Short Story Classics (American) Vol. 2 | Page 5

shall have your way if you will. You shall do what you will. I
only ask what good will it do to _her_?"
"It will do good to me, Colonel," whispered Fitz Hugh, suddenly
turning crimson. "You forget me."
Waldron's face also flushed, and an angry sparkle shot from under his
lashes in reply to this utterance of hate, but it died out in an instant.
"I have done a wrong, and I will accept the consequences," he said. "I
pledge you my word that I will be at your disposal if I survive the battle.
Where do you propose to remain meanwhile?"
"I will take the same chance, sir. I propose to do my share in the
fighting if you will use me."
"I am short of staff officers. Will you act as my aid?"
"I will, Colonel," bowed Fitz Hugh, with a glance which expressed
surprise, and perhaps admiration, at this confidence.
Waldron turned, beckoned his staff officers to approach, and said,
"Gentlemen, this is Captain Fitz Hugh of the --th Delaware. He has
volunteered to join us for the day, and will act as my aid. And now,
Captain, will you ride to the head of the column and order it forward?

There will be no drum-beat and no noise. When you have given your
order and seen it executed, you will wait for me."
Fitz Hugh saluted, sprang into his saddle and galloped away. A few
minutes later the whole column was plodding on silently toward its
bloody goal. To a civilian, unaccustomed to scenes of war, the
tranquillity of these men would have seemed very wonderful. Many of
the soldiers were still munching the hard bread and raw pork of their
meagre breakfasts, or drinking the cold coffee with which they had
filled their canteens the day previous. Many more were chatting in an
undertone, grumbling over their sore feet and other discomfits, chaffing
each other, and laughing. The general bearing, however, was grave,
patient, quietly enduring, and one might almost say stolid. You would
have said, to judge by their expressions, that these sunburned fellows
were merely doing hard work, and thoroughly commonplace work,
without a prospect of adventure, and much less of danger. The
explanation of this calmness, so brutal perhaps to the eye of a sensitive
soul, lies mainly in the fact that they were all veterans, the survivors of
marches, privations, maladies, sieges, and battles. Not a regiment
present numbered four hundred men, and the average was not above
three hundred. The whole force, including artillery and cavalry, might
have been about twenty-five hundred sabres and bayonets.
At the beginning of the march Waldron fell into the rear of his staff and
mounted orderlies. Then the boy who had fled from Fitz Hugh dropped
out of the tramping escort, and rode up to his side.
"Well, Charlie," said Waldron, casting a pitying glance at the yet pallid
face and anxious eyes of the youth, "you have had a sad fright. I make
you very miserable."
"He has found us at last," murmured Charlie in a tremulous soprano
voice. "What did he say?"
"We are to talk to-morrow. He acts as my aide-de-camp to-day. I ought
to tell you frankly that he is not friendly."
"Of course, I knew it," sighed Charlie, while the tears fell.

"It is only one more trouble--one more danger, and perhaps it may pass.
So many have passed."
"Did you tell him anything to quiet him? Did you tell him that we were
married?"
"But we are not married yet, Charlie. We shall be, I hope."
"But you ought to have told him that we were. It might stop him from
doing something--mad. Why didn't you tell him so? Why didn't you
think of it?"
"My dear little child, we are about to have a battle. I should like to
carry some honor and truth into it."
"Where is he?" continued Charlie, unconvinced and unappeased. "I
want to see him. Is he at the head of the column? I want to speak to him,
just one word. He won't hurt me."
She suddenly spurred her horse, wheeled into the fields, and dashed
onward. Fitz Hugh was lounging in his saddle, and sombrely surveying
the passing column, when she galloped up to him.
"Carrol!" she said, in a choked voice, reining in by his side, and leaning
forward to touch his sleeve.
He threw one glance at her--a glance of aversion, if not of downright
hatred, and turned his back in silence.
"He is my husband, Carrol," she went on rapidly. "I knew you didn't
understand it. I ought to have written you about it. I thought I would
come and tell you before you did anything absurd. We were married as
soon as he heard that his wife was