“Green grow the rushes, O!
Green grow the rushes, O!
The sweetest hours that e’er I spend
Are spent among the lasses, O!”
That was the chorus of one group nearest to Jerry, as he sidled through the camp. It was not much of a song, although as good as most of the Mexican songs. He saw a flag, of blue and gold, which said “First Tennessee Volunteers.” A soldier was shaking it out from its folds.
“Well, I’m in the army, anyway,” Jerry thought, to himself. “But I guess I’ll go on, to the beach, and see what’s there.”
So although the men hailed him, as the sailors had, only in different language, he shook his head and did not stop.
Pretty soon he came to a cleaner camp, within easy sight of the surf beyond the dunes, and of the ships at anchor off Sacrificios. There were many soldiers, here, too, but more orderly and better clothed. The camp appeared to stretch clear to the beach; and while he was wandering and gazing, somebody challenged him.
It was another boy, in uniform—a red-headed boy, spick and span and as smart as a new whip.
“Hey, you! What you doing?”