“And when they’d done, there was another silence. Then over in the Confederate trench, we heard a single voice. A young fellow by the sound of it. And he started singing a psalm. The twenty-third psalm it was. I’ll never forget that.

“As you know, in the South, with the shape-note singing, every congregation is well practiced in the singing of psalms. So again, all along the line, they joined in. Kind of soft. Sweet and low. And maybe it was the moonlight, but I have to say it was the most beautiful sound I ever heard.

“But I’d forgotten that many of our boys were accustomed to singing the psalms too. When you consider the profanities you hear spoken every day in camp, you might forget that; but it is so. And to my surprise, our boys began to sing with them. And in a short while, all along the lines, those two armies sang together, free for a moment of their circumstances, as if they were a single congregation of brothers in the moonlight. And then they sang another psalm, and then the twenty-third again. And after that, there was silence, for the rest of the night.

“During which time, I took that photograph.

“The next morning there was a battle. And before noon, Mr. Slim, I regret to say, there was scarcely a man from either of those trenches left. They had killed each other. Dead, sir, almost every one.”

And, caught unawares, Theodore Keller suddenly stopped speaking, and was not able to continue for a minute or two.

Snow

1888

THREE OF THEM sat down at the table in Delmonico’s. Frank Master was nervous. He hadn’t wanted to come—indeed, he’d been most surprised when Sean O’Donnell had asked him to meet Gabriel Love.

“What the devil does he want with me?” he’d said. Gabriel Love might be a well-known figure, but he and Master moved in different circles and Frank had no desire to do business with such a man.

“Just come and meet him,” Sean had asked. “As a kindness to me.” So, since he owed O’Donnell quite a few favors, Frank had reluctantly agreed.

Delmonico’s restaurant, at least, had been a good choice. It used to be further downtown, but now it was at Twenty-sixth and Fifth, looking across Madison Park to Leonard Jerome’s old mansion. Frank liked Delmonico’s.

But before he walked in the door, he turned to Sean and said firmly: “Remember, O’Donnell, anything illegal, and I’m leaving.”

“It’s all right,” said Sean. “Trust me.”