Evening star., 1897-05-29

and he turned away from the interview
with: The Indignation of a man whose cour-
age had been impugned.
Before another night every extra-duty
man had taken a number at the guns. In
the ragged garden of burning house
Henry Price stepped eagerly into vacant
place alongside a hot gun, and put out his
left hand to have the buckskin thongs Of
the blackened thumbstan knotted about
his wrist -.-
II reckon my time has come" he said,
looking across at the nan with the Ian
yard. and glencing down at the boy whose
place he had taken. 1T might better have
been me than Dick
There was little time for talk In the
midst of the fierce work that ensued in the
neglected garden. until the opposing bat
terry was silenced. When the firing did
cease the sooty cannoneers threw them
selves down on the trampled weeds. except
Henry. Price, who walked about on the
hiackened and smoking turf before the
ntrzzle of the gun, every movement OF his
nervous figure uttering the dumb accusa-
tion, Il did it." Every comrade knew that
he was in the desperate mood which I'M
pels men eagerly to court death in some
forlorn hope.
Henry Price was impatient of inaction
and incapable of rest. When the battery
blaZed away again, puncturing the dun
smoke with red flashes, and the return
shells plowed the old garden between the
lot guns, the tense excitement and the
hard work filled him with grim satlsfac-
he caught tie grimy sponge and welded
IL fiertely, glad to be uncovered, as If he
had come that much nearer his fate. Once
he fell himself he sprang backward TO
give the gun an opportunity to bark but
/. was only tangle of trampled rose
bushes that caught his heel, instead or a
message of forgettulneSs-
In froEt of the tangled garden the fields
slcped away ior mile into broad valley,
made UP of pasture and gram helds and
fsnceless roads, away TO the dark woods
beyond the req railroad eTnbankinent. In
the early darkness of that WIZ night
Henry Price was half mad to shoulder
musket and get down into the line of his
old regiment somewhere in the thunder OF
rifles that rolled over the valley.
The lines of stars pursuing eacn cther
fascinated him. His old regiment was
somewhere in the action.
There was forgetfulDess down there, and
for him. back on the hill, only the torture
of memory. The long battle might end In
that fierce conflict. He counted himself as
a dead man. Why not have it over at
oEce? He could wrench a gun from still
ened fingers and help himself to cartridge
box without asking. An irrepressible im-
prise impelled him to plunge into that fiery
vortex a moth flies into a lighted can
die. He ran down the hill through the
pasture. Nobody noticed the passing Of n
shadow into the darkness. The men In the
battery were too irtcnt on the vast dis
play of pyrotechnicS.
By o'clock the roar Of musketry had
siackened to an occasional volley, which
was prolonged by a few scattering shots, a
little furry of stars-a spark here, flash
there, until silence and darkness settled On
the valley.
Some time in the night Henry Price came
back up the hill In the mood of q man on
whom a slight has been put. In his heart
ne envied the dead and dying lying between
the pickets in the dark valley Because he
had come out unscathed, he knew that
there was another day cf the battle before
him. In his highly wrought condition he
was unable to rest Others slept as If moth
ing had happened. Even the patient horses
dozed in swaying liEes against the film of
sH oke that overhunS the charred timbers
of the house, and started In their dream
| to breathe heavily. creaking saddle here
and rafting a headstall there.
Henry Price was neither glad nor sorry
| to see the rosy light of morning. Perhaps
even then he saw only the red gloom of the
sunFen road as he stretched his stiffened
| limbs and muttered 1T was my work; 1
did it,"
His physical strength sustained him won
| dcrfully in the rough work of the cay that
| followed, during which the stubborn lines
| were forced back from ridge to ridge until
| the third evening found the whole army
| in orderly retreat Through it all Henry
| had kept his post at the muzzle of the gun.
| He showed no sign of weariness He SEEM
| ed caZed rather than tired. After two
| sleepless nights and two such eventful
\ days, it may reasonably be doubted IL he
Il
| had passed since the dawn of his horrible
self A.nv!ction in the glare of the burning
| farm buildings.
| He had lost nothing Of the presentiment
| that he was fighting his last battle. and
| when the battery made its final stand in
| the afterglOw of the sunset, before leaving
| the field that was already lost, he sponged
| and rammed in a mechanical way and
| spranS outside the wheel like well-drilled
| automaton.
The hour upon him. Every inch of
his body was numb with the expectation of
Ia blow. His scalp and his extremities were
| cold. He was doomed man set against a
| wall, awaiting tine sure volley, only the
file of riflemen was not yet told off, and
there remained to him the merciful relief
| of activity.
When his quick eye caught the dribblc
of gray figures running and dodgine
through the hollows of the next field, null
tiplying among the scrubby cedars and
swarming behind the stone wall, he recog
Dized his grim executioners. He heard the
cries for double canister, and laughed as
he drove the two tin cylinders into the
black throat of the gun. A little patter o.
bullets peppered the wheels, and some puff.
of dust 1eaped up from the ground as the
gray men sprang over the wall.
He stood there at his post in the white
smoke. as the old guns thundered by hall
battery and swept the field with alternat,
| volleys of iron balls. AS the torn and baf
fed regiment fell back, the cannonier.
leaped on the wheels with yells of defiance
l
not noticed at first in the wild excitemen
followed by the sweep of galloping limbers
but in replacing the equipments he wa.
found on the ground. grasping the ramme
staff in his blackened hands.
Il expected it," he gasped, and as he re
leased the staff he clutched al his wet ant
soiled shirt front. 1T hurts me to breath,
don't touch me-Tm done for"
| There was no surgeon at hand, but II
| spite OF his remonstrances he was lifte;
onto timber chest and supported tier
by a comrade, the victorious battery lef
the held. He was resigned to his fate. H
had no desire to live. 1t was the vengeanc
Of God demanded by that skeleton hand ex
tended from the shallow grave by the road
side. One memorable night had intervene
between the night of his conviction and tn
night of his expiation. Was there lnys
tcrious fatality about the number threa?
He spoke in broken sentences, for IN
| road was rough and the heavy gun car
| riage, drawn by six powerful horses, rum
: bled relentlessly over the stones, oEl
swerviny once with the column to avoi
the blue forms which suddenly appeared
[ great numbers lying amazingly still on tn
| hillside.
1t was dusk when the battery floundere
{ | through the run above the wreck Of tn
r | old stone bridge. and the wounded man o
l ha ,h.ar Hlo laa