hable from one of the "subject race" by
any obvious meanderings of the sangre azul on his exposed surfaces. He
did not say much, possibly because he was convinced by the statements and
arguments of the Dutch captain. He had on strong, iron-heeled shoes, of
English make, which he said cost him seventeen dollars in Richmond.

I put the question, in a quiet, friendly way, to several of the
prisoners, what they were fighting for. One answered, "For our homes."
Two or three others said they did not know, and manifested great
indifference to the whole matter, at which another of their number, a
sturdy fellow, took offence, and muttered opinions strongly derogatory to
those who would not stand up for the cause they had been fighting for. A
feeble; attenuated old man, who wore the Rebel uniform, if such it could
be called, stood by without showing any sign of intelligence. It was
cutting very close to the bone to carve such a shred of humanity from the
body politic to make a soldier of.

We were just leaving, when a face attracted me, and I stopped the party.
"That is the true Southern type," I said to my companion. A young
fellow, a little over twenty, rather tall, slight, with a perfectly
smooth, boyish cheek, delicate, somewhat high features, and a fine,
almost feminine mouth, stood at the opening of his tent, and as we turned
towards him fidgeted a little nervously with one hand at the loose
canvas, while he seemed at the same time not unwilling to talk. He was
from Mississippi, he said, had been at Georgetown College, and was so far
imbued with letters that even the name of the literary humility before
him was not new to his ears. Of course I found it easy to come into
magnetic relation with him, and to ask him without incivility what he was
fighting for. "Because I like the excitement of it," he answered. I
know those fighters with women's mouths and boys' cheeks. One such from
the circle of my own friends, sixteen years old, slipped away from his
nursery, and dashed in under, an assumed name among the red-legged
Zouaves, in whose company he got an ornamental bullet-mark in one of the
earliest conflicts of the war.

"Did you ever see a genuine Yankee?" said my Philadelphia friend to the
young Mississippian.

"I have shot at a good many of them," he replied, modestly, his woman's
mouth stirring a little, with a pleasant, dangerous smile.

The Dutch captain here put his foot into the conversation, as his
a