86.

General Hancock, who had nominal charge of me and my wards, came to me just as the dark of the battle was turning to the dark of night. I had a tent of some bigness within which my coffins were propped up on sawhorses. From within them already I could hear my men stirring, getting ready for their baptism in fire.

“By Judas Iscariot,” the general swore. He was a young man, no more than forty years in age, with a long full beard but his cheeks were clean shorn. He waved his hat at Griest and took a step back. Could any man blame him? The first time one sees a vampire is always hard. One does not expect the protruding teeth, nor the red eyes. One feels immediately the suspect coolness, the prickling of the hairs on one’s arms. I rushed forward to assure him.

“Secretary Stanton sends his warmest regards, sir,” I said. “Does the battle go well?”

Hancock’s eyes lit up. “We have not yet lost, and Lee is on the field, so I shall count this day a victory. I’ve come to tell you to stand down for the night.”

Griest’s face fell. I could see he longed to speak but he was still a corporal, even if he was no longer human. Instead I spoke for him.

“The men are ready to fight, sir. They’ve made a great sacrifice, all of them, to be here.”

“I know it well. Yet I cannot loose them on the Rebels tonight. I’m counting on a grand surprise from your fellows, and I dare not spring it too soon. Stand down, man, but be ready.”

He could not seem to get away soon enough.

—THE PAPERS OF WILLIAM PITTENGER