MY LADY OF THE SOUTH
gently watched, and with the coming of daylight the Confederate burial parties would be busy.
The very sound of that distant musket shot served to arouse me to action. Slowly, and with no little pain, I succeeded in creeping forth from beneath the gun shadow, and sat up. Perhaps my wounds were not really serious; I might be merely dazed from the blow on the head, weakened and fevered by loss of blood. My side still throbbed severely, it is true, yet my limbs were intact, and I managed to draw myself erect by grasping the spokes of the wheel, until I finally stood there faint and trembling. Nevertheless I realized my strength was coming back in response to movement, a fresh determination taking possession of my mind. I felt ready to endeavor, provided there remained anything to endeavor for. And was was there not? The Federal army could not be very far away; they would have rallied, and reformed their shattered lines by now; those bronzed fighting men I knew so well, as eager as ever to redeem themselves from the bitter sting of defeat. I must endeavor to join them, not lie here to run the risk of capture on the morrow. There would be some hiding-place near by into which I could crawl before the revealing dawn came; far better a long day of suffering and hunger than months, perhaps years, of hopeless imprisonment. Swaying weakly on my feet, I grasped the gun, endeavoring to peer about through the darkness. I could recall so little of the surroundings—there was the black shadow of a wood to my front, but the river would surely be in the opposite direction and the narrow stream we had crossed while coming into action must be
[ 14 ]
