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The men had become silent, and appeared to have retired to rest, and we were just sinking to our slumbers, when a heavy tread and presently a bluff voice were heard outside. "Mr. Kinzie! Mr. Kinzie!" "Who is there? What is it?" "I'm Krissman; didn't you mean, sir, that the men should have any liquor to-night?" "Of course I did. Has not Kilgour given out your rations?"
"Ah! you are from the German Flats then your name must be Bellinger or Weber." "No, it isn't it's Krissman." "Well, Krissman, how do you like the service?" "Very well. I was only recruited last summer. I used to ride horse on the Canawl, and, as I can blow a horn first-rate, I expect I will soon be able to play on a bugle, and then, when I get to be musician, you know, I shall have extra pay."
I did not know it, but I expressed due pleasure at the information, and wishing Krissman all manner of success in his dreams of ambition, or rather, I should say, of avarice, for the hopes of "extra pay" evidently preponderated over those of fame, I returned to my own quarters.
We were now called to part with our friends, Major Twiggs and his family, which we did with heartfelt regret. He gave me a few parting words about our old acquaintance, Krissman. "When I went into the barracks the other day," said he, "about the time the men were taking their dinner, I noticed a great six-foot soldier standing against the window-frame, crying and blubbering.
"No: he says you did not say anything particular about it, and he was not coming to ask you if you forgot it; but I thought I wouldn't be bashful I'd just come and ask." "That is right. Tell Kilgour I should like to have him serve out a ration apiece." "Thank you, sir," in a most cheerful tone; "I'll tell him." Krissman was getting to be quite a character with us.
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