“But this must be a mistake,” I protested. “There is nobody to relieve us. Surely the general can not mean to leave the line broken at this point.”
“If you have taken the direction of the campaign, perhaps you had best notify our generals that they are superseded,” he said in a tone most ironical.
He aroused my stubbornness, of which some people say I have too much, and I refused to retire until he showed me a written order to that effect from the proper officer. Not abating his ironical manner one whit, he held it toward me in an indifferent way, as much as to say, “You can read it or not, just as you choose; it does not matter to me.”
It was addressed to me, and notified me briefly to withdraw at once with my men and rejoin my company, stationed not less than ten miles away. Everything, signature included, was most proper, and naught was left for me to do but to obey. The change was no affair of mine.
“Does that put your mind at rest?” asked Martyn.
“No, it does not,” I replied, “but it takes responsibility from me.”
Sergeant Whitestone called the men, and as we marched over the hill Martyn turned his horse and galloped back toward the army. When he had passed out of sight behind the trees I ordered the men to stop.
“Whitestone,” said I to the sergeant, who, as I have said before, was a man of most acute judgment, “do you like this?”