Hardy.

"He's from Indiana," piped up a homesick ploughboy from the Hoosier
State.

"Then, it'll be a historical novel," said the gaunt young recruit
from Grand Rapids. He was a cynic who had tried newspaper work,
and who still maintained that the generals did not have as much
intelligence as the privates.

"I'll never forget Bansemer when he first enlisted," reflected Joe
Adams. "He wanted to go out for a cold plunge and a morning stroll,
and then asked the sergeant where he could get a good riding horse.
He's not so keen about strolls these days."

"He don't turn up his nose at things like he used to, either."

"I don't see why the devil he keeps so clean," grumbled Adams. "I
can't."

"I'll bet one thing," mused Rogers. "He'll be a captain or something
before this scrap is over."

"He'll be a corpse, that's what he'll be."

"It's my opinion he'd just as lief be shot as not," said Relander.
"The only trouble is that these measly niggers can't hit anything
they shoot at. If the darned fools would only try to miss him,
they'd get him sure. The devil and Tom Walker--what's that?"