Wade and I brought up the rear.
"Only look at that nigger!" muttered my kinsman of Southern blood.
"Impudent dog! I would like to crack his head with the butt of this musket! Hear how he wagged his tongue to me ?" "Well, you called him a lubber." "What of that ?" "What of that?
Why, you must expect him to talk back: that's all.

He's a free man, now, you know." "The more's the pity!" "I don't see it." "I'd like to have the handling of that nigger a while!" "No doubt.

But you might just as well get over those longings first as last," I said; for I was beginning to get sick of his foolish spirit.
"You had better forget the war, bury your old-time prejudices, and start new in the world, resolved to live and let live; to be a good fellow, and treat everybody alike and well.

That's the way we do in the North,--or ought to." Wade said not a word.

I rather pity the fellow.