“My duty, madam, bids me now
  Ask what may seem a little rude. 
Pardon—­that veil—­withdraw it, please
(Corporal! make every man fall back);
  Pray, now I do but what I should;
    Bethink you, ’tis in masks like these
    That Mosby haunts the villages.”

Slowly the stranger drew her veil,
  And looked the Soldier in the eye—­
A glance of mingled foul and fair;
Sad patience in a proud disdain,
  And more than quietude.  A sigh
    She heaved, and if all unaware,
    And far seemed Mosby from her care.

She came from Yewton Place, her home,
  So ravaged by the war’s wild play—­
Campings, and foragings, and fires—­
That now she sought an aunt’s abode. 
  Her Kinsmen?  In Lee’s army, they. 
    The black?  A servant, late her sire’s. 
    And Mosby?  Vainly he inquires.

He gazed, and sad she met his eye;
  “In the wood yonder were you lost”
No; at the forks they left the road
Because of hoof-prints (thick they were—­
  Thick as the words in notes thrice crossed),
    And fearful, made that episode. 
    In fear of Mosby?  None she showed.

Her poor attire again he scanned: 
  “Lady, once more; I grieve to jar
On all sweet usage, but must plead
To have what peeps there from your dress;
  That letter—­’tis justly prize of war”
    She started—­gave it—­she must need. 
    “’Tis not from Mosby?  May I read?”

And straight such matter he perused
  That with the Guide he went apart. 
The Hospital Steward’s turn began: 
“Must squeeze this darkey; every tap
  Of knowledge we are bound to start”
    “Garry,” she said, “tell all you can
    Of Colonel Mosby—­that brave man.”

“Dun know much, sare; and missis here
  Know less dan me.  But dis I know—­”
“Well, what?” “I dun know what I know”
“A knowing answer!” The hump-back coughed,
  Rubbing his yellowish wool like tow. 
    “Come—­Mosby—­tell!” “O dun look so! 
    My gal nursed missis—­let we go.”

“Go where?” demanded Captain Cloud;
  “Back into bondage?  Man, you’re free”
“Well, let we free!” The Captain’s brow
Lowered; the Colonel came—­had heard: 
  “Pooh! pooh! his simple heart I see—­
    A faithful servant.—­Lady” (a bow),
    “Mosby’s abroad—­with us you’ll go.

“Guard! look to your prisoners; back to camp! 
  The man in the grass—­can he mount and away? 
Why, how he groans!” “Bad inward bruise—­
Might lug him along in the ambulance”
  “Coals to Newcastle! let him stay. 
    Boots and saddles!—­our pains we lose,
    Nor care I if Mosby hear the news!”

But word was sent to a house at hand,
  And a flask was left by the hurt one’s side. 
They seized in that same house a man,
Neutral by day, by night a foe—­
  So charged his neighbor late, the Guide. 
    A grudge?  Hate will do what it can;
    Along he went for a Mosby-man.