It'll happen in five minutes." As the other officer tossed his fingers toward his cap and wheeling his horse, started away, the general called out to him in a sober voice: "I don't believe many of your mule drivers will get back." The other shouted something in reply.

He smiled.
With scared faces, the youth and his companion hurried back to the line.
These happenings had occupied an incredibly short time, yet the youth felt that in them he had been made aged.

New eyes were given to him.
And the most startling thing was to learn suddenly that he was very insignificant.

The officer spoke of the regiment as if he referred to a broom.

Some part of the woods needed sweeping, perhaps, and he merely indicated a broom in a tone properly indifferent to its fate.