Now, Somers, being a modest man, as we have always held him up to our readers, and being averse to all the pomp and parade of martial glory in its application to himself, was strongly averse to an escort. He preferred to go alone, tell his own story, and fight his own battles, if battles there were to be fought. Owen and Allan were unutterably affectionate. They received him into their small circle of fellowship, and stuck to him like a brother. They were both good fellows, splendid fellows; and, under ordinary circumstances, Somers would have been delighted to cultivate their friendship. As it was, he ungratefully resolved to give them the slip at the first convenient opportunity.
Unhappily for him, no opportunity occurred, for his zealous friends would not permit him to go a single rod from them; and Somers had about made up his mind to trust the matter to the judgment of Major Platner, who had shown a remarkable discrimination during the former interview, when the trio came to a line of sentinels guarding a brigade camp.
“What regiment do you belong to?” demanded the guard.
“Fourth Alabama,” replied Owen.
“You can’t pass this line, then.”
“But I have a pass,” interposed Somers.
“Show your pass.”
Somers showed the important document, which the sentinel, after a patient study, succeeded in deciphering.
“Your pass is right—pass on; but you can’t go through,” he added to Owen and Allan.
Owen explained.