"It has no address."
The general took it, examined the envelope, thrust it into his belt, and
said,--
"I will take charge of it."
The sound of horses' hoofs came from the rocky roadside beyond the
brook. Both men turned. A number of field officers were approaching.
"The division staff," said the captain, in a lower voice, falling back.
They came slowly forward, a central figure on a gray horse leading
here--as in history. A short, thick-set man with a grizzled beard
closely cropped around an inscrutable mouth, and the serious formality
of a respectable country deacon in his aspect, which even the
major-generals blazon on the shoulder-strap of his loose tunic on his
soldierly seat in the saddle could not entirely obliterate. He had
evidently perceived the general of brigade, and quickened his horse as
the latter drew up. The staff followed more leisurely, but still with
some curiosity, to witness the meeting of the first general of the army
with the youngest. The division general saluted, but almost instantly
withdrew his leathern gauntlet, and offered his bared hand to the
brigadier. The words of heroes are scant. The drawn-up detail, the
waiting staff listened. This was all they heard:--
"Halleck tells me you're from California?"
"Yes, General.
Pages:
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94