Time passed. Mark became attached to General H——'s staff, and spent many months before Petersburg. It was there he performed an exploit which has remained legendary in the annals of the war. During a night attack on one of our batteries, the rebels had succeeded in spiking a siege-gun which commanded their position, while it protected our working parties of sappers. As soon as the piece was rendered useless, the enemy's sharp-shooters, swarming in rifle-pits close to our lines, seriously impeded further progress on our part. Vexed at this interruption, the commander called for volunteers to unspike the gun; but as this involved getting on the breech, and becoming a target for the foe while the work lasted, no one seemed willing to undertake it. In this dilemma, Mark, being known as a skilled machinist, was consulted; and after an examination, he reported in favor of the practicability of the job, while admitting the extreme peril attending it. Perhaps any intention of executing it would have been abandoned, had not a comment, made by one of the men to another, to the effect that it was easy for officers to set tasks for privates which they were not willing to do themselves, been accidentally overheard by Mark, which stung him immediately into offering to accomplish the hazardous feat. Armed with several well-tempered bits and a brace, he went forth at nightfall on his perilous errand. Straddling the breech of the monstrous cannon, and crouching as low as possible, with the brace against his chest, he plied the drill vigorously. Scarcely had he begun to work, when he was perceived by the vigilant rebel marksmen, who immediately opened fire. He could see the long rifle-pit, not a hundred yards distant, ablaze with the flash of fifty rifles, and feel the wind of their bullets as they whistled past him. Fortunately, favored somewhat by the obscurity, but far more by good luck, he remained unscathed, save by a skin-grazing touch. In fifteen minutes (it seemed to him an hour) the vent was clear; a primer and lanyard were then passed up to him, and these affixed, he slipped off the cannon as quick as possible. Seeing him drop, the rebels imagined they had shot him, and sent up a yell of exultation, which was suddenly checked as a discharge of grape from the liberated gun scattered death among them. Mark was not destined to escape entirely uninjured, for in his haste to get off the gun, and anxiety to avoid any danger from its recoil, he fell heavily, and was picked up with a dislocated shoulder. This accident, however, entailed but a short confinement, and he was soon able to be on duty again. Needless to add, that Mark received full meed of praise for his daring achievement, which furthermore earned him the grade of colonel.
In this his hour of triumph and full flush of gratified vanity, one thought was constant and uppermost. How would Edna receive the news of his renown? If she felt but one momentary responsive throb of pride, he was repaid, and repaid a hundred-fold, for all he had risked and undergone. But would she hear of him? Where was she? Although he had written her several letters he had received none from her, since the one announcing her departure for Europe. Her silence was unaccountable. So long a time had elapsed that he began to despond. "Well, well," thought he, "it's inexplicable, and useless to indulge in conjectures. I'll not do her the injustice to believe that it is intentional neglect on her part. We'll see what it all means when she returns. Meanwhile I must console myself by re-reading her old epistles."
He occasionally received a communication from his sister-in-law, who kept him advised of all the Belton gossip—births, deaths, marriages, and so forth. At length one came, conveying the welcome intelligence that the Mumbies and their fair charge had returned home. Mrs. Gildersleeve stated that she had seen Miss Heath, and that she was looking remarkably well, but exceedingly grand and dignified; adding, "You would hardly know your old sweetheart, now, Mark. She holds her head as high as a queen, and goes sweeping through the streets as if the earth were not good enough for her to tread on. I do not think, I am sorry to say, that travelling has improved her a bit." This was uncommonly severe criticism to come from the worthy lady, and amazed Mark; but perhaps her opinion was somewhat colored by the fact that Miss Heath had, unintentionally or otherwise, neglected to return Mrs. Gildersleeve's bow; an omission certainly sufficient to bias the judgment of the least prejudiced woman who respects herself.
There was a lull in the conflict. The shock of arms and bruit of war gave place to the patient, silent work of the engineer. Inch by inch, the Union army advanced its lines of investment, and slowly the constricting circle was closing. Dull monotony succeeded, broken only by the occasional bursting of a shell over the trenches, or the crack of a sharp-shooter's rifle and ping of bullet, startling some too venturesome spectator. Apart from this, all was inaction or weary routine. Deeming it a favorable time to apply for leave of absence, and longing to see Edna, Mark sought and obtained a furlough, and was speedily on his way north.
It would be difficult to describe the Colonel's feelings as he approached his home. The anticipated delight of meeting his friends, relatives, and above all, Edna, was mingled with a vague sense of apprehension—a premonition of some disappointment that he could not shake off. He had been away full three years. It seemed to him at least ten; and he dreaded to be confronted by unpleasant changes. Belton, at least, was still the same, and in its usual quiet mood. Contrary to the expectations of many of its inhabitants it had not as yet been invaded by the Rebels; still, as untiring vigilance was the price of liberty and safety the "Home Guard" kept up its organization and weekly drills, under the patriotic supervision of Captain George Gildersleeve. The first thing that attracted Mark's attention, as he passed up Main Street, was a full-length colored photograph in Snopple's show-case, of his brother, in all his panoply, figuring conspicuously in company with portraits of Generals Grant and Sherman.
Mark had hardly been in the town five minutes, before the fact was known from one end of it to the other; and Dr. Wattletop devoted himself to informing everybody he met, that Mark Gildersleeve had returned from the "wars, bearing his blushing honors thick upon him."
Of course the fatted calf was figuratively killed by Mrs. Gildersleeve, and the doctor took tea at her table that evening, and a joyful meal it was. The colonel noticed a marked change in his old friend. Age was shrinking his once rotund form, and his countenance wore the expression of one seeking rest after a strife with life. His disputative spirit was apparently quenched, as he evinced no disposition to take up several thorny assertions on the part of the doughty captain of the "Home Guards," who monopolized the conversation. This martinet criticised very severely the dilatory and bungling way in which the war was carried on, and set forth a plan of operations of his own, which, he was ready to back with any amount of money, would, if carried out by the commander-in-chief, bring the rebels to terms in the short space of time limited to three shakes of a sheep's tail. No one had a stronger belief in himself than George Gildersleeve. It was a faith, too, that increased with his years and prosperity, and perhaps had contributed not a little to the latter.
As for the young colonel, he was singularly taciturn. Perhaps a little disappointed in finding that his lady-love had left the town, albeit it did not mitigate in any great degree the pleasure he felt in being once more in his old home. Certainly his appetite was not affected; and the quantity of clover-honey, of preserves, both quince and crab-apple, of stewed oysters, of Sally Lunn, and waffles he consumed, were sufficient to give an able-bodied ostrich a gastric derangement.
After the meal they sat in the little parlor. Mark opened his long-neglected piano and tried a few bars of a favorite Nocture; but his stiff fingers made poor work of it. It was pleasanter to sit beside his second mother. There were a few more silver threads in her smooth hair, but her serene, loving face seemed to him as young as ever. Presently the Reverend Samuel and Mrs. Sniffen dropped in, for whom the colonel had to fight his battles o'er again.