"Yes,"--the word snapped out. "I'se nineteen, sah, an' my mother was a slave. I reckon my father was white 'nough, but that don't count fo' much--I'se a nigger just de same. Dat's bad 'nough, let me tell yo', but it's worse to be yo' own father's nigger." I had nothing to say to this outburst, feeling that back of it were facts into which I had no right to probe, and we rode along quietly. Then he spoke, glancing aside at me: "Dey won't be no 'portant fightin' long yere, sah, not fo' 'bout ten miles." "How do you figure that out?" "'Cause de lay ob de groun' ain't right, fo' one thing, an' 'cause all de Confed intrenchments was back yander." "Yonder--where?" "In behind de log church at de Three Corners--done know dat country mighty well." I turned and faced him, instantly suspicious. "Now see here; you do know that country, and a bit too well for a man riding in the ranks. Where did you come from? Were you in the Confederate service? Let's have this straight." "Suah," with frankness. "I done tol' de col'nel all how it was. I was wid my Massa from Louisiana, an' he was a captain, sah! 'Bout two weeks ago he lef' me down yander on de pike wid orders fo' to stay dere till he done come back. But it wa'n't no job fo' me, sah, an' so I skipped out de first night, an' joined up wid de Yanks. I reckon I knows 'bout whar I belongs in dis yere fightin', an' I ain't nobody's slave no mor'." The lad's earnestness impressed me, and beneath his words was evident a deep smouldering resentment, not so much against slavery as against the individual who had owned him. "What is your name, my boy?" "Charles Le Gaire, sah." CHAPTER XVI A CALL TO DUTY