A ditch, deep and wide, had been dug; his body, and those of twenty-two
of his men found dead upon and about him, flung into it in one common
heap and the word sent back was, "We have buried him with his niggers."
It was well done. The fair, sweet face and gallant breast lie peacefully
enough under their stately monument of ebony.
It was well done. What more fitting close of such a life,--what fate
more welcome to him who had fought with them, had loved, and believed in
them, had led them to death,--than to lie with them when they died?
It was well done. Slavery buried these men, black and white,
together,--black and white in a common grave. Let Liberty see to it,
then, that black and white be raised together in a life better than the
old.
CHAPTER XVII
"_Spirits are not finely touched
But to fine issues._"
SHAKESPEARE
Surrey was to depart for his command on Monday night, and as there were
various matters which demanded his attention in town ere leaving, he
drove Francesca to the city on the preceding Sunday,--a soft clear
summer evening, full of pleasant sights and sounds. They scarcely spoke
as, hand in hand, they sat drinking in the scene whilst the old gray,
for they wished no high-stepping prancers for this ride, jogged on the
even tenor of his way. Above them, the blue of the sky never before
seemed so deep and tender, while in it floated fleecy clouds of delicate
amber, rose, and gold, like gossamer robes of happy spirits invisible to
human eyes.
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