Old Man—­“No, sah, nevah.  Ye nevah kin conquer us!  We’re the bravest people and the best fighters on airth.  Ye nevah kin whip any people that’s a fightin’ fur their liberty an’ their right; an’ ye nevah can whip the South, sah, any way.  We’ll fight ye until all the men air killed, and then the wimmen’ll fight ye, sah.”

Myself—­“Well, you may think so, or you may not.  From the way our boys are snatching the Confederacy’s real estate away, it begins to look as if you’d not have enough to fight anybody on pretty soon.  What’s the meaning of all this fortifying?”

Old Man—­“Why, don’t you know?  Our folks are fixin’ up a place foh Bill Sherman to butt his brains out gain’.”

“Bill Sherman!” we all shouted in surprise:  “Why he ain’t within two hundred miles of this place, is he?”

Old Man—­“Yes, but he is, tho’.  He thinks he’s played a sharp Yankee trick on Hood.  He found out he couldn’t lick him in a squar’ fight, nohow; he’d tried that on too often; so he just sneaked ’round behind him, and made a break for the center of the State, where he thought there was lots of good stealin’ to be done.  But we’ll show him.  We’ll soon hev him just whar we want him, an’ we’ll learn him how to go traipesin’ ‘round the country, stealin’ nigahs, burnin’ cotton, an’ runnin’ off folkses’ beef critters.  He sees now the scrape he’s got into, an’ he’s tryin’ to get to the coast, whar the gun-boats’ll help ’im out.  But he’ll nevah git thar, sah; no sah, nevah.  He’s mouty nigh the end of his rope, sah, and we’ll purty’ soon hev him jist whar you fellows air, sah.”

Myself—­“Well, if you fellows intended stopping him, why didn’t you do it up about Atlanta?  What did you let him come clear through the State, burning and stealing, as you say?  It was money in your pockets to head him off as soon as possible.”

Old Man—­“Oh, we didn’t set nothing afore him up thar except Joe Brown’s Pets, these sorry little Reserves; they’re powerful little account; no stand-up to’em at all; they’d break their necks runnin’ away ef ye so much as bust a cap near to ’em.”

Our guards, who belonged to these Reserves, instantly felt that the conversation had progressed farther than was profitable and one of them spoke up roughly: 

“See heah, old man, you must go off; I can’t hev ye talkin’ to these prisoners; hits agin my awdahs.  Go ’way now!”

The old fellow moved off, but as he did he flung this Parthian arrow: 

“When Sherman gits down deep, he’ll find somethin’ different from the little snots of Reserves he ran over up about Milledgeville; he’ll find he’s got to fight real soldiers.”

We could not help enjoying the rage of the guards, over the low estimate placed upon the fighting ability of themselves and comrades, and as they raved, around about what they would do if they were only given an opportunity to go into a line of battle against Sherman, we added fuel to the flames of their anger by confiding to each other that we always “knew that little Brats whose highest ambition was to murder a defenseless prisoner, could be nothing else than cowards end skulkers in the field.”