“I’ll b-b-bet you t-two d-d-dollars they d-drop him b-b-before he g-gets to that d-d-ditch!”

I did not accept the brutal wager; I thought they would.

Let me do justice to a brave man’s memory; in all these needless exposures of life there was no visible bravado nor subsequent narration.  In the few instances when some of us had ventured to remonstrate, Brayle had smiled pleasantly and made some light reply, which, however, had not encouraged a further pursuit of the subject.  Once he said: 

“Captain, if ever I come to grief by forgetting your advice, I hope my last moments will be cheered by the sound of your beloved voice breathing into my ear the blessed words, ‘I told you so.’”

We laughed at the captain—­just why we could probably not have explained—­and that afternoon when he was shot to rags from an ambuscade Brayle remained by the body for some time, adjusting the limbs with needless care—­there in the middle of a road swept by gusts of grape and canister!  It is easy to condemn this kind of thing, and not very difficult to refrain from imitation, but it is impossible not to respect, and Brayle was liked none the less for the weakness which had so heroic an expression.  We wished he were not a fool, but he went on that way to the end, sometimes hard hit, but always returning to duty about as good as new.

Of course, it came at last; he who ignores the law of probabilities challenges an adversary that is seldom beaten.  It was at Resaca, in Georgia, during the movement that resulted in the taking of Atlanta.  In front of our brigade the enemy’s line of earthworks ran through open fields along a slight crest.  At each end of this open ground we were close up to him in the woods, but the clear ground we could not hope to occupy until night, when darkness would enable us to burrow like moles and throw up earth.  At this point our line was a quarter-mile away in the edge of a wood.  Roughly, we formed a semicircle, the enemy’s fortified line being the chord of the arc.

“Lieutenant, go tell Colonel Ward to work up as close as he can get cover, and not to waste much ammunition in unnecessary firing.  You may leave your horse.”

When the general gave this direction we were in the fringe of the forest, near the right extremity of the arc.  Colonel Ward was at the left.  The suggestion to leave the horse obviously enough meant that Brayle was to take the longer line, through the woods and among the men.  Indeed, the suggestion was needless; to go by the short route meant absolutely certain failure to deliver the message.  Before anybody could interpose, Brayle had cantered lightly into the field and the enemy’s works were in crackling conflagration.

“Stop that damned fool!” shouted the general.

A private of the escort, with more ambition than brains, spurred forward to obey, and within ten yards left himself and his horse dead on the field of honor.