nd of stringed music.

"The Cajuns," said one of the staff, a captain named Morton. Harry did
not know what "Cajuns" meant, but he was soon to learn. Meanwhile the
sound of the music was pleasant in his ear, and he saw that the camp,
despite the lateness of the hour, was vivid with life.

General Ewell gave Harry into Captain Morton's care, and walked away to
a small tent, where he was joined by several of his senior officers for
a conference. But after they had tethered their horses for the night,
Captain Morton took Harry through the camp.

Harry was full of eagerness and curiosity and he asked to see first the
strange "Cajuns," those who made the music.

"They are Louisiana French," said Morton, "not the descendants or the
original French settlers in that state, but the descendants of the
French by the way of Nova Scotia."

"Oh, I see, the Acadians, the exiles."

"Yes, that's it. The name has been corrupted into Cajuns in Louisiana.
They are not like the French of New Orleans and Baton Rouge and the
other towns. They are rural and primitive. You'll like them. Few of them
were ever more than a dozen miles from home before. They love music, and
they've got a full regimental band with them. You ought to hear it play.
Why, they'd play the heart right out of you."

"I like well enough the guitars and banjos that they're playing now.
Seems to me that kind of music is always best at night."

They had now come within the rim of light thrown out by the fires of
the Acadians, and Harry stood there looking for the first time at these
dark, short people, brought a thousand miles from their homes.

They were wholly unlike Virginians and Kentuckians. They had black eyes
and hair, and their naturally dark faces were burned yet darker by the
sun of the Gulf. Yet the dark eyes were bright and gay, sparkling with
kindliness and the love of pleasure. The guitars and banjos were playing
some wailing tune, with a note of sadness in the core of it so keen and
penetrating that it made the water come to Harry's eyes. But it changed
suddenly to something that had all the sway and lilt of the rosy South.
Men sprang to their feet and clasping arms about one another began to
sway back and forth in the waltz and the polka.

Harry watched with mingled amazement and pleasure. Most of the South
was religious and devout. The Virginians of the valley were nearly all
staunch Presbyterians, and Stonewall Jackson, staunchest of them all,
neve