“It was all right, sir,” said Brune, without visible emotion; “I escaped and returned to my colors—­the Confederate colors.  I should like to add that before deserting from the Federal service I had earnestly asked a discharge, on the ground of altered convictions.  I was answered by punishment.”

“Ah, but if I had suffered the penalty of my crime—­if you had not generously given me the life that I accepted without gratitude you would not be again in the shadow and imminence of death.”

The prisoner started slightly and a look of anxiety came into his face.  One would have said, too, that he was surprised.  At that moment a lieutenant, the adjutant, appeared at the opening of the tent and saluted.  “Captain,” he said, “the battalion is formed.”

Captain Hartroy had recovered his composure.  He turned to the officer and said:  “Lieutenant, go to Captain Graham and say that I direct him to assume command of the battalion and parade it outside the parapet.  This gentleman is a deserter and a spy; he is to be shot to death in the presence of the troops.  He will accompany you, unbound and unguarded.”

While the adjutant waited at the door the two men inside the tent rose and exchanged ceremonious bows, Brune immediately retiring.

Half an hour later an old negro cook, the only person left in camp except the commander, was so startled by the sound of a volley of musketry that he dropped the kettle that he was lifting from a fire.  But for his consternation and the hissing which the contents of the kettle made among the embers, he might also have heard, nearer at hand, the single pistol shot with which Captain Hartroy renounced the life which in conscience he could no longer keep.

In compliance with the terms of a note that he left for the officer who succeeded him in command, he was buried, like the deserter and spy, without military honors; and in the solemn shadow of the mountain which knows no more of war the two sleep well in long-forgotten graves.

ONE KIND OF OFFICER

I

OF THE USES OF CIVILITY

“Captain Ransome, it is not permitted to you to know anything.  It is sufficient that you obey my order—­which permit me to repeat.  If you perceive any movement of troops in your front you are to open fire, and if attacked hold this position as long as you can.  Do I make myself understood, sir?”

“Nothing could be plainer.  Lieutenant Price,”—­this to an officer of his own battery, who had ridden up in time to hear the order—­“the general’s meaning is clear, is it not?”

“Perfectly.”

The lieutenant passed on to his post.  For a moment General Cameron and the commander of the battery sat in their saddles, looking at each other in silence.  There was no more to say; apparently too much had already been said.  Then the superior officer nodded coldly and turned his horse to ride away.  The artillerist saluted slowly, gravely, and with extreme formality.  One acquainted with the niceties of military etiquette would have said that by his manner he attested a sense of the rebuke that he had incurred.  It is one of the important uses of civility to signify resentment.