The day was fast coming to a close. When the marines and their supporters had broken ranks and bivouacked for the night Corporal Stapley went to the commanding officer of his company and asked if he might go over to the hill and visit the captain’s grave.
“He was an old Brighton boy and that is my school,” Clem said, “and he asked me if I would tell his wife, if anything happened to him. I thought I should like to write her—all that she would care to know.”
“Go ahead, Stapley; that’s a noble purpose. I’ll give you a note to enclose, saying how much we appreciated him and how bravely he met his fate. Take one of the men with you—some fellow that specially liked the captain. Get back at dark.”
[CHAPTER XVIII]
Bushwhacking
It was half a mile back to the southern side of the hill where the bloody engagement of the morning had taken place and a like distance to the little plot of ground in the corner of a field where some of the American dead were buried. Clem and Private Martin easily found the captain’s resting-place.
Some sappers were still at work, and a slightly wounded staff-officer of the marines had been detailed to keep record of the burials. One fellow, his identification number and all papers about his person missing, had not been recognized nor interred. On the way back Clem glanced down at this unfortunate.
“It’s poor Giddings!” he exclaimed.
“What? Not that joker in your company?” protested the officer.