Short Story Classics (American) Vol. 2

Short Story Classics (American)
Vol. 2

Project Gutenberg's Short Story Classics (American) Vol. 2, by Various
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Title: Short Story Classics (American) Vol. 2 The Brigade Commander
by J. W. Deforest; Who Was She? by Bayard Taylor; Mademoiselle
Olympe Zabriski by Thomas Bailey Aldrich; Brother Sebastian's
Friendship by Harold Frederic; A Good-For-Nothing by Hjalmar
Hjorth Boyesen; The Idyl Of Red Gulch by Bret Harte; Crutch, The
Page by George Alfred Townsend ("Gath"); In Each Other's Shoes by
George Parsons Lathrop; The Denver Express by A. A. Hayes; Jaune
D'antimoine by Thomas Allibone Janvier; Ole 'Stracted by Thomas
Nelson Page; Our Consul At Carlsruhe by F. J. Stimson ("J. S. Of
Dale")
Author: Various
Editor: William Patten
Release Date: August 20, 2005 [EBook #16556]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHORT
STORY CLASSICS ***

Produced by Michael Gray

SHORT STORY CLASSICS (AMERICAN) VOLUME TWO
EDITED BY WILLIAM PATTEN
WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
P. F. COLLIER & SON NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT 1905 BY P. F. COLLIER & SON ---------------- The use
of the copyrighted stories in this collection has been authorized in
every instance by the authors or their representatives.

CONTENTS--VOLUME II
THE BRIGADE COMMANDER J. W. DEFOREST
WHO WAS SHE? BAYARD TAYLOR
MADEMOISELLE OLYMPE ZABRISKI THOMAS BAILEY
ALDRICH
BROTHER SEBASTIAN'S FRIENDSHIP HAROLD FREDERIC
A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN
THE IDYL OF RED GULCH BRET HARTE
CRUTCH, THE PAGE GEORGE ALFRED TOWNSEND ("GATH")
IN EACH OTHER'S SHOES GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP

THE DENVER EXPRESS A. A. HAYES
JAUNE D'ANTIMOINE THOMAS ALLIBONE JANVIER
OLE 'STRACTED THOMAS NELSON PAGE
OUR CONSUL AT CARLSRUHE F. J. STIMSON ("J. S. OF DALE")

THE BRIGADE COMMANDER --------------------- BY J. W. DE
FOREST

_ John William De Forest (born March 36, 1826, in Seymour, Ct.) at
the outbreak of the Rebellion abandoned a promising career as a
historian and writer of books of travel to enlist in the Union army. He
served throughout the entire war, first as captain, then as major, and so
acquired a thorough knowledge of military tactics and the psychology
of our war which enabled him, on his return to civil life, to write the
best war stories of his generation. Of these "The Brigade Commander"
is Mr. De Forest's masterpiece. Solidly grounded on experience, and
drawing its emotive power from our greatest national cataclysm, like a
Niagara dynamo the story sends us a thrill undiminishing with the
increasing distance of its source._

THE BRIGADE COMMANDER BY J. W. DEFOREST [Footnote: By
permission of "The New York Times."]
The Colonel was the idol of his bragging old regiment and of the
bragging brigade which for the last six months he had commanded. He
was the idol, not because he was good and gracious, not because he
spared his soldiers or treated them as fellow-citizens, but because he
had led them to victory and made them famous. If a man will win
battles and give his brigade a right to brag loudly of its doings, he may
have its admiration and even its enthusiastic devotion, though he be as
pitiless and as wicked as Lucifer.

"It's nothin' to me what the Currnell is in prrivit, so long as he shows us
how to whack the rrebs," said Major Gahogan, commandant of the "Old
Tenth." "Moses saw God in the burrnin' bussh, an' bowed down to it,
an' worrshipt it. It wasn't the bussh he worrshipt; it was his God that
was in it. An' I worr-ship this villin of a Currnell (if he is a villin)
because he's almighty and gives us the vict'ry. He's nothin' but a human
burrnin' bussh, perhaps, but he's got the god of war in urn. Adjetant
Wallis, it's a ------ long time between dhrinks, as I think ye was sayin',
an' with rayson. See if ye can't confiscate a canteen of whiskee
somewhere in the camp. Bedad, if I can't buy it I'll stale it. We're goin'
to fight tomorry, an' it may be it's the last chance we'll have for a dhrink,
unless there's more lik'r now in the other worrld than Dives got."
The brigade was bivouacked in some invisible region, amid the damp,
misty darkness of a September night. The men lay in their ranks, each
with his feet to the front and his head rearward, each covered by his
overcoat and pillowed upon his haversack, each with his loaded rifle
nestled close beside him. Asleep as they were, or dropping placidly into
slumber, they were ready to start in order to