"Who's your General?" queries Josiah.
"Why, General Grant—I'm his headquarter man—they call me
Bill—everybody knows me."
He rose at once in Josiah's estimation. "Who owns that horse?" asked
Josiah. "I'd like well to handle his beast."
"He's an engineer-officer, name of Penhallow. He's down yonder somewhere about that pontoon bridge. I'm left here to hunt up a headquarter wagon."
"Penhallow!" exclaimed Josiah, delighted. "Why, I'm down here to be his servant."
"Well, let's go to the bridge. You'll get a chance to cross after the wagons get over. I've just found mine." They moved to one side and sat down. "That's Wilson's cavalry on guard. Worst dust I ever saw. Infantry dust's bad, but cavalry dust don't ever settle. The Ninth Corps's gone over. There come the wagons." With cracking of whip and imprecations the wagons went over the swaying pontoons. Bill left him, and Josiah waited to cross behind the wagons.
On the bridge midway, a young officer in the dark dress and black-striped pantaloons of the engineers moved beside the teams anxiously observing some loosened flooring. A wagon wheel gave way, and the wagon lurching over struck the officer, who fell into the muddy water of the Pamunkey. Always amused at an officer's mishap, cavalry men and drivers laughed. The young man struck out for the farther shore, and came on to a shelving slope of slimy mud, and was vainly struggling to get a footing when an officer ran down the bank and gave him a needed hand. Thus aided, Penhallow gained firm ground. With a look of disgust at his condition, as he faced the laughing troopers he said, with his somewhat formal way, "To whom am I indebted?"
"Roland Blake is my name. Isn't it Captain Penhallow of the engineers?"
"Yes, well disguised with Rebel mud. What a mess! But, by George! not worse than you when I first saw you."
"Where was it?" asked Blake.