"My candle
yonder is hospitable and enables me to recognize you."
With which words the figure advanced into the light, and I recognized
the tall and stately form of General Davenant.
He gave me his hand cordially, and I explained my dilemma. "You are
unfortunate, but fortunate, too," said Davenant, "as I have a man among
my couriers who knows all about horses. I will send yours to him;
meanwhile come into my tent."
And intrusting my horse to the orderly with some brief directions, the
general led the way into his head-quarters tent.
A cheerful fire burned in the rude log-built chimney. On one side were
a plain desk and two camp-stools; on the other a rough couch of pine
logs, filled with straw, and spread with blankets. Upon the blankets a
boy of about fourteen was sound asleep, the light auburn curls tossed
in disorder over the rosy young face. At a glance I recognized the
youth who had entered the ranks at Gettysburg, taken part in Pickett's
charge, and been borne out through the smoke, wounded and bleeding, in
the arms of his father. The young Charley had evidently recovered, and
was as ruddy as before. His little braided jacket was as jaunty, his
face as smiling, as on that evening near Paris.
An hour afterward, General Davenant and myself were conversing like old
friends.
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