"Midst Armed Foes" by Charles Battell Loomis is a gripping historical novel set during the turbulent times of the American Civil War. The narrative follows a diverse cast of characters, exploring their personal struggles, wartime experiences, and moral dilemmas as they navigate a divided nation. Loomis skillfully intertwines adventure and introspection, illustrating the profound impact of conflict on both individual lives and society as a whole. Through rich character development and vivid storytelling, the book captures the chaos of war and the resilience of the human spirit.

• Short story

								
Raoul Chevreuilly stood within a rude hut in the dark recesses of
the forest of Fontainebleau. By his side stood his lady-love, the
beautiful Perichole Perihelion. Without, the night was black and the
wind roared as it is wont to do in stories of this type.

“Dost fear aught, my precious?” asked Raoul, gazing at the French
face of the lovely Parisian.

“Why should I fear when I am protected by my Raoul--how do you
pronounce Raoul, anyway?” replied she.

“I long ago gave up trying. But, Perichole, while I would not have
you fear, yet it is no light task that I have undertaken--your
defense against as fierce a pack of roistering thieves as ever beset
the forest and who now surround this hut. Let but the wind die down
so that they may be heard, and they will hurl execrations at me and
beat down the door. Réné Charpentier seeks my life because I have
promised to be yours, or rather because you have promised to be mine.
But he shall kill me only at the expense of my life. Yea, though he
had twice a hundred myrmidons at his back and beck.”

For answer the entrancing girl took a mother-of-pearl jews’ harp off
the wall and played “Mlle. Rosie O’Grady,” “There’ll be a chaud temps
in the vieux ville ce soir,” and other simple French ditties.

Instead of admiring her pluck, Raoul was moved to fury, and he cried
in French,--this whole business is supposed to be in French, except
the descriptions,--“Is it impossible to move you to a realization
of my bravery? Know, then, that, save for ourselves, there is not a
human being within three miles of this hut. I had thought that you
would be moved to added love by such an exhibition of bravery on my
part as your defense against a hundred bravos; but, viol di gamba!
you have no imagination.”

“And Réné Charpentier?”

“There is no such fellow. He is but a pigment--I mean figment of my
brain.”

Flinging a pair of arms around his French neck, the adorable
Perichole kissed Raoul again and once more. Then she said, “My adored
one, that you were brave I suspected--are you not the hero of a
French novel? But I never knew that you were such a lovely liar.
Raoul, my own forevermore!”

And her beautiful face beamed with a love-light whose wick had been
newly trimmed.
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