Books: My Lady of the North

R >> Randall Parrish >> My Lady of the North

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I was musing thus, lulled by the steady lope of my horse, and totally
insensible to any possibility of peril, when clear upon my ears,
instantly awakening me from such reverie, there rang through the night
silence the sharp clang of iron on the road behind me. All sound of
pursuit had long since died away, and I supposed the effort to
recapture me had been abandoned. But there was no mistaking now--at
least one horseman, riding recklessly through the black night, was
pressing hot upon my trail.

"The lieutenant," I thought, "the lieutenant, burning with anger at the
trick played upon him, has pushed far ahead of his troop, doubtless
mounted upon a better horse, determined to risk everything if he may
only bring me back dead or alive."

This thought awoke me in an instant from my dreaming, and I spurred my
horse furiously, glancing anxiously backward as I rode, but unable
through that dense gloom to distinguish the form of my pursuer. Yet the
fellow was coming, coming faster than any speed I could possibly
conjure out of the weary black I bestrode, either by whip or spur.
Closer and closer upon me came rushing down that pounding of iron hoofs
on the hard path. Heavens! how like a very demon the man rode! As a
trooper I could not withhold admiration from the reckless audacity with
which the vengeful fellow bore down upon me. In spite of my utmost
efforts it almost seemed as if we were standing still. Surely nothing
less than hate, and a thirst for vengeance bitter as death, implacable
as fate, could ride like that through the black night on the track of a
hunted man!

I was able to trace dimly his outlines now as he rose on an eminence in
my rear, his horse looming dark against the sky, like those giant
steeds that snorted fire in my child's picture-books at home, and then,
with increasingly loud thunder of hoof-beats, he came charging straight
down toward me. In sheer desperation I glanced on either side, seeking
some avenue of escape, but the high banks were unscalable; my sole
remaining hope lay in a shot which should drop that crazed brute before
he struck and crushed me. Riding my best, with all the practised skill
of the service, I swung my body sideways, bracing myself firmly in the
deep saddle, and took steady aim. The hammer came down with a dull,
dead click, the revolver was chargeless, and with an exclamation of
baffled rage I hurled the useless weapon full at the advancing brute.
Almost at the instant we struck, my horse went down with the impetus,
while over us both, as if shot from a cannon, plunged our pursuer, his
horse turning a complete somersault, the rider falling so close that I
was upon him almost as soon as he struck the ground.

A dip of the flying hoof had cut a shallow gash across my forehead, and
my hair was wet with blood, yet bruised and half stunned as I was from
the hard fall, my sole longing was to reach and throttle that madman
who had ridden me down in such demon style.

"You unchained devil!" I cried savagely, whirling him over upon his
back, "I spared your life once to-night, but, by all the gods, I'LL not
do it again!"

"Gosh, Cap, is thet you?" asked the voice of the other, feebly.

I started back, and lost my hold upon him.

"Bungay?" in an astonishment that nearly robbed me of utterance. "Good
God, man! is this really you?"

"It's whut's left o' me," he answered solemnly, sitting up and feeling
his head as if expecting to find it gone. "Thet wus 'bout ther worst
ride ever I took."

"I should think it likely," I exclaimed, my anger rising again as I
thought of it. "What, in Heaven's name, do you mean by riding down on
me like that?"

"Holy Gee, Cap," he explained penitently, "ye don't go ter think I ever
did it a purpose, do ye? Why, ther gosh-durned old thing run away."

"Ran away?"

"Sure; I've bin a hangin' on ter ther mane o' thet critter fer nigh
'pon three mile, an' a prayin' fer a feather bed ter light on. It's my
last 'listment en ther cavalry, ye bet. I never seed none o' yer steam
keers, but I reckon they don't go no faster ner thet blame hoss. Gosh,
Cap, ye ain't got no call fer ter git mad; I couldn't a stopped her
with a yoke o' steers, durned if I cud. I sorter reckon I know now
'bout whut Scott meant when he said, 'The turf the flying courser
spurn'd,'--you bet this en did."

Jed rubbed his cheek as if it stung him, and I looked at him in the
faint dawning light of day, and laughed. His peaked head and weazen
face looked piteous enough, decorated as they were with the black loam
through which he had ploughed; his coat was ripped from tail to collar,
while one of his eyes was nearly closed where the bruised flesh had
puffed up over it.

"'It is a fearful strife, for man endowed with mortal life,'" he quoted
mournfully.

"You're right," I assented. "No doubt you had the worst of it. But how
came you here?"

"Why, I wus a huntin' fer a hoss thar et ther picket post whin ye
scared up ther bunch, an' by some sort a fule luck I got hole o' thet
one, an' tuke arter ye, tho' in course I didn't know who it wus raised
sich a rumpus, it wus so durned dark. Ther whole blame Yankee caboodle
tuke a blaze et me, I reckon, leastwise they wus most durn keerless
with ther shootin' irons, an' I rode one feller over, knocked him plum
off his hoss down ther bank, kerslush inter ther water, by thunder, an'
then ther derned critter I wus a straddlin' bolted. Thet's 'bout all I
know, Cap, till I lit yere."

There was no doubting the truth of his story, and I held out my hand.
"You're a good man, Jed," I said heartily, "and so long as we are both
alive, a few hard jolts won't hurt us. Let's see if the horses are in
any condition for service."

A single glance told the story. The black mare was browsing by the
roadside, apparently little the worse for the shock, although a thin
line of blood trickled slowly down her flank. But the big roan had not
been so fortunate, and lay, head under, stone dead in the middle of the
narrow road. Bungay gazed at the motionless figure mournfully.

"'Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, that cost thy life, my
gallant gray,'" he recited solemnly, "only it's a roan, an' I ain't so
durn sorry either."

Regrets of any nature, however, were vain, and as the little man
positively refused to ride, I mounted again. He trudging along manfully
beside me, the two of us set forth once more, our faces turned toward
the red dawn.

CHAPTER XXI

REINFORCEMENTS FOR EARLY

"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 yell
Within that dark and narrow dell,
As all the fiends from heaven that fell
Had pealed the battle-cry of hell.'"

and then the drowsy god pressed down my heavy eyelids, and I fell
asleep.

CHAPTER XXII

THE BATTLE IN THE SHENANDOAH

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.

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