The detail moved on slowly, doing their work expeditiously, and apparently callously, but really only with that mechanical movement that saves emotion.  Only once they were moved to an outbreak of indignation,—­the discovery of the body of an officer whose pockets were turned inside out, but whose hand was still tightly grasped on his buttoned waistcoat, as if resisting the outrage that had been done while still in life.  As the men disengaged the stiffened hand something slipped from the waistcoat to the ground.  The corporal picked it up and handed it to his officer.  It was a sealed packet.  The officer received it with the carelessness which long experience of these pathetic missives from the dying to their living relations had induced, and dropped it in the pocket of his tunic, with the half-dozen others that he had picked up that morning, and moved on with the detail.  A little further on they halted, in the attitude of attention, as a mounted officer appeared, riding slowly down the line.

There was something more than the habitual respect of their superior in their faces as he came forward.  For it was the general who had commanded the brigade the day before,—­the man who had leaped with one bound into the foremost rank of military leaders.  It was his invincible spirit that had led the advance, held back defeat against overwhelming numbers, sustained the rally, impressed his subordinate officers with his own undeviating purpose, and even infused them with an almost superstitious belief in his destiny of success.  It was this man who had done what it was deemed impossible to do,—­what even at the time it was thought unwise and unstrategic to do,—­who had held a weak position, of apparently no importance, under the mandate of an incomprehensible order from his superior, which at best asked only for a sacrifice and was rewarded with a victory.  He had decimated his brigade, but the wounded and dying had cheered him as he passed, and the survivors had pursued the enemy until the bugle called them back.  For such a record he looked still too young and scholarly, albeit his handsome face was dark and energetic, and his manner taciturn.

His quick eye had already caught sight of the rifled body of the officer, and contracted.  As the captain of the detail saluted him he said curtly,—­

“I thought the orders were to fire upon any one desecrating the dead?”

“They are, General; but the hyenas don’t give us a chance.  That’s all yonder poor fellow saved from their claws,” replied the officer, as he held up the sealed packet.  “It has no address.”

The general took it, examined the envelope, thrust it into his belt, and said,—­

“I will take charge of it.”

The sound of horses’ hoofs came from the rocky roadside beyond the brook.  Both men turned.  A number of field officers were approaching.

“The division staff,” said the captain, in a lower voice, falling back.