The corporal painfully bent his brows, on which the last sweat was gathering. "Is that—the General?" he gasped with a feeble effort to salute. Then his brain seemed to clear suddenly and he answered, not as soldier to commanding officer, but as man to man. "He converted me. Praise be to God!"
"You are going to him. You know?"
The corporal nodded.
"And you may take him a message from me: for he once did me a handsome turn, too—though not in that way. You may tell him—for I watched you with the guns to-day—that I pass you for a good soldier. You may tell him and his brother John that I wish to command no better followers than theirs. Now, is there anything I can do for you?"
The man looked up into the eyes of the sergeant bending over him, muttered a word or two, slowly drew his palm up to his forehead; and so, with the self-same salute, parted from his earthly captain and met his eternal Captain in Heaven.
"What did he say?" asked the General.
"He was wishful not to be put away without a hymn, sir," answered the sergeant, drawing himself erect to "Attention" and answering respectfully through his captain who had drawn near, having limbered up his gun.
The General nodded and turned away to watch the lowering of the remaining guns. A new track had been cut and down it they were trailed without accident. One by one they crossed the gully. Then the rear regiments hove in sight with the ambulance. The dead man was lifted in and his carrying-party, Wesleyans all, fell into rank behind the light wagon as that, too, moved on.
"Ellerton," said the General suddenly as he gazed after them, "did you hear what I said to that poor fellow just now?"
"Yes, General, and wondered."