at the office.  And there old Chester, with kindling eyes, reads to the silent company the brief official order.  Ay, though it be miles and miles away, fast as steam and wheel can take it, the good old regiment in all its sturdy strength goes forth to join the rescue of the imprisoned comrades far in the Colorado Rockies.  “Have your entire command in readiness for immediate field-service in the Department of the Platte.  Special train will be there to take you by noon at latest.”  And though many a man has lost friend and comrade in the tragedy that calls them forth, and though many a brow clouds for the moment with the bitter news of such useless sacrifice, every eye brightens, every muscle seems to brace, every nerve and pulse to throb and thrill with the glorious excitement of quick assembly and coming action.  Ay, we are miles and miles away; we leave the dear old post, with homes and firesides, wives, children, and sweethearts, all to the care of the few whom sickness or old wounds or advancing years render unfit for hard, sharp marching; and, thank God! we’ll be there to take a hand and help those gallant fellows out of their “corral” or to have one good blow at the cowardly hounds who lured and lied to them.

How the “assembly” rings on the morning air!  How quick they spring to ranks, those eager bearded faces and trim blue-clad forms!  How buoyant and brisk even the elders seem as the captains speed over to their company quarters and the quick, stirring orders are given!  “Field kits; all the cooked rations you have on hand; overcoat, blanket, extra socks and underclothes; every cartridge you’ve got; haversack and canteen, and nothing else.  Now get ready,—­lively!” How irrepressible is the cheer that goes up!  How we pity the swells of the light battery who have to stay!  How wistful those fellows look, and how eagerly they throng about the barracks, yearning to go, and, since that is denied, praying to be of use in some way!  Small wonder is it that all the bustle and excitement penetrates the portals of Mr. Jerrold’s darkened quarters, and the shutters are thrown open and his bandaged head comes forth.

“What is it, Harris?” he demands of a light-batteryman who is hurrying past.

“Orders for Colorado, sir.  The regiment goes by special train.  Major Thornton’s command’s been massacred, and there’s a big fight ahead.”

“My God!  Here!—­stop one moment.  Run over to Company B and see if you can find my servant, or Merrick, or somebody.  If not, you come back quick.  I want to send a note to Captain Armitage.”

“I can take it, sir.  We’re not going.  The band and the battery have to stay.”

And Jerrold, with trembling hand and feverish haste, seats himself at the same desk whence on that fatal morning he sent the note that wrought such disaster; and as he rises and hands his missive forth, throwing wide open the shutters as he does so, his bedroom doors fly open, and a whirling gust of the morning wind sweeps through from rear to front, and half a score of bills and billets, letters and scraps of paper, go ballooning out upon the parade.