"Seen any service?" was the soldier's next question.
"More than I want to see again," replied Tom, who had not yet been cured of his propensity to boast as often as the chance was presented. "The enemy's gunboats have kept me pretty busy since they came up from New Orleans."
"Well, if you've got courage enough to fight gunboats, you've got more than I have," said the veteran honestly. "How high up are you?"
"I am a captain."
"I beg your pardon, sah, I have been a little too fast. I am only a second lieutenant, and my comrade is a first duty sergeant," and then the lieutenant and his sergeant both raised their caps. They had evidently served under some officer who exacted all the honors due him.
Of course they took the right course to gain Tom's good will and bring them an invitation to supper, but they did not do it intentionally. Having served at the front ever since they enlisted, and until they were transferred to the invalid corps on account of wounds received in battle they had never seen any Home Guards, and did not know the estimation in which that useless organization was held by the people who knew the most about them. They had heard of the exploits of John S. Mosby, who commanded a body of men that were farmers during the daytime and robbers and cut-throats at night, and who had kept certain portions of Virginia in a turmoil even before he was thought to be worthy of a commission in the Confederate army, and they supposed that every company of partisans was just like his. Consequently they were ready to treat Tom Randolph with the greatest respect.
The latter drew himself up very stiffly, assumed a soldier's position in the saddle, copying Rodney Gray as nearly as he could, and said with the dignity befitting his rank:
"I assure you that no apologies are necessary. I am always glad to shake a loyal Confederate by the hand." And he proved it by extending to each of the veterans a palm that was as limp as a piece of wet rope. "Now, may I ask where you belong, and what business brought you to this part of the country?"
"Certainly, sah. We used to belong to Jackson's brigade and division, but were invalided on account of injuries received in action, and are now serving as guards at a conscript camp, dog-gone the luck. We are on the trail of four escaped Yankees who are making tracks for Baton Rouge. Didn't you hear our dogs giving tongue just now?"
"I noticed it, but supposed the hounds were running something on their own hook. I noticed, too, that they yelped as though they were baffled."