"
"And how about the Zouaves?"
"Oh, they're there yet," said Berkley listlessly. Fatigue was
overpowering him; he was aware, presently, that a negro, carrying a
lantern, was guiding his stumbling steps into a small building
where, amid piles of boxes, an army cot stood covered by a blanket.
Berkley gave him a crumpled mess of paper money, and he almost
expired.
Later the same negro rolled a wooden tub into the room, half filled
it with steaming water, and stood in profound admiration of his
work, grinning at Berkley.
"Is you-all gwine bresh up, suh?" he inquired.
Berkley straightened his shoulders with an effort, unbuckled his
belt, and slowly began to take off his wet uniform.
The negro aided him respectfully; that wet wad of dollars had done
its work profoundly.
"Yo' is de adjetant ob dis here Gin'ral ob de Lancers, suh? De po'
ole Gin'ral! He done git shot dreffle bad, suh. . . . Jess you
lay on de flo', suh, t'will I gits yo' boots off'n yo' laigs! Dar!
Now jess set down in de tub, suh. I gwine scrub you wif de
saddle-soap--Lor', Gord-a-mighty! Who done bang you on de haid
dat-a-way?"--scrubbing vigorously with the saddle-soap all the
while. "Spec' you is lame an' so' all over, is you? Now I'se
gwine rub you haid, suh; an' now I'se gwine dry you haid.
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