- end_line
- 4138
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:58.829Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 4035
- text
- The Surgeon (sashed in sacred green)
Was glad ’twas not for _him_ to say
What next should be; if a trooper bleeds,
Why he will do his best, as wont,
And his partner in black will aid and pray;
But judgment bides with him who leads,
And Mosby many a problem breeds.
The Surgeon was the kindliest man
That ever a callous trace professed;
He felt for him, that Leader young,
And offered medicine from his flask:
The Colonel took it with marvelous zest.
For such fine medicine good and strong,
Oft Mosby and his foresters long.
A charm of proof. “Ho, Major, come--
Pounce on yon men! Take half your troop,
Through the thickets wind--pray speedy be--
And gain their read. And, Captain Morn,
Picket these roads--all travelers stop;
The rest to the edge of this crest with me,
That Mosby and his scouts may see.”
Commanded and done. Ere the sun stood steep,
Back came the Blues, with a troop of Grays,
Ten riding double--luckless ten!--
Five horses gone, and looped hats lost,
And love-locks dancing in a maze--
Certes, but sophomores from the glen
Of Mosby--not his veteran men.
“Colonel,” said the Major, touching his cap,
“We’ve had our ride, and here they are”
“Well done! how many found you there”
“As many as I bring you here”
“And no one hurt?” “There’ll be no scar--
One fool was battered.” “Find their lair”
“Why, Mosby’s brood camp every where.”
He sighed, and slid down from his horse,
And limping went to a spring-head nigh.
“Why, bless me, Major, not hurt, I hope”
“Battered my knee against a bar
When the rush was made; all right by-and-by.--
Halloa! they gave you too much rope--
Go back to Mosby, eh? elope?”
Just by the low-hanging skirt of wood
The guard, remiss, had given a chance
For a sudden sally into the cover--
But foiled the intent, nor fired a shot,
Though the issue was a deadly trance;
For, hurled ’gainst an oak that humped low over,
Mosby’s man fell, pale as a lover.
They pulled some grass his head to ease
(Lined with blue shreds a ground-nest stirred).
The Surgeon came--“Here’s a to-do”
“Ah!” cried the Major, darting a glance,
“This fellow’s the one that fired and spurred
Down hill, but met reserves below--
My boys, not Mosby’s--so we go!”
The Surgeon--bluff, red, goodly man--
Kneeled by the hurt one; like a bee
He toiled. The pale young Chaplain too--
(Who went to the wars for cure of souls,
And his own student-ailments)--he
Bent over likewise; spite the two,
Mosby’s poor man more pallid grew.
Meanwhile the mounted captives near
Jested; and yet they anxious showed;
Virginians; some of family-pride,
And young, and full of fire, and fine
In open feature and cheek that glowed;
And here thralled vagabonds now they ride--
But list! one speaks for Mosby’s side.
“Why, three to one--your horses strong--
Revolvers, rifles, and a surprise--
Surrender we account no shame!
We live, are gay, and life is hope;
We’ll fight again when fight is wise.
There are plenty more from where we came;
But go find Mosby--start the game!”
Yet one there was who looked but glum;
In middle-age, a father he,
And this his first experience too:
“They shot at my heart when my hands were up--
This fighting’s crazy work, I see”
But noon is high; what next do?
The woods are mute, and Mosby is the foe.
“Save what we’ve got,” the Major said;
“Bad plan to make a scout too long;
The tide may turn, and drag them back,
And more beside. These rides I’ve been,
And every time a mine was sprung.
To rescue, mind, they won’t be slack--
Look out for Mosby’s rifle-crack.”
- title
- Chunk 1