--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.

"I can give a good guess. You were quite as lovely as Mr. Penhallow." It
was a third officer who spoke. "By the bye," he added, "as Blake doesn't
present me, I am Philip Francis."

"I can't even offer to shake hands," returned Penhallow, laughing, as he
scraped the flakes of mud from his face. "I saw you both at the Bloody
Angle. I think I could describe you."

"Don't," said Francis.

"Some people are modest," said Blake. "I think you will soon dry to dust
in this sun. I have offered myself that consolation before. It's the only
certainty in this land of the unexpected."

"The wagons are over; here comes the guard,