No notice was taken of me at first. The clerks continued writing, the officers talking, until there bustled into the room a tall, blond officer with several decorations flashing on his breast, and an air of decision and command that can not be expressed in words. The other officers clicked their heels and saluted, the clerks did the same. The officer made a careless but graceful acknowledgment by return salute, spoke a few sharp guttural words that set several of the officers and attendants hustling and addressed a few words to a man, who but for his uniform looked like a clerk. Then turning to me, he motioned for me to stand, and in good English interrogated:
“What is your regiment?”
I told him, for I could not see how he could get any good out of the truth.
“Oh,” he said, “a Massachusetts man. What part?”
“Western Massachusetts, Berkshire county.”
“Your name?”
“Second Lieutenant David Stark.”
“How many men have you here?”
“I don’t know, but a lot of them and more coming.”
He spoke a few words of command to the clerk, who pulled out a big ledger-looking book, ran his finger over its pages, and made some answer, then resumed his interrogations.