“Oh, yes, of course—Tom Benson's daughter—I recollect he had a daughter. I declare that sort of makes a tie, don't it? But how is Jake? He wa'n'. such a bad fellow as I knew him; he had his notions, that was the worst I ever had to say of him. I used to tell him that all he needed to make a right decent fellow was to limber up some. Well, you must look me up at headquarters, I'd like to show them there the sort of a chap I used to carry around in my arms when he wa'n'. no higher than a walking-stick.”
“If you all ain't using that tin-cup,” said a gentle voice, “will you kindly give it here a minute?” The speaker who had approached unnoticed and now stood at Stephen's elbow, was a lank loose-jointed young man of about Stephen's own age. A sandy stubble that had not known a razor in many days covered his chin and lips, his hair was long and almost swept his shoulders, but his eyes were mild, and in the corners of them lurked a humorous twinkle which softened his savage unkempt appearance, giving him an air of genial burlesque. He was clothed in tattered grey homespun, and halted on one foot as a man will who is footsore. On the damaged member he wore a list slipper, the other foot was encased in a soldier's rough brogan. “I've just been gathered in,” he said, with a slight deprecatory gesture and a pleasant twinkle. “They picked me up along with my whole company. We didn't know anything about the white flag until it was too late. Gentlemen, do you think it's over?”
“Yes,” said Gibbs promptly. “I think it is, the backbone's broken.”
“Well, the stomach's been empty for some time,” murmured the stranger with gentle melancholy. “And it got to us—yes, it certainly got to us bad!” He took the tin-cup Stephen had filled and now extended to him, and gulped down thirsty swallows of water. “Well, I'm glad it's over with, if it is over with,” he said, returning the cup to Stephen. “I done my share of fighting. I've run from you all; and I've run after you all when you were going in that direction.”
“Which happened now and then,” said Gibbs laughing good-naturedly.
“Oh some; but I don't wish to disparage what you've accomplished,” said the stranger, laughing too. “Taking it altogether, I'm satisfied. I don't care if I never see another war.”
Gibbs approved of his attitude, for he commended it highly. “That's the proper spirit! You stood out for your convictions, as long as you could; for it's safe to assume that General Lee is fully convinced of the futility of further resistance.”
“Well, I don't know as I had any convictions; I'm a Utah man myself; and it was just my contrary luck that I happened to be in Texas buying cattle when Mr. Davis and the rest was for going out, and I was asked by an intimate friend which I preferred—being hung or joining the army—he got my answer right off, and I joined.” He meditated for an instant in silence. “I reckon I must have thought they needed just such a soldier as I knew I'd make. But the war's been fought to a finish without any one higher than a corporal ever asking my opinion. Well, I'm glad to get acquainted with you, gentlemen; I been living on what I could just naturally pick up for the past week, and there was mighty little to pick up; but I hear you all have got grub, so I reckon it's a heap worse not to get captured than it is to get captured. I want somebody to set me down with a skillet and a coffee-pot, and leave me alone for a spell with plenty of Yankee groceries to my hand!”
Gibbs and Landray had risen to their feet while he was speaking, and now the three turned back out of the wood.
In the open fields, the long line of halted men were already in motion. They were being withdrawn from the front of what was to have been the Union position. Where they emerged there was considerable confusion. A battery had just come up from the rear, while a regiment recently arrived from the skirmish line had broken ranks and its thirsty members were hurrying down to the spring to fill their canteens. They left the Confederate captain with his men, a sparse handful as wildly tattered and unkempt as himself, with whom the blue-clad soldiers were already sharing the contents of their haversacks. Stephen extricated his company and prepared to march back to the camp he had quitted at four o'clock that morning. For a moment he and Gibbs lingered to speak with the stranger; to commend him to his captors and to wish him well; and then Gibbs turned to Stephen.