“Certainly; bring them right in, captain,” said the old gentleman, and the two men were carefully lifted and borne in by their comrades. I helped to carry one man up-stairs, and to take off his great boots and to strip him.
“Is there a doctor near here, sir?” I asked.
“Right across the street; will I send my man?”
“Yes, and a-running, too,” replied a comrade, who was stanching the blood on the man’s chest with a bed-sheet.
We laid the man out, and I paused to note the splendor of the apartment, and to think it none too good for a brave soldier. The doctor came shortly, and I left the house. The troop was mounted and moved on. From a mansion across the street came a shot and loud shouting. We rode up and dismounted. There was a light in the front room and the door was open. The captain sprang up the steps, followed by ten or twelve men. As we entered we saw a half-dozen of the most vicious-looking wretches I have ever seen. They were evidently drunk, and did not comprehend the import of our presence. One man raised a champagne-bottle and threatened the captain. A carbine flashed—the report was almost deafening—and the drunken man dropped the bottle, threw up his hand, turned half round, and sank with a thud.
“Take these men out and shoot them, sergeant.” And the now thoroughly terrorized revellers, to the number of six, were dragged, swearing and beseeching, to the pavement, and I heard shots.
The room we were in was magnificent, but in the utmost disorder. The floor was strewn with broken bottles, vases, and bric-à-brac.
A form appeared in the door. It was a woman. She was speechless with terror, and her eyes stared, and her hands were clutched. We removed our hats, and the woman closed her eyes slowly.
“Look out, captain, she’s going to faint!” I cried.