"We done the best. Old E Company got there. Why, one time the hull of B Company was _behind_ us." "Jones, he was the first man up. I saw 'im." "Which Jones?" "Did you see ol' Two-bars runnin' like a land-crab? Made good time, too. He hit only in the high places. He's all right." "The Lootenant s all right, too. He was a good ten yards ahead of the best of us. I hated him at the post, but for this here active service there's none of 'em can touch him." "This is mighty different from being at the post." "Well, we done it, an' it wasn't b'cause _I_ thought it could be done. When we started, I ses to m'self: 'Well, here goes a lot o' d----d fools.'" "'Tain't over yet." "Oh, they'll never git us back from here. If they start to chase us back from here we'll pile 'em up so high the last ones can't climb over. We've come this far, an' we'll stay here. I ain't done pantin'." "Anything is better than packin' through that jungle an' gettin' blistered from front, rear, an' both flanks. I'd rather tackle another hill than go trailin' in them woods, so thick you can't tell whether you are one man or a division of cav'lry." "Where's that young kitchen-soldier, Cadogan, or whatever his name is. Ain't seen him to-day." "Well, _I_ seen him. He was right in with it. He got shot, too, about half up the hill, in the leg. I seen it. He's all right. Don't worry about him. He's all right." "I seen 'im, too. He done his stunt. As soon as I can git this piece of barbed-wire entanglement out o' me throat I'll give 'm a cheer." "He ain't shot at all b'cause there he stands, there. See 'im?" Rearward, the grassy slope was populous with little groups of men searching for the wounded. Reilly's brigade began to dig with its bayonets and shovel with its meat-ration cans. IV Senator Cadogan paced to and fro in his private parlour and smoked small, brown weak cigars. These little wisps seemed utterly inadequate to console such a ponderous satrap. It was the evening of the 1st of July, 1898, and the Senator was immensely excited, as could be seen from the superlatively calm way in which he called out to his private secretary, who was in an adjoining room. The voice was serene, gentle, affectionate, low. "Baker, I wish you'd go over again to the War Department and see if they've heard anything about Caspar." A very bright-eyed, hatchet-faced young man appeared in a doorway, pen still in hand. He was hiding a nettle-like irritation behind all the finished audacity of a smirk, sharp, lying, trustworthy young politician. "I've just got back from there, sir," he suggested. The Skowmulligan war-horse lifted his eyes and looked for a short second into the eyes of his private secretary. It was not a glare or an eagle glance; it was something beyond the practice of an actor; it was simply meaning. The clever private secretary grabbed his hat and was at once enthusiastically away. "All right, sir," he cried. "I'll find out."