As a rule, the more abjectly poor a Southerner was, the more readily he worked himself into a rage over the idea of "takin' away ouah niggahs." I replied in burlesque of his assumption of ownership: "What are you coming up North to burn my rolling mills and rob my comrade here's bank, and plunder my brother's store, and burn down my uncle's factories ?" No reply, to this counter thrust.

The old man passed to the third inevitable proposition: "What air you'uns puttin' ouah niggahs in the field to fight we'uns foh ?" Then the whole car-load shouted back at him at once: "What are you'uns putting blood-hounds on our trails to hunt us down, for ?" Old Man--( savagely), "Waal, ye don't think ye kin ever lick us; leastways sich fellers as ye air ?" Myself--"Well, we warmed it to you pretty lively until you caught us.
There were none of us but what were doing about as good work as any stock you fellows could turn out.

No Rebels in our neighborhood had much to brag on.

We are not a drop in the bucket, either.

There's millions more better men than we are where we came from, and they are all determined to stamp out your miserable Confederacy.