Books: My Lady of the North

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

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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.

CHAPTER XXIII

FIELD HOSPITAL, SIXTH CORPS

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.

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