Smiling slightly as he spoke, he showed me his right hand, the fingers of which he could scarcely bend.
“I was wounded at Cold Harbor, in June, 1862,” he added; “not much wounded either; but sufficient to prevent me from handling a sword or musket. It is a trifle. I should like to be able to show an honorable scar{1} in this cause, and I am sorry I left the army. By this time I might have, been a brigadier—perhaps a major-general."{2}
{Footnote 1: His words.}
{Footnote 2: His words.}
“Possibly,” I replied; “but the position of an editor is a powerful one.”
“Do you think so?”
“Don’t you?”
“Yes, colonel; but what good is the Examiner doing? What can all the papers in the Confederacy effect? Besides, I like to command men. I love power."{1}
{Footnote 1: His words.}
I laughed.