"Suah," with frankness. "I done tol' de col'nel all how it was. I was wid my Massa from Louisiana, an' he was a captain, sah! 'Bout two weeks ago he lef' me down yander on de pike wid orders fo' to stay dere till he done come back. But it wa'n't no job fo' me, sah, an' so I skipped out de first night, an' joined up wid de Yanks. I reckon I knows 'bout whar I belongs in dis yere fightin', an' I ain't nobody's slave no mor'."
The lad's earnestness impressed me, and beneath his words was evident a deep smouldering resentment, not so much against slavery as against the individual who had owned him.
"What is your name, my boy?"
"Charles Le Gaire, sah."
CHAPTER XVI
A CALL TO DUTY
The family name was an uncommon one, and, coupled as it was with "Louisiana," and the title "Captain," could refer only to Gerald Le Gaire. I wanted to question, the lad, but refrained, spurring my horse ahead so as to remove the temptation. Even the little already said plainly revealed that he resented bitterly his position in life, and determined to remain no longer in slavery to his own father. His father! That would be Le Gaire! The thought added fuel to the flame of dislike which I already cherished against the man. Of course legally this former relationship between master and slave meant nothing; it would be considered no bar to legitimate marriage; perhaps to one brought up in the environment of slavery it would possess no moral turpitude even, yet to me it seemed a foul, disgraceful thing. Whether it would so appear to Miss Willifred I could not even conjecture; she was of the South, with, all the prejudice and peculiarity of thought characteristic of her section. Pure-hearted, womanly, as I believed her to be, this earlier alliance still might not seem to her particularly reprehensible. Certainly it was not my part to bring it to her attention, or to utilize my knowledge of the situation to advance my cause, or injure Le Gaire. Nor would I question the ex-slave further; I already knew enough, too much possibly, although curiosity was not dormant, and I wondered what had become of the mother, and from what special cause had arisen the intense hatred in the heart of the son.
We rode steadily forward all day, under fire twice, and once charging a battery. All that opposed our advance however was a thin fringe of troops, intent merely upon causing delay, and making a brief stand, only to fall back promptly as soon as we flung forward any considerable body of men. By night-fall we had attained a position well within the bend of the river, the centre and left wing had achieved a crossing, and our entire line had closed up so as to display a solid front. The Ninth bivouacked in the hills, our rest undisturbed, except for the occasional firing of the pickets. With dawn we were under arms, feeling our way forward, and, an hour later, the two armies were face to face. Nearly evenly mated, fighting across a rough country, neither side could claim victory at the end of the day. While we on the right forced our line forward for nearly five miles, leaving behind us a carpet of dead, the left and centre met with such desperate resistance as to barely retain their earlier position. It required an hour of night fighting to close up the gap, and we slept on our arms, expecting an early morning assault. Instead of attempting this the enemy fell back to their second line of intrenchments, and, after waiting a day to determine their movements and strengthen our own line, we again advanced, feeling our way slowly in, but finally meeting with a resistance which compelled a halt.
The details of this battle belong to history, not to these pages. The Ninth bore no conspicuous part, hovering on the extreme right flank, engaged in continuous skirmishing, and scouting along miles of front. The morning of the third day found the armies fronting each other, defiant yet equally afraid to join battle, both commanders seeking for some point of strategy which would yield advantage--we of the North fearful of advancing against intrenchments, and those of the South not daring to come forth into the open. For the moment it was a truce between us--the truce of two exhausted bull-dogs, lying face to face with gleaming teeth, ready to spring at the first opening.