I was met in the bare unpainted hall by a dropsical man of nearly sixty, holding a dim candle, a wax-myrtle dip wrapped on a corncob. He had a retreating chin, a throat-latch beard and a roving eye; stepped with one foot and slid with the other, spoke5 in a dejected voice, and had very poor use of his right hand. I followed him to the rear corner chamber6, the one nearest the stable, feeling that, poor as the choice was, I should rather have him for my robber and murderer than those villains7 down at the quarters. I detained him in conversation while I drew off my boots and threw my jacket upon the back of a chair in such a way as to let my despatch8 be seen. The toss was a lucky one; the document, sealed with red wax, stuck out arrogantly9 from an inside pocket. Then, asking lively questions the while as if to conceal10 a blunder and its correction, I moved quickly between him and it and slipped the missive under a pillow of the fourpost bedstead.
He was not wordy, and he tarried but a moment, yet he explained his paralysis11. In the dreary12 monotone of a chronic13 sour temper he related that some Confederates, about a year before, had come here impressing horses, and their officer, on being called by him "no gentleman," had struck him behind the ear with the butt14 of a carbine. I asked what punishment the officer received, and I noticed the plural15 pronoun as he icily replied, "We didn't enter any complaint."
I said with genuine warmth that if he would give me that man's name--etc.
He waited on the threshold with his dropsical back to me for my last word, and then, still in the same attitude, droned, "O-oh, he's dead. And anyhow," he finished out of sight in the hall, "that's not our way."
I sat on the edge of the bed, in the moonlight, wishing I knew what their way was. I considered my small stock of facts. The one that appalled16 me most was the inward guilt17 which I brought with me to this ordeal18. I wanted to say my childhood prayers and I could not. For I could not repent19; at least the emotion of repentance20 would not come. Moreover, every now and then there leapt across this blackness of guilt a forked lightning of fright, as I realized that I could no more plan than I could pray. No doubt Coralie Rothvelt, by this time in Fayette, was telling some Federal commander that a certain Confederate courier, now asleep at the house of Lucius Oliver, had let slip to her the fact that his despatches were written to be captured, and that, read with that knowledge, they would be of guiding value. What mine host himself might have in view for me I could not guess, but most likely those three rapscallions down at the quarters were already plotting my murder. So now for a counterplot--alas! the counterplot would not unfold for me!
I rallied all my wits. Here was an open window. Through it the moonlight poured in upon the lower half of the bed. If I should lie with my eyes in the shadow of the headboard no one entering by the door opposite could see that I was looking. Good! but what to do when the time should come--ah me!--and "Oh, God!" and "Oh, God!" again. Ought I, now, to let the enemy get the despatch, or must I not rather keep it from him at whatever risk of death or disgrace? Ah! if I might only fight, and let the outcome decide for me! And why not? Yes, I would fight! And oh! how I would fight! If by fighting too well I should keep the despatch, why, that, as matters now stood, was likely to be the very best for my country's cause. On the other hand, should I fight till I fell dead or senseless and only then lose it, surely then it would be counted genuine and retain all its value to mislead. Oh, yes,--I could contrive21 nothing better--I would fight!
I drew the counterpane aside, lay down under it revolver in hand, and then, for the first time since I had put on the glorious gray, found I could not face the thought of death. I grew steadily22, penetratingly, excruciatingly cold, and presently--to the singular satisfaction of my conscience--began to shake from head to foot with a nervous chill. It was agonizing23, but it was so much better than the spiritual chill of which it took the place! I felt as though I should never be warm again. Yet the attack slowly passed away, and with my finger once more close to the trigger, I lay trying to use my brain, when, without prayer or plan, I solved the riddle24, what I should do, by doing the only thing I knew I ought not to do. I slept.
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1
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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2
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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3
parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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5
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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6
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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7
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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8
despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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9
arrogantly
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| adv.傲慢地 | |
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10
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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11
paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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12
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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13
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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14
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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15
plural
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| n.复数；复数形式；adj.复数的 | |
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16
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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17
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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18
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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19
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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20
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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21
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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22
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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23
agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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24
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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