Neither was Nick ready to speak first; he was a quick-witted negro.
"I was going to ask if they were Southern soldiers."
"You dunno who dey is, mahsa?"
Yes; Nick was sharp; I must be discreet now, and wary--more so. I knew that many Confederate officers had favourite slaves as camp servants, slaves whom they thought so attached to them as to be trustworthy. Who could know, after all, that there were no exceptions amongst slaves? My doubts became so keen that I should not have believed Nick on his oath. He might tell me a lie with the purpose of leading me into a rebel camp. I must get rid of him somehow.
"Mahsa," said Nick, "is you got any 'bacco?"
"No" said I; then, "yes, I have some smoking tobacco."
"Dat's mighty good hitse'f; won't you please, sa', gimme a little?"
I was not a smoker, but I knew that there was a little loose tobacco in one of my pockets; how it came to be there I did not know.
"Thankee; mahsa; dis 'bacoo makes me bleeve you is a--" Nick hesitated,
"A what?"