GENERAL SUMNER was close at hand with his corps. He saw the wounded commander, spoke to him, and passed on to complete the work which had been so far accomplished, apparently, that it only remained to hold what had already been gained.

“Fighting Joe” had virtually contended with the whole rebel army, for the attack on the left and in the centre was delayed for hours after the victory on the right had been won. He had done his part in the day’s work nobly and successfully; and there his responsibility for the results of the battle terminated.

Somers went to the rear with his wounded general, but, when assured that the injury, though very severe, was not dangerous, and that he could be of no service to him, returned to the field, resolved to act as a volunteer. There was heavy fighting in the woods, where Crawford and Gordon were executing the last order of the commander of the first corps. The rebels, by the delay in the Union attack on the left and centre, were enabled to send forward fresh troops; and the combat deepened until the woods blazed with fire.

The young staff officer rushed in, and hastily reported to General Crawford as a volunteer. He was cordially thanked, his services accepted, and he was directed to use his own judgment. There were plenty of exhausted regiments vainly struggling to roll back the tide of defeat which was setting fiercely against them. Hundreds of gallant officers lay dead and wounded upon the ground, and there was abundance of work for any brave leader who had the nerve to do it.

Somers attempted to rally the broken ranks, and close up the wide gaps which had been made by the fearful carnage; but Crawford was forced back, and what had been gained on the front was lost. At this crisis General Franklin came up with fresh troops, and the ground which had been lost was regained, not to be again abandoned.

The excitement was over, and Somers began to think that he had a body as well as a spirit. He was thoroughly exhausted when he left the field of his last labor, and rode over to the point where he had left Major de Banyan.

“What’s the matter, my dear boy?” demanded the major, as he rode up to the begrimed soldier. “Are you wounded?”

“No,” replied Somers, languidly; but he hardly knew what did ail him.

“You are as pale as death. Are you sure you are not wounded?” asked the major, tenderly and anxiously.

“I don’t think I am.”

“Dismount, and let me overhaul you. I’m sure you are in a bad condition,” continued the veteran, as he took the hand of the staff officer.

“I don’t feel very well,” added Somers.

Things began to look very shaky before him; he felt a deadly nausea; and before he could get off his horse, he sank fainting into the arms of his friend. The major took him from his saddle and laid him on the ground. He was alarmed, and tore open his coat to examine the vital parts of his body; but there was no wound, or even a spot of blood to indicate one. He procured a canteen of water, sprinkled his face, and rubbed his temples with his hands.

Captain Somers had only fainted from exhaustion consequent upon the severe trials of the preceding night, and the excitement and fatigue he had undergone during the battle. The skilful attentions of De Banyan soon restored him to consciousness; but he was as weak and feeble as an infant. He had eaten only one of the biscuits he had taken in the morning, and had performed his trying duties on an empty stomach. His health, already shattered, was not equal to the fatigues he had been called upon to endure.

“There is nothing further for you or me to do here. We have won the field, and if the rest of the line does its work we shall have the day,” said De Banyan. “Now we will go and have you taken care of.”

“I am willing, for I can’t stand this any longer,” replied Somers, feebly.

The major helped him on his horse again, and walked by his side, as they slowly made their way to the rear. Every house in the vicinity of the battle-field was filled with wounded soldiers, and there was no spot where De Banyan could find a resting-place for his patient; but he obtained some refreshment for him, which in a measure restored his strength.

“I’m afraid you are going to be sick, Somers,” said the major, anxiously, as he gazed upon the pale face of his friend.

“I feel so myself.”

“I am bound to see you in a comfortable place. Do you know of one?”

“The farther we go from this vicinity, the more likely we shall be to find one. I must report myself at headquarters first.”

“Right; and you will find your servant there.”

They went to the place where the headquarters had been located, but the wounded general had been conveyed to Centreville. Somers, however, reported himself to the chief of staff, and found Alick.

“Major de Banyan, as sure as you was born!” exclaimed the servant.

“I’m glad to see you, Alick,” returned the major. “Your master is sick, and we must look out for him.”

“Yes, sar,” replied the faithful fellow, who proceeded at once to saddle the extra horse.

As yet nothing had been or could be learned of the result of the battle; and the little party moved off in search of accommodations for the sick officer. De Banyan declared that he must get away from the terrible scenes of death and mutilation in the neighborhood of the battle-field. He was physician enough to understand that the nerves of his patient were much shattered, and that he needed absolute quiet.

“I know a house, which I think must be deserted,” said Somers; “but it is eight or ten miles off.”

“So much the better, if you can manage to get there,” replied De Banyan, who was mounted on Somers’s spare horse, while Alick walked in the rear.

“I should not be very welcome there.”

“No matter for that. I will take possession of the place in the name of the United States of America. After the battle of Magenta—there was a quiet time, I suppose,” laughed the major. “Where is the place you speak of?”

“It is the Hasbrouk mansion.” And as they rode slowly along, Somers told his companion of the exciting events which had occurred there, and of those which had followed it since his arrival in Maryland.

In return De Banyan related the incidents which had happened in the —th Massachusetts, of which Somers was still an officer; of its march from the Peninsula, and its terrible baptism of blood at Groveton, where Captain Benson had fallen mortally wounded; and other red fields in which the regiments had been reduced to a mere skeleton. There were a thousand things for each to tell, and Somers almost forgot his weakness in the interest he felt in the history of his company and his regiment.

“But, Somers, how is that pretty young lady who used to knit stockings?” asked the major.

“She is well; I saw her the day I left Boston. I have that same pair of socks on my feet now. I put them on yesterday, when we went forward.”

“Well, but how do you get on?”

“Get on?”

“Bah! You know what I mean.”

“I’m sure I don’t,” replied Somers, faintly, though a soft blush colored his pale cheek.

“You are courting, of course.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“I know it’s nonsense; but young fellows like you are given to such folly.”

“I’m not.”

“Pooh!”

“She’s my friend, and I am hers.”

“Of course you are.”

“Her father is a rich merchant, and I am nothing but a poor boy. I have no idea of any such thing as you speak of.”

“Haven’t you, indeed? Let me tell you, Somers, if she was the daughter of the President of the United States, she isn’t any too good for you; and if she’s offish on that score, I should like the privilege of telling her so,” added the major, with no little spirit.

“That’s nonsense, major.”

“If Miss — What’s her name, Somers?”

“Lilian Ashford.”

“That’s an amazing pretty name, Somers. If she’s too good to marry a brigadier general, and such a brigadier general as—”

“I’m not a brigadier.”

“But you will be before the war is over.”

“I shall not; you are absurd, major.”

“Perhaps I am.”

“I don’t feel now as though I should be anything much longer.”

“Don’t give it up, my boy; you will be as good as new in a week or two.”

“I promised to write to Lilian.”

“Good! Do it, then.”

“I have no hopes in that quarter. We are only friends. I like her very well, but we don’t talk of anything but those socks.”

“I say, Somers, when you are a brigadier, and have made your fortune, you will want a coat of arms. Let me suggest one.”

“A coat of arms!” laughed Somers.

“Certainly; you will want one. All great men have one.”

“And you would put a pair of socks on it?”

“Certainly; that’s the idea. But where are we going, Somers?”

“To the Hasbrouk mansion; and we are nearly there,” replied the sick man.

Somers had chosen this place on account of its retired situation, and because he could think of no other suitable house to be sick in. In spite of his cheerful nature, he had some dismal forebodings in regard to the future. Nothing but the inspiration of his lively companion’s presence kept him from sinking under the pain and weakness which assailed him. On the road, by the prudent counsels of his friend, he had stopped several times to rest and refresh himself. He had never felt so weak and shattered before, and he feared it would be many a long day before he was able again to take his place on the staff of the general, or in the line of his regiment.

In the middle of the afternoon, while the guns were still thundering at Antietam, the little party reached the Hasbrouk mansion. Major de Banyan took upon himself the whole charge of gaining admission; and, with his usual bold front, he entered without knocking. The family, which had left the house while hostilities were in progress around it, had now returned. Alick took the horses, and Somers followed the major into the mansion. To the surprise of both they were immediately confronted by Maud, who had moved her patients to her own home, when the battle commenced, early in the morning.

De Banyan politely stated his business, at the same time acting as though his stay was a settled thing, whether the family were willing or not.

“We cannot accommodate you, sir,” replied Maud, as haughtily as though she had been the queen of “my Maryland.”

“Sorry for it, miss; but I shall be obliged to take possession.”

“We have three wounded officers here now,” added she.

“They are rebels.”

“They are Confederate officers, sir, or they would not be here.”

“There will be one here who is not a Confederate officer. My friend, Captain Somers, must be accommodated; and I shall be obliged to turn out the rebel officers, unless you can find room for him without my doing so.”

“I will not submit to this insolence!” exclaimed she, rushing out of the room.

“Good! Now wait till I find a room for you, Somers.”

“I would not have come here if I had not supposed the house was deserted. I feel faint again, major.”

“Don’t faint just yet.”

De Banyan made himself entirely at home; brought water, cologne, a smelling-bottle, and finally set up his friend for another brief period. He then went up stairs, selected a front room, which, from its contents, was evidently the apartment of Maud herself. He set Alick at work in the chamber making a fire, and otherwise preparing it for the reception of the sick officer.

The major then conducted his patient to the comfortable quarters he had secured, and put him to bed. All the house could furnish he obtained, with or without leave, and did all he could to improve the condition of his sick friend. At night Somers was in a raging fever, and the major was greatly alarmed at his condition.