"Their people in the old world have that reputation," Socola dryly remarked.
Beyond them lay a regiment of fierce, be-whiskered countrymen from the lower sections of Mississippi.
"Look out for those fellows," the young Southerner said serenely. "They're from old Jeff's home. You'll hear from them. Their fathers all fought in Mexico."
Socola nodded.
Beside the Mississippians lay a regiment of long-legged, sinewy riflemen from Arkansas.
A hundred yards further they saw the quaint coon-skin caps of John B. Gordon's company from Georgia.
Socola watched these lanky mountaineers with keen interest.
"The Raccoon Roughs," Dick explained. "First company of Georgia volunteers. They had to march over two or three States before anybody would muster them in. They're happy as June bugs now."
They passed two regiments of quiet North Carolinians. The young Northerner observed their strong, muscular bodies and earnest faces.
"And these two large regiments, Mr. Welford?" Socola asked.