"I know, Captain," she said, "that we can\'t have longings, strivings, or hopes, without beliefs; beliefs are what they live on. I believe in being strong and sweet and true for the pure sake of being so; and yet more for the world\'s sake; and as much more again for God\'s sake as God is greater than his works. I believe in beauty and in joy. I believe they are the goal of all goodness and of all God\'s work and wish. As to resurrection, punishment, and reward, I can\'t see what my noblest choice has to do with them; they seem to me to be God\'s part of the matter; mine is to love perfect beauty and perfect joy, both in and infinitely beyond myself, with the desiring love with which I rejoice to believe God loves them, and to pity the lack of them with the loving pity with which God pities it. And above all I believe that no beauty and no joy can be perfect apart from a love that loves the whole world\'s joy better than any separate joy of any separate soul."
"Thank you," was murmured from the pillow. Then, as Charlotte once more wiped the damp brow, the captive said, with much labor, "After that--war seems--an awful thing. I suppose it isn\'t half so much a crime--as it is a--penalty--for the crimes that bring it on. But anyhow--you know--being--" The bugle rang out the reveillé.
"Being a soldier," said Charlotte, "you want to die like one?"
"Yes, oh, yes!--the best I can. I\'d like to sit half up--and hold my sword--if there\'s--no objection. I\'ve loved it so! It would almost be like holding--the hand that\'s far away. Of course, it isn\'t really necessary, but--it would be more like--dying--for my country."
He would not have it in the scabbard, and when I laid it naked in his hand he kissed the hilt. Charlotte sent Gholson for Ned Ferry. Glancing from the window, I noticed that for some better convenience our scouts had left the grove, and the prisoners had been marched in and huddled close to the veranda-steps, under their heavy marching-guard of Louisianians. One of the blue-coats called up to me softly: "Dying--really?" He turned to his fellows--"Boys, Captain\'s dying."
Every Northern eye was lifted to the window and I turned away. "Richard!" gently called Charlotte, and I saw the end was at hand; a new anguish was on the brow; yet the soldier was asking for a song; "a soldier\'s song, will you?"
"Why, Captain," she replied, "you know, we don\'t sing the same words to our soldier-songs that you do--except in the hymns. Shall I sing \'Am I a soldier of the cross?\'"
He did not answer promptly; but when he did he said "Yes--sing that."
She sang it. As the second stanza was begun we heard a responsive swell grow softly to fuller and fuller volume beneath the windows; the prisoners were singing. I heard an austere voice forbid it, but it rose straight on from strength to strength:
"Sure I must fight if I would win, Increase my courage, Lord.
I\'ll bear the toil, endure the pain, Supported by thy word."
The dying man lifted a hand and Charlotte ceased. He had not heard the muffled chorus of his followers below; or it may be that he had, and that the degree of liberty they seemed to be enjoying prompted him to seek the new favor he now asked. I did not catch his words, but Charlotte heard, and answered tenderly, yet with a thrill of pain so keen she could not conceal it even from him.
"Oh! you wouldn\'t ask a rebel to sing that," she sighed, "would you?"
He made no rejoinder except that his eyes were insistent. She wiped his temples. "I hate to refuse you."
His gaze was grateful. She spoke again: "I suppose I oughtn\'t to mind it."
Miss Harper came in, and Charlotte, taking her hand without a glance, told the Captain\'s hard request under her voice. Miss Harper, too, in her turn, gave a start of pain, but when the dying eyes and smile turned pleadingly to her she said, "Why, if you can, Charlotte, dear, but oh! how can you?"
Charlotte addressed the wounded man: "Just a little bit of it, will that do?" and as he eagerly assented she added, to Miss Harper, "You know, dear, in its history it\'s no............