The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce — Volume 2: In the Midst of Life: Tales of Soldiers and Civilians

by Ambrose Bierce

  AN AFFAIR OF OUTPOSTS

  I

  CONCERNING THE WISH TO BE DEAD

  Two men sat in conversation. One was the Governor of the State. The yearwas 1861; the war was on and the Governor already famous for theintelligence and zeal with which he directed all the powers andresources of his State to the service of the Union.

  "What! _you_?" the Governor was saying in evident surprise--"you toowant a military commission? Really, the fifing and drumming must haveeffected a profound alteration in your convictions. In my character ofrecruiting sergeant I suppose I ought not to be fastidious, but"--therewas a touch of irony in his manner--"well, have you forgotten that anoath of allegiance is required?"

  "I have altered neither my convictions nor my sympathies," said theother, tranquilly. "While my sympathies are with the South, as you do methe honor to recollect, I have never doubted that the North was in theright. I am a Southerner in fact and in feeling, but it is my habit inmatters of importance to act as I think, not as I feel."

  The Governor was absently tapping his desk with a pencil; he did notimmediately reply. After a while he said: "I have heard that there areall kinds of men in the world, so I suppose there are some like that,and doubtless you think yourself one. I've known you a long time and--pardon me--I don't think so."

  "Then I am to understand that my application is denied?"

  "Unless you can remove my belief that your Southern sympathies are insome degree a disqualification, yes. I do not doubt your good faith, andI know you to be abundantly fitted by intelligence and special trainingfor the duties of an officer. Your convictions, you say, favor the Unioncause, but I prefer a man with his heart in it. The heart is what menfight with."

  "Look here, Governor," said the younger man, with a smile that had morelight than warmth: "I have something up my sleeve--a qualification whichI had hoped it would not be necessary to mention. A great militaryauthority has given a simple recipe for being a good soldier: 'Tryalways to get yourself killed.' It is with that purpose that I wish toenter the service. I am not, perhaps, much of a patriot, but I wish tobe dead."

  The Governor looked at him rather sharply, then a little coldly. "Thereis a simpler and franker way," he said.

  "In my family, sir," was the reply, "we do not do that--no Armisted hasever done that."

  A long silence ensued and neither man looked at the other. Presently theGovernor lifted his eyes from the pencil, which had resumed its tapping,and said:

  "Who is she?"

  "My wife."

  The Governor tossed the pencil into the desk, rose and walked two orthree times across the room. Then he turned to Armisted, who also hadrisen, looked at him more coldly than before and said: "But the man--would it not be better that he--could not the country spare him betterthan it can spare you? Or are the Armisteds opposed to 'the unwrittenlaw'?"

  The Armisteds, apparently, could feel an insult: the face of the youngerman flushed, then paled, but he subdued himself to the service of hispurpose.

  "The man's identity is unknown to me," he said, calmly enough.

  "Pardon me," said the Governor, with even less of visible contritionthan commonly underlies those words. After a moment's reflection headded: "I shall send you to-morrow a captain's commission in the TenthInfantry, now at Nashville, Tennessee. Good night."

  "Good night, sir. I thank you."

  Left alone, the Governor remained for a time motionless, leaning againsthis desk. Presently he shrugged his shoulders as if throwing off aburden. "This is a bad business," he said.

  Seating himself at a reading-table before the fire, he took up the booknearest his hand, absently opening it. His eyes fell upon this sentence:

  "When God made it necessary for an unfaithful wife to lie about herhusband in justification of her own sins He had the tenderness to endowmen with the folly to believe her."

  He looked at the title of the book; it was, _His Excellency the Fool_.

  He flung the volume into the fire.

  II

  HOW TO SAY WHAT IS WORTH HEARING

  The enemy, defeated in two days of battle at Pittsburg Landing, hadsullenly retired to Corinth, whence he had come. For manifestincompetence Grant, whose beaten army had been saved from destructionand capture by Buell's soldierly activity and skill, had been relievedof his command, which nevertheless had not been given to Buell, but toHalleck, a man of unproved powers, a theorist, sluggish, irresolute.Foot by foot his troops, always deployed in line-of-battle to resist theenemy's bickering skirmishers, always entrenching against the columnsthat never came, advanced across the thirty miles of forest and swamptoward an antagonist prepared to vanish at contact, like a ghost atcock-crow. It was a campaign of "excursions and alarums," ofreconnoissances and counter-marches, of cross-purposes and countermandedorders. For weeks the solemn farce held attention, luring distinguishedcivilians from fields of political ambition to see what they safelycould of the horrors of war. Among these was our friend the Governor. Atthe headquarters of the army and in the camps of the troops from hisState he was a familiar figure, attended by the several members of hispersonal staff, showily horsed, faultlessly betailored and bravelysilk-hatted. Things of charm they were, rich in suggestions of peacefullands beyond a sea of strife. The bedraggled soldier looked up from histrench as they passed, leaned upon his spade and audibly damned them tosignify his sense of their ornamental irrelevance to the austerities ofhis trade.

  "I think, Governor," said General Masterson one day, going into informalsession atop of his horse and throwing one leg across the pommel of hissaddle, his favorite posture--"I think I would not ride any farther inthat direction if I were you. We've nothing out there but a line ofskirmishers. That, I presume, is why I was directed to put these siegeguns here: if the skirmishers are driven in the enemy will die ofdejection at being unable to haul them away--they're a trifle heavy."

  There is reason to fear that the unstrained quality of this militaryhumor dropped not as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneaththe civilian's silk hat. Anyhow he abated none of his dignity inrecognition.

  "I understand," he said, gravely, "that some of my men are out there--acompany of the Tenth, commanded by Captain Armisted. I should like tomeet him if you do not mind."

  "He is worth meeting. But there's a bad bit of jungle out there, and Ishould advise that you leave your horse and"--with a look at theGovernor's retinue--"your other impedimenta."

  The Governor went forward alone and on foot. In a half-hour he hadpushed through a tangled undergrowth covering a boggy soil and enteredupon firm and more open ground. Here he found a half-company of infantrylounging behind a line of stacked rifles. The men wore theiraccoutrements--their belts, cartridge-boxes, haversacks and canteens.Some lying at full length on the dry leaves were fast asleep: others insmall groups gossiped idly of this and that; a few played at cards; nonewas far from the line of stacked arms. To the civilian's eye the scenewas one of carelessness, confusion, indifference; a soldier would haveobserved expectancy and readiness.

  At a little distance apart an officer in fatigue uniform, armed, sat ona fallen tree noting the approach of the visitor, to whom a sergeant,rising from one of the groups, now came forward.

  "I wish to see Captain Armisted," said the Governor.

  The sergeant eyed him narrowly, saying nothing, pointed to the officer,and taking a rifle from one of the stacks, accompanied him.

  "This man wants to see you, sir," said the sergeant, saluting. Theofficer rose.

  It would have been a sharp eye that would have recognized him. His hair,which but a few months before had been brown, was streaked with gray.His face, tanned by exposure, was seamed as with age. A long livid scaracross the forehead marked the stroke of a sabre; one cheek was drawnand puckered by the work of a bullet. Only a woman of the loyal Northwould have thought the man handsome.

  "Armisted--Captain," said the Governor, extending his hand, "do you notknow me?"

  "I know you, sir, and I salute you--as
the Governor of my State."

  Lifting his right hand to the level of his eyes he threw it outward anddownward. In the code of military etiquette there is no provision forshaking hands. That of the civilian was withdrawn. If he felt eithersurprise or chagrin his face did not betray it.

  "It is the hand that signed your commission," he said.

  "And it is the hand--"

  The sentence remains unfinished. The sharp report of a rifle came fromthe front, followed by another and another. A bullet hissed through theforest and struck a tree near by. The men sprang from the ground andeven before the captain's high, clear voice was done intoning thecommand "At-ten-tion!" had fallen into line in rear of the stacked arms.Again--and now through the din of a crackling fusillade--sounded thestrong, deliberate sing-song of authority: "Take... arms!" followed bythe rattle of unlocking bayonets.

  Bullets from the unseen enemy were now flying thick and fast, thoughmostly well spent and emitting the humming sound which signifiedinterference by twigs and rotation in the plane of flight. Two or threeof the men in the line were already struck and down. A few wounded mencame limping awkwardly out of the undergrowth from the skirmish line infront; most of them did not pause, but held their way with white facesand set teeth to the rear.

  Suddenly there was a deep, jarring report in front, followed by thestartling rush of a shell, which passing overhead exploded in the edgeof a thicket, setting afire the fallen leaves. Penetrating the din--seeming to float above it like the melody of a soaring bird--rang theslow, aspirated monotones of the captain's several commands, withoutemphasis, without accent, musical and restful as an evensong under theharvest moon. Familiar with this tranquilizing chant in moments ofimminent peril, these raw soldiers of less than a year's trainingyielded themselves to the spell, executing its mandates with thecomposure and precision of veterans. Even the distinguished civilianbehind his tree, hesitating between pride and terror, was accessible toits charm and suasion. He was conscious of a fortified resolution andran away only when the skirmishers, under orders to rally on thereserve, came out of the woods like hunted hares and formed on the leftof the stiff little line, breathing hard and thankful for the boon ofbreath.

  III

  THE FIGHTING OF ONE WHOSE HEART WAS NOT IN THE QUARREL

  Guided in his retreat by that of the fugitive wounded, the Governorstruggled bravely to the rear through the "bad bit of jungle." He waswell winded and a trifle confused. Excepting a single rifle-shot now andagain, there was no sound of strife behind him; the enemy was pullinghimself together for a new onset against an antagonist of whose numbersand tactical disposition he was in doubt. The fugitive felt that hewould probably be spared to his country, and only commended thearrangements of Providence to that end, but in leaping a small brook inmore open ground one of the arrangements incurred the mischance of adisabling sprain at the ankle. He was unable to continue his flight, forhe was too fat to hop, and after several vain attempts, causingintolerable pain, seated himself on the earth to nurse his ignobledisability and deprecate the military situation.

  A brisk renewal of the firing broke out and stray bullets came flittingand droning by. Then came the crash of two clean, definite volleys,followed by a continuous rattle, through which he heard the yells andcheers of the combatants, punctuated by thunderclaps of cannon. All thistold him that Armisted's little command was bitterly beset and fightingat close quarters. The wounded men whom he had distanced began tostraggle by on either hand, their numbers visibly augmented by newlevies from the line. Singly and by twos and threes, some supportingcomrades more desperately hurt than themselves, but all deaf to hisappeals for assistance, they sifted through the underbrush anddisappeared. The firing was increasingly louder and more distinct, andpresently the ailing fugitives were succeeded by men who strode with afirmer tread, occasionally facing about and discharging their pieces,then doggedly resuming their retreat, reloading as they walked. Two orthree fell as he looked, and lay motionless. One had enough of life leftin him to make a pitiful attempt to drag himself to cover. A passingcomrade paused beside him long enough to fire, appraised the poordevil's disability with a look and moved sullenly on, inserting acartridge in his weapon.

  In all this was none of the pomp of war--no hint of glory. Even in hisdistress and peril the helpless civilian could not forbear to contrastit with the gorgeous parades and reviews held in honor of himself--withthe brilliant uniforms, the music, the banners, and the marching. It wasan ugly and sickening business: to all that was artistic in his nature,revolting, brutal, in bad taste.

  "Ugh!" he grunted, shuddering--"this is beastly! Where is the charm ofit all? Where are the elevated sentiments, the devotion, the heroism,the--"

  From a point somewhere near, in the direction of the pursuing enemy,rose the clear, deliberate sing-song of Captain Armisted.

  "Stead-y, men--stead-y. Halt! Com-mence fir-ing."

  The rattle of fewer than a score of rifles could be distinguishedthrough the general uproar, and again that penetrating falsetto:

  "Cease fir-ing. In re-treat... maaarch!"

  In a few moments this remnant had drifted slowly past the Governor, allto the right of him as they faced in retiring, the men deployed atintervals of a half-dozen paces. At the extreme left and a few yardsbehind came the captain. The civilian called out his name, but he didnot hear. A swarm of men in gray now broke out of cover in pursuit,making directly for the spot where the Governor lay--some accident ofthe ground had caused them to converge upon that point: their line hadbecome a crowd. In a last struggle for life and liberty the Governorattempted to rise, and looking back the captain saw him. Promptly, butwith the same slow precision as before, he sang his commands:

  "Skirm-ish-ers, halt!" The men stopped and according to rule turned toface the enemy.

  "Ral-ly on the right!"--and they came in at a run, fixing bayonets andforming loosely on the man at that end of the line.

  "Forward... to save the Gov-ern-or of your State... doub-le quick...maaarch!"

  Only one man disobeyed this astonishing command! He was dead. With acheer they sprang forward over the twenty or thirty paces between themand their task. The captain having a shorter distance to go arrivedfirst--simultaneously with the enemy. A half-dozen hasty shots werefired at him, and the foremost man--a fellow of heroic stature, hatlessand bare-breasted--made a vicious sweep at his head with a clubbedrifle. The officer parried the blow at the cost of a broken arm anddrove his sword to the hilt into the giant's breast. As the body fellthe weapon was wrenched from his hand and before he could pluck hisrevolver from the scabbard at his belt another man leaped upon him likea tiger, fastening both hands upon his throat and bearing him backwardupon the prostrate Governor, still struggling to rise. This man waspromptly spitted upon the bayonet of a Federal sergeant and hisdeath-gripe on the captain's throat loosened by a kick upon each wrist.When the captain had risen he was at the rear of his men, who had allpassed over and around him and were thrusting fiercely at their morenumerous but less coherent antagonists. Nearly all the rifles on bothsides were empty and in the crush there was neither time nor room toreload. The Confederates were at a disadvantage in that most of themlacked bayonets; they fought by bludgeoning--and a clubbed rifle is aformidable arm. The sound of the conflict was a clatter like that of theinterlocking horns of battling bulls--now and then the pash of a crushedskull, an oath, or a grunt caused by the impact of a rifle's muzzleagainst the abdomen transfixed by its bayonet. Through an opening madeby the fall of one of his men Captain Armisted sprang, with his danglingleft arm; in his right hand a full-charged revolver, which he fired withrapidity and terrible effect into the thick of the gray crowd: butacross the bodies of the slain the survivors in the front were pushedforward by their comrades in the rear till again they breasted thetireless bayonets. There were fewer bayonets now to breast--a beggarlyhalf-dozen, all told. A few minutes more of this rough work--a littlefighting back to back--and all would be over.

  Suddenly a lively firing was heard
on the right and the left: a freshline of Federal skirmishers came forward at a run, driving before themthose parts of the Confederate line that had been separated by stayingthe advance of the centre. And behind these new and noisy combatants, ata distance of two or three hundred yards, could be seen, indistinctamong the trees a line-of-battle!

  Instinctively before retiring, the crowd in gray made a tremendous rushupon its handful of antagonists, overwhelming them by mere momentum and,unable to use weapons in the crush, trampled them, stamped savagely ontheir limbs, their bodies, their necks, their faces; then retiring withbloody feet across its own dead it joined the general rout and theincident was at an end.

  IV

  THE GREAT HONOR THE GREAT

  The Governor, who had been unconscious, opened his eyes and stared abouthim, slowly recalling the day's events. A man in the uniform of a majorwas kneeling beside him; he was a surgeon. Grouped about were thecivilian members of the Governor's staff, their faces expressing anatural solicitude regarding their offices. A little apart stood GeneralMasterson addressing another officer and gesticulating with a cigar. Hewas saying: "It was the beautifulest fight ever made--by God, sir, itwas great!"

  The beauty and greatness were attested by a row of dead, trimlydisposed, and another of wounded, less formally placed, restless,half-naked, but bravely bebandaged.

  "How do you feel, sir?" said the surgeon. "I find no wound."

  "I think I am all right," the patient replied, sitting up. "It is thatankle."

  The surgeon transferred his attention to the ankle, cutting away theboot. All eyes followed the knife.

  In moving the leg a folded paper was uncovered. The patient picked it upand carelessly opened it. It was a letter three months old, signed"Julia." Catching sight of his name in it he read it. It was nothingvery remarkable--merely a weak woman's confession of unprofitable sin--the penitence of a faithless wife deserted by her betrayer. The letterhad fallen from the pocket of Captain Armisted; the reader quietlytransferred it to his own.

  An aide-de-camp rode up and dismounted. Advancing to the Governor hesaluted.

  "Sir," he said, "I am sorry to find you wounded--the Commanding Generalhas not been informed. He presents his compliments and I am directed tosay that he has ordered for to-morrow a grand review of the reservecorps in your honor. I venture to add that the General's carriage is atyour service if you are able to attend."

  "Be pleased to say to the Commanding General that I am deeply touched byhis kindness. If you have the patience to wait a few moments you shallconvey a more definite reply."

  He smiled brightly and glancing at the surgeon and his assistants added:"At present--if you will permit an allusion to the horrors of peace--Iam 'in the hands of my friends.'"

  The humor of the great is infectious; all laughed who heard.

  "Where is Captain Armisted?" the Governor asked, not altogethercarelessly.

  The surgeon looked up from his work, pointing silently to the nearestbody in the row of dead, the features discreetly covered with ahandkerchief. It was so near that the great man could have laid his handupon it, but he did not. He may have feared that it would bleed.