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 generals, themselves, dealt it out-mixed with gunpowder — to every man in the ranks. The regulations concerning it were rigidly enforced in all the divisions except Hardee's. That general — to whose corps Bible belonged — who has, notoriously, a weakness for “spirits” and negro women, winked at the indulgence of his men in those luxuries, when it did not interfere with their strict observance of “Hardee's tactics.” Knowing his proclivities Bible, one evening just after sunset, took a tin “jug” under his arm, and sauntered past the general's tent. “I say,” shouted Hardee, catching sight of the long form of the scout, “where are you going with that big canteen?” “Ter git some bust-head, giniral. Ye knows we karn't live wuthout thet,” replied Bible, with affected simplicity. “Perhaps you karn't: don't you know it's against regulations. I'll string you up, and give you fifty.” “ Oh, no! ye woan't do thet, I knows, giniral, fur ye's a feller feelina for we pore sogers,” said Bible. “We karn't live wuthout a leetle ruin; wuthout a leetle, nohow, giniral!” “Where do you expect to get it?” asked the general. “Ter Squire Pursley's,” said the scout, naming a planter living a few miles outside of the lines. “He's got some on the tallest old rye ye uver seed. I knows him. Ana he's the biggest brandy, too, an~ the purtiest nigger gal (rolling his tongue in his mouth and smacking his lips) thar is anywhar round. She's whiter'n ye is, giniral, ana the snuggest piece uv house furnitura as uver wus grow'd.”
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