cer outlined against one of the campfires, lurched
and caught at the rails as the men he led crawled over or vaulted that
obstruction, overrunning the Union defenders with the vehemence of men
determined to make up for the failure of the afternoon. It was a sharp
skirmish, but one from which they came away with prisoners and a renewed
belief in themselves. Though they did not know it then, they had fought
the last battle of the war for the depleted regiments of cavalry of the
Army of the Tennessee. The aftertaste of Selma had been bitter, but the
small, sharp flurry at the Godwin house left them no longer feeling so
bitter.

"Where're we goin'?" Boyd pushed his horse up beside Croaker as they
swung on through the dark.

"Plantersville, I guess." But something inside Drew added soundlessly:
On to the end now.

"We're not finished--" Boyd went on, when Drew interrupted:

"We're finished. We were finished months ago." It was true ... they had
been finished at Franklin, their cause dead, their hopes dead,
everything dead except men who had somehow kept on their feet, with
weapons in their hands and a dogged determination to keep going. Why?
Because most of them could no longer understand any other way of life?

There was that long line of battles General Forrest had named.... And
marching backward through weeks, months, and years a long line of men,
growing more and more shadowy in memory. Among them was Anse--Drew tried
not to think about that.

Now, out of the dark there suddenly arose a voice, singing. Others
picked up the tune, one of the army songs. Just as Kirby had sung to
them on the big retreat, so this unknown voice was singing them on to
whatever was awaiting at Plantersville. The end was waiting and they
would have to face it, just as they had faced carbine, saber, field gun
and everything else the Yankees had brought to bear against them.

Drew joined in and heard Boyd's tenor, high but on key, take up the
refrain:

"On the Plains of Manassas the Yankees we met,
We gave them a whipping they'll never forget:
But I ain't got no money, nor nothin' to eat,
I'm afraid that tonight I must sleep in the street."

The Army of the Tennessee hadn't seen the Plains of Manassas, maybe, but
they had seen other fields and running Yankees in their time.

Drew found himself slapping the ends of his reins in time to the tune.

"I'm a poor Rebel soldier, and Dixie's my home--"

Croaker brayed loudly