the field, Peter was detailed for hospital service, and by his own
request attached to my special corps of assistants. He could and did
in a hundred ways help me and contribute to my comfort. No matter how
many times I met him during the day, he never passed without giving me
a military salute. If I was detained by the bedside of one very ill or
dying, hoping to save life, or at least to receive and treasure "for
the loved ones at home" some word or message, I was sure to hear
Peter's limping step and his loud whisper, "Sure it's dying he is;
can't ye lave him in the hands av God, an' go to your bed?" He
constituted himself, in many cases, my mentor, and deeply resented any
seeming disrespect towards me.

I recall a case in point which highly amused the whole "post." While
located at Ringgold, Georgia, it was considered desirable to remove
some of the convalescents to a camp hospital at Cherokee Springs, some
three miles out of town. It became my duty to see these patients every
evening, and I rode out on horseback attended by Peter. Riding into
camp one evening, I dismounted near a tent in front of which a group
of officers were standing, in conversation with Dr. ----, of Kentucky.
We exchanged a few words of greeting as I passed on to attend to my
patients. Returning, to mount my horse, I noticed that Peter rather
rudely pushed before Lieutenant ----, who came forward to assist me. I
also noticed that his face wore the old sullen look, and that his
manner was decidedly unpleasant. Before we had gone far, he broke out
with, "'Dade, ma'am, ye'll go there no more, if ye plaze." Amazed, I
questioned why? "Sure, thim fellers was makin' game av ye an' callin'
ye out av yer name." "Why, Peter," cried I, "you are crazy: _who_
called me names, and what did they call me?" "Thim offshurs, ma'am.
Sure, I couldn't make out their furrin worruds, but I belave 'tis a
_sinner_ they called ye. Faith, an' if _ye're_ a sinner, where wad the