at of the morning sun.
Not a sound came from forest or field--not even the barking of a dog or
the crowing of a cock at the half-seen plantation house on the crest
among the trees. Yet every man in those miles of men knew that he and
death were face to face.

Captain Graffenreid had never in his life seen an armed enemy, and the
war in which his regiment was one of the first to take the field was two
years old. He had had the rare advantage of a military education, and
when his comrades had marched to the front he had been detached for
administrative service at the capital of his State, where it was thought
that he could be most useful. Like a bad soldier he protested, and like
a good one obeyed. In close official and personal relations with the
governor of his State, and enjoying his confidence and favor, he had
firmly refused promotion and seen his juniors elevated above him. Death
had been busy in his distant regiment; vacancies among the field
officers had occurred again and again; but from a chivalrous feeling
that war's rewards belonged of right to those who bore the storm and
stress of battle he had held his humble rank and generously advanced the
fortunes of others. His silent devotion to principle had conquered at
last: he had been relieved of his hateful duties and ordered to the
front, and now, untried by fire, stood in the van of battle in command
of a company of hardy veterans, to whom he had been only a name, and
that name a by-word. By none--not even by those of his brother officers
in whose favor he had waived his rights--was his devotion to duty
understood. They were too busy to be just; he was looked upon as one who
had shirked his duty, until forced unwillingly into the field. Too proud
to explain, yet not too insensible to feel, he could only endure and
hope.

Of all the Federal Army on that summer morning none had accepted battle
more joyously than Anderton Graffenreid. His spirit was buoyant, his
faculties were riotous. He was in a state of mental exaltation and
scarcely could endure the enemy's tardiness in advancing to the attack.
To him this was opportunity--for the result he cared nothing. Victory or
defeat, as God might will; in one or in the other he should prove
himself a soldier and a hero; he should vindicate his right to the
respect of his men and the companionship of his brother officers--to the
consideration of his superiors. How his heart leaped in his breast as
the bugle sounded the