The effort to identify him nagged me, working in the depths of my mind, obtruding even into that top layer which was concerned with what was going on.
What was going on? Too bad. Thought you could tell me about the Yanks up ahead. How long have you been in this orchard?
Yanks up ahead? There werent any. There wouldnt be, for hours.
“I said, ‘How long you been in this orchard?’”
Probably an officer later promoted to rank prominent enough to have his picture in one of the minor narratives. Yet I was certain his face was no likeness I’d seen once in a steel engraving and dismissed. These were features often encountered....
“Sure like to have them boots. If we aint fightin for Yankee boots, what the hell we fightin for?”
What could I say? That I’d been in the orchard for half an hour? The next question was bound to be, Had I seen Federal troops? Whichever way I answered I would be betraying my role of spectator.
“Hey Capn—this fella knows something. Lookit the silly grin!” Was I smiling? In what? Terror? Perplexity? In the mere effort of keeping silent, so as to be involved no further?
“Tell yah—he’s laughin cuz he knows somethin!” Let them hang me, let them strip me of my boots; from here on I was dumb as dear Catty had been once.
“Out with it man—youre in a tight spot. Are there Yanks up ahead?” The confusion in my mind approached chaos. If I knew the captain’s eventual rank I could place him. Colonel Soandso. Brigadier-General Blank. What had happened? Why had I let myself be discovered? Why had I spoken at all and made silence so hard now?