, his only chance for a
little visit was to come to you on the picket line." My caller stood
still, and said nothing. I saw that he was an officer, for his shoulder
straps were plainly visible, but I could not be sure of his rank, for
there was no moon, and the night was dark. He was wearing an old
"sugar-loaf" hat, seemingly much decayed, his blouse was covered with
dust, and, in general, he looked tough. His face was covered with a
thick, scraggy beard, and under all these circumstances it was
impossible for me to recognize him. I was very anxious to do so in view
of the trouble the officer had taken to come away out on the picket
line, in the middle of the night, to see me, but I just couldn't, and
began to stammer a sort of apology about the darkness of the night
hindering a prompt recognition, when the "unknown" gave his head a
slant to one side, and, in his never forgettable voice, spoke thus to
Keeley: "I told you he wouldn't know me." "I know you now," said I;
"I'd recognize that voice if I heard it in Richmond! This is Capt. Ben
Slaten, of the 97th Illinois;" and springing forward I seized his right
hand with both of mine, while he threw his left arm about my neck and
fairly hugged me. It soon came out in the conversation that ensued that
his regiment had been with Sherman in the recent move on Jackson; that
it was now returning with that army to the vicinity of Vicksburg, and
had arrived at Black river that night; that he had at once hunted up
the 61st Illinois to have a visit with me, and ascertaining that I was
on picket, had persuaded Capt. Keeley to come with him to the picket
line, as his regiment would leave early in the morning on the march,
hence this would be his only opportunity for a brief meeting. And we
all certainly had a most delightful visit with the old Captain. From
the time of his arrival until his departure there was no sleeping, by
anybody, on that picket post. We sat on the ground in a little circle
around him, and listened to his comical and side-splitting stories of
army life, and incidents in camp and field generally. He was an
inimitable story teller, and his peculiar tone and manner added
immensely to the comicality of his anecdotes. And somehow he had the
happy faculty of extracting something humorous, or absurd, from what
the generality of men would have regarded as a very serious affair. He
did the most of the talking that night, while the rest of us sat there
and fairly screamed w