The Brigade Commander | Page 4

the
regiment.
Quietly and without tap of drum the small, battle-worn battalions filed
out of their bivouacs into the highway, ordered arms and waited for the
word to march. With a dull rumble the field-pieces trundled slowly
after, and halted in rear of the infantry. The cavalry trotted off
circuitously through the fields, emerged upon a road in advance and
likewise halted, all but a single company, which pushed on for half a
mile, spreading out as it went into a thin line of skirmishers.
Meanwhile a strange interview took place near the great oak which had
sheltered brigade headquarters. As the unknown officer, whom Wallis
had noted, approached it, Col. Waldron was standing by his horse ready
to mount. The commandant was a man of medium size, fairly
handsome in person and features, and apparently about twenty-eight
years of age. Perhaps it was the singular breadth of his forehead which
made the lower part of his face look so unusually slight and feminine.
His eyes were dark hazel, as clear, brilliant, and tender as a girl's, and
brimming full of a pensiveness which seemed both loving and
melancholy. Few persons, at all events few women, who looked upon
him ever looked beyond his eyes. They were very fascinating, and in a
man's countenance very strange. They were the kind of eyes which
reveal passionate romances, and which make them.
By his side stood a boy, a singularly interesting and beautiful boy,
fair-haired and blue-eyed, and delicate in color. When this boy saw the
stranger approach he turned as pale as marble, slid away from the
brigade commander's side, and disappeared behind a group of staff

officers and orderlies. The new-comer also became deathly white as he
glanced after the retreating youth. Then he dismounted, touched his cap
slightly and, as if mechanically, advanced a few steps, and said
hoarsely, "I believe this is Colonel Waldron. I am Captain Fitz Hugh,
of the --th Delaware."
Waldron put his hand to his revolver, withdrew it instantaneously, and
stood motionless.
"I am on leave of absence from my regiment, Colonel," continued Fitz
Hugh, speaking now with an elaborate ceremoniousness of utterance
significant of a struggle to suppress violent emotion. "I suppose you
can understand why I made use of it in seeking you."
Waldron hesitated; he stood gazing at the earth with the air of one who
represses deep pain; at last, after a profound sigh, he raised his eyes and
answered:
"Captain, we are on the eve of a battle. I must attend to my public
duties first. After the battle we will settle our private affair."
"There is but one way to settle it, Colonel."
"You 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,