above the river, where, sheer below, its waters washed its base,
as if to face an enemy on the black mountain the other side. The pieces

stood ranged in the order in which they had so often stood in battle,
and the gray, thin fog rising slowly and silently from the river

deep down between the cliffs, and wreathing the mountain-side above,
might have been the smoke from some unearthly battle fought in the dim pass

by ghostly guns, yet posted there in the darkness, manned by phantom gunners,
while phantom horses stood behind, lit vaguely up by phantom camp-fires.

At the given word the laniards were pulled together, and together as one
the six black guns, belching flame and lead, roared their last challenge

on the misty night, sending a deadly hail of shot and shell,
tearing the trees and splintering the rocks of the farther side,

and sending the thunder reverberating through the pass and down the mountain,
startling from its slumber the sleeping camp on the hills below,

and driving the browsing deer and the prowling mountain-fox in terror
up the mountain.

There was silence among the men about the guns for one brief instant
and then such a cheer burst forth as had never broken from them

even in battle: cheer on cheer, the long, wild, old familiar rebel yell
for the guns they had fought with and loved.

The noise had not died away and the men behind were still trying to quiet
the frightened horses when the sergeant, the same who had written,

received from the hand of the Colonel a long package or roll
which contained the records of the battery furnished by the men

and by the Colonel himself, securely wrapped to make them water-tight,
and it was rammed down the yet warm throat of the nearest gun: the Cat,

and then the gun was tamped to the muzzle to make her water-tight,
and, like her sisters, was spiked, and her vent tamped tight.

All this took but a minute, and the next instant the guns were run up
once more to the edge of the cliff; and the men stood by them

with their hands still on them. A deadly silence fell on the men,
and even the horses behind seemed to feel the spell. There was a long pause,

in which not a breath was heard from any man, and the soughing of
the tree-tops above and the rushing of the rapids below were the only sounds.

They seemed to come from far, very far away. Then the Colonel said, quietly,
"Let them go, and God be our helper, Amen." There was the noise

in the darkness of trampling and scraping on the cliff-top for a second;
the sound as of men straining hard together, and then with a pant

it ceased all at once, and the men held their breath to hear.
One second of utter silence; then one prolonged, deep, resounding splash

sending up a great mass of white foam as the brass-pieces together plunged
into the dark water below, and then the soughing of the trees

and the murmur of the river came again with painful distinctness.
It was full ten minutes before the Colonel spoke, though there were

other sounds enough in the darkness, and some of the men, as the dark,
outstretched bodies showed, were lying on the ground flat on their faces.

Then the Colonel gave the command to fall in in the same quiet, grave tone
he had used all night. The line fell in, the men getting to their horses

and mounting in silence; the Colonel put himself at their head
and gave the order of march, and the dark line turned in the darkness,

crossed the little plateau between the smouldering camp-fires
and the spectral caissons with the harnesshanging beside them,

and slowly entered the dim charcoal-burner's track. Not a word was spoken
as they moved off. They might all have been phantoms. Only,

the sergeant in the rear, as he crossed the little breastwork
which ran along the upper side and marked the boundary of the little camp,

half turned and glanced at the dying fires, the low, newly made mounds
in the corner, the abandoned caissons, and the empty redoubt, and said,

slowly, in a low voice to himself,
"Well, by God!"

The Gray Jacket of "No. 4"
My meeting with him was accidental. I came across him

passing through "the square". I had seen him once or twice on the street,
each time lurching along so drunk that he could scarcely stagger,

so that I was surprised to hear what he said about the war.
He was talking to someone who evidently had been in the army himself,

but on the other side -- a gentleman with the loyal-legion button in his coat,
and with a beautiful scar, a sabre-cut across his face. He was telling

of a charge in some battle or skirmish in which, he declared, his company,
not himself -- for I remember he said he was "No. 4", and was generally

told off to hold the horses; and that that day he had had the ill luck
to lose his horse and get a little scratch himself, so he was not

in the charge -- did the finest work he ever saw, and really (so he claimed)
saved the day. It was this self-abnegation that first arrested my attention,

for I had been accustomed all my life to hear the war talked of;
it was one of the inspiring influences in my humdrum existence.

But the speakers, although they generally boasted of their commands,
never of themselves individually, usually admitted that they themselves

had been in the active force, and thus tacitly shared in the credit.
"No. 4", however, expressly disclaimed that he was entitled

to any of the praise, declaring that he was safe behind the crest of the hill
(which he said he "hugged mighty close"), and claimed the glory

for the rest of the command.
"It happened just as I have told you here," he said, in closing.

"Old Joe saw the point as soon as the battery went to work,
and sent Binford Terrell to the colonel to ask him to let him go over there

and take it; and when Joe gave the word the boys went. They didn't go
at a walk either, I tell you; it wasn't any promenade: they went clipping.

At first the guns shot over 'em; didn't catch 'em till the third fire;
then they played the devil with 'em: but the boys were up there right in 'em

before they could do much. They turned the guns on 'em as they went
down the hill (oh, our boys could handle the tubes then as well as

the artillery themselves), and in a little while the rest of the line came up,
and we formed a line of battle right there on that crest, and held it

till nearly night. That's when I got jabbed. I picked up another horse,
and with my foolishness went over there. That evening, you know,

you all charged us -- we were dismounted then. We lost more men then
than we had done all day; there were forty-seven out of seventy-two

killed or wounded. They walked all over us; two of 'em got hold of me
(you see, I went to get our old flag some of you had got hold of),

but I was too worthless to die. There were lots of 'em did go though,
I tell you; old Joe in the lead. Yes, sir; the old company won that day,

and old Joe led 'em. There ain't but a few of us left; but when you want us,
Colonel, you can get us. We'll stand by you."

He paused in deep reflection; his mind evidently back with his old company
and its gallantcommander "old Joe", whoever he might be, who was remembered

so long after he passed away in the wind and smoke of that
unnamed evening battle. I took a good look at him -- at "No. 4",

as he called himself. He was tall, but stooped a little;
his features were good, at least his nose and brow were;

his mouth and chin were weak. His mouth was too stained with the tobacco
which he chewed to tell much about it -- and his chin was like

so many American chins, not strong. His eyes looked weak.
His clothes were very much worn, but they had once been good;

they formerly had been black, and well made; the buttons were all on.
His shirt was clean. I took note of this, for he had a dissipated look,

and a rumpled shirt would have been natural. A man's linen tells on him
before his other clothes. His listener had evidently been impressed

by him also, for he arose, and said, abruptly, "Let's go and take a drink."
To my surprise "No. 4" declined. "No, I thank you," he said, with promptness.

I instinctively looked at him again to see if I had not misjudged him;
but I concluded not, that I was right, and that he was simply "not drinking".

I was flattered at my discrimination when I heard him say that he had
"sworn off". His friend said no more, but remained standing while "No. 4"

expatiated on the difference between a man who is drinking and one who is not.
I never heard a more strikingexposition of it. He said he wondered