“Come Wayne, wake up, man! Captain, I say, you must turn out of this.”
I opened my eyes with a struggle and looked up. The golden glow of sunlight along the white wall told me the day must be already well advanced, and I saw the lieutenant of my troop, Colgate, bending over me, attired in service uniform.
“What is it, Jack?”
“We have been ordered north on forced march to join Early, and the command has already started. I have delayed calling you until the final moment, but knew you would never forgive being left behind.”
Before he had finished I was upon the floor, dressing with that rapidity acquired by years of practice, my mind thoroughly aroused to the thought of active service once more.
“Was it the news I brought in yesterday, Colgate, which has stirred this up?” I questioned, hastily dipping into a basin of water.
“I imagine it must have been, sir,” replied the Lieutenant, leaning back comfortably upon a cracker-box, which formed our solitary chair. “Things have been on the move ever since, and it certainly resembles an advance of some importance. Staff officers at it all night long, McDaniels division off at daylight, while we go out ahead of Slayton's troops. Reede was in beastly good humor when he brought the orders; that usually means a fight.”
“Any artillery?”
“Sloan's and Rocke's batteries are with us; did not learn who went out with McDaniel's. Longstreet has crossed the White Briar.”
“Yes, I know,” I said, drawing on the last of my equipments, and quickly glancing about to assure myself I had overlooked nothing likely to be of value. “All ready, Jack, and now for another 'dance of death.'”
Our regiment was drawn up in the square of the little town, and as we came forth into the glorious sunlight, the stentorian voice of the Colonel called them into column of fours. Staff officers, gray with dust from their all-night service, were riding madly along the curb, while at the rear of our men, just debouching from one of the side streets, appeared the solid front of a division of infantry. We had barely time to swing into the saddles of the two horses awaiting us, and ride swiftly to the head of our command, when the short, stern orders rolled along the motionless line of troopers, and the long, silent column swung out to the northward, the feet of the horses raising a thick cloud of red dust which fairly enveloped us in its choking folds.
With the ardor of young manhood I looked forward to the coming battle, when I knew the mighty armies of North and South would once again contest for the fertile Shenandoah. It was to be American pitted against American, a struggle ever worthy of the gods. Slowly I rode back down the files of my men, marking their alignment and accoutrements with practised eye, smiling grimly as I noted their eager faces, war-worn and bronzed by exposure, yet reanimated by hope of active service. Boys half of them appeared to be, yet I knew them as fire-tested veterans of many hard-fought fields, lads who would die without a murmur beneath their beloved Southern flag, as undaunted in hour of peril as were the Old Guard at Waterloo. In spite of frayed and ragged uniforms, tarnished, battered facings, dingy, flapping hats, they looked stanch and true, soldiers every inch of them, and I marked with the jealous pride of command their evenly closed ranks and upright carriage. How like some giant machine they moved—horses and men—in trained and disciplined power!
As I watched them thus, I thought again of those many other faces who once rode as these men did now, but who had died for duty even as these also might yet be called upon to die. One hundred and three strong, gay in bright new uniforms, with unstained banner kissing the breeze above our proud young heads, we rode hopefully forth from Charlottesville scarce three years before, untried, undisciplined, unknown, to place our lives willingly upon the sacred altar of our native State. What speechless years of horror those had been; what history we had written with our naked steel; what scenes of suffering and death lay along that bloody path we travelled! To-day, down the same red road, our eyes still set grimly to the northward, our flag a torn and ragged remnant, barely forty men wore the “D” between the crossed sabres on their slouched brown hats, in spite of all recruiting. The cheer in my heart was for the living; the tear in my eye was for the dead.
“Colgate,” I said gravely, as I ranged up beside him at the rear of the troop, “the men look exceedingly well, and do not appear to have suffered greatly because of short rations.”
“Oh, the lads are always in fine fettle when they expect a fight,” he answered, his own eyes dancing as he swept them over that straight line of backs in his front. “They'll scrap the better for being a bit hungry,—it makes them savage. Beats all, Captain, what foolish notions some of those people on the other side have of us Southerners. They seem to think we are entirely different from themselves; yet I reckon it would puzzle any recruiting officer up yonder to show a finer lot of fighting men than those fellows ahead there. 'Food for powder?' Why, there isn't a lad among them unfit for command.”
In spite of the indignation in his tone, his voice had the lazy, Southern drawl, and somehow, as he spoke, I thought of my fair prisoner in the mountains, and of how disdainfully she treated me on the occasion of our first meeting. I sincerely hoped her conception of the Southerner had received partial revision since.
“Well, yes,” I answered thoughtfully. “Doubtless those who have never visited the South, and who form their conception of us from Northern newspapers and abolition orators, get hold of our worst characteristics, and judge accordingly. I sometimes feel that the whole trouble between the sections is merely such a misunderstanding on a large scale, and that had we only intermingled more freely, many of our differences would have disappeared. In this we are fully as wrong as those of the other side—narrowness of thought and life has been the secret force behind this war. Partisans upon both sides have ignored the fact that we are all of one blood and one history. But in this respect the tendency of the conflict has been to broaden out the actual participants, and teach them mutual respect. I imagine women are at present more apt to retain this prejudice, women whose loved ones are in arms against us.”
“I was thinking about a woman when I spoke,” he explained gravely. “She was certainly a beauty, and nursed me in the hospital at Baltimore. Oh, you needn't smile; she was married,—her husband was on Sheridan's staff; I saw him once, a big fellow with a black moustache. Of course we all looked alike lying there in those cots, and she very naturally supposed I was one of their wounded, until after the fever left me, and I became able to converse a bit, and then you ought to have seen the expression in her eyes when I confessed the truth. Actually she cried out, 'You a Rebel?' and gazed at me as if I had been some dangerous wild animal. Truly I believe she nearly looked upon herself as a traitress because she had nursed me and saved my life. Yet she was wonderfully tender-hearted and kind. You see she wasn't a regular army nurse, and I was probably the first Confederate soldier she had ever come in close contact with.”
“Did you become friends?”
“Most certainly; at least in a way, for she undertook my conversion. Frankly, if it hadn't been for that inconvenient husband in the path, I am not so certain you wouldn't have lost a lieutenant. The fact that the lady was already Mrs. Brennan alone saved me.”
“Mrs. Brennan!” Although the disclosure was not altogether unexpected, I could not help echoing the name.
“Certainly,” in sudden surprise, and glancing aside at my face. “Can it be possible that you know her? Not more than twenty, I should say, with great clear, honest eyes, and a perfect wealth of hair that appears auburn in the sun.”
“I had the privilege of meeting her once or twice briefly while in Sheridan's lines,” I answered hurriedly “and have reason to indorse all you say regarding the lady, especially as to her dislike of everything clad in gray uniform. But the men appear to be straggling somewhat, Lieutenant; perhaps it would be as well to brace them up a bit.”
I rode slowly forward to my own position at the head of the troop, wondering at the strange coincidence which had placed Edith Brennan's name upon Colgate's lips. Her memory had been brought back to me with renewed freshness by his chance words, and so strongly did it haunt me as to be almost a visible presence. As I swung my horse into our accustomed position I was too deeply buried in reflection to be clearly conscious of much that was occurring about me. Suddenly, however, I became aware that some one, nearly obscured by the enveloping cloud of dust, was riding without the column, in an independence of military discipline not to be permitted. In the state of mind I was then in this discovery strangely irritated me.
“Sergeant,” I questioned sharply, of the raw-boned trooper at the end of the first platoon, “what fellow is that riding out yonder?”
“It's ther pesky little cuss as come in with ye yesterday, sir,” he returned with a grin. “He's confiscated a muel somewhar an' says he's a goin' back hum 'long o' we uns.”
Curious to learn how Jed had emerged from his arduous adventures, I spurred my horse alongside of him.
The little man, bending forward dubiously, as if fearful of accident, was riding bareback on a gaunt, long-legged mule, which, judging from all outward appearances, must have been some discarded asset of the quartermaster's department. The animal was evidently a complete wreck, and drooped along, dragging one foot heavily after the other as if every move were liable to be the last, his head hanging dejectedly, while his long ears flopped solemnly over the half-closed eyes at each step. Altogether the two composed so melancholy a picture it was with difficulty I suppressed my strong inclination to laugh.
“Going home, Jed?” I asked, as he glanced up and saw me.
“Jist as durn quick as I kin git thar,” he returned emphatically. “By gum, Cap, I ain't bin 'way from Mariar long as this afore in twelve year. Reckon she thinks I've skedaddled fer good this time, an' 'ill be a takin' up with some other male critter lest I git back thar mighty sudden. Women's odd, Cap, durn nigh as ornary 'bout some things as a muel.”
“I have never enjoyed much experience with them,” I said, “but I confess to knowing something about mules. Now that seems to be rather an extraordinary specimen you are riding.”
He eyed his mount critically.
“Burned if ever I thought I'd git astraddle o' any four-legged critter agin,” he said, rubbing himself as if in sudden and painful recollection of the past. “But I sorter picked up this yere muel down et ther corral, an' he 's tew durn wore out a totin' things fer you uns ter ever move offen a walk. I sorter reckon it's a heap easier a sittin' yere than ter take it afut all ther way ter ther mountings.”
“He certainly has the appearance of being perfectly safe, but you know a mule is always full of tricks.”
“Oh, this en ain't,” confidently. “Why, he 's so durn wore out a yankin' things 'round thet he 's bin plum asleep all ther way out yere. Say, Cap, be it true thet a muel will wake up an' git a move on itself if ye blow in his ear?”
“Who told you that?”
“The feller down et ther quartermaster's corral. He said as how thet wus ther way ther niggers got 'em ter go 'long whin they got tew durn lazy. Blamed if I don't b'lieve I'll try it jist fer onst, fer I 'd like durn well ter git ahead out o' this pesky dust.”
I had never before seen such an experiment tried, but a slight knowledge of the nature of the animal involved induced me to rein back my horse, and to that precaution I have no doubt I owe my life. Jed blew only once; he lacked opportunity to do more, for a shock of electricity could never have more quickly aroused that mule. His long ears were erected with a snap, his short, spike tail shot out straight, while his heels cut the air in furious semicircles, as he backed viciously. I heard a yell from Jed, saw him clasp his arms lovingly about the animal's neck, caught a confused glimpse of the wildly cavorting figure amid the red dust cloud, and then, rear on, and lashing out crazily, that juggernaut of a mule struck the unsuspecting advancing column of troopers, and plunged half through their close-set ranks before they even realized what had happened. Horses plunged wildly to escape; here and there a man went down in the crush; oaths, blows, shouts of anger rang out, while beneath the dense dust cloud frightened horses and startled riders struggled fiercely to escape. For the moment it was pandemonium in earnest, and I could only trace the disastrous passage of Bungay by the shouts of angry men and the sharp cries of injured horses.
“Captain Wayne, what does all this mean, sir? What is the cause of the disorder in your troop?”
It was the Major's voice, stern, indignant, commanding. I dashed the tears of laughter from my eyes, and strove to face him decorously.
“A mule, sir, which has taken a fit of kicking. I will straighten them out in a moment.”
I wheeled, and peered into the rolling, surging mass of dust, out of which there arose such a hubbub of sounds as to make the noise of battle tame by comparison.
“Catch the brute by the bridle, two of you,” I roared stoutly. “Craig, Whortley, what are you hanging back for? Go in there! Take hold of the devil from in front; there is no danger at that end.”
The stern words of command, the return of discipline, seemed to steady that seething, fighting mass in an instant; there was a squeal, a curse, a slight settling down of the dust cloud, and two red-faced, perspiring troopers emerged from the jam, dragging the yet reluctant mule by main strength behind them. As they cleared the line of the column, Bungay rolled off the animal's back, and, in his eagerness, came down on all fours.
“Well,” I said sarcastically, “what do you think of your mule now?”
“By Jinks, Cap,” and his face lit up with intense admiration as he surveyed the animal, “durned if I don't take him hum. Gee! whut a scrap Mariar an' thet muel kin have!”
The Major pushed through the curious line of troopers and faced him angrily.
“What do you mean by running your dod-gasted old mule into this column?” he thundered. “Who are you, anyhow? Blamed if the little fool hasn't done more damage than a Yankee battery.”
Jed faced him ruefully.
“I didn't go ter dew it, mister,” he explained. “Ther muel wus jist pinted ther wrong way. I never knowed ther mean ol' cuss wint back'ards like thet.”
The wrath on the Major's face caused me to interfere. In a few words I made everything clear, and substantial justice was attained by an order for Jed to move on with his animated battering ram. He disappeared dolefully in the dust cloud, the mule, once more asleep, trailing lazily behind him. The troop, slightly disfigured, closed up their broken ranks, and the weary march was resumed.
It was long after dark the second day when, thoroughly wearied, we turned into an old tobacco field and made camp for the night. To right and left of our position glowed the cheery fires, telling where Early's command bivouacked in line of battle. From the low range of hills in front of where we rested one could look across an intervening valley, and see far off to the northward the dim flames which marked the position of the enemy. Down in the mysterious darkness between, divided only by a swift and narrow stream, were the blue and gray pickets. The opposing forces were sleeping on their arms, making ready for the death grip on the morrow.
As I lay there thinking, wondering what might be my fate before another nightfall, seeing constantly in my half-dreams the fair face of a woman, which made me more of a coward than I had ever felt myself before, I was partially aroused by the droning tones of a voice close at hand. Lifting myself on one elbow I glanced curiously around to see where it originated, what was occurring. Clustered about a roaring fire of rails were a dozen troopers, and in the midst of them, occupying the post of honor upon an empty powder keg, was Bungay, enthusiastically reciting Scott. I caught a line or two:
“'At once there rose so wild a yellWithin that dark and narrow dell,As all the fiends from heaven that fellHad pealed the battle-cry of hell.'”
and then the drowsy god pressed down my heavy eyelids, and I fell asleep.
To me it has always seemed remarkable that after all my other battle experiences—Antietam, Gettysburg, the Wilderness, ay! even including that first fierce baptism of fire at Manassas—no action in which I ever participated should remain so clearly photographed upon memory as this last desperate struggle for supremacy in the Shenandoah. Every minute detail of the conflict, at least so far as I chanced to be a personal participant, rises before me as I write, and I doubt not I could trace to-day each step taken upon that stricken field.
The reveille had not sounded when I first awoke and, rolling from my blanket, looked about me. Already a faint, dim line of gray, heralding the dawn, was growing clearly defined in the east, and making manifest those heavy fog-banks which, hanging dank and low, obscured the valley. The tired men of my troop were yet lying upon the ground, wrapped tightly in their blankets, oblivious of the deadly work before them; but I could hear the horses already moving uneasily at their picket-ropes, and observed here and there the chilled figure of a sentry leaning upon his gun, oddly distorted in form by the enveloping mist.
Directly in advance of where we rested, a long hill sloped gently upward for perhaps a hundred yards, its crest topped with a thick growth of young oak-trees, yet seemingly devoid of underbrush. No troops were camped in our immediate front, and feeling curious to ascertain something of our formation, as well as to examine the lay of the land between us and the position occupied by the enemy, I walked slowly forward, unhindered, until I attained the crest. Numberless birds were singing amid the branches overhead, while the leaves of the low bushes I passed on my way were glistening with dew. Except for those long rows of sleeping soldiers, I seemed utterly alone within some rural solitude upon a quiet Sabbath morning. Not an unwonted sound reached me to make discord; so quiet, indeed, was all the earth that I became startled by the sudden chatter of a squirrel disturbed at my approach, and unthinkingly I stooped to pluck a delicate pink flower blooming in the grass, and placed it in a ragged buttonhole of my old gray jacket.
The fog yet held the secrets of the valley safely locked within its brown hand, and I could penetrate none of its mysteries. It was like gazing down from some headland into a silent, unvexed sea. But directly across from where I stood, apparently along the summit of another chain of low hills similar to those we occupied, I could perceive the flames of numerous camp-fires leaping up into sudden radiance, while against the brightening sky a great flag lazily flapped its folds to the freshening breeze. Evidently our opponents were first astir, and the headquarters of some division of the enemy must be across yonder. As I gazed, other fires burst forth to left and right, as far as the unaided eye could carry through the gloom, and I was thus enabled to trace distinctly those advanced lines opposing us. Experience told me their position must be a strong one, and their force heavy.
As I turned to mark our own formation, the roll of drums rang out, while the quickening notes of the reveille sounded down the long lines of slumbering men. Life returned, as if by magic, to those motionless forms, and almost in a moment all below me became astir, and I could clearly distinguish the various branches of the service, as they stretched away commingled upon either hand. We were evidently stationed close to the centre of our own position. Our battle-line was not so extended as the one across the valley; apparently there were fewer troops along our front than theirs, nor could I perceive to the southward, now that dawning day somewhat clarified the scene, any evidence of reserve force; yet what I saw looked extremely well, and my heart bounded proudly at the sturdy promise of our fighting men. The cavalry appeared to be principally concentrated at the foot of the hill upon which I stood, although at the distant wings I was able to perceive some flying guidons that told me of the presence of numerous troops of horse. I marked it all with eager, kindling eyes, for it was a sight to cheer the heart of any soldier—those dark, dense squares where the infantry were massed, and battery after battery of flying artillery ranged along the ridge. But it seemed to me the larger, heavier force had been concentrated upon our left, massed there in deeper lines, as if that were the point selected from whence the attacking wedge was to be driven. The intervening ground sloped so gently forward, while the hill crest was so thickly crowned with trees, it looked an ideal position from which to advance in line of attack. Upon my right there appeared a break in the solidity of our line, but even as I noted it, wondering at the oversight, the dense front of an infantry column debouched from a ravine and, marching steadily forward, filled the gap. I could distinctly mark the wearied manner in which the men composing it flung themselves prostrate on the hard ground the moment they were halted—doubtless all through the long hours of the black night they had been toiling on to be in time.
Aides were galloping furiously now among the scattered commands. The obscuring fog slowly rose from off the face of the valley, but all the central portion remained veiled from view. Suddenly, as I watched, the brown cloud beneath me was rent asunder here and there by little spits of fire, and it was curious to observe how those quick, spiteful darts of flame swept the full length of my vista. I could distinguish no reports,—it was too far away,—but realized that the opposing pickets had caught sight of each other through the gloom. Then a big gun boomed almost directly opposite me, its flame seeming like a red-hot knife rending the mist. This had barely vanished when a sudden cheer rang out upon my left, and I turned in time to behold a thin, scattered line of gray-clad infantrymen swarm down the steep slope into the valley. With hats drawn low, and guns advanced, they plunged at a run into the mist and disappeared. Our skirmishers had gone in; the ball had opened.
I had tarried long enough; any moment now might bring “boots and saddles,” and if I possessed the slightest desire for a breakfast to fight on, it behooved me to get back within our lines. The memory of that animated scene in front still fresh upon me, how quiet and commonplace everything appeared down there in the hill shadow. No one would have dreamed it to be a battle-line. The fires crackled gayly, while the men lounged about them, smoking or eating. There was no sound save the gentle rustling of leaves overhead, or the light laughter of some group of story-tellers. Horses munched their grain just at our rear, and now and then some careful trooper sauntered back to make sure his mount was not neglected. One or two of the men were cleaning their revolvers, and an old corporal was polishing his sabre where a spot of rust disfigured its gleaming blade. You might have dreamed it a picnic, a military review, possibly, were it not for the travel-soiled and ragged uniforms, but a line held there for the stern purpose of deadly conflict—it scarcely seemed credible.
“Captain,” said a white-faced lad of seventeen, as I sat down on the ground to my coffee and corn bread, “did you see anything of the blue-bellies out there?”
“Plenty of them, my boy,” I answered, noting the curls that clustered upon his forehead, and wondering what mother prayed for him. “We have plenty of hot work cut out for us to-day.”
“I hope they'll give us a charge before it's all over.” His blue eyes danced as he strode off, whistling gayly.
“What has become of Bungay?” I questioned of Colgate, who was lying upon his back with eyes fastened on a floating cloud.
“Do you mean the little mountaineer who came in with us last night?”
I nodded.
“Oh, his mule bolted at the first shot over yonder, and the little fellow is after it. He's down the field there somewhere.”
How time dragged! The battery to left of us went into action, and began firing rapidly; we could mark the black figures of the cannoneers at the nearer guns, outlined against the sky over the crest, as they moved quickly back and forth. Twice they bore motionless bodies to the rear, and laid them down tenderly beyond the fierce zone of fire. Then the heavier pieces of artillery farther down the line burst into thunder, and we silently watched a large force of infantry move slowly past us up the long slope until they halted in line of battle just behind its summit, the advanced files lying flat upon their faces and peering over. But no orders came for us.
The eagerly expectant men moved back toward their picketed horses in anticipation of a hurried call, but as the minutes slowly passed and none came, they broke into little groups, sitting about on the ground, seemingly careless as to the dread rumbling in front, and the continuous zip of Minié bullets through the trees overhead. One or two, I noticed as I walked about, were writing what, possibly they dreamed, might be final words of love to dear ones far away; one more careless group were playing poker upon an outspread blanket; while a grizzled old sergeant, a God-fearing man, had drawn forth his well-worn pocket Testament, and was reading over again the familiar story of the Nazarene. The sullen boom of the great guns, deep, ominous, began to blend with the sustained rattle of musketry, telling plainly of heavy fighting by massed infantry; the smoke clouds, obscuring the blue sky, rolled high above the fringe of trees; the battle-line lying along the crest at our front swept down the hill out of our sight into that hail of death below; but we seemed to be forgotten.
Nearly noon by the red sun hiding behind the drifting powder cloud. The ever-deepening roar of ceaseless contest had moved westward down the valley, when an aide wheeled his smoking horse in front of the Colonel, spoke a dozen hasty words, pointed impetuously to the left, and dashed off down the line. The men leaped to their feet in eager expectancy, and as the “Fall in, fall in there, lads,” echoed joyously from lip to lip, the kindling eyes and rapid movements voiced unmistakably the soldier spirit. We moved westward down the long, bare slope in the sunshine, through a half-dozen deserted, desolate fields, and along a narrow, rocky defile leading into a deep ravine. Every step of our horses brought us closer to that deep roar of surging battle; the air we breathed became pungent with powder smoke, and once or twice we heard the deep hurrah of the North, the wild answering yell of the South, as victory rolled from flag to flag. Streams of wearied and wounded men began to pass us, white-faced and terror-stricken, or haggard and silent, but all alike seeking the rear. The head of our advancing column pushed them sternly aside, the troopers chaffing the uninjured without mercy, but tender as women to those who suffered. Back among the rocks, out of reach from plunging shells, a field hospital had been hastily set up; the ground was already thickly strewn with bodies, while surgeons labored above them, elbow-deep in blood. With averted, stern, set faces, paling to the cries of agony, we rode past, more eager than ever to strike the enemy.
At the mouth of the ravine we came forth into the broad valley, and halted. Just in front of us, scarcely a half-mile distant, were the fighting lines, partially enveloped in dense smoke, out from which broke patches of blue or gray, as charge succeeded charge, or the wind swept aside the fog of battle. The firing was one continuous crash, while plunging bullets, overreaching their mark, began to chug into our own ranks, dealing death impartially to horse and man. The captain of the troop next mine wheeled suddenly, a look of surprise upon his face, and fell backward into the arms of one of his men; with an intense scream of agony, almost human, the horse of my first sergeant reared and came over, crushing the rider before he could loosen foot from stirrup; the Lieutenant-Colonel rode slowly past us to the rear, his face deathly white, one arm, dripping blood, dangling helpless at his side. This was the hardest work of war, that silent agony which tried men in helpless bondage to unyielding discipline. I glanced anxiously along the front of my troop, but they required no word from me; with tightly set lips, and pale, stern faces, they held their line steady as granite, closing up silently the ragged gaps torn by plunging balls.
“Captain,” said Colgate, riding to where I sat my horse, “you will see that the paper I gave you reaches home safe if I fail to come out of this?”
I reached over and gripped his hand hard.
“It will be the first thing I shall remember, Jack,” I answered earnestly. “But we may have it easy enough after all—it seems to be an infantry affair.”
He shook his head gravely.
“No,” he said, pointing forward, “they will need us now.”
As he spoke it seemed as though the sharp firing upon both sides suddenly ceased by mutual consent. The terrible roar of small arms, which had mingled with the continuous thunder of great guns, died away into an intermittent rattling of musketry, and as the heavy smoke slowly drifted upward in a great white cloud, we could plainly distinguish the advancing Federal lines, three ranks deep, stretching to left and right in one vast, impenetrable blue wall, sweeping toward us upon a run. Where but a brief moment before the plain appeared deserted, it was now fairly alive with soldiery, the sun gleaming on fixed bayonets, and faces aglow with the ardor of surprise. Some one had blundered! The thin, unsupported line of gray infantry directly in our front closed up their shattered ranks hastily in desperate effort to stay the rush. We could see them jamming their muskets for volley fire, and then, with clash and clatter that drowned all other sounds, a battery of six black guns came flying madly past us, every horse on the run, lashed into frenzy by his wild rider. With carriage and caisson leaping at every jump, the half-naked, smoke-begrimed cannoneers clinging to their seats like monkeys, they dashed recklessly forward, swung about into position, and almost before the muzzles had been well pointed, were hurling canister into that blue, victorious advance. How those gallant fellows worked! their guns leaping into air at each discharge, their movements clockwork! Tense, eager, expectant, every hand among us hard gripped on sabre hilt, we waited that word which surely could not be delayed, while from end to end, down the full length of our straining line, rang out the yell of exultant pride.
“Steady, men; steady there, lads!” called the old Colonel, sternly, his own eyes filled with tears. “Our turn will come.”
Torn, rent, shattered, bleeding, treading upon the dead and mangled in rows, those iron men in blue came on. They were as demons laughing at death. No rain of lead, no hail of canister, no certainty of destruction could check now the fierce impetus of that forward rush. God knows it was magnificent; the supreme effort of men intoxicated with the enthusiasm of war! Even where we were we could see and feel the giant power in those grim ranks of steel—the tattered flags, the stern, set faces, the deep-toned chorus of “Glory, glory, hallelujah,” that echoed to their tread. Those men meant to win or die, and they rolled on as Cromwell's Ironsides at Marston Moor. Twice they staggered, when the mad volleys ploughed ragged red lanes through them, but only to rally and press sternly on. They struck that crouching gray line of infantry, fairly buried it within their dense blue folds, and, with one fierce hurrah of triumph, closed down upon the guns. Even as they blotted them from sight, an aide, hatless and bleeding, his horse wounded and staggering from weakness, tore down toward us along the crest. A hundred feet away his mount fell headlong, but on foot and dying he reached our front.
“Colonel Carter,” he panted, pressing one hand upon his breast to keep back the welling blood, “charge, and hold that battery until we can bring infantry to your support.”
No man among us doubted the full meaning of it—we were to save the army!The very horses seemed to feel a sense of relief, hands clinched more tightly on taut reins to hold them in check; under the old battered hats the eyes of the troopers gleamed hungrily.
“Virginians!” and the old Colonel's voice rang like a clarion down the breathless line, “there is where you die! Follow me!”
Slowly, like some mighty mountain torrent gaining force, we rode forth at a walk, each trooper lined to precision of review, yet instinctively taking distance for sword-play. Halfway down the slight slope our line broke into a sharp trot, then, as the thrilling notes of the charge sounded above us, we swept forward in wild, impetuous tumult.
Who can tell the story of those seconds that so swiftly followed? Surely not one who saw but the vivid flash of steel, the agonized faces, the flame of belching fire. I recall the frenzied leap of my horse as we struck the line ere it could form into square; the blows dealt savagely to right and left; the blaze of a volley scorching our faces; the look of the big infantryman I rode down; the sudden thrust that saved me from a levelled gun; the quick swerving of our horses as they came in contact with the cannon; the shouts of rage; the blows; the screams of pain; the white face of Colgate as he reeled and fell. These are all in my memory, blurred, commingled, indistinct, yet distressful as any nightmare. In some way, how I know not, I realized that we had hurled them back, shattered them by our first fierce blow; that the guns were once again ours; that fifty dismounted troopers were tugging desperately at their wheels. Then that dense blue mass surged forward once again, engulfed us in its deadly folds, and with steel and bullet, sword and clubbed musket, ploughed through our broken ranks, rending us in twain, fairly smothering us by sheer force of numbers. I saw the old Colonel plunge head-down into the ruck beneath the horses' feet; the Major riding stone dead in his saddle, a ghastly red stain in the centre of his forehead; then Hunter, of E, went down screaming, and I knew I was the senior captain left. About me scarce a hundred men battled like demons for their lives in the midst of the guns. Even as I glanced aside at them, shielding my head with uplifted sabre from the blows rained upon me, the color-sergeant flung up his hand, and grasped his saddle pommel to keep from falling. Out of his opening fingers I snatched the splintered staff, lifted it high up, until the rent folds of the old flag caught the dull glow of the sunlight.
“——th Virginia!” I shouted. “Rally on the colors!” I could see them coming—all that was left of them—fighting their way through the press, cleaving the mass with their blows as the prow of a ship cuts the sea. With one vicious jab of the spur I led them, a thin wedge of tempered gray steel, battering, gouging, rending a passage into that solid blue wall. Inch by inch, foot by foot, yard by yard, slashing madly with our broken sabres, battling as men crazed with lust of blood, our very horses fighting for us with teeth and hoofs, we ploughed a lane of death through a dozen files. Then the vast mass closed in upon us, rolled completely over us. There was a flash, a vision of frenzied faces, and I knew no more.
My head ached so abominably when I first opened my eyes that I was compelled to close them again, merely realizing dimly that I looked up at something white above me, which appeared to sway as though blown gently by the wind. My groping hand, the only one I appeared able to move, told me I was lying upon a camp-cot, with soft sheets about me, and that my head rested upon a pillow. Then I passed once more into unconsciousness, but this time it was sleep.
When I once more awakened the throbbing pain had largely left my hot temples, and I saw that the swaying white canopy composed the roof of a large tent, upon which the golden sunlight now lay in checkered masses, telling me the canvas had been erected among trees. A faint moan caused me to move my head slightly on the gratefully soft pillow, and I could perceive a long row of cots, exactly similar to the one I occupied, each apparently filled, stretching away toward an opening that looked forth into the open air. A man was moving slowly down the narrow aisle toward me, stopping here and there to bend over some sufferer with medicine or a cheery word. He wore a short white jacket, and was without a cap, his head of heavy red hair a most conspicuous object. As he approached I endeavored to speak, but for the moment my throat refused response to the effort. Then I managed to ask feebly: “Where am I?”
The blue eyes in the freckled, boyish face danced good-hurnoredly, and he laid a big red hand gently upon my forehead.
“Field hospital, Sixth Corps,” he said, with a strong Hibernian accent “An' how de ye loike it, Johnny?”
“Better than some others I've seen,” I managed to articulate faintly. “Who won?”
“Divil a wan of us knows,” he admitted frankly, “but your fellows did the retratin'.”
It was an old, old story to all of us by that time, and I closed my eyes wearily, content to ask no more.
I have no way of knowing how long I rested there motionless although awake, my eyes closed to keep out the painful glare, my sad thoughts busied with memory of those men whom I had seen reel and fall upon that stricken field we had battled so vainly to save. Once I wondered, with sudden start of fear, if I had lost a limb, if I was to be crippled for life, the one thing I dreaded above all else. Feeling feebly beneath my bed-clothing I tested, as best I could, each limb. All were apparently intact, although my left arm seemed useless and devoid of feeling, broken no doubt, and I heaved a sigh of genuine relief. Then I became partially aroused to my surroundings by a voice speaking from the cot next mine.
“You lazy Irish marine!” it cried petulantly, “that beef stew was to have been given me an hour ago.”
“Sure, sor,” was the soothing reply, “it wasn't to be given yer honor till two o'clock.”
“Well, it's all of three now.”
“Wan-thirty, on me sowl, sor.”
That first voice sounded oddly familiar, and I turned my face that way, but was unable to perceive the speaker.
“Is that Lieutenant Caton?” I asked doubtfully.
“Most assuredly it is,” quickly. “And who are you?”
“Captain Wayne, of the Confederate Army.”
“Oh, Wayne? Glad you spoke, but extremely sorry to have you here. Badly hurt?”
“Not seriously, I think. No limbs missing, anyhow, but exceedingly weak. Where did they get you?”
“In the side, a musket ball, but extracted. I would be all right if that lazy Irish scamp would only give me half enough to eat. By the way, Wayne, of course I never got the straight of it, for there are half-a-dozen stories about the affair flying around, and those most interested will not talk, but one of your special friends, and to my notion a most charming young woman, will be in here to see me sometime this afternoon. She will be delighted to meet you again, I'm sure.”
“One of my friends?” I questioned incredulously, yet instantly thinking of Edith Brennan. “A young woman?”
“Sure; at least she has confessed enough to me regarding that night's work to make me strongly suspicion that Captain Wayne, of the Confederate Army, and Colonel Curran, late of Major-General Halleck's staff, are one and the same person. A mighty neat trick, by Jove, and it would have done you good to see Sheridan's face when they told him. But about the young lady—she claims great friendship with the gallant Colonel of light artillery, and her description of his appearance at the ball is assuredly a masterpiece of romantic fiction. Come, Captain, surely you are not the kind of man to forget a pretty face like that? I can assure you, you made a deep impression. There are times when I am almost jealous of you.”
“But,” I protested, my heart beating rapidly, “I met several that evening, and you have mentioned no name.”
“Well, to me it chances there is but one worthy of mention,” he said earnestly, “and that one is Celia Minor.”
“Miss Minor!” I felt a strange sense of disappointment. “Does she come alone?”
“Most certainly; do you suppose she would expose me in my present weak state to the fascinations of any one else?”
“Oh, so the wind lies in that quarter, does it, old fellow? I congratulate you, I'm sure.”
My recollection of Miss Minor was certainly a most pleasant one, and I recalled to memory the attractive picture of her glossy black hair and flashing brown eyes, yet I felt exceedingly small interest in again meeting her. Indeed I was asleep when she finally entered, and it was the sound of Caton's voice that aroused me and made me conscious of the presence of others.
“I shall share these grapes with my cot-mate over yonder,” he said laughingly. “By the way, Celia, his voice sounded strangely familiar to me a short time ago. Just glance over there and see if he is any one you know.”
I heard the soft rustle of skirts, and, without a smile, looked up into her dark eyes. There was a sudden start of pleased surprise.
“Why,” she exclaimed eagerly, “it is Colonel Curran! Edith, dear, here is the Rebel who pretended to be Myrtle Curran's brother.”
How the hot blood leaped within my veins at mention of that name; but before I could lift my head she had swept across the narrow aisle, and was standing beside me. Wife, or what, there was that within her eyes which told me a wondrous story. For the instant, in her surprise and agitation, she forgot herself, and lost that marvellous self-restraint which had held us so far apart.
“Captain Wayne!” she cried, and her gloved hands fell instantly upon my own, where it rested without the coverlet. “You here, and wounded?”
I smiled up at her, feeling now that my injuries were indeed trivial.
“Somewhat weakened by loss of blood, Mrs. Brennan, but not dangerously hurt.” Then I could not forbear asking softly, “Is it possible you can feel regret over injuries inflicted upon a Rebel?”
Her cheeks flamed, and the audacious words served to recall her to our surroundings.
“Even although I love my country, and sincerely hope for the downfall of her enemies,” she answered soberly, “I do not delight in suffering. Were you in that terrible cavalry charge? They tell me scarcely a man among them survived.”
“I rode with my regiment.”
“I knew it was your regiment—the name was upon every lip, and even our own men unite in declaring it a magnificent sacrifice, a most gallant deed. You must know I thought instantly of you when I was told it was the act of the ——th Virginia.”
There were tears in my eyes, I know, as I listened to her, and my heart warmed at this frank confession of her remembrance.
“I am glad you cared sufficiently for me,” I said gravely, “to hold me in your thought at such a time.
“Our command merely performed the work given it, but the necessity has cost us dearly. You are yet at General Sheridan's headquarters?”
“Only temporarily, and simply because there has been no opportunity to get away, the movements of the army have been so hurried and uncertain. Since the battle Miss Minor has desired to remain until assured of Lieutenant Caton's permanent recovery. He was most severely wounded, and of course I could not well leave her here alone. Indeed I am her guest, as we depart to-morrow for her home, to remain indefinitely.”
“But Miss Minor is, I understand, a native of this State?”
“Her home is in the foot-hills of the Blue Ridge, along the valley of the Cowskin,—a most delightful old Southern mansion. I passed one summer there when a mere girl, previous to the war.”
“But will it prove safe for you now?”
“Oh, indeed, yes; everybody says so. It is entirely out of the track of both armies, and has completely escaped despoliation.”
“I was not thinking of the main combatants, but rather of those irregulars who will be most certain to invade promptly any section not patrolled by disciplined troops. I confess to fearing greatly that there will be an early outpouring of these rascals from the mountains into the adjacent lowlands the moment we are compelled to fall back and let loose the iron grip with which we have held them thus far partially in check. Yet I do not say this to frighten you, or in any way spoil the pleasure of your contemplated visit.”
“Indeed I shall not permit it. So many have assured me it would be perfectly safe that I do not mean to worry. I expect to be very happy there until the war is over. Surely, Captain Wayne, it cannot long continue now?”
Her voice was low, earnest, almost supplicating.
“It looks hopeless, even from our standpoint, I admit,” I returned, watching the straying sunlight play amid the dusky coils of her hair. “Yet we are not likely to yield until we must.”
“But you, Captain Wayne; surely you have already risked enough?”
“I presume I am a prisoner,” I answered, smiling, “and therefore unable at present to choose my future; but were I free to do so, I should return to my command to-morrow.”
“Yet surely you do not consider that this terrible rebellion is justified, is right?”
“I think there is, undoubtedly, much wrong upon both sides, Mrs. Brennan; but I am a soldier, and my duty is very simple—I follow my flag and, as a Virginian, am loyal to my State and to the principles taught me in my childhood.”
Her beautiful eyes filled with tears, and as she bent down her head that the others might not perceive her agitation, one salty drop fell upon my hand.
“It is all so very, very sad,” she said softly.
“There is much suffering upon both sides, but surely even you would not wish me to be other than true to what I look upon as a duty?”
“No; I—I think I—I respect you the more.”
“Then you do respect me?”
Another word, a far stronger one, trembled upon my lips, yet I restrained it sternly, and asked all I dared.
“I do,” earnestly, her eyes dwelling upon my face.
“I may not comprehend how you can view matters from your standpoint, for I am in full sympathy with the Union, and am a woman. But I believe you to be honest, and I know you to be a gallant soldier.”
I clasped her hand close within my own.
“Your words encourage me greatly,” I said earnestly. “I have done so much to bring you trouble and sorrow that I have been fearful lest it had cost me what I value more highly than you can ever know.”
These words were unfortunate, and instantly brought back to her a memory which seemed a barrier between us. I read the change in her averted face.
“That can never be, Captain Wayne,” she returned calmly, yet rising even as she spoke. “You have come into my life under circumstances so peculiar as to make me always your friend. Celia,” and she turned toward the others, “is it not time we were going? I am very sure the doctor said you were to remain with Lieutenant Caton but a brief time.”
“Why, Edith,” retorted the other, gayly, “I have been ready for half an hour—haven't I, Arthur?—but you were so deeply engrossed with your Rebel I hadn't the heart to interrupt.”
I could see the quick color as it mounted over Mrs. Brennan's throat.
“Nonsense,” she answered; “we have not been here that length of time.”
“Did the Major emerge from out the late entanglement unhurt?” It was Caton's voice that spoke.
“Much to his regret, I believe, he was not even under fire.” The tone was cool and collected again. “I will say good-bye, Lieutenant; doubtless we shall see you at Mountain View so soon as you are able to take the journey. And, Captain Wayne, I trust I shall soon learn of your complete recovery.”
My eyes followed them down the long aisle. At the entrance she glanced back, and I lifted my hand. Whether she marked the gesture I do not know, for the next instant both ladies had disappeared without.
Caton endeavored to talk with me, but I answered him so briefly, and with such vague knowledge of what had been said, that he soon desisted. I could see only the face that had so lately bent above me, and reflect upon the fate which held me helpless in its grasp. I felt that had circumstances been other than they were, this proudly tender woman might have learned from me the lesson of love, and in my weakness, both of spirit and body, I rebelled against the impassable barrier holding us apart. She was the wife of another, yet, in spite of every determination, I loved her with all my soul.
The night drew slowly down, and as it darkened, only one miserable lamp shed its dim rays throughout the great tent; nurses moved noiselessly from cot to cot, and I learned something of the nature of my own injuries from the gruff old surgeon who dressed the wound in my chest and refastened the splints along my arm. Then silence followed, excepting for the heavy breathing of the sleepers and the restless tossing of sufferers on their narrow cots. Here and there echoed wild words of delirium, but soon even these faint sounds died away in slumber, while the drowsy night-watch dozed in a chair. I could see from where I lay a blazing fire without, while in its glow along the side of the tent there was cast the black shadow of a sentinel, as he paced back and forth along his beat. So clear were the shaded lines I was able to trace his gun, and even the peculiar turn-up to the visor of his forage-cap. The pain I had experienced earlier in the day grew less acute, and at last I also fell asleep.
It must have been midnight, possibly even later, when a number of rapid shots fired outside the tent aroused me, and I heard many voices shouting, mingled with the tread of horses' feet. The night-watch had already disappeared, and the startled inmates of the tent were in a state of intense confusion. As I lifted myself slightly, dazed by the sudden uproar and eager to learn its cause, the tent-flap, which had been lowered to exclude the cold night air, was hastily jerked aside, and a man stepped within, casting one rapid glance about that dim interior. The flaring lamp overhead revealed to me a short, heavy-set figure, clad in a gray uniform.
“No one here need feel alarm,” he said quietly. “We are not making war upon the wounded. Are there any Confederates present able to travel?”
A dozen eager voices answered him, and men began to crawl out of their cots onto the floor.
He started down the aisle.
“We can be burdened with no helpless or badly wounded men,” he said sternly. “Only those able to ride. No, my man, you are in too bad shape to travel. Very sorry, my boy, but it can't be done. Only your left arm, you say? Very well, move out in front there. No, lad, it would be the death of you, for we must ride fast and hard.”
He came to a pause a half-dozen cots away from me, and seemed about to retrace his steps. Dim as the light was, I felt convinced I had formerly seen that short figure and stern face with its closely cropped beard.
“Mosby,” I called out, resolved to risk his remembrance, “Colonel Mosby, isn't it possible to take me?”
“Who are you?” he questioned sharply, turning in the direction of my voice.
“Wayne,” I answered eagerly, “Wayne, of the ——th Virginia.”
In an instant he was standing beside my cot, his eyes filled with anxious interest.
“Phil Wayne, of Charlottesville? You here? Not badly hurt, my boy?”
“Shot and bruised, Colonel, but I'd stand a good deal to get out of this.”
“And, by the Eternal, you shall; that is, if you can travel in a wagon. Here, Sims, Thomas; two of you carry this officer out. Take bed-clothes and all—easy now.”
The fellows picked me up tenderly, and bore me slowly down the central aisle. Mosby walked beside us as far as the outer opening.
“Put him down there by the fire,” he ordered, “until I look over the rest of these chaps and divide the wheat from the chaff.”