They seemed to be very mild, inoffensive fellows.

They kept a looking over toward the Rebel lines, and would dodge if a twig cracked under their feet.

I walked on as if I was just relieved, and had passed their lines, when I turned back, and says I, "Captain, what guard is this ?" He answered, "Nien bocht, you bet," is what I understood him to say.

"What regiment are you from ?" "Ben bicht mir ein riefel fab bien." "What regiment is your detail from ?" "Iet du mein got Donnermetter stefel switzer." I had to give it up-- I had run across the detail of a Dutch regiment.

I passed on, and came to the regular line of breastworks, and there was an old Irishman sitting on a stump grinding coffee.