“I tumbled into it, last night.”
“Befo’ the shootin’?”
“Yes; but I went back this morning. I stayed as long as they’d let me. Then a big shell burst right inside and an officer made me get out.”
“Sho’!” Pompey exclaimed. “You been under fiah? ’Pears laike you don’t talk more’n Lieutenant Grant. He’s the least talkin’est man I ebber did see. He shuah don’t take any back seat in fightin’, though. Um-m-m, no indeedy! Dar at Monterey he rode so fast Mexican bullets couldn’t ketch him. Powerful man on a hoss, dat Lieutenant Grant. But you ’member, now, if you stay ’round hyar, waitin’ on him, I don’t take ohders from you. You take ’em from me. I’m sarvent to a fust lieutenant; yo’ man’s only a second lieutenant. He may be good man; but dat’s ahmy way. I’m yo’ s’perior in the ahmy.”
“All right,” Jerry agreed again.
“Now I’m gwine back to sleep, an’ don’t you tickle my toes. No, suh! I ain’t ’feared ob bombs, but I’se drefful scyared ob t’ousand-leggers. Dar’s yo’ side the tent, where Lieutenant Grant sleeps. You kin tidy it up, if you gwine to stay.”
Pompey went to sleep, as before. Jerry found little to do. Lieutenant Grant’s side of the tent was in apple-pie order, not a thing misplaced. The whole interior of the tent was as neat as a pin. There were only a couple of cots, two canvas stools, a folding table, two blue painted chests, with canteens, overcoats, and a few small articles hanging up.
After fiddling about, Jerry strolled out. Pompey was snoring, the guns of batteries and city and castle were thundering, soldiers were drilling or sitting in groups. Lieutenant Grant came walking hastily.
“Did that darky treat you well?”
“Yes, sir. I had something to eat.”