I was one
of the party which went into the house. There was no one there but an
old lady and her sick and widowed daughter. They invited us in very
pleasantly and kindly, and soon prepared us a very nice and good dinner.
The old lady told us of all her troubles and trials. Her husband had
died before the war, and she had three sons in the army, two of whom had
been killed, and the youngest, who had been conscripted, was taken with
the camp fever and died in the hospital at Atlanta, and she had nothing
to subsist upon, after eating up what they then had. I was much
interested, and remained a little while after my comrade had left.
I soon went out, having made up my mind to have nothing to do with the
hog affair. I did not know how to act. I was in a bad fix. I had heard
the gun fire and knew its portent. I knew the hog was dead, and went on
up the road, and soon overtook my two comrades with the hog, which had
been skinned and cut up, and was being carried on a pole between them.
I did not know what to do. On looking back I saw the old lady coming and
screaming at the top of her voice, "You got my hog! You got my hog!"
It was too late to back out now. We had the hog, and had to make the
most of it, even if we did ruin a needy and destitute family.
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