When she struggled back to consciousness once more she was wrapped in a
soldier's jacket, her head pillowed on the shirt-sleeve of an artillery
corporal in the stern sheets of that eight-oared government barge
she had remembered. But the only officer was a bareheaded, boyish
lieutenant, and the rowers were an athletic but unseamanlike crew of
mingled artillerymen and infantry.

"And where did ye drift from, darlint?"

Mrs. Bunker bridled feebly at the epithet.

"I didn't drift. I was going to the Fort."

"The Fort, is it?"

"Yes. I want to see the general."

"Wadn't the liftenant do ye? Or shure there's the adjutant; he's a foine
man."

"Silence, Flanigan," said the young officer sharply. Then turning to
Mrs. Bunker he said, "Don't mind HIM, but let his wife take you to the
canteen, when we get in, and get you some dry clothes."

But Mrs. Bunker, spurred to convalescence at the indignity, protested
stiffly, and demanded on her arrival to be led at once to the general's
quarters. A few officers, who had been attracted to the pier by the
rescue, acceded to her demand.

She recognized the gray-haired, handsome man who had come ashore at her