Absolute silence had been ordered. And, as if heeding, the rattle of musketry died away, the sullen cannon stopped from muttering, even there ceased the sound of trampling feet, of rolling wagons, of the swinging tinkle of canteens. Only the chirring hum of frogs and katydids and tree-toads, the multitudinous murmur of a Virginia summer night, was heard. Then from far in the distance came solemnly the strain, “My country, ’tis of thee,” and the soul of Zebedee was thrilled and uplifted as never before in his poor life.
Once in a while the chief surgeon hurried back from the multitude of other cases that the day had given. In piercing anxiety Zebedee watched by the General’s side. “Has there been any change?” “There has been no change.”
Slowly the hours marched towards morning. The chief surgeon again appeared and led Zebedee outside the tent. “There will be an advance and an engagement at daybreak. The General will sleep for hours. I may be unable to come in again for a while. Be sure to let him sleep. I depend upon you, Zebedee.”
Zebedee had held all surgeons to be his enemies, but here was one that roused his humble devotion. And the words crystallized a feeling which had already come over him with almost oppressive weight—the feeling that upon him, Zebedee, there lay a heavy responsibility. He thought of the renewed battle, now so imminent, and as by a flash of inspiration he saw the results of jealousy and half-hearted co-operation; he saw the soldiers, like frightened children, making an ineffectual stand; the impotency of his position came upon him like pain.
He glanced from the tent. A nebulous lustre marked the glow from the enemy’s fires. Through the air came faintly the mysterious light that tells of the coming of morning. A dull slow wind crept laggard by. Statued sentinels stood stiff and still. Two dimly outlined aides conversed in cautious sibilation. Silently he drew back and returned to the General’s side.
The General still slept. To Zebedee’s anxious ears a soft thudding told of soldiers marching through the feeble light. The sound increased. He knew that shadows were passing by. There was the crunch of heavy wheels and he knew that cannon, sulkily tossing their lowered heads from side to side, were being dragged unwillingly towards fight. Faintly audible firing began in the far distance, and the sulky cannon set up a hoarse and excited cry.
The laggard dawn came with a plumping rain. The candle in the bayonet end flamed yellow. The sounds of distant battle grew more loud.
The General opened his eyes. He sighed with a great weariness. He listened to the sounds, and thought himself again a boy, on a farm, hearing the homely noise of breakfast-dishes and milk-cans and wagons. “I can’t get up—I’m tired,” he said, and his voice was as the querulous voice of a boy. His eyes fell upon Zebedee, and the tense look of dread anxiety almost roused him. He sat up; then fell back, smiling quietly. “I have always trusted you, Zebedee,” he said, simply, in such a tone as Zebedee had never before heard; “always—trusted—you.” And with that, he was dead.
Dead, and the battle was on. To Zebedee it meant the end of all things precious. His mind in its agony lost all sense of proportion. The General was dead!—that was the one important fact in all the universe.
A shell flew over the tent. Already the enemy were advancing! Another shell, and another and another. They fascinated him. In their sounds they marked the full range of life and of passion. One shrieked, one groaned, one muttered like a miser counting gold, one whispered like a child, one was petulant, one expostulated, one whispered softly like a maid confessing love. Zebedee shivered. Suddenly the shell sounds turned to taunts. He could have wept from very impotence. He felt choking, smothered. Passionate cannon began a louder uproar.