Berkley's attention was directed to it by a suspicious comrade; they both gazed at it curiously, listening to the low mutter of the cannonade; then Berkley frowned, folded both gauntlets, placed them in his belt, passed his hand over his freshly shaven chin, and, pocketing his cob pipe, sauntered forth to visit and gossip with those he knew in other camps.
"Hello, Burgess," he said humorously; "how are you making out?"
His late valet's arm twitched instinctively toward the salute he dared not offer; he glanced stealthily right and left before answering:
"I am doing very well, sir, thank you."
"I told you to cut out the 'sir,' didn't I?"
"Yes, sir-beg pardon--"
Berkley eyed him. "You've got your chance," he said. "Your rank and mine are equal. Do you take pleasure in continually reminding yourself of your recent position of servitude?"
"Sir?-beg pardon--"
"Can't you help it? Is it born in you?"
Burgess stood silent, considering, then he lifted his ugly face and looked hard at Berkley.
"I am not ashamed of having served you. I am more comfortable under orders... . I liked to dress you up ... I wish to God it was that way now."
"Don't you want your independence?"
"My independence," repeated Burgess, "I had it-more of it when I was looking out for you, sir, than I have now in this damn regiment--"
"Well, what did you enlist for?"
"You've asked me that many times, sir, and I don't know... . I'd rather be around, handy like--"
"You'll get killed some day, don't you know it?"
"No, sir. I guess you'll look out for me. You always did."
"How the devil can I prevent one of those big shells from knocking you off your horse!"
Burgess, patient, undisturbed, let the, question go with a slight smile.
"What a jackass you are!" said Berkley irritably; "here's a dollar to get some pie. And if you can cheat that cursed sutler, do it!"
He himself purchased two big pies from the sutler after an angry haggle in which he was easily worsted; and he munched away contentedly as he walked toward the lines of the 3rd Zouaves, his spurs and sabre jingling, Burgess following respectfully at heel.
"Hello, Steve!" he called out to a sun-burnt young zouave who was drying his freshly washed turban in the hill breeze. "I always heard you fellows wore infant's underclothes, but I never believed it before!"
"That's my turban, you idiot!" retorted Stephen, turning red as several of McDunn's artillerymen began to laugh. But he came over and shook hands and accepted a big piece of pie without further resentment. "Hello, Burgess," he added.
"How do you do, sir."
"That damned Dutch sutler of ours," commented Berkley, "puts clay in his pie-erust. We'll certainly have to fix him before long. How are you, Steve, anyway?"
"Both socks full of tallow; otherwise I'm feeling fine," said the boy. "Did you hear those dirty Bucktail veterans back there poking fun at us? Well, we never answer 'em nowadays; but the Zouaves are getting fearfully sick of it; and if we don't go into battle pretty soon there'll be a private war on-" he winked-"with those Pennsylvanians, you bet. And I guess the Lancers will be in it, too."
Berkley cast an evil eye on a pair of Pennsylvania soldiers who had come to see how the Zou-zous made camp; then he shrugged his shoulders, watching Burgess, who had started away to roam hungrily around the sutler's camp again.
"After all," he said, "these veterans have a right to jeer at us. They've seen war; and now they know whether they'll fight or run away. It's more than we know, so far."
"Well, I tell you," said Stephen candidly, "there's no chance of my running away. A fellow can't skedaddle when his father's looking at him. Besides, Phil, I don't know how it is, but I'm not very much afraid, not as much as I thought I'd be."
Berkley looked at him curiously. "Have you been much under fire?"
"Only that affair at the Blue Bridge-you know yourself how it was. After the first shell had made me rather sick at my stomach I was all right-except that I hated to see father sitting up there on his horse while we were all lying snug in the wheat... . How did you feel when the big shells came over?"
"Bad," said Berkley briefly.
"Sick?"
"Worse."
"I don't see why you should feel queer, Phil-after that bully thing you did with the escort--"
"Oh, hell!" cut in Berkley savagely, "I'm sick of hearing about it. If you all knew that I was too scared to realise what I was doing you'd let up on that episode."
Stephen laughed. "I hope our boys get scared in the same way... . Hello, here's a friend of yours I believe--"
They turned to encounter Casson, the big dragoon, arm in arm with the artilleryman, Arthur Wye.
"Give us some pie, you son of a gun!" they suggested unceremoniously; and when supplied and munching, they all locked arms and strolled out across the grass toward the hill, where already, dark against the blinding blue, hundreds of idle soldiers had gathered to sit on the turf and stare at the tall cloud on the horizon, or watch the signal officer on the higher hill beyond, seated at his telescope, while, beside him, a soldier swung dirty square flags in the wind,
As they arrived on the crest a quick exclamation escaped them; for there, beyond, mile on mile, lay the armed host of which their regiments were tiny portions.
"Lord!" said Stephen in a low, surprised voice, "did you fellows know that the whole army was near here?"
"Not I," said Berkley, gazing spellbound out across the rolling panorama of river, swamp, woods, and fields. "I don't believe it occurs very often, either-the chance to see an entire army all at once, encamped right at your feet. What a lot of people and animals!"
They sat down, cross-legged, enjoying their pie, eyes wandering wonderingly over the magic landscape. Here and there a marquee marked some general's headquarters, but except for these there were no tents save shelter tents in sight, and not so many of these, because many divisions had bivouacked, and others were in cantonments where the white cupola of some house glimmered, or the thin spire of a church pierced green trees.
Here and there they noted and pointed out to each other roads over which cavalry moved or long waggon trains crept. Down along the swamps that edged the river they could see soldiers building corduroy, repairing bridges, digging ditches, and, in one spot, erecting a fort.
"Oh, hell," said Casson, whose regiment, dismounted, had served muddy apprenticeship along the York River, "if they're going to begin that kind of thing again I'd rather be at home laying gas pipes on Broadway!"
"What kind of thing?" demanded Stephen.
"That road making, swamp digging-all that fixing up forts for big guns that nobody has a chance to fire because the Johnnies get out just when everything's ready to blow 'em into the Union again. A-h!" he added in disgust, "didn't we have a dose of that at Yorktown and Williamsburg? Why doesn't Little Mac start us hell-bent for Richmond and let us catch 'em on the jump?"
For a while, their mouths full of pie, the soldiers, with the exception of Berkley, criticised their commander-in-chief, freely-their corps commanders, and every officer down to their particular corporals. That lasted for ten minutes. Then one and all began comparing these same maligned officers most favourably with other officers of other corps; and they ended, as usual, by endorsing their commander-in-chief with enthusiasm, and by praising every officer under whom they served.
Then they boasted of their individual regiments-all except Berkley-extolling their discipline, their marching, their foraging efficiency, their martyr-like endurance.
"What's your Colonel like, anyway?" inquired Casson, turning to Berkley.