Sherman. Pray, why not?
Halcom. We are engaged in a desperate march to the sea. The army is too far from its base to exist without a competent leader. If you should fall, what next?
Sherman. Half my men, sir, are fit to command.
Halcom. General, you are too sanguine of the capabilities of others. I repeat again, you must be careful. The safety of the army demands it.
Sherman. Halcom, you are too anxious for the safety of every one but yourself. The army has a common impression that you are the most daring, reckless officer at the front.
Halcom. It matters but little if I fall.
Sherman. Why, my dear sir, your life—
Halcom. Is worth nothing for myself. If it please heaven that I live to see a full and earnest liberty here, with all the stars of the old flag still lingering there, it matters little what becomes of me.
Sherman. Halcom, I never see you smile! There is some terrible misfortune hidden behind your sad, melancholy face, you have never yet revealed. Desperate; rash; impetuous; you have won your double stars at twenty-eight. A brilliant military dash that thrills the army; and you fell back so quietly to the seclusion of your quarters, and never seem to hope or look for reward. But for this, your life has been a blank to me.
Halcom. There is nothing in the history of my family I could wish to conceal.