Who goes there?

by B. K. Benson

Why Knight? I did not know. My work seemed to revolve about K-h. I felt greatly encouraged with Khayyam,--pronounced Ki-yam,--which had the K sound, and in form had the h. But was there nothing more in Knight? Nothing except the ultimate t and the long vowel, and the vowel I had also in Ki-yam; the lines converged every way toward Ki, or toward K-h-a-y, pronounced Ki.

Again I tried repeatedly, using the long sound of i: "Gi-le, Ki-me, Ki-me, Ki-me, Ki-me," and kept on repeating Ki-me, involuntarily holding to the unfamiliar sound.

For a long time I worked without any result, and I became greatly puzzled. Then a help came. The name was that of a doctor. I repeated over and over, "Doctor Gay-le, Doctor Ka-me, Doctor Ka-mes, Doctor Kay-ne, Doctor Gi-le, Doctor Ki-me, Doctor Ki-mes, Doctor Ki-yam." The last name sounded nearly right.

The face of my dream was yet easily called up--a swarthy face with bright black eyes and a great brow. I repeated all the words again, and at each name I brought my will to bear and tried to fit the face to the name: "Doctor Gay-le, they do not fit; Doctor Ka-me, they do not fit; Doctor Kay-ne; no; Doctor Gi-le; still less Doctor Ki-me, Doctor Ki-me, Doctor Ki-me."

The words riveted me. They did not satisfy me, yet they dominated all other words. The strangeness of the name did not affect me; in fact, the name was neither strange nor familiar; and just because the name did not sound strange, I took courage and hope. I reasoned that such a name ought to sound strange, and that it did not was cheering. I was on the brink of something, I knew not what.

We stacked arms by the side of the road, and Ewell's corps marched by on a road crossing ours; it took so long to go by that we were ordered to bivouac.

My brain was in a stir. I asked myself why I should attach so great importance to the recovery of one man's name, and I answered that this one name was the clew to my past life, and was the beginning of my future life; the recovery of one name would mean all recovery; I had resolved to never abandon the pursuit of this name, and I felt convinced that I should find it, and soon. What was to result I would risk; months before, I had not had the courage to wish to know my past, but now I would welcome change. I was wretched, alone in the world, tired of life; I would hazard the venture. Then, too, I knew that if my former condition should prove unfortunate or shameful, I still had the chance to escape it--by being silent, if not in any other way. Nothing could be much worse than my present state.

That afternoon and night we were on picket, having been thrown forward a mile from the bivouac of the division. There was now but one opinion among the men, who were almost hilarious,--Lee's army was flanking Meade, that is, Ewell and Hill, for Longstreet had been sent to Georgia with his corps. But why were we making such short marches? Several reasons were advanced for this. Wilson said we were getting as near as possible first, "taking a running start," to use his words. Youmans thought that General Lee wanted to save the army from straggling before the day of battle. Mackay thought Ewell would make the long march, and that we must wait on his movement. Wilson said that could not be so, as Ewell had marched to our right.

Nobody had any other belief than that we were getting around Meade. We were now almost at the very spot, within a few miles of it, from which Jackson's rapid march to Pope's rear had begun, while Meade now occupied Pope's former position. Could General Lee hope that Meade, with Pope's example staring him in the face, would allow himself to be entrapped? This question was discussed by the men.

Mackay thought that the movement of our army through the Valley last June, when we went into Pennsylvania, would be the first thing Meade would recall.