{"id":"01KG8AK910JDJAQVPXJZPW2QV1","cid":"bafkreian4g732vo4zocoih3hbtmpk2wvdagqohcagxvyz3xiqc57c6ywzu","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":3938,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:58.829Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 2","source_file":"01KG89J1G8S4TRWXNCBRKCRKS8","start_line":3830,"text":"The taste in his mouth was sweet at morn;\r\n  Little of care he cared about.\r\n    And yet of pains and pangs he knew--\r\n    In others, maimed by Mosby’s crew.\r\n\r\nThe Hospital Steward--even he\r\n  (Sacred in person as a priest),\r\nAnd on his coat-sleeve broidered nice\r\nWore the caduceus, black and green.\r\n  No wonder he sat so light on his beast;\r\n    This cheery man in suit of price\r\n    Not even Mosby dared to slice.\r\n\r\nThey pass the picket by the pine\r\n  And hollow log--a lonesome place;\r\nHis horse adroop, and pistol clean;\r\n’Tis cocked--kept leveled toward the wood;\r\n  Strained vigilance ages his childish face.\r\n    Since midnight has that stripling been\r\n    Peering for Mosby through the green.\r\n\r\nSplashing they cross the freshet-flood,\r\n  And up the muddy bank they strain;\r\nA horse at the spectral white-ash shies--\r\nOne of the span of the ambulance,\r\n  Black as a hearse. They give the rein:\r\n    Silent speed on a scout were wise,\r\n    Could cunning baffle Mosby’s spies.\r\n\r\nRumor had come that a band was lodged\r\n  In green retreats of hills that peer\r\nBy Aldie (famed for the swordless charge[22]).\r\nMuch store they’d heaped of captured arms\r\n  And, peradventure, pilfered cheer;\r\n    For Mosby’s lads oft hearts enlarge\r\n    In revelry by some gorge’s marge.\r\n\r\n“Don’t let your sabres rattle and ring;\r\n  To his oat-bag let each man give heed--\r\nThere now, that fellow’s bag’s untied,\r\nSowing the road with the precious grain.\r\n  Your carbines swing at hand--you need!\r\n    Look to yourselves, and your nags beside,\r\n    Men who after Mosby ride.”\r\n\r\nPicked lads and keen went sharp before--\r\n  A guard, though scarce against surprise;\r\nAnd rearmost rode an answering troop,\r\nBut flankers none to right or left.\r\n  No bugle peals, no pennon flies:\r\n    Silent they sweep, and fail would swoop\r\n    On Mosby with an Indian whoop.\r\n\r\nOn, right on through the forest land,\r\n  Nor man, nor maid, nor child was seen--\r\nNot even a dog. The air was still;\r\nThe blackened hut they turned to see,\r\n  And spied charred benches on the green;\r\n    A squirrel sprang from the rotting mill\r\n    Whence Mosby sallied late, brave blood to spill.\r\n\r\nBy worn-out fields they cantered on--\r\n  Drear fields amid the woodlands wide;\r\nBy cross-roads of some olden time,\r\nIn which grew groves; by gate-stones down--\r\n  Grassed ruins of secluded pride:\r\n    A strange lone land, long past the prime,\r\n    Fit land for Mosby or for crime.\r\n\r\nThe brook in the dell they pass. One peers\r\n  Between the leaves: “Ay, there’s the place--\r\nThere, on the oozy ledge--’twas there\r\nWe found the body (Blake’s you know);\r\n  Such whirlings, gurglings round the face--\r\n    Shot drinking! Well, in war all’s fair--\r\n    So Mosby says. The bough--take care!”\r\n\r\nHard by, a chapel. Flower-pot mould\r\n  Danked and decayed the shaded roof;\r\nThe porch was punk; the clapboards spanned\r\nWith ruffled lichens gray or green;\r\n  Red coral-moss was not aloof;\r\n    And mid dry leaves green dead-man’s-hand\r\n    Groped toward that chapel in Mosby-land.\r\n\r\nThey leave the road and take the wood,\r\n  And mark the trace of ridges there--\r\nA wood where once had slept the farm--\r\nA wood where once tobacco grew\r\n  Drowsily in the hazy air,\r\n    And wrought in all kind things a calm--\r\n    Such influence, Mosby! bids disarm.\r\n\r\nTo ease even yet the place did woo--\r\n  To ease which pines unstirring share,\r\nFor ease the weary horses sighed:\r\nHalting, and slackening girths, they feed,\r\n  Their pipes they light, they loiter there;\r\n    Then up, and urging still the Guide,\r\n    On, and after Mosby ride.\r\n\r\nThis Guide in frowzy coat of brown,\r\n  And beard of ancient growth and mould,\r\nBestrode a bony steed and strong,\r\nAs suited well with bulk he bore--\r\n  A wheezy man with depth of hold\r\n    Who jouncing went. A staff he swung--\r\n    A wight whom Mosby’s wasp had stung.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 2"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJS1ZA32GPP1TG7F9VNZ1","peer_type":"segment","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1G8S4TRWXNCBRKCRKS8","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AK910JH91EQEK0VAH5X68","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AK9MB8Y4JV8Z06F54M7Z8","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:59.008Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:01.772Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}