By dint of straining my eyes I could see an oblong form outlined against the sky.

I went toward it; I could hear horses stamping and harness rattling; still, I could see no one.  The rear of the wagon, if it was a wagon, was toward me.

I reasoned:  “This cannot be a rebel ambulance; there would be no need for it here; it must be one of ours, or else it is a private carriage; it certainly is not an army wagon.”

I advanced a little nearer, I had made up my mind to halloo, and had opened my lips, when a voice came from the ambulance—­a voice which I had heard before, and which, stupefied me with astonishment.

“Is that you, Jones?”

I stood fixed.  I seemed to recognize the voice, but surely my supposition must be impossible.

A man got out of the ambulance, and approached; he had a pipe in his mouth; he was a small man, not more than five feet tall.  I felt as though in the presence of a miracle.

“I have been seeking you,” he said.

IV

A PERSONAGE

     “I cannot tell
     What heaven hath given him; let some graver eye
     Pierce unto that.”—­SHAKESPEARE.

For a time I was dumb.  I knew not what to say or ask or think.  The happenings of this terrible day, which had wrought the defeat of the Union army, had been too much for me.  Vanquished, exhausted, despairing, heart-sore from enforced desertion of my wounded friend, still far from safety myself, with no physical desire remaining except the wish to lie down and be at rest forever, and with no moral feeling in my consciousness except that of shame,—­which will forever rise uppermost in me when I think of that ignominious day,—­to be suddenly accosted by the man whom I held in the most peculiar veneration and who, I had believed, was never again to enter into my life—­accosted by him on the verge of the lost battlefield—­in the midst of darkness and the debris of the rout, while groping, as it were, on my lone way to security scarcely hoped for—­it was too much; I sank down on the road.

How long I lay there I have never known—­probably but few moments.

The Doctor took my hand in his.  “Be consoled, my friend,” said he; “you are in safety; this is my ambulance; we will take you with us.”

Then, he called to some one in the ambulance, “Reed, bring me the flask of brandy.”

When I had revived, the Doctor urged me to climb in before him.

“No,” I cried, “I cannot do it; I cannot leave Willis; we must get Willis.”

“I heard that Willis was shot,” said he; “but I had supposed, from the direction you two wore taking when last seen, that he had reached the field hospital.  Where is Willis now?”

I told him as accurately as I could, and in half an hour we were in the stubble-field.  For fear the sergeant should be unnecessarily alarmed on hearing persons approach, I called him softly by name; then, hearing no answering call, I raised my voice—­“Willis!  It is Jones, with help!” But there was no response.