CHAPTER XXVII.

THE GREAT MOMENT OF A GREAT LIFE.

I was gazing gloomily at the field covered with detachments limping back amid a great whirlwind of shell, when a mounted officer rode out of the smoke. In his right hand he carried his drawn sword--his left arm was thrown around a wounded boy whom he supported on the pommel of his saddle.

In the cavalier I recognized General Davenant, whom I had seen near the village of Paris, and who was now personally known to me. In the boy I recognized the urchin, Charley, with the braided jacket and jaunty cap.

I spurred toward him.

“Your son--!” I said, and I pointed to the boy.

“He is dying I think, colonel!” was the reply in a hoarse voice. The gray mustache trembled, and the eye of the father rested, moist but fiery, on the boy.

“Such a child!” I said. “Could _he_ have gone into the charge?”

“I could not prevent him!” came, in a groan, almost from the old cavalier. “I forbade him, but he got a musket somewhere, and went over the breastworks with the rest. I saw him then for the first time, and heard him laugh and cheer. A moment afterward he was shot--I caught and raised him up, and I have ridden back through the fire, trying to shield him--but he is dying! Look! his wound is mortal, I think--and so young--a mere child--never was any one braver than my poor child--!”

A groan followed the words: and bending down the old cavalier kissed the pale cheek of the boy.

I made no reply; something seemed to choke me.

Suddenly a grave voice uttered some words within a few paces of us, and I turned quickly. It was General Lee--riding calmly amid the smoke, and re-forming the stragglers. Never have I seen a human being more composed.

General Davenant wheeled and saluted.

“We are cut to pieces, general!” he said, with something like a fiery tear in his eye. “We did our best, and we drove them!--but were not supported. My brigade--my brave old brigade is gone! This is my boy--I brought him out--but he is dying too!”

The hoarse tones and fiery tears of the old cavalier made my heart beat. I could see a quick flush rise to the face of General Lee. He looked at the pale face of the boy, over which the disordered curls fell, with a glance of inexpressible sympathy and sweetness. Then stretching out his hand, he pressed the hand of General Davenant, and said in his deep grave voice:--

“This has been a sad day for us, general--a sad day, but we cannot expect always to gain victories. Never mind--all this has been _my_ fault. It is _I_ who have lost this fight, and you must help me out of it in the best way you can.”[1]

[Footnote 1: His words.]

As he uttered these measured words, General Lee saluted and disappeared in the smoke.

General Davenant followed, bearing the wounded boy still upon his saddle.

Ten minutes afterward, I was riding to find General Stuart, who had sent me with a message just before the charge.

I had gloomy news for him. The battle of Gettysburg was lost.