A correspondent with the army of the Cumberland tells the following:
On the morning of our arrival at Strawberry Plains, a Captain on Gen. Sheridan’s staff descried a man dressed in a semi-military garb, common to sutlers and other army followers, riding leisurely along in a dilapidated carriage, drawn by a span of mules. The most remarkable feature about the individual in the carriage, was a Bardolphian proboscis of magnificent proportions and gorgeous colors, at once suggestive of luscious tods and invigorating cordials. The Captain, fatigued and thirsty, taking his cue from the other’s illuminated frontispiece, rode close beside him, and asked, in a confidential tone, if he couldn’t give him a “suck.” “No, sir,” was the reply; “I am not a wet nurse.” “O, but I mean a drink of whiskey; the fact is, I’m devilish dry.” “No, sir, I cannot; I never use intoxicating beverages of any description; therefore, have none.” “But,” persisted the Captain, “have you no friends or acquaintances that you could recommend me to. I’m hankering mightily after a nip.” “No, sir; I do not frequent the society of intemperate men.” “Well,” said the Captain, looking hard at him of the fiery visage and rum-blossomed nose, “perhaps we have both mistaken your calling; are you not a sutler?” “Sutler? no, sir,” returned the now exasperated occupant of the carriage. “I am a follower of the Lord Jesus Christ; the chaplain of the ____Ohio cavalry, and a ____.” The Captain stopped not to hear more, but putting spurs to his horse, left in a twinkling.
Originally posted 2008-10-14 23:35:13.