The officer drew the attention of other eyes than Whitestone’s and mine. In the British camp they seemed to know what he was about, or guessed it. I could see the people drawing together in groups and looking at him, and then speaking to each other, which always indicates great interest. An officer with gray hair whom he passed looked after him, and then covered his face with his hands.
The officer came on with a steady and regular step to the earthwork, where he paused for a moment.
“It may be,” said Whitestone, “that you and I were the first to see the beginning of a great event.”
The officer stepped upon the earthwork, raising a piece of white cloth in his hand. The fire of the sharpshooters ceased with such suddenness that my ear, accustomed to the sound, was startled at the lack of it.
“I think you’ve guessed right,” I said to Whitestone.
He made no reply, but drew a deep breath at his pipe stem, and then let the smoke escape in a long white curl.
Some of the sharpshooters stepped from covert and looked curiously at the approaching officer.
“Whitestone,” I said, “since there is no committee of reception, let us make ourselves one.”
He took his pipe from his mouth and followed me. The murmur of the camps, the sound made by the voices of many men, increased. The officer came rapidly. Whitestone and I walked very slowly. He saw us, and, noting my subaltern’s uniform, took me for one dispatched to meet him.
When he came very near I saw that his face was frozen into the haughty expression of a man who wishes to conceal mortification. He said at once that he wished to see our commander in chief, and without question Whitestone and I took him to our colonel, who formed his escort to the tent of our commander in chief. Then we returned to our former place near the outposts.