The Governor, who had been unconscious, opened his eyes and stared about
him, slowly recalling the day's events. A man in the uniform of a major
was kneeling beside him; he was a surgeon. Grouped about were the
civilian members of the Governor's staff, their faces expressing a
natural solicitude regarding their offices. A little apart stood General
Masterson addressing another officer and gesticulating with a cigar. He
was saying: "It was the beautifulest fight ever made--by God, sir, it
was great!"
The beauty and greatness were attested by a row of dead, trimly
disposed, and another of wounded, less formally placed, restless,
half-naked, but bravely bebandaged.
"How do you feel, sir?" said the surgeon. "I find no wound."
"I think I am all right," the patient replied, sitting up. "It is that
ankle."
The surgeon transferred his attention to the ankle, cutting away the
boot. All eyes followed the knife.
In moving the leg a folded paper was uncovered. The patient picked it up
and carelessly opened it. It was a letter three months old, signed
"Julia." Catching sight of his name in it he read it. It was nothing
very remarkable--merely a weak woman's confession of unprofitable sin--
the penitence of a faithless wife deserted by her betrayer. The letter
had fallen from the pocket of Captain Armisted; the reader quietly
transferred it to his own.
An aide-de-camp rode up and dismounted. Advancing to the Governor he
saluted.
"Sir," he said, "I am sorry to find you wounded--the Commanding General
has not been informed. He presents his compliments and I am directed to
say that he has ordered for to-morrow a grand review of the reserve
corps in your honor. I venture to add that the General's carriage is at
your service if you are able to attend."
"Be pleased to say to the Commanding General that I am deeply touched by
his kindness. If you have the patience to wait a few moments you shall
convey a more definite reply."
He smiled brightly and glancing at the surgeon and his assistants added:
"At present--if you will permit an allusion to the horrors of peace--I
am 'in the hands of my friends.'"
The humor of the great is infectious; all laughed who heard.
"Where is Captain Armisted?" the Governor asked, not altogether
carelessly.
The surgeon looked up from his work, pointing silently to the nearest
body in the row of dead, the features discreetly covered with a
handkerchief. It was so near that the great man could have laid his hand
upon it, but he did not. He may have feared that it would bleed.