“I’ve come down to do what I can, General,” responded Mr. Brinsmade, gravely.  “I want to go through all the hospitals to see that our nurses are doing their duty and that the stores are properly distributed.”

“You shall, sir, this minute,” said the General.  He dropped instantly the affairs which he had on hand, and without waiting for dinner the two gentlemen went together through the wards where the fever raged.  The General surprised his visitor by recognizing private after private in the cots, and he always had a brief word of cheer to brighten their faces, to make them follow him with wistful eyes as he passed beyond them.  “That’s poor Craig,” he would say, “corporal, Third Michigan.  They tell me he can’t live,” and “That’s Olcott, Eleventh Indiana.  Good God!” cried the General, when they were out in the air again, “how I wish some of these cotton traders could get a taste of this fever.  They keep well—­the vultures—­And by the way, Brinsmade, the man who gave me no peace at all at Memphis was from your city.  Why, I had to keep a whole corps on duty to watch him.”

“What was his name, sir?” Mr. Brinsmade asked.

“Hopper!” cried the General, with feeling.  “Eliphalet Hopper.  As long as I live I shall never forget it.  How the devil did he get a permit?  What are they about at Washington?”

“You surprise me,” said Mr. Brinsmade.  “He has always seemed inoffensive, and I believe he is a prominent member of one of our churches.”

“I guess that’s so,” answered the General, dryly.  “I ever I set eyes on him again, he’s clapped into the guardhouse.  He knows it, too.”

“Speaking of St. Louis, General,” said Mr. Brinsmade, presently, “have you ever heard of Stephen Brice? joined your army last autumn.  You may remember talking to him one evening at my house.”

“He’s one of my boys!” cried the General.  “Remember him?  Guess I do!” He paused on the very brink of relating again the incident at Camp Jackson, when Stephen had saved the life of Mr. Brinsmade’s own son.  “Brinsmade, for three days I’ve had it on my mind to send for that boy.  I’ll have him at headquarters now.  I like him,” cried General Sherman, with tone and gesture there was no mistaking.  And good Mr. Brinsmade, who liked Stephen, too, rejoiced at the story he would have to tell the widow.  “He has spirit, Brinsmade.  I told him to let me know when he was ready to go to war.  No such thing.  He never came near me.  The first thing I hear of him is that he’s digging holes in the clay of Chickasaw Bluff, and his cap is fanned off by the blast of a Parrott six feet above his head.  Next thing he turns up on that little expedition we took to get Porter to sea again.  When we got to the gunboats, there was Brice’s company on the flank.  He handled those men surprisingly, sir—­surprisingly.  I shouldn’t have blamed the boy if one or two Rebs got by him.  But no, he swept the place clean.”  By this time they had come back to the bridge leading to headquarters, and the General beckoned quickly to an orderly.