The South Fork was shallow and could be
forded. The North Fork was deep and strong and crossed by a covered
bridge. Toward the bridge now, winding down from the near-by height on
which the brigade had camped, came a detail from the 65th--twenty men
led by Sergeant Mathew Coffin. They were chiefly Company A men, and they
were going to relieve the pickets along the South Fork. Thanks to Mr.
Commissary Banks, they had breakfasted well. The men were happy, not
hilariously so, but in a placid, equable fashion. As they came down,
over the wet grass, from the bluff, they talked. "Mist over the
Shenandoah's just like mist over the James"--"No, 'tisn't! Nothing's
like mist over the James."--"Well, the bridge's like the bridge at home,
anyway!"--"'Tisn't much like it. Hasn't got sidewalks inside."--"Yes, it
has!"--"No, it hasn't!"--"I know better, I've been through it."--"I've
been through it twice't--was through it after Elk Run, a month
ago!"--"Well, it hasn't got sidewalks, anyway,"--"I tell you it
has."--"You 're mistaken!"--"I'm not."--"You never did see straight
nohow!"--"If I was at home I'd thrash you!"

Mathew Coffin turned his head. "Who's that jowering back there? Stop it!
Sunday morning and all!"

He went on, holding his head straight, a trig, slender figure, breathing
irritation. His oval face with its little black moustache was set as
hard as its boyish curves permitted, and his handsome dark eyes had two
parallel lines above them. He marched as he marched always nowadays,
with a mien aggrieved and haughty. He never lost the consciousness that
he was wearing chevrons who had worn bars, and he was quite convinced
that the men continually compared his two states.

The progress down hill to the bridge was short. Before the party the
long, tunnel-like, weather-beaten structure loomed through the mist. The
men entered and found it dusk and warm, smelling of horses, the river,
fifteen feet below, showing through the cracks between the heavy logs of
the floor. The marching feet sounded hollowly, voices reverberated.
"Just like our bridge--told you 'twas--Ain't it like, Billy Maydew?"

"It air," said Billy. "I air certainly glad that we air a-crossing on a
bridge. The Shenandoah air a prop-o-si-tion to swim."

"How did you feel, Billy, when you got away?"

"At first, just like school was out," said Billy. "But when a whole
picket post started after me, 'n' I run fer it, 'n' the trees put out
arms to stop me, 'n' the d