Towards sunset of the third day, when the young gentlemen thought they ought to be near the town of Magnolia, near which they had been directed to find the engineers’ camp, they descried a log house and drew up before it to enquire the way.  Half the building was store, and half was dwelling house.  At the door of the latter stood a regress with a bright turban on her head, to whom Philip called,

“Can you tell me, auntie, how far it is to the town of Magnolia?”

“Why, bress you chile,” laughed the woman, “you’s dere now.”

It was true.  This log horse was the compactly built town, and all creation was its suburbs.  The engineers’ camp was only two or three miles distant.

“You’s boun’ to find it,” directed auntie, “if you don’t keah nuffin ‘bout de road, and go fo’ de sun-down.”

A brisk gallop brought the riders in sight of the twinkling light of the camp, just as the stars came out.  It lay in a little hollow, where a small stream ran through a sparse grove of young white oaks.  A half dozen tents were pitched under the trees, horses and oxen were corraled at a little distance, and a group of men sat on camp stools or lay on blankets about a bright fire.  The twang of a banjo became audible as they drew nearer, and they saw a couple of negroes, from some neighboring plantation, “breaking down” a juba in approved style, amid the “hi, hi’s” of the spectators.

Mr. Jeff Thompson, for it was the camp of this redoubtable engineer, gave the travelers a hearty welcome, offered them ground room in his own tent, ordered supper, and set out a small jug, a drop from which he declared necessary on account of the chill of the evening.

“I never saw an Eastern man,” said Jeff, “who knew how to drink from a jug with one hand.  It’s as easy as lying.  So.”  He grasped the handle with the right hand, threw the jug back upon his arm, and applied his lips to the nozzle.  It was an act as graceful as it was simple.  “Besides,” said Mr. Thompson, setting it down, “it puts every man on his honor as to quantity.”

Early to turn in was the rule of the camp, and by nine o’clock everybody was under his blanket, except Jeff himself, who worked awhile at his table over his field-book, and then arose, stepped outside the tent door and sang, in a strong and not unmelodious tenor, the Star Spangled Banner from beginning to end.  It proved to be his nightly practice to let off the unexpended seam of his conversational powers, in the words of this stirring song.

It was a long time before Philip got to sleep.  He saw the fire light, he saw the clear stars through the tree-tops, he heard the gurgle of the stream, the stamp of the horses, the occasional barking of the dog which followed the cook’s wagon, the hooting of an owl; and when these failed he saw Jeff, standing on a battlement, mid the rocket’s red glare, and heard him sing, “Oh, say, can you see?”, It was the first time he had ever slept on the ground.