At times he sank.
At other times he went up.
In the intervals he wondered whether it would ever be possible for him to rejoin the particular platoon of the particular regiment to which he belonged, and of which's whereabouts (not having the volume of the army record at hand) he was in ignorance.

In the intervals, also, he reflected on his past life to a sufficient extent to give the reader a more or less workable idea as to who and to what he was.

His father, the old grey-haired Virginian aristocrat, he could see him still.

"Take this sword, Eggleston," he had said, "use it for the State; never for anything else: don't cut string with it or open tin cans.

Never sheathe it till the soil of Virginia is free.