.

.

What's the news down by the river ?" "I don't know," said Berkley.
"Don't you know if you got licked ?" "I don't think we did.

You'd hear the firing out here much plainer." "You're the 8th Cavalry, ain't you ?" "Yes." "They say you got cut up." "Some." "And how about the Zouaves ?" "Oh, they're there yet," said Berkley listlessly.

Fatigue was overpowering him; he was aware, presently, that a negro, carrying a lantern, was guiding his stumbling steps into a small building where, amid piles of boxes, an army cot stood covered by a blanket.
Berkley gave him a crumpled mess of paper money, and he almost expired.
Later the same negro rolled a wooden tub into the room, half filled it with steaming water, and stood in profound admiration of his work, grinning at Berkley.
"Is you-all gwine bresh up, suh ?" he inquired.
Berkley straightened his shoulders with an effort, unbuckled his belt, and slowly began to take off his wet uniform.
The negro aided him respectfully; that wet wad of dollars had done its work profoundly.
"Yo' is de adjetant ob dis here Gin'ral ob de Lancers, suh?
De po' ole Gin'ral! He done git shot dreffle bad, suh.