ONE OFFICER, ONE MAN
Captain Graffenreid stood at the head of his company. The regiment wasnot engaged. It formed a part of the front line-of-battle, whichstretched away to the right with a visible length of nearly two milesthrough the open ground. The left flank was veiled by woods; to theright also the line was lost to sight, but it extended many miles. Ahundred yards in rear was a second line; behind this, the reservebrigades and divisions in column. Batteries of artillery occupied thespaces between and crowned the low hills. Groups of horsemen--generalswith their staffs and escorts, and field officers of regiments behindthe colors--broke the regularity of the lines and columns. Numbers ofthese figures of interest had field-glasses at their eyes and satmotionless, stolidly scanning the country in front; others cameand went at a slow canter, bearing orders. There were squads ofstretcher-bearers, ambulances, wagon-trains with ammunition, andofficers' servants in rear of all--of all that was visible--for still inrear of these, along the roads, extended for many miles all that vastmultitude of non-combatants who with their various _impedimenta_ areassigned to the inglorious but important duty of supplying the fighters'many needs.
An army in line-of-battle awaiting attack, or prepared to deliver it,presents strange contrasts. At the front are precision, formality,fixity, and silence. Toward the rear these characteristics are less andless conspicuous, and finally, in point of space, are lost altogether inconfusion, motion and noise. The homogeneous becomes heterogeneous.Definition is lacking; repose is replaced by an apparently purposelessactivity; harmony vanishes in hubbub, form in disorder. Commotioneverywhere and ceaseless unrest. The men who do not fight are neverready.
From his position at the right of his company in the front rank, CaptainGraffenreid had an unobstructed outlook toward the enemy. A half-mile ofopen and nearly level ground lay before him, and beyond it an irregularwood, covering a slight acclivity; not a human being anywhere visible.He could imagine nothing more peaceful than the appearance of thatpleasant landscape with its long stretches of brown fields over whichthe atmosphere was beginning to quiver in the heat of the morning sun.Not a sound came from forest or field--not even the barking of a dog orthe crowing of a cock at the half-seen plantation house on the crestamong the trees. Yet every man in those miles of men knew that he anddeath were face to face.
Captain Graffenreid had never in his life seen an armed enemy, and thewar in which his regiment was one of the first to take the field was twoyears old. He had had the rare advantage of a military education, andwhen his comrades had marched to the front he had been detached foradministrative service at the capital of his State, where it was thoughtthat he could be most useful. Like a bad soldier he protested, and likea good one obeyed. In close official and personal relations with thegovernor of his State, and enjoying his confidence and favor, he hadfirmly refused promotion and seen his juniors elevated above him. Deathhad been busy in his distant regiment; vacancies among the fieldofficers had occurred again and again; but from a chivalrous feelingthat war's rewards belonged of right to those who bore the storm andstress of battle he had held his humble rank and generously advanced thefortunes of others. His silent devotion to principle had conquered atlast: he had been relieved of his hateful duties and ordered to thefront, and now, untried by fire, stood in the van of battle in commandof a company of hardy veterans, to whom he had been only a name, andthat name a by-word. By none--not even by those of his brother officersin whose favor he had waived his rights--was his devotion to dutyunderstood. They were too busy to be just; he was looked upon as one whohad shirked his duty, until forced unwillingly into the field. Too proudto explain, yet not too insensible to feel, he could only endure andhope.
Of all the Federal Army on that summer morning none had accepted battlemore joyously than Anderton Graffenreid. His spirit was buoyant, hisfaculties were riotous. He was in a state of mental exaltation andscarcely could endure the enemy's tardiness in advancing to the attack.To him this was opportunity--for the result he cared nothing. Victory ordefeat, as God might will; in one or in the other he should provehimself a soldier and a hero; he should vindicate his right to therespect of his men and the companionship of his brother officers--to theconsideration of his superiors. How his heart leaped in his breast asthe bugle sounded the stirring notes of the "assembly"! With what alight tread, scarcely conscious of the earth beneath his feet, he strodeforward at the head of his company, and how exultingly he noted thetactical dispositions which placed his regiment in the front line! Andif perchance some memory came to him of a pair of dark eyes that mighttake on a tenderer light in reading the account of that day's doings,who shall blame him for the unmartial thought or count it a debasementof soldierly ardor?
Suddenly, from the forest a half-mile in front--apparently from amongthe upper branches of the trees, but really from the ridge beyond--rosea tall column of white smoke. A moment later came a deep, jarringexplosion, followed--almost attended--by a hideous rushing sound thatseemed to leap forward across the intervening space with inconceivablerapidity, rising from whisper to roar with too quick a gradation forattention to note the successive stages of its horrible progression! Avisible tremor ran along the lines of men; all were startled intomotion. Captain Graffenreid dodged and threw up his hands to one side ofhis head, palms outward.
As he did so he heard a keen, ringing report, and saw on a hillsidebehind the line a fierce roll of smoke and dust--the shell's explosion.It had passed a hundred feet to his left! He heard, or fancied he heard,a low, mocking laugh and turning in the direction whence it came saw theeyes of his first lieutenant fixed upon him with an unmistakable look ofamusement. He looked along the line of faces in the front ranks. The menwere laughing. At him? The thought restored the color to his bloodlessface--restored too much of it. His cheeks burned with a fever of shame.
The enemy's shot was not answered: the officer in command at thatexposed part of the line had evidently no desire to provoke a cannonade.For the forbearance Captain Graffenreid was conscious of a sense ofgratitude. He had not known that the flight of a projectile was aphenomenon of so appalling character. His conception of war had alreadyundergone a profound change, and he was conscious that his new feelingwas manifesting itself in visible perturbation. His blood was boiling inhis veins; he had a choking sensation and felt that if he had a commandto give it would be inaudible, or at least unintelligible. The hand inwhich he held his sword trembled; the other moved automatically,clutching at various parts of his clothing. He found a difficulty instanding still and fancied that his men observed it. Was it fear? Hefeared it was.
From somewhere away to the right came, as the wind served, a low,intermittent murmur like that of ocean in a storm--like that of adistant railway train--like that of wind among the pines--three soundsso nearly alike that the ear, unaided by the judgment, cannotdistinguish them one from another. The eyes of the troops were drawn inthat direction; the mounted officers turned their field-glasses thatway. Mingled with the sound was an irregular throbbing. He thought it,at first, the beating of his fevered blood in his ears; next, thedistant tapping of a bass drum.
"The ball is opened on the right flank," said an officer.
Captain Graffenreid understood: the sounds were musketry and artillery.He nodded and tried to smile. There was apparently nothing infectious inthe smile.
Presently a light line of blue smoke-puffs broke out along the edge ofthe wood in front, succeeded by a crackle of rifles. There were keen,sharp hissings in the air, terminating abruptly with a thump near by.The man at Captain Graffenreid's side dropped his rifle; his knees gaveway and he pitched awkwardly forward, falling upon his face. Somebodyshouted "Lie down!" and the dead man was hardly distinguishable from theliving. It looked as if those few rifle-shots had slain ten thousandmen. Only the field officers remained erect; their concession to theemergency consisted in dismounting and sending their horses to theshelter of the low hills immediately in rear.
Captain Graffenreid lay alongside the dead man, from bene
ath whosebreast flowed a little rill of blood. It had a faint, sweetish odor thatsickened him. The face was crushed into the earth and flattened. Itlooked yellow already, and was repulsive. Nothing suggested the glory ofa soldier's death nor mitigated the loathsomeness of the incident. Hecould not turn his back upon the body without facing away from hiscompany.
He fixed his eyes upon the forest, where all again was silent. He triedto imagine what was going on there--the lines of troops forming toattack, the guns being pushed forward by hand to the edge of the open.He fancied he could see their black muzzles protruding from theundergrowth, ready to deliver their storm of missiles--such missiles asthe one whose shriek had so unsettled his nerves. The distension of hiseyes became painful; a mist seemed to gather before them; he could nolonger see across the field, yet would not withdraw his gaze lest he seethe dead man at his side.
The fire of battle was not now burning very brightly in this warrior'ssoul. From inaction had come introspection. He sought rather to analyzehis feelings than distinguish himself by courage and devotion. Theresult was profoundly disappointing. He covered his face with his handsand groaned aloud.
The hoarse murmur of battle grew more and more distinct upon the right;the murmur had, indeed, become a roar, the throbbing, a thunder. Thesounds had worked round obliquely to the front; evidently the enemy'sleft was being driven back, and the propitious moment to move againstthe salient angle of his line would soon arrive. The silence and mysteryin front were ominous; all felt that they boded evil to the assailants.
Behind the prostrate lines sounded the hoofbeats of galloping horses;the men turned to look. A dozen staff officers were riding to thevarious brigade and regimental commanders, who had remounted. A momentmore and there was a chorus of voices, all uttering out of time the samewords--"Attention, battalion!" The men sprang to their feet and werealigned by the company commanders. They awaited the word "forward"--awaited, too, with beating hearts and set teeth the gusts of lead andiron that were to smite them at their first movement in obedience tothat word. The word was not given; the tempest did not break out. Thedelay was hideous, maddening! It unnerved like a respite at theguillotine.
Captain Graffenreid stood at the head of his company, the dead man athis feet. He heard the battle on the right--rattle and crash ofmusketry, ceaseless thunder of cannon, desultory cheers of invisiblecombatants. He marked ascending clouds of smoke from distant forests. Henoted the sinister silence of the forest in front. These contrastingextremes affected the whole range of his sensibilities. The strain uponhis nervous organization was insupportable. He grew hot and cold byturns. He panted like a dog, and then forgot to breathe until remindedby vertigo.
Suddenly he grew calm. Glancing downward, his eyes had fallen upon hisnaked sword, as he held it, point to earth. Foreshortened to his view,it resembled somewhat, he thought, the short heavy blade of the ancientRoman. The fancy was full of suggestion, malign, fateful, heroic!
The sergeant in the rear rank, immediately behind Captain Graffenreid,now observed a strange sight. His attention drawn by an uncommonmovement made by the captain--a sudden reaching forward of the hands andtheir energetic withdrawal, throwing the elbows out, as in pulling anoar--he saw spring from between the officer's shoulders a bright pointof metal which prolonged itself outward, nearly a half-arm's length--ablade! It was faintly streaked with crimson, and its point approached sonear to the sergeant's breast, and with so quick a movement, that heshrank backward in alarm. That moment Captain Graffenreid pitchedheavily forward upon the dead man and died.
A week later the major-general commanding the left corps of the FederalArmy submitted the following official report:
"SIR: I have the honor to report, with regard to the action of the 19thinst, that owing to the enemy's withdrawal from my front to reinforcehis beaten left, my command was not seriously engaged. My loss was asfollows: Killed, one officer, one man."
The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce — Volume 2: In the Midst of Life: Tales of Soldiers and Civilians Page 13
