looked around, and one fellow said, "Booh!" They then rode off. But that "Booh!" I was sure I was caught, but I was not.
"WHAT IS THIS REBEL DOING HERE?"
I would go up to the Yankee outpost, and if some popinjay of a tacky officer didn't come along, we would have a good time. One morning I was sitting down to eat a good breakfast with the Yankee outpost. They were cavalry, and they were mighty clever and pleasant fellows. I looked down the road toward Atlanta, and not fifty yards from the outpost, I saw a body of infantry approaching, I don’t know why I did't run. I ought to have done so, but I didn't. I staid there until this body of infantry came up. They had come to relieve the cavalry. It was a detail of negro soldiers, headed by the meanest looking white man as their Captain, I ever saw.
In very abrupt words he told the cavalry that he had come to take their place, and they were ordered to report back to their command. Happening to catch sight of me, he asked, "What is this Rebel doing here?" One of the men spoke up and tried to say something in my favor, but the more he said the more the Captain of the blacks would get mad. He started toward me two or three times. He was starting, I could see by the flush of his face, to take hold of me, anyhow, The cavalryman tried to protest, and said a few cuss words. The Captain of the blacks looks back very mad at the cavalry. Here was my opportunity, now or never. Uncle negro looked on, not seeming to care for the cavalry, Captain, or for me. I took up my gun very gently and cocked it. I had the gentleman. I had made up my mind if he advanced one step further, that he was a dead man. When he turned to look again, it was a look of surprise. His face was as red as a scalded beet, but in a moment was as white as a sheet. He was afraid to turn his head to give a command. The cavalry motioned their hands at me, as much as to say, "Run, Johnny, run." The Captain of the blacks fell
