United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
"Why, with that Quinn popped them big glass eyes o' his'n till the
whites showed clear round the blue, and s'e 'I know it better than you
do; that's just what it suited you to forget. Oh! I'd already seen
through you in one flash, you sneak. It's good for you you're not in my
command; I'd lift you to a higher sense of whose war this is, damn you,
if I had to hang you up by the thumbs.' With that he started right on
by, Gholson a-keepin' his face to him as he passed, when Ned Ferry
and--her--came out o' the parlor, and Ned turned out on the rear gallery
with Quinn while she sort o' smiled at Gholson to come to her and sent
him off on some business or other. George! I never seen her so
beautiful."
Thereupon occurred a brief exchange of comments which seemed to me to
carry by implication as fine a praise as could possibly come from two
rough fellows of the camp. Speaking the names of Ferry and Charlotte in
undertone, of course, but with the unrestraint of soldiers, they said
their say without a shadow of inuendo in word or smile. Her presence,
they agreed, always made them feel as though something out of the common
"was bound to happen pretty quick," while his, they said, assured them
that "whatever did happen would happen right." I turned with a frown as
Harry laughed irrelevantly, and saw Camille and him smiling at me with
childish playfulness. Then suddenly their smile changed and went beyond
me, two or three men softly said "Smith!" and I was out of my chair and
standing when Charlotte Oliver, in a low voice, tenderly accosted me.
"Oh, Richard Thorndyke Smith!--alive and well! Lieutenant Ferry wants
you; he has just gone to his camp-fire."
XXXVII
A HORSE! A HORSE!
Night had fully come. A few bivouac fires burned low in the grove, and
at one of them near the grove gate I found our young commander. On a
bench made of a fence-rail and two forked stakes he sat between Quinn
and the first-lieutenant of the Louisianians. The doctor whom I had seen
before sat humped on his horse, facing the three young men and making
clumsy excuses to Ferry for leaving. The other physician would stay for
some time yet, he said, and he, himself, was leaving his instruments,
such as they were, and would return in the morning. "Fact is, my son's a
surgeon, and he taken all my best instruments with _him._"
"When; where is he?" eagerly asked Quinn, seeing Ferry was not going to
ask.
"My son? Oh, he's in Virginia, with General Lee."
"Hell!" grunted Quinn, but the doctor pretended to listen to Ferry.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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