“Four companies,” said Clopton.
“Think o’ that, sir!” cried the Irishman; “an’ me out there defendin’ meself ag’in a whole army.”
“More than that,” said Clopton, “our colonel is a Connecticut man.”
“Shake!” the captain exclaimed. “My colonel is a Virginian.”
“Lord ’a’ mercy! Lord ’a’ mercy!” It was Squire Fambrough who spoke. “I’m a-goin’ off some’rs an’ ontangle the tangle we’ve got into.”
Soon the small company separated. The Squire went a short distance towards the Union army with his new-found son, who was now willing to call himself George Somerville Fambrough. Kilpatrick and the negro went trudging back to the Confederate camp, while Clopton lingered awhile, saying something of great importance to the fair Julia and himself.
His remarks and her replies were those which precede and follow both comedy and tragedy. The thunders of war cannot drown them, nor can the sunshine of peace render them commonplace.
