Berkley laughed. "Well, for one thing, I'm not sure how I'd behave
in battle. I might be intelligent enough to run; I might be ass
enough to fight. The enemy would have to take its chances."

The boy laughed, too, turned to the window, and suddenly caught
Berkley by the arm:

"Look! There's something going on down by the Astor House!"

"A Massachusetts regiment of embattled farmers arrived in this
hamlet last night. I believe they are to pass by here on their way
to Washington," remarked Berkley, opening the window and leaning
out.

Already dense crowds of people were pushing, fighting, forcing
their way past the windows, driven before double lines of police;
already distant volleys of cheers sounded; the throb of drums
became audible; the cheering sounded shriller, nearer.

Past the windows, through Broadway, hordes of ragged street arabs
came running, scattered into night before another heavy escort of
police. And now the on-coming drums could be heard more
distinctly; and now two dusty officers marched into view, a colonel
of Massachusetts infantry attended by a quartermaster of New York
militia.

Behind them tramped the regimental band of the 6th Massachusetts,
instruments slung; behind these, filling the street from gutter to
gutter, surged the sweating drummers, deafening every ear with
their racket; then followed the field and staff, then the Yankee