Part 6 (2/2)
The sound of horses' hoofs came from the rocky roadside beyond the brook. Both men turned. A number of field officers were approaching.
”The division staff,” said the captain, in a lower voice, falling back.
They came slowly forward, a central figure on a gray horse leading here--as in history. A short, thick-set man with a grizzled beard closely cropped around an inscrutable mouth, and the serious formality of a respectable country deacon in his aspect, which even the major-generals blazon on the shoulder-strap of his loose tunic on his soldierly seat in the saddle could not entirely obliterate. He had evidently perceived the general of brigade, and quickened his horse as the latter drew up. The staff followed more leisurely, but still with some curiosity, to witness the meeting of the first general of the army with the youngest. The division general saluted, but almost instantly withdrew his leathern gauntlet, and offered his bared hand to the brigadier. The words of heroes are scant. The drawn-up detail, the waiting staff listened. This was all they heard:--
”Halleck tells me you're from California?”
”Yes, General.”
”Ah! I lived there, too, in the early days.”
”Wonderful country. Developed greatly since my time, I suppose?”
”Yes, General.”
”Great resources; finest wheat-growing country in the world, sir. You don't happen to know what the actual crop was this year?”
”Hardly, General! but something enormous.”
”Yes, I have always said it would be. Have a cigar?”
He handed his cigar-case to the brigadier. Then he took one himself, lighted it at the smouldering end of the one he had taken from his mouth, was about to throw the stump carelessly down, but, suddenly recollecting himself, leaned over his horse, and dropped it carefully a few inches away from the face of a dead soldier. Then, straightening himself in the saddle, he shoved his horse against the brigadier, moving him a little further on, while a slight movement of his hand kept the staff from following.
”A heavy loss here!”
”I'm afraid so, General.”
”It couldn't be helped. We had to rush in your brigade to gain time, and occupy the enemy, until we could change front.”
The young general looked at the shrewd, cold eyes of his chief.
”Change front?” he echoed.
”Yes. Before a gun was fired, we discovered that the enemy was in complete possession of all our plans, and knew every detail of our forward movement. All had to be changed.”
The younger man now instantly understood the incomprehensible order of the day before.
The general of division continued, with his first touch of official formality,--
”You understand, therefore, General Brant, that in the face of this extraordinary treachery, the utmost vigilance is required, and a complete surveillance of your camp followers and civilians, to detect the actual spy within our lines, or the traitor we are harboring, who has become possessed of this information. You will overhaul your brigade, and weed out all suspects, and in the position which you are to take to-morrow, and the plantation you will occupy, you will see that your private quarters, as well as your lines, are cleared of all but those you can vouch for.”
He reined in his horse, again extended his hand, saluted, and rejoined his staff.
Brigadier-General Clarence Brant remained for a moment with his head bent in thoughtful contemplation of the coolness of his veteran chief under this exciting disclosure, and the strategy with which he had frustrated the traitor's success. Then his eye caught the sealed packet in his belt. He mechanically drew it out, and broke the seal. The envelope was filled with papers and memorandums. But as he looked at them his face darkened and his brow knit. He glanced quickly around him.
The staff had trotted away; the captain and his detail were continuing their work at a little distance. He took a long breath, for he was holding in his hand a tracing of their camp, even of the position he was to occupy tomorrow, and a detailed account of the movements, plans, and force of the whole division as had been arranged in council of war the day before the battle! But there was no indication of the writer or his intentions.
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