ONE OFFICER, ONE MAN
by Ambrose Bierce
Captain Graffenreid stood at the head of his company.
The regiment was not engaged. It formed a part of
the front line-of-battle, which stretched away to
the right with a visible length of nearly two miles
through the open ground. The left flank was veiled
by woods; to the right also the line was lost to
sight, but it extended many miles. A hundred yards
in rear was a second line; behind this, the reserve
brigades and divisions in column. Batteries of
artillery occupied the spaces between and crowned
the low hills. Groups of horsemen--generals with
their staffs and escorts, and field officers of
regiments behind the colors--broke the regularity
of the lines and columns. Numbers of these figures
of interest had field-glasses at their eyes and sat
motionless, stolidly scanning the country in front;
others came and went at a slow canter, bearing orders.
There were squads of stretcher-bearers, ambulances,
wagon-trains with ammunition, and officers' servants
in rear of all--of all that was visible--for still
in rear of these, along the roads, extended for many
miles all that vast multitude of non-combatants who
with their various impedimenta are assigned
to the inglorious but important duty of supplying
the fighters' many needs.
An army in line-of-battle awaiting attack, or prepared
to deliver it, presents strange contrasts. At the
front are precision, formality, fixity, and silence.
Toward the rear these characteristics are less and
less conspicuous, and finally, in point of space,
are lost altogether in confusion, motion and noise.
The homogeneous becomes heterogeneous. Definition
is lacking; repose is replaced by an apparently
purposeless activity; harmony vanishes in hubbub,
form in disorder. Commotion everywhere and ceaseless
unrest. The men who do not fight are never ready.
From his position at the right of his company in
the front rank, Captain Graffenreid had an unobstructed
outlook toward the enemy. A half-mile of open and
nearly level ground lay before him, and beyond it
an irregular wood, covering a slight acclivity; not
a human being anywhere visible. He could imagine
nothing more peaceful than the appearance of that
pleasant landscape with its long stretches of brown
fields over which the atmosphere was beginning to
quiver in the heat 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
stirring notes of the "assembly"! With what a light
tread, scarcely conscious of the earth beneath his
feet, he strode forward at the head of his company,
and how exultingly he noted the tactical dispositions
which placed his regiment in the front line! And
if perchance some memory came to him of a pair of
dark eyes that might take on a tenderer light in
reading the account of that day's doings, who
shall blame him for the unmartial thought or count
it a debasement of soldierly ardor?
Suddenly, from the forest a half-mile in front--apparently
from among the upper branches of the trees, but
really from the ridge beyond--rose a tall column
of white smoke. A moment later came a deep, jarring
explosion, followed--almost attended--by a hideous
rushing sound that seemed to leap forward across
the intervening space with inconceivable rapidity,
rising from whisper to roar with too quick a
gradation for attention to note the successive
stages of its horrible progression! A visible
tremor ran along the lines of men; all were startled
into motion. Captain Graffenreid dodged and threw
up his hands to one side of his head, palms outward.
As he did so he heard a keen, ringing report, and
saw on a hillside behind the line a fierce roll of
smoke and dust--the shell's explosion. It had passed
a hundred feet to his left! He heard, or fancied
he heard, a low, mocking laugh and turning in the
direction whence it came saw the eyes of his first
lieutenant fixed upon him with an unmistakable look
of amusement. He looked along the line of faces in
the front ranks. The men were laughing. At him? The
thought restored the color to his bloodless
face--restored too much of it. His cheeks burned
with a fever of shame.
The enemy's shot was not answered: the officer
in command at that exposed part of the line had
evidently no desire to provoke a cannonade. For
the forbearance Captain Graffenreid was conscious
of a sense of gratitude. He had not known that
the flight of a projectile was a phenomenon of
so appalling character. His conception of war had
already undergone a profound change, and he was
conscious that his new feeling was manifesting
itself in visible perturbation. His blood was
boiling in his veins; he had a choking sensation
and felt that if he had a command to give it
would be inaudible, or at least unintelligible.
The hand in which he held his sword trembled; the
other moved automatically, clutching at various
parts of his clothing. He found a difficulty in
standing still and fancied that his men observed
it. Was it fear? He feared it was.
From somewhere away to the right came, as the
wind served, a low, intermittent murmur like
that of ocean in a storm--like that of a distant
railway train--like that of wind among the
pines--three sounds so nearly alike that the ear,
unaided by the judgment, cannot distinguish them
one from another. The eyes of the troops were
drawn in that direction; the mounted officers
turned their field-glasses that way. Mingled
with the sound was an irregular throbbing. He
thought it, at first, the beating of his fevered
blood in his ears; next, the distant tapping
of a bass drum.
"The ball is opened on the right flank," said
an officer.
Captain Graffenreid understood: the sounds were
musketry and artillery. He nodded and tried to
smile. There was apparently nothing infectious in
the smile.
Presently a light line of blue smoke-puffs broke
out along the edge of the wood in front, succeeded
by a crackle of rifles. There were keen, sharp
hissings in the air, terminating abruptly with a
thump near by. The man at Captain Graffenreid's
side dropped his rifle; his knees gave way and
he pitched awkwardly forward, falling upon his
face. Somebody shouted "Lie down!" and the dead
man was hardly distinguishable from the living.
It looked as if those few rifle-shots had slain
ten thousand men. Only the field officers remained
erect; their concession to the emergency consisted
in dismounting and sending their horses to the
shelter of the low hills immediately in rear.
Captain Graffenreid lay alongside the dead man,
from beneath whose breast flowed a little rill
of blood. It had a faint, sweetish odor that
sickened him. The face was crushed into the earth
and flattened. It looked yellow already, and was
repulsive. Nothing suggested the glory of a
soldier's death nor mitigated the loathsomeness
of the incident. He could not turn his back upon
the body without facing away from his company.
He fixed his eyes upon the forest, where all again
was silent. He tried to imagine what was going
on there--the lines of troops forming to attack,
the guns being pushed forward by hand to the edge
of the open. He fancied he could see their black
muzzles protruding from the undergrowth, ready to
deliver their storm of missiles--such missiles as
the one whose shriek had so unsettled his nerves.
The distension of his eyes became painful; a mist
seemed to gather before them; he could no longer
see across the field, yet would not withdraw his
gaze lest he see the dead man at his side.
The fire of battle was not now burning very brightly
in this warrior's soul. From inaction had come
introspection. He sought rather to analyze his
feelings than distinguish himself by courage and
devotion. The result was profoundly disappointing.
He covered his face with his hands and groaned
aloud.
The hoarse murmur of battle grew more and more
distinct upon the right; the murmur had, indeed,
become a roar, the throbbing, a thunder. The
sounds had worked round obliquely to the front;
evidently the enemy's left was being driven back,
and the propitious moment to move against the
salient angle of his line would soon arrive.
The silence and mystery in front were ominous;
all felt that they boded evil to the assailants.
Behind the prostrate lines sounded the hoofbeats
of galloping horses; the men turned to look. A
dozen staff officers were riding to the various
brigade and regimental commanders, who had remounted.
A moment more and there was a chorus of voices, all
uttering out of time the same words--"Attention,
battalion!" The men sprang to their feet and were
aligned by the company commanders. They awaited
the word "Forward"--awaited, too, with beating
hearts and set teeth the gusts of lead and iron
that were to smite them at their first movement in
obedience to that word. The word was not given;
the tempest did not break out. The delay was
hideous, maddening! It unnerved like a respite at
the guillotine.
Captain Graffenreid stood at the head of his company,
the dead man at his feet. He heard the battle on
the right--rattle and crash of musketry, ceaseless
thunder of cannon, desultory cheers of invisible
combatants. He marked ascending clouds of smoke
from distant forests. He noted the sinister silence
of the forest in front. These contrasting extremes
affected the whole range of his sensibilities. The
strain upon his nervous organization was insupportable.
He grew hot and cold by turns. He panted like a dog,
and then forgot to breathe until reminded by vertigo.
Suddenly he grew calm. Glancing downward, his eyes
had fallen upon his naked sword, as he held it,
point to earth. Foreshortened to his view, it
resembled somewhat, he thought, the short heavy
blade of the ancient Roman. The fancy was full of
suggestion, malign, fateful, heroic!
The sergeant in the rear rank, immediately behind
Captain Graffenreid, now observed a strange sight.
His attention drawn by an uncommon movement made
by the captain--a sudden reaching forward of the
hands and their energetic withdrawal, throwing the
elbows out, as in pulling an oar--he saw spring
from between the officer's shoulders a bright point
of metal which prolonged itself outward, nearly a
half-arm's length--a blade! It was faintly streaked
with crimson, and its point approached so near to
the sergeant's breast, and with so quick a movement,
that he shrank backward in alarm. That moment Captain
Graffenreid pitched heavily forward upon the dead
man and died.
A week later the major-general commanding the left
corps of the Federal Army submitted the following
official report:
"SIR: I have the honor to report, with regard to
the action of the 19th inst, that owing to the
enemy's withdrawal from my front to reinforce his
beaten left, my command was not seriously engaged.
My loss was as follows: Killed, one officer, one man."
~~~~~~~ THE END ~~~~~~~
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