Mule meat beats starving.
When some Confederates first got their Whitworths, they practiced with them to develop proficiency. Their target was across a valley on another hillside and in the valley below rested the Army's mules. One bullet went a mite bit low and killed a mule. Men immediately went to carve it up but an officer stopped them. The officer probably reasoned that the Army can't have men killing mules for food. Well, those crafty Confederates snuck down there and dismembered the mule and soon many a campfires were roasting mule meat for supper.
I don't suppose Union mules taste any better than Confederate mules.
And now for today's story. This involves Irish pluck.
"Captain Jones, who, by following the more southerly route, where the Hagerstown road forks, had been able to keep his company in column, relates that in hurrying through the town he received a peremptory order to halt from a rebel field-officer riding at the head of a regiment which was rapidly approaching on an intersecting street, when Private Terence O'Connor, of his company, by a well-aimed shot, brought the officer to the ground, O'Connor coolly remarking, 'We take no orders from the likes of you!"
Vigilantibus et non dormientibus jura subveniunt. Molon Labe!