United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
"That feller who knifed Burke. I had him all right, sir, back in the
coal cellar. He'd crawled away there into one corner, an' it was dark as
hell--beg your pardon, Miss." The sergeant sank back against Jones'
shoulder, and the man wet his lips with water. "I couldn't see only the
mere outline of him, and didn't dare crawl in, for I knew he had a
knife. All I could do was cover him with a gun, an' try to make him come
out. That's what I was up to when you called. Damned if I knew what to
do then--there was some racket up stairs, let me tell you, an' I knew
there was a devil of a fight goin' on. I wanted to be in it the worst
way, but I couldn't find it in my heart to let that devil loose again.
Finally I got desperate, an' grabbed him by the leg, an' hauled him out,
spittin' and fightin' like a cat. He cut me once, before I got a grip on
his wrist, an' my gun shoved against him. Then he went weak as a rag.
But I wan't thinkin' much except about the fracas up stairs--the boys
catchin' hell, an' me not with 'em. So I didn't fool long with that
feller. I just naturally yanked him 'long with me up stairs into the
kitchen, an' flung him down against the wall. I got one glance out into
the hall, an' didn't care no more what become o' him. You was facin' the
whole mob of 'em, swingin' a gun barrel, an' I knew where I belonged.
But damned if that feller didn't startle me. He was up like a flash to
his feet, an' I thought he was trying to get me. But he wasn't. When I
run to you, he wasn't two steps behind, an' may I be jiggered, sir, if
he didn't jump in there on your right, an' fight like a wild man. That's
all I saw, just the first glimpse. He sure went into it all right, but I
don't know how he come out."
"Well, I do; I happened to see that myself, though I hardly know how. He
was clubbed with a musket from the stairs. The man who hit him fell when
the railing broke. The two of them must be lying over there now. Who was
he, Miles? Did you know him?"
The sergeant wiped the perspiration from his face with his sleeve, and
Jones moistened his lips again. I felt Billie's grasp tighten, and her
hair brush my cheek.
"Well, I thought I did, sir," he admitted at last, but as though not
wholly convinced, "only I don't like to say till you have a look at the
lad. He was dead game anyhow, I'll say that for him, an' I don't feel
just sure. I never got eyes on him in daylight, an' when I yanked him
out o' the coal hole he was mostly black. Maybe that's him over
there, sir."
The hospital squad had cleared out much of the front hall, but had not
reached the plaster pile where we had made our last stand. Those that
were left were mostly clad in gray, but over against the stairs, one leg
and arm showing, was a blue uniform. The hospital men came back, and I
called to them,
"Sergeant, there is one of our men lying in that pile. Will you lift him
up so I can see the face?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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