Longstreet got up from the campfire, shaking his head to rid it of his thoughts, and began to wander the campsite. He didn't know who he was looking for until he stumbled across Fremantle, clearly intoxicated and swaying on a fencepost, hiccuping and humming a song that sounded very familiar to the general.

"Oh, he-ey, Longstreet, old chap!" the Englishman gave a goofy grin, nearly toppling off the fence as he did. "Want to hear a song I made? It's from an old musical my dear mother showed me-hic-called Annie. I modified-hic-it to fit our current situation!" He took another guzzle from the nearly-empty bottle in his hands, now giggling as he tumbled off the fence and crashed onto his backside on the dirt below.

"Colonel, are you all right?" Longstreet raised an eyebrow, not only concerned for the man's physical health but for his mental sanity. He had never seen an Englishman, the almost girlish and lacey race they were, drink so much at one time. He had been led to believe that they sipped tea with their pinkies in the air, or perhaps a glass of wine after dinner. But never American liquor.

"Oh, splendid, simply-hic-splendid!" Fremantle idly waved the bottle in the air, accidentally emptying its last contents onto his chest and then peering into the bottom with a confused expression. "In any case, old chap, would you like to hear the song?"

Longstreet didn't answer, knowing that his friend would sing it anyway, and waited patiently as a thick, off-key voice trailed up to harass his ears.

"Hey, Chamberlain-hic! He-ey, Old Man! You've both got-hic-beliefs, but brother you're never fully dressed without a SLLAAAVVVEEE!" the Englishman began to wail, and Longstreet grimaced and resisted the urge to cover his ears. This Annie musical must be worse than he thought. Fremantle drunkenly started on another verse. "Your guns may be all that times three; they shoot for a-hic-mile, but brother you're never fully dressed without a SLLLLAAAVVEEE!" A chuckle burst from Longstreet's mouth, and he blinked in wonder. No wonder he liked the flowery colonel so much, loopy and singing as loudly as he was. "Who cares who they're shooting? In that there gap in the line! It's what you have tilling your fields! And not tilling mine! That ma-a-atters!"

Fremantle blinked happily, and for a moment Longstreet thought he was done. However, the general was very wrong.

"So, all you dead! So-hic-all you red!"

Fremantle stopped for a moment and muttered, "I couldn't think of a good rhyme for that one." Longstreet shrugged, and the colonel beamed and accidentally clonked himself in the head with the glass bottle, continuing his song without seeming to notice. "So long for the war! Remember you're never fully-hic-dressed, though you may kill your best! You're never fully dressed without a SLAAAAAVE! SLLAA-hic-AAAVVEEE! SLLLLAAAAVVVEEEEE!" His voice rose into a thin scream, and Longstreet grinned and clapped his hands over his ears.

Then Fremantle hiccuped a final time, settling back with the bottle over his stomach as he finished dreamily, "Slave, darn ya, slave!"

Then his head promptly fell, snoring, onto his chest.