The fleshy Sergeant was undoubtedly fatigued, yet he was a thorough soldier, a strict disciplinarian, and although he moved as if his coarse army trousers were constant torture, he was not guilty of omitting any known requirement of his office.
“Chones”, he shouted impressively, “dot is not a good vay to tie dot horse. By Chiminy, he vould break his neck mit der rope. Glen, vy you makes play mit der gun dot vay? Donnerwetter! ven I speak mit you, stand op mit der little finger to der seam of der pantaloons. You vill never be no good.”
“Ebers,” I interrupted, “let the men rest as they please. I regret having ridden so hard, but I am used to soldiers who are toughened in field work. Are you pretty sore, Sergeant?”
“By Chiminy, I am, Captain; der skin vos rubbed off me by der saddle,” he answered, touching the afflicted part tenderly. “It vos der rackin' gait mit der horse vot did it. He is der vorst horse dot ever I ride.”
“Well, get as comfortable as you can, and I'll try to be more thoughtful in the future. Bungay, what has become of Maria?”
The little man's eyes suddenly filled with tears.
“I jist don't know, Cap,” he answered mournfully.
“'No more at dawning morn I rise
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes.
That life is lost to love and me.'
“Whin I got hum ther ol' cabin hed bin plum burnt down, nary stick o' it left, by gum! an' Mariar she wus clean gone. Hain't seed neither hide ner hair o' her since, thet's a fac'. An' I sorter drifted back ter you uns 'cause I didn't hev nowhar else ter go.”
“Did you hunt for her among the old plantations along the valley?” I asked, deeply touched by his evident feeling. “She very likely sought refuge in some of those houses.”