Their generous young hearts did not exult over a foe whom they expected soon to conquer.
Late in January of the fateful year 1865 Dick was walking through the streets of Winchester one cold day.

The wind from the mountains had a fierce edge, and, as he bent his head to protect his face from it, he did not see a stout, heavily built man of middle age coming toward him, and did not stop until the stranger, standing squarely in his way, hailed him.
"Does the fact that you've become a captain keep you from seeing anything in your path, Mr.Mason ?" asked the man in a deep bass, but wholly good-natured voice.
Dick looked up in surprise, because the tones were familiar.

He saw a ruddy face, with keen, twinkling eyes and a massive chin, a face in which shrewdness and a humorous view of the world were combined.

He hesitated a moment, then he remembered and held out his hand.
"It's Mr.Watson, the contractor," he said.
"So it is, lad," said John Watson, grasping the outstretched hand and shaking it heartily.

"Don't mind my calling you lad, even if you are a captain.