IT was a bright, sunshiny day in early spring. Birds were sweetly singing in the trees lining the road I was travelling, the grass on either side was softly green, and beautified by countless wild-flowers blooming in great variety of coloring. Nothing seemed to speak of war, although I was amid the very heart of its desolation, save the deserted houses I was continually passing, and the fenceless, untilled fields. I must have shown my late illness greatly, for the few I met, as I tramped slowly onward, mostly soldiers, gazed at me curiously, as if they mistook me for the ghost of some dead comrade; and I doubt not my pale face, yet bearing the deep imprint of pain, with the long untrimmed hair framing it, and the blood-stained, ragged uniform, the same I wore that fierce day of battle, rendered me an object of wonder.

All through those long, weary winter weeks I had been hovering between life and death in an obscure hospital at Richmond. How I first came there I know not, but when at length I struggled back to recollection and life, there I found myself, and there I remained, slowly convalescing, a prisoner to weakness, until finally discharged but two days before. During those months little that related to the progress of the war reached me. My nurses were black-robed nuns, kind-hearted and tender of touch, but feeling slight interest in affairs of the world without. I saw no old-time familiar faces, while the few wounded about me were fully as ignorant of passing events as myself. The moment the door was opened to permit of my passing forth into the world again, I sought eagerly to discover the present station of my old comrades in arms, yet could learn only that the cavalry brigade with which I had formerly served was in camp somewhere near Appomattox Court House. On foot and moneyless, I set off alone, my sole anxiety to be once more with friends; and now, at the beginning of the second day, I was already beyond Petersburg, and sturdily pushing westward.

A battery of light artillery was parked in a field upon my right, but so far away from the road that I hesitated to travel that distance simply to ask a question which it was extremely doubtful if they would be able to answer. Instead I pushed on grimly, and as the road swerved slightly to the left, passing through a grove of handsome trees, I came suddenly opposite a large house of imposing aspect. A group of Confederate officers stood in converse beside the gate leading into the open driveway, and as I paused a moment, gazing at them and wondering whom I had better address,—for I recognized none of the faces fronting me,—one among the group turned suddenly, and took a hurried step in my direction, as though despatched upon an errand of importance. He was a tall, slender man, wearing a long gray moustache, and I no sooner viewed his face than I recognized him as having been one of those officers present in General Lee's tent the day I was sent out with despatches. He glanced at me curiously, yet with no sign of recognition, but before he could pass I accosted him.

“Colonel Maitland,” I said, “you doubtless remember me. I am seeking my old command; would you kindly inform me where it may be found?”

He stopped instantly at sound of my voice, and stared at me in odd bewilderment; but my words had already reached the ears of the others, and before he had found an answer another voice spoke sternly: “What is all this? Who are you, sir? What masquerade puts you into that parody of a captain's uniform?”

I turned and looked into the flushed, indignant face of General Lee.

“It is no masquerade, sir,” I answered, instantly removing my hat; “it is the rightful uniform of my rank, greatly as I regret its present condition.”

He gazed at me keenly, evidently doubtful as to his best course of action, and I heard an officer behind him laugh.

“Where are you from?”

“I was discharged from St. Mary's Hospital in Richmond day before yesterday, and am now seeking to rejoin my regiment.”

I almost imagined I was looked upon as a soldier crazed by his sufferings; I heard a whisper, “Out of his head,” yet as I gazed earnestly into those stern gray eyes which fronted me, they suddenly grew moist.

“Surely,” he said gravely, “I have seen your face before. To what regiment were you attached?”

“The ——th Virginia Cavalry.”

The buzzing of voices about me instantly ceased, and General Lee took a step nearer.

“The ——th Virginia? You were a captain? Surely this is not Philip Wayne?”

So deeply surprised was his tone, so uncertain his recognition, I scarcely knew what to answer. Had I lost my very identity? was this all a dream?

“I am Captain Wayne, Troop D, ——th Virginia.”

He grasped my hand warmly between both his own, and his kindly face lit up instantly with a rare smile.

“Captain Wayne, I cannot tell you how greatly I rejoice at your safe return. We certainly owe you an apology for this poor reception, but you were reported as killed in action many months ago. I doubt not Colonel Maitland truly believed he looked upon a ghost when you first accosted him.”

For the moment I was unable to speak, so deeply did his words affect me.

“I fear, Captain Wayne,” he continued gravely, yet retaining my hand within his own, “that I must bring you sad news.”

“Sad news?” Instantly there came to me the thought of my widowed mother. “Not from home, I trust, sir?”

“No,” with great tenderness, “your mother, I believe, remains well; yet the words I must speak are nevertheless sad ones, and must prove a severe shock to you. There is no ——th Virginia.”

“No ——th Virginia?” I echoed, scarce able to comprehend his meaning, “no ——th Virginia? I beg you to explain, sir; surely”—and I looked about me upon the various uniforms of the service present—“the war has not yet ceased—we have not surrendered?”

“No, my boy,” and the old hero reverently bared his gray head in the sunlight, “but the ——th Virginia gave itself to the South that day in the Shenandoah.”

I must have grown very white, for a young aide sprang hastily forward and passed his arm about me. Yet I scarcely realized the action, for my whole thought was with the dead.

“Do you mean they are all gone?” I questioned, tremblingly, hardly able to grasp the full dread import of such ghastly tidings. “Surely, General Lee, some among them must have come back.”

“So few,” he responded soberly, his hat still retained in his hand, “so very few that we could only scatter them in other commands. But you have not yet fully recovered your strength. You must not remain longer standing here. Major Holmes, will you kindly conduct Captain Wayne to my headquarters, and see that he is furnished with a uniform suitable to his rank. For the present he will serve as extra aide upon my personal staff.”

I turned away, the Major leading me as if I had been a child. I walked as a man stunned by some sudden, unexpected blow. Speech was impossible, for all sensation seemed dead within me, save the one vivid memory of those loved comrades who had perished on the field. I could not realize, even dimly, in that awful hour, that of all those gallant fellows who had ridden so often at my side not enough remained alive to retain the old regimental name and number. The officer with me, himself a tried, true soldier, comprehended something of the agitation which swayed me, and respecting my silence, made no attempt to break my sorrowful reverie by speech. At the door of the room assigned me for present quarters, he left me with a warm, sympathetic pressure of the hand, and feeling utterly worn out, disheartened to a degree I had never before known, I flung myself face downward upon the cot and burst into tears.

With true soldierly kindness they left me to conquer my own sorrow and depression, and when I finally joined the mess upon the following day, clad now in fit uniform, I had regained no small measure of self-restraint, and with it came likewise renewal of the military spirit. My welcome proved extremely cordial, and the conversation of the others present soon placed in my possession whatever of incident had occurred since that disastrous day of battle in the valley. It was not much, other than a variety of desultory skirmishing, together with the steady closing in upon our lines of the overwhelming masses of the enemy, but I noted that the officers of the staff no longer hesitated to voice frankly the prevailing sentiment that the vast and unequal struggle was now rapidly drawing to its close. No attempt was made to conceal our weakness, nor to disguise the fact that we were making a last desperate stand. It was evident to all that nothing now remained but to fold our tattered battle-flags with honor.

Directly opposite me, at the long and rather scantily furnished mess-table, was seated a captain of infantry, quite foreign in appearance,—a tall, slender man, wearing a light-colored moustache and goatee. His name, as I gathered from the conversation, was Carlson, and I was considerably surprised at the fixedness with which his eyes were fastened upon me during the earlier part of the meal. Thinking we might have met somewhere before, I ransacked my memory in vain for any recollection which would serve to account for his evident interest in me. Finally, not a little annoyed by the persistency of his stare, I ventured to ask, as pleasantly as possible:

“Captain Carlson, do I remind you of some one, since you regard me so intently?”

The man instantly flushed all over his fair face at this direct inquiry.

“It vas not dat” (he almost stammered in sudden confusion, speaking quite brokenly), “bot, sair, it haf come to me dat you vos an insulter of womens, an' had refuse to fight mit mens. I know not; it seems not so.”

I was upon my feet in an instant, scarcely crediting my own ears, yet on fire with indignation.

“I know not what you may mean,” I said, white with anger. “But I hold you personally accountable for those words, and you shall discover that I will fight 'mit mens.'”

He pushed his chair hastily back, his face fairly crimson, and began to stammer an explanation; but Maitland interfered.

“What does all this mean, Carlson?” he exclaimed sternly. “Sit down, Wayne—there is some strange mistake here.”

I resumed my chair, wondering if they had all gone crazy, yet resolved upon taking instant action if some satisfactory explanation were not at once forthcoming.

“Come, Carlson, what do you mean by addressing such language to Captain Wayne?”

“Veil,” said the Swede, so agitated by the excitement about him he could scarcely find English in which to express himself intelligibly, “it vos dis vay. I vould not insult Captain Vayne; oh, no, bot it vos told to me, an' I vould haf him to know how it all vos. It vos two months ago I go mit de flag of truce into de Federal lines at Minersville. You know dat time? I vos vaitin' for answer ven a Yankee rides oop, an' looks me all ofer like I vos a hog. 'Veil,' I say, plain like, 'vot you vant?' He say, 'I heard der vos Reb officer come in der lines, an' I rides down to see if he vos der hound vot I vanted to horsevip.' 'Veil,' I say, for it made me much mad, 'maybe you like to horsevip me?' 'No,' he says, laughing, 'it vos a damn pup in der ——th Virginia Cavalry, named Vayne, I am after,' I say, 'Vot has he done?' He says, 'He insult a voman, an' vould not fight mit me.'”

He looked about him anxiously to see if we comprehended his words.

“And what did you say?” from a dozen eager voices.

The Swede gazed at them in manifest astonishment.

“I say I knowed netting about der voman, but if he say dat an officer of der ——th Virginia Cavalry vould not fight mit him he vos a damned liar. I vould have hit him, but I vos under der flag of truce.”

I reached my hand out to him across the table.

“I thank you, Captain Carlson,” I said, “for both your message and your answer. What did this man look like?”

“He vos a pig vellow, mit a black moustache and gray eyes.”

“Do you know him?” questioned Maitland.

“His name is Brennan,” I answered slowly, “a major in the Federal service. We have already met twice in rough and tumble contests, but the next time it will be with steel.”

“There is a woman, then?”

“It seems from Captain Carlson's report he has seen fit to connect one with our difficulty.”

There was a pause, as if they waited for me to add some further explanation, but I could not—her name should never be idly discussed about a mess-table through any word of mine.

“Gentlemen,” said Maitland at last, gravely, “this is evidently a personal matter with which we have no direct concern. Captain Wayne's reputation is not one to be questioned, either as regards his chivalry toward women or his bravery in arms. I pledge you his early meeting with this major.”

They drank the toast standing, and I read in each face before me a frank, soldierly confidence and comradeship which caused my heart to glow.