“I got hurt in the hip,” said the other. “It’s an old strain, and sometimes, when we’re double-quicking, I’m liable to give out. The boys all know about it and make allowance. They all know I fight like the devil up to that point.” “Same here,” said Steve. “I fight like a tiger, but now ’n’ then comes along a time when a man’s under a moral necessity not to. When your foot gives under you you can’t go on charging—not if Napoleon Cæsar himself was there shoutin’ about duty!” “Them’s my sentiments,” said the other. “We’re going to win this battle. I see it the way we looked going in. How do you feel about going on to Washington?” “I’ve had my doubts,” said Steve. “How do you feel?” “It’s powerful rich and full of things to eat and drink and wear. But there’d be awful fighting getting in.” “That’s the way I feel,” said Steve. “Awful fightin’ ’n’ I don’t—” An officer’s sword invaded their dwelling-place. “Get out of here! What are you doing hiding here? Tie you in this rick and set fire to it, you damned skulkers! Get out and march ahead!” The flat of the sword descended vigorously. Steve yelped and rubbed. “Gawd, Captain! don’t do that! I got a hurt foot—” Much later, having been carried on—the whole wagon train now crossing—in a commissary wagon travelling light, he rejoined his brigade and regiment. He found the Sixty-fifth in a mood of jubilation bivouacked in the dusk Maryland countryside, with a glow yet in the west and the fireflies tinselling all the fields. Steve came in for supper, and between slow gulps of “real” coffee related an adventure in the straw field, marvellous as the “Three Turks’ Heads.” His mess was one of “left-overs,” seven or eight of the stupid, the ne’er-do-weel or the slightly rascally sort, shaken together in the regiment’s keen sifting of human nature. Totally incredulous, save for a deficient one or two, the mess yet found a place for Steve, if it were only the place of a torn leaf from a rather sorry jest-book. The ne’er-do-weel and the slightly rascally, most of whom were courageous enough, began to describe for his benefit the _chevaux-de-frise_ of forts around Washington. They made Steve shiver. He went to bed frightened, and arose under the stars, still frightened.