, he would hurrah for King George.  He was then driven out of the town, and the officer warned him that he would be shot if he troubled them again.  That is the story as it was told me, and I think it a mighty good one.”

Dane longed to hear more tales of that wonderful land, and of the great fights which had taken place.  But just then a strange sound startled him.  It was the roll of a drum, followed almost immediately by the shrill notes of several fifes.  He could not see the musicians, as they were some distance away to the left.  But he knew what they were playing, for he was quite familiar with the tune and words of the old fireside song.  A sudden silence fell upon the little band around the fire.  Bronzed faces became grave, and more than one man’s eyes grew misty with honest tears.

Barely had the notes of this tune died away when the men were roused to action by the stirring strains of the National Anthem.  They sprang to their feet as one, and stood at attention.  Somewhere a strong voice took up the words, and in an instant all over that hillside hundreds of men and women were singing as they had never sung before.