George, the negro, now entered the tent. His countenance was the very index of terror.
"George, are they alive?" almost shrieked the adjutant.
"Oh! yes—yes—Gor a mighty, massa adjutump—day's fifty ob em!"
The adjutant saw the negro was too much frightened to give any correct account, and he tried to reassure him.
"You are safe now. Nothing can harm you here."
"Sartin shuah ob dat, massa adjutump?"
"Sure, George. But now tell me what you know of our friends."
"Oh! golly massa adjutump, dis chile neber was so skeered. Dar was fifty."
"Where is Captain Hayward!"
"Killed—dead—shuah pop—oh! golly!"