Books: My Lady of the North

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

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"Captain Wayne," she said softly, her high color alone giving evidence
of any memory of the past, "I scarcely thought that we should meet
again, yet was not willing to part with you under any misunderstanding.
I have learned from Lieutenant Caton the full particulars of your
action in connection with Major Brennan. I wish you to realize that I
appreciate your efforts to escape a hostile meeting, and esteem you
most highly for your forbearance on the field. It was indeed a noble
proof of true courage. May I ask, why did you fire in the air?"

Had she not held me so away from her by her manner I should have then
and there told her all the truth. As it was I durst not.

"I felt convinced that if my bullet reached Major Brennan it would
injure you. I preferred not to do that."

She bowed gravely, while a kinder look, if I may use that expression,
seemed to dominate her face.

"I believed it was for my sake you made the sacrifice." She paused;
then asked in yet lower tones: "Was my name mentioned during your
contention--I mean publicly?"

"It was not; Caton alone is aware I refrained because of the reason I
have already given you."

"Your wound is not serious?"

"Too insignificant to be worthy of mention."

She was silent, her eyes upon the carpet, her bosom rising and falling
with the emotion she sought in vain to suppress.

"I thank you for coming to me," she said finally. "I shall understand
it all better, comprehend your motive better, for this brief talk.
Whatever you may think of me in the future," and she held out her hand
with something of the old frankness in the gesture, "do not hold me as
ungrateful for a single kindness you have shown me. I have not fully
understood you, Captain Wayne; indeed, I doubt if I do even now, yet I
am under great obligations which I hope some day to be able to requite,
at least in part."

"A thousand times they are already paid," I exclaimed eagerly,
forgetting for the moment the presence of her silent chaperon. "You
have given me that which is more than life--"

"Do not, Captain Wayne," she interrupted, her cheeks aflame. "I would
rather forget. Please do not; I did not send to you for that, only to
tell you I knew and understood. We must part now. Will you say
goodbye?"

"If you bid me, yes, I will say good-bye," I answered, my own self-
control brought back instantly by her words and manner, "but I retain
that which I do not mean to forget--your gracious words of invitation
to the North."

She stood with parted lips, as though she struggled to force back that
which should not be uttered. Then she whispered swiftly:

"It is not my wish that you should."

Was there ever such another paradox of a woman?

I knew not how to read her aright, for I scarce ever found her twice
the same. Which represented the truth of her character--her cool
dignity, her impetuous pride, or that gentle tenderness which befitted
her so well? Which was the armor, which the heart of this fair lady of
the North? As we rode down the path to the eastward, a snowy
handkerchief fluttered for an instant at the library window. I raised
my hat in silent greeting, and we were gone.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE FURLING OF THE FLAGS

The close of the long and bitter struggle had come; to those who had
cast their fortunes with the South it seemed almost as the end of the
world. I had thought to write of those last sad days, to picture them
in all their contrasting light and shadow, but now I cannot. There are
thoughts too deep for human utterance, memories too sacred for the pen.
I rejoice that I was a part of it; that to the lowering of the last
tattered battle-flag I remained constant to the best traditions of my
house. I cannot sit here now, beneath the protecting shadow of a flag
for which my son fought and died, and write that I regret the ending,
for years of peace have taught us of the South lessons no less valuable
than did the war; yet do I rejoice to-day that, having once donned the
gray, I wore it until the last shotted gun voiced its grim message to
the North.

It is hardly more than a dream now, sometimes vague and shadowy, again
distinct with living figures and historic scenes. I require but to
close my eyes to behold once more those slender lines of ragged, weary,
hungry men, to whom fighting had become synonymous with life. I pass
again through the fiery rain of those last fierce battles, when in
desperation we sought to check the unnumbered blue legions that fairly
crushed us beneath their weight. The vividness of the memory burns my
brain as by fire,--the ghastly faces of the dead, the unuttered agony
of the wounded, the patient suffering of the living. Day by day, night
by night, we grew less in numbers, and our thin lines contracted;
divisions shrank into regiments, companies to platoons. Men knew that
the inevitable was upon them, yet smiled into one another's face and
went forth to die. It was pitiable; it was magnificent. Hungry we
fought, unsheltered we slept; our dead were lying with the enemy, while
we who yet lived for the duty of another day fronted the bayonets with
hearts of courage and sadly prophetic souls. Everywhere to front and
rear, to left and right, stretched that same blue wall tipped with
cruel steel; in constant hail of iron the shells fell upon us,
darkening the day-sky, and turning night into a hell of flame. There
was no retreat, no loophole of escape; we could but stay, suffer, and
perish. Like men afflicted with some incurable malady, we who were of
that stricken remnant sternly, grimly looked into the eyes of death and
waited for the end.

I saw it all; I held a part in it all. Upon that April day which
witnessed the turning of the last sad page in this tragedy, I stood
without the McLean house, ankle deep in the trampled mud of the yard,
surrounded by a group of Federal officers. Within was my commander, the
old gray hero of Virginia, together with the great silent soldier of
the North.

Few about me spoke as we waited in restless agony. No one addressed me,
and I think there must have been a look in my face which held them
dumb. We knew well what hung upon the balance then; that within those
humble walls was being consummated one of the great events of history.
To the men in blue it meant home, and victory, and peace; to those in
gray, suffering, and struggle, and defeat.

I know not how long I waited, standing beside my horse, with head half
bowed upon his neck, seeing the figures about me as in a dream. At last
the door was flung open, and those within came forth. He was in advance
of them all. In that pale, stern, kindly face, and within the depths of
those sorrowful gray eyes, I read instantly the truth--_the Army of
Northern Virginia was no more._ Yet with what calm dignity did this
defeated chieftain pass down that blue lane, his head erect, his eyes
undimmed--as dauntless in that awful hour of surrender as when he rode
before his cheering legions of fighting men. Only as he came to where I
stood, and caught the look of suffering upon my face, did he once
falter, and then I noted no more than the slight twitching of his lips
beneath the short gray beard.

"Captain Wayne," he said, with all his old-time courtesy, "I shall have
to trouble you to ride to General Hills's division and request him to
cease all firing at once."

I turned reluctantly away from him, knowing full well in my heart I was
bearing my last order, and rode at a hard trot down the road between
long lines of waiting Federal infantry. I scarcely so much as saw them,
for my head was bent low over the saddle pommel, and my eyes were
blurred with tears.

* * * * *

The sun lay hot and golden over the dusty roads and fenceless fields.
The air was vocal with blare of trumpets and roll of drums, while
everywhere the eye rested upon blue lines and long columns of marching
troops. I formed one of a little gray squad moving slowly southward--a
mere fragment of the fighting men of the Confederacy, making their way
homeward as best they might. As the roads forked I left them, for here
our paths diverged, and it chanced I was the only one whose hope lay
westward.

Silently, thoughtfully I trudged on for an hour through the thick red
dust. My horse, sorely wounded in our last skirmish, limped painfully
behind me, his bridle-rein flung carelessly over my arm. Out yonder,
where the sun pointed the way with streams of fire, I was to take up
life anew. Life! What was there left to me in that word? A deserted,
despoiled farm alone awaited my coming; hardly a remembered face,
scarcely a future hope. The glitter of a passing troop of cavalry drew
my mind for an instant to Edith Brennan, but I crushed the thought.
Even were she free, what had I now to place at her proud feet,--I, a
penniless, defeated, homeless man? No, that was all over, even as the
cause for which I had fought; love and ambition must lie buried in the
same grave. The clothes I wore, that tattered suit of faded gray,
soiled by months of hard service in the open, was all I possessed in
the wide world, save the starved and wounded animal limping dejectedly
at my heels. The mere conception of it, the picture of kneeling thus
attired at her feet, brought with it a grim smile, which a deep
heartache instantly chased away. Besides, she was not free, and no
dream of love might inspire me to toil and hope. With clinched teeth I
drove her memory from me, back into that dim past where lurked all that
had been worthy in my life. Sternly I resolved that her face should
henceforth abide with those others--the shadowy comrades of many a
battlefield.

In this spirit I plodded on, my step heavy, my head bowed, wearied
alike in heart and body. My temples throbbed with the heat of the sun,
my eyes were dulled, my throat caked by the swirling dust. At a cross-
roads a Federal picket halted me, and I aroused sufficiently to hand
him the paper which entitled me to safe passage through the lines. He
was a man well along in years, with thoughtful eyes and kindly face,
and I spoke to him out of my sheer loneliness.

"No doubt you are rejoicing that the long struggle is so nearly ended?"
I said as he handed me back the paper and motioned me to pass on. "Have
you a family in the North?"

"A wife and five children up in Michigan, sir," he answered civilly. "I
guess they are counting the days now. And you, sir?"

"Oh, I have some acres of worn-out land over yonder, and but little
else."

"Well, you're a sight better off than some, I s'pect. It's been pretty
tough on all of you, but if you fellows only work like you fought
you'll have things a humming before long."

There was homely comfort in his philosophy which for the moment cheered
me. Perhaps he was right; the energy and bravery of the South, crippled
as it now was, might yet conquer our present misfortune, and prove it a
blessing in disguise. I had gone a hundred yards or more, this thought
still in my mind, when I became aware that he was calling after me.

"Hey, there, you gray-back!" he shouted, "hold on a bit!"

As I came to a pause and glanced back, wondering if there could be
anything wrong with my parole, he swung his cap and pointed.

"That officer coming yonder wants to speak with you."

Across the open field at my right, hidden until then by a slight rise
of ground, a mounted cavalryman was riding rapidly toward me, the wind
blowing back his cape so as to make conspicuous its bright yellow
lining. For the moment his lowered head prevented recognition, but as
he cleared the ditch and came up smiling, I saw it was Caton.

"By Jove, Wayne, but this is lucky!" he exclaimed, springing to the
ground beside me. "I've actually been praying for a week past that I
might meet you. Holmes, of your service, told me you had pulled
through, but everything is in such confusion that to hunt for you would
have been the proverbial quest after a needle in a haystack. You have
been paroled then?"

"Yes, I'm completely out of it at last," I answered, feeling to the
full the deep sympathy expressed by his face. "It was a bitter pill,
but one which had to be taken."

"I know it, old fellow," and his hand-grasp on mine tightened warmly.
"Of course I 'm glad, there's no use denying that, glad we won; glad
the old Union has been preserved as our fathers gave it to us; glad
slavery on this continent has passed away for ever, and so will you be
before you die. Yet I am sincerely sorry for those who have given their
all and lost. God knows you fought a good fight, fought as Americans
only can, even though it was in a bad cause. That is the pity of it;
such heroism, such sacrifice, and all wasted. If you have been beaten
there is no disgrace in it, for no other nation in this world could
ever have accomplished it. But this was a case of Greek meeting Greek,
and we had the money, the resources, and the men. But, Wayne, I tell
you, I do not believe there is to-day a spark of bitterness in the
heart of a fighting Federal soldier. We fought you to a finish because
it's in our blood; we whipped you because we were compelled to in order
to preserve the Union, but we'd share our last cent, or last crust,
with any gray-back now. I know I feel as if every paroled Confederate
were a brother in need."

"I know, Caton," I said,--and the words came hard,--"your fighting men
respect us, even as we do them. It has been a sheer game of which could
stand the most punishment, and the weaker had to go down. I know all
that, but, nevertheless, it is a terrible ending to so much of hope,
suffering, and sacrifice."

"Yes," he admitted soberly, "you have given your all. But those who
survive have a wonderful work before them. They must lay anew the
foundations; they are to be the rebuilders of States. You were going
home?"

I smiled bitterly at this designation of my journey's end.

"Yes, if you can so name a few weed-grown fields and a vacant negro
cabin. I certainly shall have to lay the foundation anew most
literally."

"Will you not let me aid you?" he questioned eagerly. "I possess some
means, and surely our friendship is sufficiently established to warrant
me in making the offer. You will not refuse?"

"I must," I answered firmly. "Yet I do not value the offer the less.
Sometime I may even remind you of it, but now I prefer to dig, as the
others must. I shall be the stronger for it, and shall thus sooner
forget the total wreck."

For a few moments we walked on together in silence, each leading his
horse. I could not but note the contrast between us in dress and
bearing. Victory and defeat, each had stamped its own.

"Wayne," he asked at length, glancing furtively at me, as if to mark
the effect of his words, "did you know that Mrs. Brennan was again with
us?"

The name thus spoken set my heart to instant throbbing, but I sought to
answer carelessly. Whatever he may have surmised, it was plainly my
duty to hide our secret still.

"I was not even aware she had been away."

"Oh, yes; she returned North immediately after your last parting, and
came back only last week. So many wives and relatives of the officers
have come down of late, knowing the war to be practically at an end,
that our camp has become like a huge picnic pavilion. It is quite the
fashionable fad just now to visit the front. Mrs. Brennan accompanied
the wife of one of the division commanders from her State--Connecticut,
you know."

There was much I longed to ask regarding her, but I would not venture
to fan his suspicions. In hope that I might turn his thought I asked,
"And you; are you yet married?"

He laughed good-humoredly. "No, that happy day will not occur until
after we are mustered out. Miss Minor is far too loyal a Virginian ever
to become my wife while I continue to wear this uniform. By the way,
Mrs. Brennan was asking Celia only yesterday if she had heard anything
of you since the surrender."

"She is at Appomattox, then?"

"No, at the headquarters of the Sixth Corps, only a few miles north
from here."

"And the Major?"

Caton glanced at me, a peculiar look in his face, but answered simply:

"Naturally I have had small intimacy with him after what occurred at
Mountain View, but he is still retained upon General Sheridan's staff.
At Mrs. Brennan's request we breakfasted together yesterday morning,
but I believe he is at the other end of the lines to-day."

We sat down upon a bank, our conversation drifting back to their
uneventful ride northward, and later to our experiences during those
last weeks of war. I have often reflected since on the vivid contrast
we must have made while resting there, each holding the rein of his
horse, our animals as widely differing in appearance as ourselves. Both
were typical of the two services in those last days. Caton was attired
in natty uniform, fleckless and well groomed, his linen immaculate, his
buttons gleaming, the rich yellow stripes of his arm of the service
making marked contrast with the blue he wore and the green he sat upon.
I, on the other hand, was haggard from hard, sleepless service and
insufficient food, my shapeless old slouch hat and dull gray jacket
torn and disfigured, the marks of rank barely discernible.

But his manly, hopeful spirit reawakened my courage, and for the time I
forgot disaster while listening to his story of love and his plans for
the future. His one thought was of Celia and the Northern home so soon
now to be made ready for her coming. The sun sank lower into the
western sky, causing Caton to draw down his fatigue cap until its
glazed visor almost completely hid his eyes. With buoyant enthusiasm he
talked on, each word drawing me closer to him in bonds of friendship.
But the time of parting came, and after we had promised to correspond
with each other, I stood and watched while he rode rapidly back down
the road we had traversed together. At the summit of the hill he turned
and waved his cap, then disappeared, leaving me alone, with Edith's
face more clearly than ever a torture to my memory of defeat,--her
face, fair, smiling, alluring, yet the face of another man's wife.

CHAPTER XXXIX

MY LADY OF THE NORTH

I walked the next mile thoughtfully, pondering over those vague hopes
and plans with which Caton's optimism had inspired me. Then the
inevitable reaction came. The one thing upon which he built so happily
had been denied me,--the woman I loved was the wife of another. I might
not even dream of her in my loneliness and poverty; the remembrance of
her could be no incentive to labor and self-denial. The Lieutenant's
chance words, kindly as they were spoken, only opened wider the yawning
social chasm between us. The greatest mercy would be for us never again
to meet.

I bent my head to keep the westering sun from my eyes, and breathing
the thick red dust, I trudged steadily forward. Suddenly there sounded
behind me the thud of hoofs, while I heard a merry peal of laughter,
accompanied by gay exchange of words. I drew aside, leading my horse
into a small thicket beside the road to permit the cavalcade to pass.
It was a group of perhaps a dozen,--three or four Federal officers, the
remainder ladies, whose bright dresses and smiling faces made a most
winsome sight. They glanced curiously aside at me as they galloped
past. But none paused, and I merely glanced at them with vague
interest, my thoughts elsewhere. Suddenly a horse seemed to draw back
from out the centre of the fast disappearing party.

"Ah, but really, you know, we cannot spare you," a man's voice
protested.

"But you must. No, Colonel, this chances to be a case where I prefer
being alone," was the quiet reply. "Do not wait, please; I will either
rejoin you shortly or ride directly to the camp."

I had led my limping horse out into the road once more to resume my
journey, paying scarcely the slightest attention to what was taking
place, for my head was again throbbing to the hot pulse of the sun. The
party of strangers rode slowly away into the enveloping dust cloud, and
I had forgotten them, when a low, sweet voice spoke close beside me:
"Captain Wayne, I know you cannot have forgotten me."

She was leaning down from the saddle, and as I glanced eagerly up into
her dear eyes they were swimming with tears.

"Forgotten! Never for one moment," I exclaimed; "yet I failed to
perceive your presence until you spoke."

"You appeared deeply buried in thought as we rode by, but I could not
leave you without a word when I knew you must feel so bad. I have
thought of you so often, and am more glad than I can tell to know you
have survived the terrible fighting of these last few weeks. But you
look so worn and haggard."

"I am wearied--yes," I admitted. "But that will pass away. My meeting
again with you will be a memory of good cheer; and I found no little
encouragement from a conversation just held with Lieutenant Caton."

She looked at me frankly, her eyes cleared of the mist. "Were you
indeed thinking hopefully just now? You appeared so grave I feared it
was despair."

"It was a mixture of both, Mrs. Brennan. My own known condition
furnishes sufficient despair, while Caton's excessive happiness yields
a goodly measure of joy, which I have not yet entirely lost. Nothing
glorifies life, even in its darkest hour, as the success of love."

She glanced at my face shyly. "Undoubtedly the Lieutenant is in the
seventh heaven at present," she admitted slowly. "His Celia has led him
a merry chase these many months, before she made full surrender; but
that merely makes final victory the sweeter."

"She retains the disposition of a child,"

"But the heart of a woman is back of all her playfulness. You are upon
your way home?"

"I have just been paroled, Mrs. Brennan, After four years of war I am
at last free, and have turned my face toward all that is left of my
childhood's home,--a few weed-grown acres. I scarcely know whether I am
luckier than the men who died."

I saw the tears glistening again in her earnest eyes. "Oh, but you are,
Captain Wayne," she exclaimed quickly. "You have youth and love to
inspire you--for your mother yet lives. Truly it makes my heart throb
to think of the upbuilding which awaits you men of the South. It is
through such as you--soldiers trained by stern duty--that these
desolated States are destined to rise above the ashes of war into a
greatness never before equalled. I feel that now, in this supreme hour
of sacrifice, the men and women of the South are to exhibit before the
world a courage greater than that of the battlefield. It is to be the
marvel of the nation, and the thought and pride of it should make you
strong."

"It may indeed be so; I can but believe it, as the prophecy comes from
your lips. I might even find courage to do my part in this redemption
were you ever at hand to inspire."

She laughed gently. "I am not a Virginian, Captain Wayne, but a most
loyal daughter of the North; yet if I so inspire you by my mere words,
surely it is not so far to my home but you might journey there to
listen to my further words of wisdom."

"I have not forgotten the permission already granted me, and it is a
temptation not easily cast aside. You return North soon?"

"Within a week."

I hardly know what prompted me to voice my next question,--Fate,
perhaps, weary of being so long mocked,--for I felt small interest in
her probable answer.

"Do you expect your husband's release from duty by that time?"

She gave a quick start of surprise, drawing in her breath as though
suddenly choked. Then the rich color overspread her face. "My husband?"
she ejaculated in voice barely audible, "my husband? Surely you cannot
mean Major Brennan?"

"But I certainly do," I said, wondering what might be wrong. "Whom else
could I mean?"

"And you thought that?" she asked incredulously. "Why, how could you?"

"How should I have thought otherwise?" I exclaimed, my eyes eagerly
searching her downcast face. "Why, Caton told me it was so the night I
was before Sheridan; he confirmed it again in conversation less than an
hour ago. Colgate, my Lieutenant, who met you in a Baltimore hospital,
referred to him the same way. If I have been deceived through all these
months, surely everything and everybody conspired to that end,--you
bore the same name; you told me plainly you were married; you wore a
wedding-ring; you resided while at camp in his quarters; you called
each other Frank and Edith. From first to last not one word has been
spoken by any one to cause me to doubt that you were his wife."

As I spoke these words hastily, vehemently, the flood of color receded
from her face, leaving it pale as marble. Her lips parted, but failed
in speech.

"Believe me, Mrs. Brennan, the mistake was a most innocent one. You are
not angry?"

"Angry? Oh, no! but it all seems so strange, and it hurts me a little.
Surely I have done nothing to forward this unhappy deceit?"

For a moment she bowed her head upon her hands as though she would hide
her face from me, conceal the depth of her emotion. Then she looked up
once more, smiling through her tears.

"I recall starting to explain all this to you once," she said, striving
vainly to appear at ease. "It was when we were interrupted by the
sudden coming upon us of Mr. and Mrs. Bungay. Yet I supposed you knew,
that you would have learned the facts from others. The last time we
were together I told you I did not wholly understand you. It is no
wonder, when you thought that of me. But I understand now, and know you
must have despised me."

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