“Excuse me, seh,” he said contritely.  “I beg your pardon, seh.”

“Certainly,” said Stephen, smiling; it was my fault for getting in your way.”

“Not at all, seh,” said the cavalry Colonel; “my clumsiness, seh.”  He did not pass on, but stood pulling with some violence a very long mustache.  “Damn you Yankees,” he continued, in the same amiable tone, “you’ve brought us a heap of misfortune.  Why, seh, in another week we’d been fo’ced to eat niggers.”

The Colonel made such a wry face that Stephen laughed in spite of himself.  He had marked the man’s charitable action, and admired his attempt to cover it.  The Colonel seemed to be all breadth, like a card.  His shoulders were incredible.  The face was scant, perchance from lack of food, the nose large, with a curved rim, and the eyes blue gray.  He wore clay-flecked cavalry boots, and was six feet five if an inch, so that Stephen’s six seemed insignificant beside him.

“Captain,” he said, taking in Stephen’s rank, “so we won’t qua’l as to who’s host heah.  One thing’s suah,” he added, with a twinkle, “I’ve been heah longest.  Seems like ten yeahs since I saw the wife and children down in the Palmetto State.  I can’t offer you a dinner, seh.  We’ve eaten all the mules and rats and sugar cane in town.” (His eye seemed to interpolate that Stephen wouldn’t be there otherwise.) “But I can offer you something choicer than you have in the No’th.”

Whereupon he drew from his hip a dented silver flask.  The Colonel remarked that Stephen’s eyes fell on the coat of arms.

“Prope’ty of my grandfather, seh, of Washington’s Army.  My name is Jennison,—­Catesby Jennison, at your service, seh,” he said.  “You have the advantage of me, Captain.”

“My name is Brice,” said Stephen.

The big Colonel bowed decorously, held out a great, wide hand, and thereupon unscrewed the flask.  Now Stephen had never learned to like straight whiskey, but he took down his share without a face.  The exploit seemed to please the Colonel, who, after he likewise had done the liquor justice, screwed on the lid with ceremony, offered Stephen his arm with still greater ceremony, and they walked off down the street together.  Stephen drew from his pocket several of Judge Whipple’s cigars, to which his new friend gave unqualified praise.

On every hand Vicksburg showed signs of hard usage.  Houses with gaping chasms in their sides, others mere heaps of black ruins; great trees felled, cabins demolished, and here and there the sidewalk ploughed across from curb to fence.

“Lordy,” exclaimed the Colonel.  “Lordy I how my ears ache since your damned coehorns have stopped.  The noise got to be silence with us, seh, and yesterday I reckoned a hundred volcanoes had bust.  Tell me,” said he “when the redoubt over the Jackson road was blown up, they said a nigger came down in your lines alive.  Is that so?”

“Yes,” said Stephen, smiling; “he struck near the place where my company was stationed.  His head ached a mite.  That seemed to be all.”