Few men outside of his company knew who the man was, and few had time to ask;
for the battle was on again and the infantry pushed forward.
As for Little Darby himself, the only thing he said was, "I knowed I could
cut it down in ten minutes." He had nine bullet holes through his clothes
that night, but Little Darby thought nothing of it, and neither did others;
many others had bullet holes through their bodies that night.
It happened not long afterward that the general was talking of the battle
to an English gentleman who had come over to see something of the war
and was visiting him in his camp, and he mentioned the incident
of a battle won by an axeman's coolness, but did not know the name of the man
who cut the post away; the captain of the company, however,
was the general's cousin and was dining with his guest that day,
and he said with pride that he knew the man, that he was in his company,
and he gave the name.
"It is a fine old name," said the visitor.
"And he is a fine man," said the captain; but none of this
was ever known by Darby. He was not mentioned in the gazette,
because there was no gazette. The confederate soldiery had no honors
save the approval of their own consciences and the love of their own people.
It was not even mentioned in the district; or, if it was, it was only
that he had cut down a post; other men were being shot to pieces all the time
and the district had other things to think of.
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