“I did not know you were so rich,” said Dr. Frost; “now what do you want to do with all that?”

“I want a suit of old clothes,” I said.

“Why old?”

“Because I shall soon be compelled to throw it away.”

“Not at all,” said he; “you can pack it up and leave it; if we march, it will be taken care of.  Get some cheap, cool, summer stuff; I know what to do.  How you held on to that silver so long is a mystery.”

The doctor wrote a note to somebody in Richmond, and before the Bellots came in the late afternoon I was prepared for them.  The elder Bellot had already seen me, but in my civilian’s garb he did not seem to recognize me.  The younger Bellot was a handsome man, fully six feet, with a slight stoop; I never saw more kindly eyes or a better face; he, too, wore a full beard.  His name was Louis, yet his brother called him Joe.  I took a liking to both Dave and Joe.

The talk was almost entirely about the war.  I learned that the regiment was the first ever formed in the South.  It had been a State regiment before the Confederate States had existed—­that is to say, it had been organized by South Carolina alone, before any other State had seceded; it had seen service on the islands near Charleston.

A great deal of the talk was worse than Greek to me.  Dave Bellot, especially, gave me credit for knowing a thousand things of which I was utterly ignorant, and I was on thorns all the time.

“Yes,” says he; “you know all about Charleston, I reckon.”

“No,” I said; “I know very little about it.  I’ve been there, but I am not familiar with the city.”

“Well, you know Sullivan’s Island and Fort Moultrie.”

Now, by some odd chance, I did remember the name of Moultrie, and I nodded assent.

“Well,” said he, “the First, or part of it, went under the guns of Sumter on the morning of January ninth, just an hour after the Cadets had fired on the Star of the West; we thought Sumter would sink us, but she didn’t say a word.”

I was silent, through fear of self-betrayal.  Why it was that these men had not asked me about my home, was puzzling me.  Momentarily I expected either of them to blurt out, “Where are you from?” and I had no answer ready.  Afterward I learned that I was already known as an Aiken man, in default of better,—­the doctor having considerately relieved me from anticipated danger.

“After the bombardment, the First was transferred to the Confederate service.  It had enlisted for six months, and its time expired in June.  It was in Virginia then.  It was paid up and discharged, and at once reorganized under the same field-officers.”

I did not very well know what a field-officer is.

“Who is the colonel?” I asked.

“Colonel Hamilton,” said he; “or Old Headquarters, as I called him once in his own hearing.  We were at Suffolk in winter quarters, and it was the day for general inspection of the camp.  We had scoured our tin plates and had made up our bunks and washed up generally, and every man was ready; but we got tired of waiting.  I had my back to the door, and I said to Josey, ’Sergeant, I wonder when Old Headquarters will be here.’  You never were so scared in your life as I was when I heard a loud voice at the door say, ‘Headquarters are here now, sir!’ and the colonel walked in.”