`We were going to give you
a big funeral, Captain,' said one old fellow; `they've got you
while you are living, but we claim you when you are dead.
We ain't going to let 'em have you then. We're going to put you to sleep
in old Virginia.'
"The old fellow was much affected, and made them a little speech.
He introduced us to them all. He said: `Gentlemen, these are my boys,
my neighbors and family;' and then, `Boys, these are my friends;
I don't know all their names yet, but they are my friends.'
And we were. He rushed off to send a telegram to his wife in New Orleans,
because, as he said afterwards, she, too, might get hold of the report
that he had been killed; and a Christmas message would set her up, anyhow.
She'd be a little low down at his not getting there, he said,
as he had never missed a Christmas-day at home since '64.
"When dinner-time came he was invited in by pretty nearly everyone in the car,
but he declined; he said he had to attend to a matter.
I was going in with a party, but I thought the old fellow would be lonely,
so I waited and insisted on his dining with me. I found that it had
occurred to him that a bowl of eggnogg would make it seem more like Christmas,
and he had telegraphed ahead to a friend at a little place
to have `the materials' ready.
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