I saw him several times at Memphis, while I was under the assumed character of a rebel Major. He had never seen me in any other dress than that of a citizen.
I expressed delight at meeting him, shook hands with him, and inquired about his health, etc.
"Who are you to work for now?" he inquired.
"For General Johnston."
"Are you? So am I!"
"Nothing new. Have you any news?"
"No, not at present. Come, let us go over to the steamer Arago and get something to drink before we separate. There is an old friend of ours that is commissary clerk aboard of her. He used to live in Holly Springs, Miss., and, when we were in Memphis last winter, he was there engaged in buying mules and smuggling them through the Yankee lines to sell. Let us go over and see him."
The Frenchman accompanied me on board the steamboat, and there we found the clerk I had told him about, who took us to the bar and got us something to drink. He also induced the barkeeper to sell me a canteen of whisky, as a favor to a special friend.
Having procured the whisky, I prevailed upon the Frenchman to accompany me, and we went up the bank of the river to a secluded place, where we sat down to enjoy ourselves.