blue dress-coat and fancy gilt buttons, or anything like that; but I never experienced anything even approaching to hazing.
My rather mature appearance may have had something to do with the respect generally paid me. It was true I was only seventeen years and nine months old, as recorded in the register, but my experience may have had some visible effect.
I was assigned to a room in the old South Barracks, which were demolished the next year.
My room-mates were Henry H. Walker and John R. Chambiiss, two charming fellows from Virginia.
We had hardly learned each other's names when one of them said something about the blank Yankees; but instantly, seeing something that might perhaps have appeared like Southern blood in my face, added, You are not a Yankee!
I replied, Yes; I am from Illinois.
Oh, said he, we don't call Western men Yankees.
In that remark I found my mission at West Point, as in after life, to be, as far as possible, a peacemaker between the hostile sections.