Now, if such was Shorty's conception of the gravity and importance of his duties when bearing a verbal message from one brigadier to a junior, what was not his immensity when a hastily written despatch, conveying tidings of flood and disaster, was intrusted to him by the commander at the front to be delivered to the general-in-chief in town. Shorty rode like a demon that day, and even "Badger" was amazed, and that he, bearer of despatches to head-quarters of the army and ordered to stop for nothing, should have had to stop for bayonets and be lifted by the collar into the presence of the officer of the guard,—that he should find in the person of that officer the butt of the whole First Latin,—that he should be ordered by that—thing—to the common cells wherein were penned the drunkards and deserters, and led thither by the ear, and an impudently grinning Paddy if he was a sergeant, all this was, in truth, too much for Shorty. No comfort Winthrop could offer would soothe his wounded soul. He went back ablaze to brigade head-quarters. The general was away up the Potomac, and didn't return till late. Even then when Shorty tried to tell his tale his excitement and wrath made him incoherent. The general was amazed to think that an officer of regulars would hold his messenger after discovering that he was actually the bearer of despatches. But Shorty's animated description of that callow soldier, and by no means guarded references to his school history, gave the general a clue. He fully intended, of course, to follow the matter up, but other and more important issues came to claim his time and attention.
That night at nine o'clock the general decided to make a personal inspection along his front. Horses for himself and two aides were ordered, and Marmion, the colored hostler, presently came round to the big tent.
"Marse Prime's horse done gone stiff, sir," he said to the adjutant-general, "and I reckon Marse Reggy don't feel much like night ridin'. He's sleepin' da' on de hay."
The officer went and took a peep. Wrapped in his blanket, his head on his arms, the youngster had curled up for a nap, worn out by the excitement and emotions of the day. "Don't wake him," was the order, and the three horsemen rode away.
It was a still, starlit night. The roads were yet heavy with mud. The horses sank to their fetlocks and squashed noisily through the mire until the little party were able to turn into the cart-tracks through the thick woods, and, joined now by the field officer of the day, they pushed on to the outposts. It was the dark of the moon. The blackness of the groves and copses was intense. Objects, except on the open field or against the sky, could hardly be distinguished five feet away. But every now and then there would come the muffled challenge of sentries at inner posts of the guard, and it was over half an hour before they reached the outermost groups, with the line of night sentinels some distance ahead. To every inquiry at every station of officer or sergeant, the answer was the same, all quiet, all alert. There had been much shooting at patrols and pickets for over a month, a practice both sides soon abandoned, but at the time there was hazardous, nerve-trying duty at the front, and few men welcomed it except for the excitement. Somewhere in the neighborhood of ten o'clock, following in single file a winding wood track, a sergeant leading afoot, the party approached the southern edge of a strip of woods and halted while the corporal stepped ahead to assure the sentinel. Then the general rode quietly up to question the man, the sergeant assuming his watch the while, for even in presence of the commander-in-chief there must be no cessation of vigilance.
To the queries as to where the nearest sentries were posted? what were his own instructions? what he would do in certain emergencies? the soldier answered promptly, perhaps a bit impatiently, even as though he might have enjoyed the catechism at another time, but had some weightier matter in hand at the moment. He kept turning and glancing out across the open field to the south, stooping once or twice as though to peer at something against the sky, and the general saw and questioned.
"Anything unusual about?"
"Why, yes, sir; at least I think so. The patrol that came by ten minutes ago said that they had heard horses galloping out across the fields, and I could have sworn I heard hoofs on this here bridle-path where it dips into yon woods. By day nobody can come across here without our seeing them. By night we can't see unless we lie flat and look up, and then they could get within a rod or two."
The general bent over his horse's neck and listened. There was not wind enough to rustle a leaf. The sky was almost cloudless; the fields in front were open and silent; the dark, shadowy woods, beyond, merged in the general gloom. Far off to the right front, over a mile away, a faint light gleamed in some farm-house window. Far off to the left front, the south, there was a dim, lurid tint upon the night that might have come from dozens of watch-fires. Straight away in front the cart-track dove into the darkness on its way across the field, and, over against them, there was a dent or depression in the outlines of the fringe of timber, as it stood against the southern stars, that told where the road entered the opposite grove. It was there, right there, said the sentinel, he was almost sure he had heard horses' feet, but nothing else, not another sound.
"Did the patrol stop at your outpost?" the general asked the sergeant.