“Eighth Pennsyl——”
“Did you know a man in that regiment by the name of—”
I had now ascended to the height of seventy-five or eighty feet, when I stopped on a sort of shelf, to rest a moment, turned about and said:
“What was his name?”
“I forget—I was just trying to think—O, yes, it was—let me see—was it—no—was it—Harbertson?”
“I knew none of that name in my regiment.” I yelled back; for the conversation now had to be carried on in a loud voice.
“I don’t think that was the name,” said he. “Now that I come to think of it, he was in a New Jersey regiment. I used to work with him, in——”
“Well,” said I, facing the hill again to continue the ascent, “I’ll move on. Good——”
“Wait a minute,” he interrupted, coming up ten or fifteen feet to where it began to grow pretty steep, and there stopping. “What did you say your name was.”
“Smith,” I yelled. “Good——”