"Would
you like to go through the camps and see our men?"
"Very much."
"Come, I'll show you."
Two hundred yards from the camp of the Hampton Legion they found the
Louisiana Zouaves of Wheat's command, small, tough-looking men with
gleaming black eyes.
"Frenchmen!" Dick sneered. "They'll fight though--"
"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.
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