render me as
miserable as the rest.

My mind reverted to the Adjutant T----, of the manner of whose capture I
knew nothing, and whom I had left that morning in camp, as the regiment
set out for the fight. I doubted not but that he would be with me in a
moment, to throw another mild projectile, a half-sentence, at me. I had
myself a catechism of one question with which to greet him. As some
little parley might be necessary between us, which could not go on
without the consent of our guardian, I concluded that then was the time
to throw a sop to my sergeant, I turned coolly upon him.

"We are marching rather briskly, are we not, Sergeant?" I said,
endeavoring to insinuate the independence of unconcern in my bearing.

"Wal,--right smart," he replied.

"I cannot tell by your uniform," I continued, with a half-smile, for the
fellow was all beggar's rags and patches, "whether you are in the
cavalry or not; but a pair of spurs, at any rate, may not come amiss to
you,--and I can have no use for mine for some time yet. They don't allow
us, I believe, to kick one another in Libby?"

I took my long spurs from my boots, like fringe from my heart-strings,
(of which the officer had directed my sergeant to allow no one to
deprive me,--the boots, not the heart-strings, they being inaccessible:
I would, possibly, not lose those till I arrived in Richmond,) and
handed them over to him.

"I'm of the Thirteenth Virginia Infantry," he said, "but do right smart
duty on horseback" (he liked the steel). "I'm detailed to the provost
marshal. They do treat a fellow rather hard down there."

I augured ever so much good from the Sergeant's "do," upon which there
was an emphasis.

"Were you ever a prisoner, Sergeant?" I asked, always careful to bestow
his title.

"Once," he said, laconically.

"Well! it's all one in the end," I said, carelessly turning from him, to
show that I had no desire for the conversation, if he did not relish it.
"You have a chance now to give me the devil of a time, in revenge for
your treatment among my friends. 'T is an ill wind that blows nobody
good."

My sang-froid had the savor of a good pickle. It was a very peculiar
turn to give the affair, I must own; but I saw that the Sergeant was
struck by it. Possibly, that one was my best stroke of the day. I have,
at any rate, ever since deemed it so.

I walked along as before, speculating, not lightly, upon the dejected
beings about me, who marched, spectre-f