I had seen men shot, and whipped, and shaved, and branded at Corinth and Tupelo, and one poor fellow named Wright shot at Shelbyville.

They had all been horrid scenes to me, but they were Rebels, and like begets like.

I did not know when it would be my time to be placed in the same position, you see, and "a fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind." I did not know what was in store in the future for me.
Ah, there was the rub, don't you see.

This shooting business wasn't a pleasant thing to think about.

But Yankees--that was different.