Page:Seventy-six, or, Love and battle (IA seventysixlove00nealrich).pdf/13

 steadying effect of contemplation; such is to be prepared—and such the strengthening of God's breath, when it blows down from the mountain upon us, before sunrise. It would revive a dead man, I have sometimes thought, when I was galloping away before it, for life and death almost:—but Arthur appeared the same frank, cordial, careless fellow in the morning, that I had always found him. He was one of them that take whatever happens, in this world of commotion and trial, as a sort of thing not to be troubled about.

"Well, John," said he, clapping me on the shoulder, retreating about forty yards, and levelling his rifle at my head, "let me see if you can stand fire?"

I started, in good earnest, for it went off, and the ball whistled through my head, I thought, for a moment—but it certainly passed very near me.

"Better than you cousin, I am sure!" said I, forgetting my consternation, in looking at the sudden change and rightful expression of his face.

"Gad a mercy!" he cried, "whew!" stopping a moment to see if I would fall, and then running up to me and feeling all about my head, like a delirious creature, for a minute or two—"bless my heart and soul!—whew! well, how do you feel! ——d———n that rifle, it goes off without touching the trigger, it only jarred in my hand."

"Yes!" said I, rising forty-fold in my own estimation to find that I was so little discomposed by an accident, that had well nigh settled the campaign with me for ever and ever, and shaken poor Arthur's courage into dust—"yes,—but if you do not aim better than that, when you get among the Virginia riflemen—Morgan's men—they'll——"

"Don't talk to me—don't talk," cried Arthur, choking with joy and terror, while his black eyes actually ran over, and he trembled from head to foot.

"Well," said Archibald, "joining us with a prouder step than common, "you are harnessing for the war, I see, my brave brother; and you, too, cousin Arthur. Have you made up your minds never to return, never to lay down your arms—never! never! till—ha! what's all this—by heaven, it cannot be (catching Arthur by the arm, and turning him partly round, for he was stooping as if to tighten the girth of his horse, but had remained there rather too long a time for the impatient temper of Archibald)—tears! tears upon the face of Arthur Rodman.

"Yes," cried Arthur, "and tears had well nigh been upon your face, too, my lad."

Archibald shook his head, and smiled.

"Oh! you may smile—anybody can smile; but, if you had seen your brother shot through the head, I am inclined to think that—"

"What were you firing at?" said my father, leaping over the fence near where we stood, and standing all at once by our side.

Arthur, though I attempted to avoid him, immediately told him, and as he did I could perceive the under lip of Archibald violently compressed, and his brow knitting with emotion, but my father did not change countenance.

"And how did he bear it?" said he.

"Like a lion," cried Arthur, striking his hands together; "he only turned upon me and chided me for my bad shot."

"Not so bad a shot, neither," said Archibald, putting his hand to my face; "an inch or two more, and the ball would have done your business. You will have to get a lock shorn on the other side of your head."

It was very true: my hair was loose and flying in the wind, and the ball, diverted from its aim by the jar of the piece as it fell into Arthur's hand, had cut away one of the heaviest locks, as if it had been shorn with a razor. My blood thrilled, and I felt sick at the heart for a moment: and, if I had been alone, I should have fainted, I dare say, while I thought of my narrow escape; but eventually it was a happy thing for me, perhaps—one of the happiest, for it gave others a great opinion of my self-command, and finally produced a like opinion in myself. Nay, to this very incident, in a great measure, I believe, may be attributed the reputation that I subsequently obtained of being one of the most intrepid fellows in our regiment; for I have always observed that, when a report has once gone abroad, people rarely think of inquiring into the origin or authority of it: so that it would be no difficult matter, I believe, for any man to put his own character, in what form he pleases, out into the world, and, after a time, they that were vociferous in defence of his virtues, would forget that he himself was the author and origin of all that related to them. "Say that you are not afraid of the devil," said Arthur to our sergeant one day, and, by and by, it will become your general reputation. Every body will swear that you are not afraid of the devil, and forget who told him so—nay, fight to prove it for, such is man's nature, enlist him to report a doubtful affair, and it is ten to one that he exaggerates in proportion as he is distrusted, until at last he is willing to spill his blood in proof of it. Another good effect is, that the man himself, at last, begins to believe that other people know him better than he knows himself, and he really becomes what they say he is—not afraid of the devil!"

At last we breakfasted together, my dear mother at my right hand. A mournful, but manly and noble sorrow was in the countenance of my father; a more tender and passionate one in the light, hazel eyes of my mother and in all the rest, that kind of unwillingness to be either silent or talkative which characterises young hearts when they are among them that mourn, without being able to understand or comfort them. We swallowed our milk (for coffee was unknown to us then), but left the food untasted; and then, with an occasional word or two, that sounded abruptly upon the ear, as if spoken in a wrong place, unpreparedly, as in a sick chamber, or house of prayer we mounted our horses.

"You will beat up for recruits," said my father, "during the day, and return to us at night. To-morrow we shall try to set you both off in good earnest."

Archibald came to me, and took the bridle in his hand for a moment, as I was turning away, and then let it go again reluctantly, as if he had intended to bid me a farewell, but his heart had failed him.

"But Archy, how is this?" said my father. "Do you not go with them?"

"No, sir," said Archibald, throwing down his eyes, "my horse might run away with me, you know."