FullReads

Then sportful to the Surgeon turned:
“Green sashes hardly serve by night”
“Nor bullets nor bottles,” the Major sighed,
“Against these moccasin-snakes–such foes
As seldom come to solid fight:
They kill and vanish; through grass they glide;
Devil take Mosby!–” his horse here shied.

“Hold! look–the tree, like a dragged balloon;
A globe of leaves–some trickery here;
My nag is right–best now be shy”
A movement was made, a hubbub and snarl;
Little was plain–they blindly steer.
The Pleiads, as from ambush sly,
Peep out–Mosby’s men in the sky!

As restive they turn, how sore they feel,
And cross, and sleepy, and full of spleen,
And curse the war. “Fools, North and South”
Said one right out. “O for a bed!
O now to drop in this woodland green”
He drops as the syllables leave his mouth–
Mosby speaks from the undergrowth–

Speaks in a volley! out jets the flame!
Men fall from their saddles like plums from trees;
Horses take fright, reins tangle and bind;
“Steady–Dismount–form–and into the wood”
They go, but find what scarce can please:
Their steeds have been tied in the field behind,
And Mosby’s men are off like the wind.

Sound the recall! vain to pursue–
The enemy scatters in wilds he knows,
To reunite in his own good time;
And, to follow, they need divide–
To come lone and lost on crouching foes:
Maple and hemlock, beech and lime,
Are Mosby’s confederates, share the crime.

“Major,” burst in a bugler small,
“The fellow we left in Loudon grass–
Sir slyboots with the inward bruise,
His voice I heard–the very same–
Some watchword in the ambush pass;
Ay, sir, we had him in his shoes–
We caught him–Mosby–but to lose!”

“Go, go!–these saddle-dreamers! Well,
And here’s another.–Cool, sir, cool”
“Major, I saw them mount and sweep,
And one was humped, or I mistake,
And in the skurry dropped his wool”
“A wig! go fetch it:–the lads need sleep;
They’ll next see Mosby in a sheep!

“Come, come, fall back! reform yours ranks–
All’s jackstraws here! Where’s Captain Morn?–
We’ve parted like boats in a raging tide!
But stay-the Colonel–did he charge?
And comes he there? ‘Tis streak of dawn;
Mosby is off, the woods are wide–
Hist! there’s a groan–this crazy ride!”

As they searched for the fallen, the dawn grew chill;
They lay in the dew: “Ah! hurt much, Mink?
And–yes–the Colonel!” Dead! but so calm
That death seemed nothing–even death,
The thing we deem every thing heart can think;
Amid wilding roses that shed their balm,
Careless of Mosby he lay–in a charm!

The Major took him by the Hand–
Into the friendly clasp it bled
(A ball through heart and hand he rued):
“Good-by” and gazed with humid glance;
Then in a hollow revery said
“The weakness thing is lustihood;
But Mosby–” and he checked his mood.

“Where’s the advance?–cut off, by heaven!
Come, Surgeon, how with your wounded there”
“The ambulance will carry all”
“Well, get them in; we go to camp.
Seven prisoners gone? for the rest have care”
Then to himself, “This grief is gall;
That Mosby!–I’ll cast a silver ball!”

“Ho!” turning–“Captain Cloud, you mind
The place where the escort went–so shady?
Go search every closet low and high,
And barn, and bin, and hidden bower–
Every covert–find that lady!
And yet I may misjudge her–ay,
Women (like Mosby) mystify.

“We’ll see. Ay, Captain, go–with speed!
Surround and search; each living thing
Secure; that done, await us where
We last turned off. Stay! fire the cage
If the birds be flown.” By the cross-road spring
The bands rejoined; no words; the glare
Told all. Had Mosby plotted there?