and the graceful, self-possessed pose of limbs and body would have told the observer that he was one of those “Old Reliables” with whom Sherman and Grant had already subdued a third of the Confederacy.  His blanket, which, for a wonder, the Rebels had neglected to take from him, was tightly rolled, its ends tied together, and thrown over his shoulder scarf-fashion.  His pantaloons were tucked inside his stocking tops, that were pulled up as far as possible, and tied tightly around his ankle with a string.  A none-too-clean haversack, containing the inevitable sooty quart cup, and even blacker half-canteen, waft slung easily from the shoulder opposite to that on which the blanket rested.  Hand him his faithful Springfield rifle, put three days’ rations in his haversack, and forty rounds in his cartridge bog, and he would be ready, without an instant’s demur or question, to march to the ends of the earth, and fight anything that crossed his path.  He was a type of the honest, honorable, self respecting American boy, who, as a soldier, the world has not equaled in the sixty centuries that war has been a profession.  I suggested to him that he was rather a youngster to be wearing veteran chevrons.  “Yes,” said he, “I am not so old as some of the rest of the boys, but I have seen about as much service and been in the business about as long as any of them.  They call me ‘Old Dad,’ I suppose because I was the youngest boy in the Regiment, when we first entered the service, though our whole Company, officers and all, were only a lot of boys, and the Regiment to day, what’s left of ’em, are about as young a lot of officers and men as there are in the service.  Why, our old Colonel ain’t only twenty-four years old now, and he has been in command ever since we went into Vicksburg.  I have heard it said by our boys that since we veteranized the whole Regiment, officers, and men, average less than twenty-four years old.  But they are gray-hounds to march and stayers in a fight, you bet.  Why, the rest of the troops over in West Tennessee used to call our Brigade ‘Leggett’s Cavalry,’ for they always had us chasing Old Forrest, and we kept him skedaddling, too, pretty lively.  But I tell you we did get into a red hot scrimmage on the 22d.  It just laid over Champion Hills, or any of the big fights around Vicksburg, and they were lively enough to amuse any one.”

“So you were in the affair on the 22d, were you!  We are awful anxious to hear all about it.  Come over here to my quarters and tell us all you know.  All we know is that there has been a big fight, with McPherson killed, and a heavy loss of life besides, and the Rebels claim a great victory.”