Julius Wellhausen - "Prolegomena to the History of Israel"

Jean de La Fontaine - "The Tales and Novels, v14: The Hermit &c."

Louisa May Alcott - "An Old fashioned Girl"

Marie Corelli - "Ardath"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: My Lady of the North

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




"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."




CHAPTER XXIV

A NIGHT RIDE OF THE WOUNDED


It was a wild, rude scene without, yet in its way typical of a little-
understood chapter of Civil War. Moreover it was one with which I was
not entirely unacquainted. Years of cavalry scouting, bearing me beyond
the patrol lines of the two great armies, had frequently brought me
into contact with those various independent, irregular forces which,
co-operating with us, often rendered most efficient service by preying
on the scattered Federal camps and piercing their lines of
communication. Seldom risking an engagement in the open, their policy
was rather to dash down upon some outpost or poorly guarded wagon
train, and retreat with a rapidity rendering pursuit hopeless. It was
partisan warfare, and appealed to many ill-adapted to abide the
stricter discipline of regular service. These border rangers would
rendezvous under some chosen leader, strike an unexpected blow where
weakness had been discovered, then disappear as quickly as they came,
oftentimes scattering widely until the call went forth for some fresh
assault. It was service not dissimilar to that performed during the
Revolutionary struggle by Sumter and Marion in the Carolinas, and added
in the aggregate many a day to the contest of the Confederacy.

Among these wild, rough riders between the lines no leader was more
favorably known of our army, nor more dreaded by the enemy, than Mosby.
Daring to the point of recklessness, yet wary as a fox, counting
opposing numbers nothing when weighed against the advantage of
surprise, tireless in saddle, audacious in resource, quick to plan and
equally quick to execute, he was always where least expected, and it
was seldom he failed to win reward for those who rode at his back.
Possessing regular rank in the Confederate Army, making report of his
operations to the commander-in-chief, his peculiar talent as a partisan
leader had won him what was practically an independent command. Knowing
him as I did, I was not surprised that he should now have swept
suddenly out of the black night upon the very verge of the battle to
drive his irritating sting into the hard-earned Federal victory.

An empty army wagon, the "U. S. A." yet conspicuous upon its canvas
cover, had been overturned and fired in front of the hospital tent to
give light to the raiders. Grouped about beneath the trees, and within
the glow of the flames, was a picturesque squad of horsemen, hardy,
tough-looking fellows the most of them, their clothing an odd mixture
of uniforms, but every man heavily armed and admirably equipped for
service. Some remained mounted, lounging carelessly in their saddles,
but far the larger number were on foot, their bridle-reins wound about
their wrists. All alike appeared alert and ready for any emergency. How
many composed the party I was unable to judge with accuracy, as they
constantly came and went from out the shadows beyond the circumference
of the fire. As all sounds of firing had ceased, I concluded that the
work planned had been already accomplished. Undoubtedly, surprised as
they were, the small Federal force left to guard this point had been
quickly overwhelmed and scattered.

The excitement attendant upon my release had left me for the time being
utterly forgetful as to the pain of my wounds, so that weakness alone
held me to the blanket upon which I had been left. The night was
decidedly chilly, yet I had scarcely begun to feel its discomfort, when
a man strode forward from out the nearer group and stood looking down
upon me. He was a young fellow, wearing a gray artillery jacket, with
high cavalry boots corning above the knees. I noticed his firm-set jaw,
and a pearl-handled revolver stuck carelessly in his belt, but observed
no symbol of rank about him.

"Is this Captain Wayne?" he asked, not unpleasantly, I answered by an
inclination of the head, and he turned at once toward the others.

"Cass, bring three men over here, and carry this officer to the same
wagon you did the others," he commanded briefly. "Fix him comfortably,
but be in a hurry about it."

They lifted me in the blanket, one holding tightly at either corner,
and bore me tenderly out into the night. Once one of them tripped over
a projecting root, and the sudden jar of his stumble shot a spasm of
pain through me, which caused me to cry out even through my clinched
teeth.

"Pardon me, lads," I panted, ashamed of the weakness, "but it slipped
out before I could help it."

"Don't be after a mentionin' av it, yer honor," returned a rich brogue.
"Sure an me feet got so mixed oup that I wondher I didn't drap ye
entoirely."

"If ye had, Clancy," said the man named Cass, grimly, "I reckon as how
the Colonel would have drapped you."

At the foot of a narrow ravine, leading forth into the broader valley,
we came to a covered army wagon, to which four mules had been already
attached. The canvas was drawn aside, and I was lifted up and carefully
deposited in the hay that thickly covered the bottom. It was so
intensely dark within I could see nothing of my immediate surroundings,
but a low moan told me there must be at least one other wounded man
present. Outside I heard the tread of horses' hoofs, and then the sound
of Mosby's voice.

"Jake," he said, "drive rapidly, but with as much care as possible.
Take the lower road after you cross the bridge, and you will meet with
no patrols. We will ride beside you for a couple of miles."

Then a hand thrust aside the canvas, and a face peered in. I caught a
faint glimmer of stars, but could distinguish little else.

"Boys," said the leader, kindly, "I wish I might give you better
transportation, but this is the only form of vehicle we can find. I
reckon you'll get pretty badly bumped over the road you are going, but
I'm furnishing you all the chance to get away in my power."

"For one I am grateful enough," I answered, after waiting for some one
else to speak. "A little pain is preferable to imprisonment."

"After you pass the bridge you will be perfectly safe on that score,"
he said heartily. "Anything more I can do for any of you?"

"How many of us are there?" asked some one faintly from out the
darkness.

"Oh, yes," returned Mosby, with a laugh, "I forgot; you will want to
know each other. There are three of you--Colonel Colby of North
Carolina, Major Wilkins of Thome's Battery, and Captain Wayne, ----th
Virginia. Let that answer for an introduction, gentlemen, and now good-
night. We shall guard you as long as necessary, and then must leave you
to the kindly ministrations of the driver."

He reached in, leaning down from his saddle to do so, drew the blanket
somewhat closer about me, and was gone. I caught the words of a sharp,
short order, and the heavy wagon lurched forward, its wheels bumping
over the irregularities in the road, each jolt sending a fresh spasm of
pain through my tortured body.

May the merciful God ever protect me from such a ride again! It seemed
interminable, while each long mile we travelled brought with it new and
greater agony of mind and body. That I did not suffer alone was early
evident from the low moans borne to me from out the darkness. Once a
weak, trembling voice prayed for release,--a short, fervent prayer,
which so impressed me in the weakness of my own anguish that I added to
it "Amen," spoken unconsciously aloud.

"Who spoke?" asked the same voice, faintly.

"I am Captain Wayne," I answered, almost glad to break the terrible
silence by speech of any kind; "and I merely echoed your prayer. Death
would indeed prove a welcome relief from such intensity of suffering."

"Yes," he acquiesced gently. "I fear I have not sufficient strength to
bear mine for long; yet I am a Christian, and there are wife and child
waiting for me at home. God knows I am ready when He calls, but my duty
is to live, if possible, for their sake. They will have nothing left if
I pass on."

"The road must grow smoother as we come down into the valley. Are your
wounds serious?"

"I was struck by fragments of a shell," he answered, and I could tell
he spoke the words through his clinched teeth, "and am wounded in the
head as well as the body--oh, my God!" The cry was wrung from him by a
sudden tilting of the wagon, and for a moment my own pain prevented
utterance.

"I hear nothing from the other man," I managed to say at last. "Colonel
Mosby said there were three of us; surely the third man cannot be
already dead?"

"Mercifully unconscious, I think; at least he has made no sound since I
was placed in here."

"No, friends," spoke another and deeper voice from farther back within
the jolting wagon, "I am not unconscious, but less noticeably in pain.
I have lost a leg, yet the stump seems seared and dead, hurting me
little unless I touch it."

We lapsed into solemn silence, it was such an effort to talk, and we
had so little to say. Each man, no doubt, was struggling, as I know I
was, to withhold expression of his agony for the sake of the others. I
lay racked in every nerve, my teeth tightly clinched, my temples beaded
with perspiration. I could hear the troopers riding without, the
jingling of their accoutrements, and the steady beat of their horses'
feet being easily distinguishable above the deeper rumble of the
wheels. Then there came a quick order in Mosby's familiar voice, a
calling aloud of some further directions to the driver, and afterwards
nothing was distinguishable excepting the noise of our own rapid
progress.

Jake drove, it seemed to me, most recklessly. I could hear the almost
constant crack of his lash and the rough words of goading hurled at the
straining mules. The road appeared to be filled with roots, while
occasionally the wheels would strike a stone, coming down again with a
jar that nearly drove me frantic. The chill night air swept in through
the open front of the hood, and made me feel as if my veins were filled
with ice, even while the inflammation of my wounds burned and throbbed
as with fire. The pitiful moaning of the man who lay next me grew
gradually fainter, and finally ceased altogether. Tortured as I was,
yet I could not but think of the wife and child far away praying for
his safe return. For their sake I forced back the intensity of my own
sufferings and spoke into the darkness.

"The man who prayed," I said, not knowing which of my two companions it
might be. "Are you suffering less, that you have ceased to moan?"

There was no answer. Then the loose hay rustled, as though some one was
slowly dragging his helpless body through it. A moment later the deep
voice spoke:

"He is dead," solemnly. "God has answered his prayer. His hand already
begins to feel cold."

"Dead?" I echoed, inexpressibly shocked. "Do you know his name?"

"As I am Major Wilkins, it must be Colonel Colby who has died. May God
be merciful to the widow and the orphan."

The hours that followed were all but endless. I knew we had reached the
lower valley, for the road became more level, yet the slightest jolting
now was sufficient to render me crazed with pain, and I had lost all
power of restraint. My tortured nerves throbbed; the fever gripped me,
and my mind began to wander. Visions of delirium came, and I dreamed
dreams too terrible for record: demons danced on the drifting clouds
before me, while whirling savages chanting in horrid discord stuck my
frenzied body full of blazing brands. At times I was awake, calling in
vain for water to quench a thirst which grew maddening, then I lapsed
into a semi-consciousness that drove me wild with its delirious
fancies. I knew vaguely that the Major had crept back through the
darkness and passed his strong arm gently beneath my head. I heard him
shouting in his deep voice to the driver for something to drink, but
was unaware of any response. All became blurred, confused, bewildering.
I thought it was my mother comforting me. The faint gray daylight stole
in at last through the cracks of the wagon cover; I could dimly
distinguish a dark face bending over me, framed by a heavy gray beard,
and then, merciful unconsciousness came, and I rested as one dead
beside the corpse of the Colonel.




CHAPTER XXV

A LOST REGIMENT


IT was a bright, sunshiny day in early spring. Birds were sweetly
singing in the trees lining the road I was travelling, the grass on
either side was softly green, and beautified by countless wild-flowers
blooming in great variety of coloring. Nothing seemed to speak of war,
although I was amid the very heart of its desolation, save the deserted
houses I was continually passing, and the fenceless, untilled fields. I
must have shown my late illness greatly, for the few I met, as I
tramped slowly onward, mostly soldiers, gazed at me curiously, as if
they mistook me for the ghost of some dead comrade; and I doubt not my
pale face, yet bearing the deep imprint of pain, with the long
untrimmed hair framing it, and the blood-stained, ragged uniform, the
same I wore that fierce day of battle, rendered me an object of wonder.

All through those long, weary winter weeks I had been hovering between
life and death in an obscure hospital at Richmond. How I first came
there I know not, but when at length I struggled back to recollection
and life, there I found myself, and there I remained, slowly
convalescing, a prisoner to weakness, until finally discharged but two
days before. During those months little that related to the progress of
the war reached me. My nurses were black-robed nuns, kind-hearted and
tender of touch, but feeling slight interest in affairs of the world
without. I saw no old-time familiar faces, while the few wounded about
me were fully as ignorant of passing events as myself. The moment the
door was opened to permit of my passing forth into the world again, I
sought eagerly to discover the present station of my old comrades in
arms, yet could learn only that the cavalry brigade with which I had
formerly served was in camp somewhere near Appomattox Court House. On
foot and moneyless, I set off alone, my sole anxiety to be once more
with friends; and now, at the beginning of the second day, I was
already beyond Petersburg, and sturdily pushing westward.

A battery of light artillery was parked in a field upon my right, but
so far away from the road that I hesitated to travel that distance
simply to ask a question which it was extremely doubtful if they would
be able to answer. Instead I pushed on grimly, and as the road swerved
slightly to the left, passing through a grove of handsome trees, I came
suddenly opposite a large house of imposing aspect. A group of
Confederate officers stood in converse beside the gate leading into the
open driveway, and as I paused a moment, gazing at them and wondering
whom I had better address,--for I recognized none of the faces fronting
me,--one among the group turned suddenly, and took a hurried step in my
direction, as though despatched upon an errand of importance. He was a
tall, slender man, wearing a long gray moustache, and I no sooner
viewed his face than I recognized him as having been one of those
officers present in General Lee's tent the day I was sent out with
despatches. He glanced at me curiously, yet with no sign of
recognition, but before he could pass I accosted him.

"Colonel Maitland," I said, "you doubtless remember me. I am seeking my
old command; would you kindly inform me where it may be found?"

He stopped instantly at sound of my voice, and stared at me in odd
bewilderment; but my words had already reached the ears of the others,
and before he had found an answer another voice spoke sternly: "What is
all this? Who are you, sir? What masquerade puts you into that parody
of a captain's uniform?"

I turned and looked into the flushed, indignant face of General Lee.

"It is no masquerade, sir," I answered, instantly removing my hat; "it
is the rightful uniform of my rank, greatly as I regret its present
condition."

He gazed at me keenly, evidently doubtful as to his best course of
action, and I heard an officer behind him laugh.

"Where are you from?"

"I was discharged from St. Mary's Hospital in Richmond day before
yesterday, and am now seeking to rejoin my regiment."