“Scyare me? Oof! I shuah felt one o’ dem t’ousand-legger centipeders crawlin’ right inside my shoes. Huh! I don’t give house room to no t’ousand-leggers. What you say you want? Who-all sent you?” “Lieutenant Grant. He said you were to find me something to eat.” “Where am dat Lieutenant Grant?” “Over there. He was there, but he’s gone now.” For Lieutenant Grant had disappeared. “Done issued me ohders, did he? I don’t belong to no second lieutenant. I belong to Lieutenant Smith. He fust lieutenant. If he say to feed white trash, I got to feed ’em, but I ain’t takin’ ohders from no second lieutenant.” “I’ll go back and tell him,” Jerry proffered. “There he is.” Lieutenant Grant was in sight, talking with another officer. Once he glanced toward the tent; and his glance could be felt. The darky hastily sprang up. “Reckon I’ll find you sumpin. Yes, suh; when anybody’s jined the ahmy he’s got to ’bey his s’perior offercers. Come along, white boy. Where you from, anyhow?” “Vera Cruz.” “You from Very Cruz? What you do dar?” “Worked for my keep. Last night I ran away.” “You an American boy?” “Yes, of course.” “Hi yi!” Pompey chuckled “’Spec’ Very Cruz ain’t a place to lib in, dese days. Hi yi! Guess when dose big bombs come a-sailin’ dey say: ‘Where dose Mexicans? Where dose Mexicans? Here dey be, here dey be――Boom! Now where dey be?’ Yes, suh, white folks better get out. Bombs cain’t take time to ’stinguish color. Gin’ral Scott, he in berry big hurry to march on to City ob Mexico. Gwine to spend Fo’th ob Jooly in Halls ob Montyzoomy, eatin’ off’n golden platters. Come along, white boy. Ain’t got nuffin’ but cold cohn pone an’ salt hoss, but I’ll feed you. You gwine to jine the ahmy?” “Hope to,” said Jerry. “What’s yo’ name?” “Jerry Cameron.” “Any kin to the No’th Car’liny Camerons?” “I don’t know. I haven’t any folks.” “Sho’, now! Dem No’th Car’liny Camerons are mighty uppity people. Dat Lieutenant Grant, he a fine man, too. But I’m ’tached to Fust Lieutenant Smith, Fo’th United States Infantry. If you get ’tached to Lieutenant Grant, I’m uppitier than you are, remember. When you work ’round with me you got to ’bey my ohders. I’m yo’ s’perior offercer.” “All right, Pompey,” Jerry agreed. He munched the cornbread and salt beef, and Pompey chattered on. “Listen to dem guns talk! Oof! Talkin’ a way right through dem walls, laike the horn ob Jericho. Mebbe to-morrow Gin’ral Scott wave his sword, an’ Lieutenant Smith an’ me an’ all the rest de ahmy, we fix bagonets an’ go rampagin’ ’crost dat patch ob lebbel ground an’ capture all dem Mexicans. What you gwine to do den?” “Go, too, I guess,” said Jerry. “We don’t ’low no nuncumbatants along when we-all charge,” Pompey asserted. “Ob co’se I got to stay with Massa Smith. I’se part the ahmy. But when dose cannon balls come a-sayin’ ‘Hum-m-m, where dat little white boy?’, what you gwine to do den?” “I’d dodge ’em,” said Jerry.