SENT. Advance, friend, and give the countersign.
(GUARD _gives the countersign in whisper_; KILROY _takes sentinel's place. The relieved sentinel falls behind guard and marches off._)
COL. No, major, go amongst the men if you will, and speak words of encouragement; I shall be my old self to-morrow. (POTTS _salutes, and exit past_ KILROY, _who salutes_. COLONEL _enters tent and writes at table_. KILROY, _pacing to and fro, suddenly starts and lowers musket_.)
KIL. Halt! who comes there? (_No answer; paces again._) Plague take it! only the wind. (PETE _appears, crawling on hands and knees_.)
KIL. Halt! who comes there? Advance, and give the countersign.
PETE (_rising and coming forward_). 'Deed I can't sign nuffin, massa.
KIL. (_dragging him forward_). Well, by the powers, if it ain't a shmall nagur.
PETE. 'Deed, massa, I done mean no harm; I's scared blue, I is.
KIL. Blue, is it? faith it must be navy blue thin, wid a coat of tan outshide it. Phat are yees doing here?
KIL. Foind yees mammy. It's a foine place yees come to luk for her; p'raps yees thinks she's a bowld sojer by in petticoats, ha, ha!
PETE. Please, massa, I tought maybe, when she runned away, der Union men would be good to her, and let her stay wid dem.
KIL. Bliss his heart, a good bit of faith he has thin, and Patrick Kilroy is the last man, though he has an Irish heart, that would lit any harm come to this shmall spal-peen. Corporal of the guard, post four.
KIL. (_with hand on_ PETE'S _shoulder_). Look here, sir. See what I've found crossing the line. Shure it's a bit of ould Africa.
CORP. All right, I'll show him to the colonel. (KILROY _resumes march_; CORPORAL _leads_ PETE _to_ COLONEL'S _tent and salutes_.)
CORP. A contraband discovered crossing the lines.
COL. (_coming out of tent_). My fine fellow, what is your name?
PETE. Dey neber done gib me one, massa, only Pete.
PETE (_scratching head_). Dunno, 'specs I'se purty old; I'se had heaps of fun.
PETE (_points across river_). Ober dere. Powerful hard time I'se had too, massa. I'se runned away.
PETE. Ole massa, he sold my brudder, an' I jest feared he'd make me gwine too. An' I knowed der Union men was heaps good to de poor niggers, an' I tought p'raps yer might tell me whar my mammy is.