The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce — Volume 2: In the Midst of Life: Tales of Soldiers and Civilians

TO INTRODUCE GENERAL MASTERSON

Searching for his division commander, General Cameron and his escort had followed the line of battle for nearly a mile to the right of Ransome’s battery, and there learned that the division commander had gone in search of the corps commander.  It seemed that everybody was looking for his immediate superior—­an ominous circumstance.  It meant that nobody was quite at ease.  So General Cameron rode on for another half-mile, where by good luck he met General Masterson, the division commander, returning.

“Ah, Cameron,” said the higher officer, reining up, and throwing his right leg across the pommel of his saddle in a most unmilitary way—­ “anything up?  Found a good position for your battery, I hope—­if one place is better than another in a fog.”

“Yes, general,” said the other, with the greater dignity appropriate to his less exalted rank, “my battery is very well placed.  I wish I could say that it is as well commanded.”

“Eh, what’s that?  Ransome?  I think him a fine fellow.  In the army we should be proud of him.”

It was customary for officers of the regular army to speak of it as “the army.”  As the greatest cities are most provincial, so the self-complacency of aristocracies is most frankly plebeian.

“He is too fond of his opinion.  By the way, in order to occupy the hill that he holds I had to extend my line dangerously.  The hill is on my left—­that is to say the left flank of the army.”

“Oh, no, Hart’s brigade is beyond.  It was ordered up from Drytown during the night and directed to hook on to you.  Better go and—­”

The sentence was unfinished:  a lively cannonade had broken out on the left, and both officers, followed by their retinues of aides and orderlies making a great jingle and clank, rode rapidly toward the spot.  But they were soon impeded, for they were compelled by the fog to keep within sight of the line-of-battle, behind which were swarms of men, all in motion across their way.  Everywhere the line was assuming a sharper and harder definition, as the men sprang to arms and the officers, with drawn swords, “dressed” the ranks.  Color-bearers unfurled the flags, buglers blew the “assembly,” hospital attendants appeared with stretchers.  Field officers mounted and sent their impedimenta to the rear in care of negro servants.  Back in the ghostly spaces of the forest could be heard the rustle and murmur of the reserves, pulling themselves together.

Nor was all this preparation vain, for scarcely five minutes had passed since Captain Ransome’s guns had broken the truce of doubt before the whole region was aroar:  the enemy had attacked nearly everywhere.