I attempted appropriate laughter, and asked, “Where is Suffolk?”

“Down near Norfolk.  General Gregg was our first colonel.  He was in the Mexican war, and is a fine officer; deaf as a door-post, though.  He commands our brigade now.”

“Where did you go from Suffolk?”

“To Goldsborough.”

“Where is that?” I asked.

“North Carolina.  You remember, when Burnside took Roanoke Island it was thought that he would advance to take the Weldon and Wilmington railroad; we were sent to Goldsborough, and were brigaded with some tar-heel regiments under Anderson.  Then Anderson and the lot of us were sent to Fredericksburg.  We were not put under Gregg again until we reached Richmond.”

“How many regiments are in the brigade?”

“Five,—­the First, Twelfth, Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Orr’s Rifles.”

“All from South Carolina?”

“Yes.”

“From Fredericksburg we marched down here,” observed Joe.

“Yes,” said Dave; “and not more than a week ago.  We came very near getting into it at Hanover, where Branch got torn up so.”

“Where is Hanover?” I asked.

“About twenty miles north,” he replied, “I thought we were sure to get into that fight, but we were too late for it.”

The Bellots were very willing to give me all information.  They especially sounded the praises of their young Captain, and declared that I was fortunate in joining their company instead of some others which they could name.

Not a word was spoken concerning my prior experience.  I flattered myself with the belief that they thought me a raw recruit influenced by some acquaintanceship with Dr. Frost.

Before they left, Joe Bellot said a word privately to his brother, and then turned to me.  “By the way,” said he, “do you know anybody in the company?”

“Not a soul except Captain Haskell,” I replied.  “I am simply relying on Dr. Frost; I am going to join some company, and I rely on his judgment more than on my own.”

“Well, we’ll see you through,” said he.  “Join our mess until you can do better.”

I replied, with true thankfulness, that I should be glad to accept his offer.

“Did you see the morning papers?” asked the elder Bellot.  I was walking a short way with the brothers as they returned to their camp.  “No,” said I.

“It contains a terrible account of the Yankees’ method of warfare.”

“What are they doing?” I asked.

“Inciting the slaves to insurrection and organizing them into regiments of Federal soldiers.  Butler, in command at New Orleans, has several regiments of negroes; and Colonel Adams, in command of one of our brigades in Tennessee, has reported that the Yankees in that State are enticing the negroes away from their owners and putting arms into their hands.”

“That is very barbarous,” said I. My ignorance kept me from saying more.  The language he had used puzzled me; I did not know at the time that New Orleans was in the hands of the Federals, and his saying that Butler had regiments of negroes seemed queer.