A Son of the Gods, and A Horseman in the SkyBierce, Ambrose
History
A Son of the Gods, and A Horseman in the Sky
Bierce, Ambrose
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction; War stories, American
No country is so wild and difficult but men will make it a theater of
war; concealed in the forest at the bottom of that military rat-trap, in
which half a hundred men in possession of the exits might have starved
an army to submission, lay five regiments of Federal infantry. They had
marched all the previous day and night, and were resting. At nightfall
they would take to the road again, climb to the place where their
unfaithful sentinel now slept, and, descending the other slope of the
ridge, fall upon a camp of the enemy at about midnight. Their hope was
to surprise it, for the road led to the rear of it. In case of failure,
their position would be perilous in the extreme; and fail they surely
would, should accident or vigilance apprise the enemy of the movement.
The sleeping sentinel in the clump of laurel was a young Virginian named
Carter Druse. He was the son of wealthy parents, an only child, and had
known such ease and cultivation and high living as wealth and taste were
able to command in the mountain country of Western Virginia. His home
was but a few miles from where he now lay. One morning he had risen
from the breakfast table and said, quietly but gravely: "Father, a Union
regiment has arrived at Grafton. I am going to join it."
The father lifted his leonine head, looked at the son a moment in
silence, and replied: "Well, go, sir, and, whatever may occur, do what
you conceive to be your duty. Virginia, to which you are a traitor, must
get on without you. Should we both live to the end of the war, we will
speak further of the matter. Your mother, as the physician has informed
you, is in a most critical condition; at the best, she cannot be with us
longer than a few weeks, but that time is precious. It would be better
not to disturb her."
So Carter Druse, bowing reverently to his father, who returned the
salute with a stately courtesy which masked a breaking heart, left the
home of his childhood to go soldiering. By conscience and courage, by
deeds of devotion and daring, he soon commended himself to his fellows
and his officers; and it was to these qualities and to some knowledge of
the country that he owed his selection for his present perilous duty
at the extreme outpost. Nevertheless, fatigue had been stronger than
resolution, and he had fallen asleep. What good or bad angel came in
a dream to rouse him from his state of crime, who shall say? Without a
movement, without a sound, in the profound silence and the languor
of the late afternoon, some invisible messenger of fate touched with
unsealing finger the eyes of his consciousness--whispered into the ear
of his spirit the mysterious awakening word which no human lips ever
have spoken, no human memory ever has recalled. He quietly raised
his forehead from his arm and looked between the masking stems of the
laurels, instinctively closing his right hand about the stock of his
rifle.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account