They were gathered around a campfire telling of the old times. The leading subject had been the fogs down south, says the American Tribune. After the others had tried their memory and imagination in describing dense fogs a little, nervous fellow, with a red nose and a red badge, told the following experience:
    “Well, comrades, you may talk about fog for a week and then I can tell of a little difficulty that I had with the stuff that will overtop all you ever saw or imagined. If you had never encountered these dense fogs I would not dare to tax your credulity with my story, but after your experience I believe that here I will have hearers who can comprehend truth, and I will repeat a story I once embodied in an official report and thereby lost a fine chance for promotion, and worse than that lost the name of ‘truthful George,’ which had clung to me for many years.
    We were down on the Texas coast, and, though only a sergeant, I was in command of a section of our vance upon us by the enemy, and I was sent out to the right with two companies of infantry and ordered to throw up a lunette to protect the guns and support. I staked out a redoubt and set the men to work; then went to a planter’s house in rear of position, where I took several drinks of peach and honey, and filled my canteen with the same.
    “After dark a terrible fog raised, and I ordered the men, who had finished the earthwork, to build a wall of fog back of the fort to protect us in the rear in case the enemy surrounded us. About day-light the rebs advanced, and we gave them case and canister as fast as we could load, and with terrible effect. The enemy replied with cannon and rifles. Though they were in overwhelming force, we could easily have held the position without much loss if that wall of fog had not been built in our rear. You set, the boys, having plenty of material, had built the wall about ten feet high, and every rifle ball and cannon shot that went over us struck that dense wall and rebounded, doing fearful execution. One after another the men were cut down, and I was left alone. Seizing a cartridge, I rammed it home and covered it with a double charge of canister. Just as I withdrew the rammer a ball rebounded, taking off my right arm. I sprang behind my gun, inserted a primer, and was pulling when when another shot struck me back of the neck, but as I fell dead, my hand still grasping the string, the primer exploded, fired the gun, killing so many rebels that the rest—"
    Just then Colonel Ellis fired the morning gun, the men sprang to their feet and rushed to the cook tent for coffee and hardtack, and “truthful George” did not finish his story.

From— Williston Graphic. (Williston, Williams County, N.D.). 31 Dec. 1903. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Lib. of Congress.