Angela, whose glance was keen, turned to Isabey and said: “That’s Richard’s horse and that’s his body servant, Peter, driving the cart.”
Isabey’s practiced eye took in the truth at a glance—Richard Tremaine lay dead in the cart. He walked with Angela quickly to the front of the house. Colonel and Mrs. Tremaine were already upon the porch. They watched with terrified eyes the cart as it drew near the wide opening in the cedar hedge where the driveway began.
Angela ran forward and took Mrs. Tremaine’s hand. Colonel Tremaine’s tall figure swayed a little, and, putting out his arm, he drew Mrs. Tremaine to his side. A solemn hush had fallen upon the assembled negroes, young and old, who watched the cart drive up.
Lyddon and Archie came out and joined the silent group upon the pillared porch. The cart drove around the carriage path and halted in front of the steps. The horse stood almost as still as the dead man who lay covered up in the cart.
Peter scrambled down, and going up to the steps, his rough cap in his hand, said to Mrs. Tremaine: “Missis, I done brought Marse Richard back to you.”
Mrs. Tremaine said no word, but the father and mother of the dead man clung desperately together as the bolt fell.
“‘Missis, I done brought Marse Richard back to you.’”
“’Twas las’ Sunday mornin’,” Peter continued, gasping for breath between his sentences, “in de big battle wid de Yankees. De shot went right thru’ Marse Richard’s heart. He was a-leadin’ he battery on an’ cheerin’ he men an’ de big gun was a-bellowin’ an’ de balls was flyin’ fast. De ho’ses to de guns dey ra’r an’ pitch, an’ Marse Richard he speak kin’ o’ coaxin’ to ’em an’ brought ’em down, an’ dey went off at a hard gallop, de artillerymen arter ’em, yellin’. Marse Richard was gallopin’ ahead, de Yankees was comin’ out of de woods into an open fiel’ where we could see de ridges blue wid ’em, thousands on ’em, an’ dey had a heap o’ cannon a-spittin’ shells an’ grapeshot. De guns was a-thunderin’ an’ de bullets was a-flyin’ wus an’ wus, an’ de yearth a-shakin’ wid all dem ho’ses an’ gun carriages poundin’ over it. I was runnin’ ’long arter de long gray line, an’ kep’ my eye fixed on Marse Richard, jes’ like ole Missis tole me. He tu’n roun’ in he saddle, an’ takin’ off he cap he wave it jes’ de same as a little boy an’ hollered, ‘Come on, boys! Marse Robert say we got to git dem guns,’ an’ while he was lookin’ back an’ smilin’, his ho’se went down. It warn’t no time to stop for nuttin’, an’ de artillery went on a-gallopin’. When I got up to where Marse Richard was, de ho’se had done riz up, an’ Marse Richard lay on he side, wid he arm under he haid, jes’ de same as when Mammy Tulip put him to sleep when he wuz a little boy in de trundle-baid. I done saw enough daid soldiers for to know that Marse Richard was gone. He drawed he breff once or twice an’ open he eyes an’ look at me an’ say, ‘Pete,’ an’ den he breff stopped.”
Peter paused, his brawny frame trembling. Not a sound was uttered; only Mrs. Tremaine’s glance wandered from Peter, with tears streaming down his face, around the group, as if she were in some painful dream.