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[258] for his mess. He was also a singer, but never sang but one song, or rather the refrain of one, which was, ‘Shoo, Fly, Don't Bother Me;’ this he was humming all the time in a low voice. ‘Old Hines’ never missed a battle or shirked a fight, but he never did any fighting. When the fighting commenced he would begin to hunt for plunder all over the field. No danger daunted him, nothing came amiss in the way of clothing or camp equipage; friend and foe fared alike. Gathering up his booty he would seat himself on the ground in the most exposed situation near the battery, and calmly proceed to overhauling and mending the overcoats and other garments he had picked up, singing the while ‘Shoo, Fly, Don't Bother Me.’ The thunder of artillery and rattle of musketry were nothing to ‘Old Hines.’ Guns dismounted, caissons blown up in thirty yards of him were matters of indifference. If a shell burst very near him, ‘Old Hines’ would cock up his eye, give a vigorous shake of the head, troll out ‘Shoo, Fly, Don't Bother Me,’ and proceed to sew on a button or mend a rent place in the garment.
Richmond, VA. 1891.
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