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I pushed myself to my feet again and went on up the slope, past the clump of trees, past the shattered ca
The stage still was set, I saw. Campfires sparkled down the slope and south and east and from far off came the janglings of harness and the creaking sound of wagons on the move, or perhaps artillery. Down toward the Round Tops a mule began to bray.
Over all hung the brilliance of the summer stars, and this, I recalled, was a misreading of the script, for after that final charge up the fated slope there had been heavy rain and some of the wounded, helpless to move themselves, had been caught by a rising creek and drowned. It had been "ca
The near hillside was dotted by the dark, humped shapes of dead men and occasionally a dead horse, but there seemed to be no wounded, nor was there the sound of wounded, that pitiful moaning and crying that went on after every battle, sometimes punctuated by the u
Looking at those dim figures humped upon the ground, I sensed the quiet and peace of them, the majesty of death. None lay distorted, all were decently composed, as if they might simply have lain down and gone to sleep. There was in them no agony and no pain. Even the horses were horses that had gone to sleep. None lay with bodies bloated by the gas of death, with legs outthrust grotesquely. The entire battlefield was polite and neat and orderly and, perhaps, a touch romantic. There was editing here, I knew, but not so much the editing of this world as the editing of mine. This had been the way the people who had lived at the time of Gettysburg had thought about this war, the way later generations also had thought of it after the years had stripped it of its harshness and brutality and horror, and had draped across it a chivalrous mantle, making of it a saga rather than a war.
I knew that it was wrong. I knew that this was not the way that it had been. But, standing there, I half forgot that it was nothing but a play and could only feel the gold-spangled glory and the glory-haunted melancholy.
The mule had quit his braying and somewhere a group about a campfire had begun to sing. Behind me the leaves were whispering in the clump of trees.
Gettysburg, I thought. I had been here in another time, on another world (or in another world, or of another world, whatever it might Be, or however it worked out) and had stood, on this very spot, and tried to imagine what it had been like, and now I saw—or, at least, I saw a part of it.
I started down the hill when a voice spoke my name.
"Horton Smith."
I swung toward the sound and for a moment I failed to see the one who had spoken, and then I did, perched upon the broken wheel of the shell-smashed ca
"So it's you again," I said.
"You had the Devil's help," said the Referee. "You did not do it fair. The encounter with Quixote should not count at all and you must have needed the Devil's help to-live through the ca
"All right. So I had the Devil's help. What do you do about it?"
"You admit it?" he asked, eagerly. "You admit that you had help?"
"Not at all," I said. "You said it and I don't really know. The Devil said nothing to me about giving any help."
He slumped, dejected. "Ah, then there is nothing one can do. Three times is a charm. It is the law and I ca
"It's a feeling," I told him, "that I reciprocate."
"Six times!" he mourned. "It is immoral! It is impossible! There has never been anyone before who even did it three times."
I walked close to the ca
"Comfort!" he shrilled, puffing up in rage. "Why should you wish to give me comfort? It's another trick, I tell you. Another dirty human trick!"
I turned abruptly on my heel. "Go chase yourself,"-1 told him. What was the use of trying to be civil with a jerk like that?
"Mr. Smith," he called after me. "Mr. Smith. Please, Mr. Smith."
I paid him no attention and went on, tramping down the hill.
To my left I saw the faint outlines of a white farmhouse, enclosed by a picket fence which was white as well. Some of the fence, I saw, had been torn down. Light shone through the windows and tied horses stamped in the yard outside the house. That would be General Meade's headquarters and the general might be there. If I wanted to walk over, I might get a glimpse of him. But I didn't walk over. I kept on down the hill. For the thing that was Meade would not be really Meade, no more than the house was really a house or the broken ca
Now there were hidden voices all about me and occasionally the sound of footsteps and at times I caught the sight of dim human figures hurrying across the hill, on official business, perhaps, but more than likely on business of their own.
The ground beneath my feet plunged sharply and I saw that it led down into a gulch, with a thicket of small trees at the upper end of it. Beneath the trees was the flare of a campfire light. I tried to veer away, for I had no wish to meet anyone, but I had gone too far to avoid detection. Small stones loosened by my feet went rolling and bouncing down into the gulch and a voice cried out sharply at me.
I stopped and stood stock-still.
"Who's there?" the voice cried again.
"Friend," I said, and it was a silly thing to say, but all that I could think of.
The firelight glinted on a lifted musket barrel.
"There ain't no need, Jed, to be so upset," said a drawling voice. "There ain't no Rebs around and even if there were, they'd be inclined to be plumb peaceful."
"I just wanted to make sure, is all," said Jed. "After today, I ain't taking any chances."
"Take it easy," I said, walking toward the fire. "I'm not any Reb."
I stopped when I was in sight of them and let them look me over. There were three of them, two sitting by the fire, the other on his feet with the musket lifted.
"You ain't one of us, neither," said the standing one, who apparently was Jed. "Just who are you, mister?"
"My name is Horton Smith," I said. "A newspaperman."
"Well, what do you know," said the one who drawled. "Come on in and sit by the fire with us for a spell if you have got the time."
"I have some time," I said.
"We can tell you all about it," said the one who had not spoken before. "We was right up there in the thick of it. Right by the clump of trees."
"Wait a minute," said the drawly one. "We don't need to tell him. I seen this gentleman before. He was up there with us for a while. Maybe all the time. I seen him, then things got hot and I lost track of everything."