The Forager was a good fellow.

The Forager was a good fellow. He always divided with the mess. If there was buttermilk anywhere inside of ten miles he found it. Apples he could smell from afar off. If anybody was killing pork in the county he got the spareribs. If a man had a cider cart on the road he saw him first and bought him out. No hound had a keener scent, no eagle a sharper eye. How indefatigable he was. Distance, rivers, mountains, pickets, patrols, roll calls — nothing could stop or hinder him. He never bragged about his exploits — simply brought in the spoils, laid them down and said, ‘pitch in.’ Not a word of the weary miles he had traveled, how he begged or how much he had paid — simply ‘pitch in.’

Harper’s Weekly, August 17, 1861

Southern Historical Society Papers.
Vol. I. Richmond, Virginia., February, 1876. No. 2
Camp Fires Of The Boys In Gray.

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