Books: My Lady of the North
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Randall Parrish >> My Lady of the North
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Under other conditions I might have felt tempted to enter into
conversation with my guards, who, as I now perceived, were far from
being the rough banditti I had at first imagined. Judging from their
faces and language they were intelligent enough young fellows, such as
I had often found in the ranks of the Federal army. But I realized they
could aid me little, if any, in the one thing I most desired to know,
and even if they could, a sense of delicacy would have caused me to
hesitate in asking those personal questions that burned upon my lips.
My deep and abiding respect for this woman whom I had so strangely met,
and with whom I had attained some degree of intimacy, would never
permit of my discussing her, even indirectly, with private soldiers
behind the back of their officer. Every sense of honor revolted at such
a thought. Not through any curiosity of mine, however justified by the
depth of my own feeling, should she be made the subject of idle gossip
about the camp-fire.
For, in truth, at this time, unhappy as my own situation undeniably
was,--and as a soldier I realized all its dangers,--I gave it but
little consideration. Usually quick of wit, fertile in expedients, ever
ready to take advantage of each opportunity, I had taken stock of all
my surroundings, yet discovered nowhere the slightest opening for
escape. The vigilance of the guard, as well as the thorough manner in
which I was bound, rendered any such attempt the merest madness.
Realizing this, with the fatalism of a veteran I resigned myself in all
patience to what must be.
Then it was that other thoughts came surging upon me in a series of
interrogatories, which no knowledge I possessed could possibly answer.
Who was this proud, womanly woman who called herself Edith Brennan? She
had been at some pains to inform me that she was married, yet there was
that about her--her bearing, her manner--which I could not in the least
reconcile with that thought. Her extreme youthfulness made me feel it
improbable, and the impression remained with me that she intended to
make some explanation of her words, when the coming of Bungay
interrupted us. How they might be explained I could not imagine; I
merely struggled against accepting what I longed to believe untrue. And
this man? this Federal major, bearing the same name, whom she called
Frank, who was he? What manner of relationship existed between them? In
their meeting and short intercourse I had noted several things which
told me much--that she feared, respected, valued him, and that he was
not only swayed by, but intensely jealous of any rival in, her good
opinion. Yet their unexpected meeting was scarcely that of husband and
wife. Was he the one she sought in her night ride from one Federal camp
to another? If so, was he brother, friend, or husband? What was the
bond of union existing between these two? Every word spoken made me
fear the last must be the true solution.
Such were some of the queries I silently struggled with, and they were
rendered more acute by that deepening interest which I now confessed to
myself I was feeling toward her who inspired them. It may be
fashionable nowadays to sneer at love, yet certain it is, the rare
personality of this Edith Brennan had reached and influenced me in
those few hours we had been thrown together as that of no other woman
had ever done. Possibly this was so because the long years in camp and
field had kept me isolated from all cultured and refined womanhood.
This may, indeed, have caused me to be peculiarly susceptible to the
beauty and purity of this one. I know not; I am content to give facts,
and leave philosophy to others. My life has ever been one of action, of
intense feeling; and there in the road that day, standing bareheaded in
the sun, I was clearly conscious of but one changeless fact, that I
loved Edith Brennan with every throb of my heart, and that there was
enmity, bitter and unforgiving, between me and the man within who bore
her name. Whatever he might be to her I rejoiced to know that he hated
me with all the unreasoning hatred of jealousy. I had read it in his
eyes, in his words, in his manner; and the memory of its open
manifestation caused me to smile, as I hoped for an hour when we should
meet alone and face to face. How she regarded him I was unable as yet
to tell, but his love for her was plainly apparent in every glance and
word.
As I was thus thinking, half in despair and half in hope, the two came
out from the house together; and it pleased me to note how immediately
her eyes sought for me, and how she lifted her hand to shade them from
the glare of the sun, so that she might see more clearly. Her companion
appeared to ignore my presence utterly, and gazed anxiously up and down
the road as though searching for something.
"Peters," he asked sharply of the fellow on guard, "where are Sergeant
Steele and the rest of the squad?"
The soldier addressed saluted in a manner that convinced me he was of
the regular service.
"They are resting out of the sun in that clump of bushes down the hill,
sir."
Brennan glanced in the direction indicated.
"Very well," he said. "Take your prisoner down there, and tell the
Sergeant to press on at once toward the lower road. We shall follow
you, and the lady will ride his horse."
The man turned, and with peremptory gesture ordered me forward. As I
drew closer to where the two waited beside the open door, I lifted my
head proudly, determined that neither should perceive how deeply I felt
the humiliation of my position. As I thus passed them, my eyes fixed
upon the shining road ahead, my ears caught a word or two of indignant
expostulation from her lips.
"But, Frank, it is positively shameful in this sun."
He laughed lightly, yet his answer came to me in all clearness of
utterance. I believed he wished me to overhear the words. "Oh, it will
only prove of benefit to his brains, if by rare chance he possesses
any."
I glanced aside, and saw her turn instantly and face him, her eyes
aflame with indignation. "Then I will!"
As she spoke, her voice fairly trembling with intense feeling, she
stepped backward out of sight into the house.
Another instant and she reappeared, sweeping past him without so much
as a word, and bearing in her hand my old campaign hat, came directly
up to us.
"Sentry," she said in her old imperious manner, "I desire to place this
hat on the head of your prisoner."
The fellow glanced uneasily over his shoulder at the seemingly
unconscious officer, not knowing whether it were better to permit the
act or not, but she waited for no permission.
"Captain Wayne," she said, her voice grown kindly in a moment, and her
eyes frankly meeting mine, "you will pardon such liberty, I am sure,
but it is not right that you should be compelled to march uncovered in
this sun."
She placed the hat in position, asking as she did so:
"Does that feel comfortable?"
"The memory of your thoughtfulness," I replied warmly, bowing as best I
might, "will make the march pleasant, no matter what its end may mean
to me."
Her eyes darkened with sudden emotion.
"Do not deem me wholly ungrateful," she said quickly and in a low tone.
"The conditions are such that I am utterly helpless now to aid you.
Major Brennan is a man not to be lightly disobeyed, but I shall tell my
story to General Sheridan so soon as we reach his camp."
I would have spoken again, but at this moment Brennan came striding
toward us.
"Come, Edith," he cried, almost roughly, "this foolishness has surely
gone far enough. Peters, what are you waiting here for? I told you to
take your prisoner down the road."
A few moments later, the centre of a little squad of heavily armed men,
I was tramping along the rocky pathway, and when once I attempted to
glance back to discover if the others followed us, the sergeant advised
me, with an oath, to keep my eyes to the front. I obeyed him.
It was a most tiresome march in the hot sun over the rough mountain
roads. There were times when we left these altogether, and crept along
half-obliterated trails leading through the dense woods and among the
rocks. I learned from scraps of conversation floating about me as we
struggled onward, that these precautions were not taken out of any fear
of meeting with Confederate troops, whose nearest commands were
supposed to be considerably to the westward of where we were, but
because of a desire to avoid all possibility of conflict with those
armed and irresponsible bands that ranged at will between the lines of
the two great armies. Already they had become sufficiently strong to
make trouble for small detachments.
It must have been nearly the end of the afternoon. We had certainly
traversed several miles, and were then moving almost directly south
upon a well-defined pike, the name of which I never knew. All the party
were travelling close together, when the scout, who throughout the day
had been kept a few hundred yards in advance, came back toward us on a
run, his hand flung up in an urgent warning to halt.
"What is it, Steele?" Brennan questioned, spurring forward to meet him.
"Come, speak up, man!"
"A squad of cavalry has just swung onto the pike, sir, from the dirt
road that leads toward the White Briar," was the soldier's panting
reply. "And I could get a glimpse through the trees down the valley,
and there's a heavy infantry column just behind them. They're Rebs,
sir, or I don't know them."
"Rebs?" with an incredulous laugh. "Why, man, we've got the only Reb
here who is east of the Briar."
"Well," returned the scout, sullenly, "they're coming from the west,
and I know they ain't our fellows."
He was too old a soldier to have his judgment doubted, and he was
evidently convinced. Brennan glanced quickly about. However he may have
sneered at the report, he was not rash enough to chance so grave a
mistake.
"Get back into those rocks there on the right," he commanded sharply.
"Hustle your prisoner along lively, men, and one of you stand over him
with a cocked gun; if he so much as opens his mouth, let him have it."
Rapidly as we moved, we were scarcely all under cover before the
advance cavalry guard came in sight, the light fringe of troopers,
dust-begrimed and weary, resting heavily in their saddles, and
apparently thoughtless as to any possibility of meeting with the enemy.
There were not more than a troop of them all told, yet their short gray
jackets and wide-brimmed light hats instantly told the story of their
service. Their rear rank was yet in sight when we heard the heavy tread
of the approaching column, together with the dull tinkle of steel which
always accompanies marching troops. Peering forth as much as I dared
from behind the thick brush where I had been roughly thrown face
downward, I saw the head of that solid, sturdy column swing around the
sharp bend in the road, and in double front, spreading from rock to
rock, come sweeping down toward us.
The command was moving forward rapidly at the rout step, that long,
easy, swinging stride so peculiar to the Southern infantry, with the
merest semblance of order in formation, which is the inevitable result
of hard, rapid marching. Every movement bespoke them veteran troops.
They were covered with dust, their faces fairly caked with it, their
uniforms almost indistinguishable; their drums silent, their colors
cased, their wide-brimmed hats pulled low over their eyes, their guns
held in any position most convenient for carrying, and with stern,
wearied faces set doggedly upon the road in their front. No pomp and
circumstance of glorious war was here, but these were fighting men.
Never before, save as I watched Pickett's charging line sweep on to
death at Gettysburg, did I feel the stern manliness of war as now.
File upon file, company after company, regiment following regiment,
they swung sternly by. Scarcely so much as a word reached us, excepting
now and then some briefly muttered command to close up, or a half-
inaudible curse as a shuffling foot stumbled. I could distinguish no
badge, no insignia of either corps or division; the circling dust
enveloped them in a choking, disfiguring cloud. But they were
Confederates! I marked them well; here and there along the toiling
ranks I even noted a familiar face, and there could be no mistaking the
gaunt North Carolina mountaineer, the sallow Georgian, or the jaunty
Louisiana Creole. They were Confederates--Packer's Division of Hill's
corps, I could have almost sworn--east-bound on forced march, and I
doubted not that each cross-road to left and right of us would likewise
show its hurrying gray column, sturdily pressing forward. The veteran
fighting men of the left wing of the Army of Northern Virginia were
boldly pushing eastward to keep their tryst with Lee. The despatch
intrusted to my care had been borne safely to Longstreet.
The keen joy of it lighted up my face, and Brennan turning toward me as
the last limping straggler disappeared over the ridge, saw it, and grew
white with anger.
"You Rebel cur!" he cried fiercely, in his sudden outburst of passion,
"what does all this mean? Where is that division bound?"
"Some change in Longstreet's front, I should judge," I answered coolly,
too happy even to note his slur.
"You know better," he retorted hotly. "The way those fellows march
tells plainly enough that they have covered all of fifteen miles since
daybreak. It is a general movement, and, by Heaven! you shall answer
Sheridan, even if you won't me."
CHAPTER XI
IN THE PRESENCE OF SHERIDAN
It had been dark for nearly an hour before we entered what was from all
appearances a large and populous camp. Hurried forward constantly,
closely surrounded by my guard, I was enabled to gain but an inadequate
conception of either its situation or extent. Yet the distance
traversed by our party after passing the outer sentries and before we
made final halt, taken in connection with evidence on every side of the
presence in considerable numbers of all the varied branches of the
service, convinced me we were within no mere brigade encampment, but
had doubtless arrived at the main headquarters of this department.
Although I noted all this in a vague way, so as to recall it
afterwards, yet I was too thoroughly fatigued to care where I was or
what became of me. Hardened as I had grown through experience to
exposure and weariness, the continuous strain undergone since I had
ridden westward from General Lee's tent had completely unnerved me. No
sooner was I thrust into the unknown darkness of a hut by the not
unkindly sergeant, than I threw myself prone on the floor, and was
sound asleep before the door had fairly closed behind him.
My rest was not destined to be a long one. It seemed I had barely
closed my eyes when a rough hand shook me again into consciousness. The
flaming glare of an uplifted pine-knot flung its radiance over half-a-
dozen figures grouped in the open doorway. A corporal, with a white
chin beard, was bending over me.
"Come, Johnny," he said tersely, "get up--you're wanted."
The instinct of soldierly obedience in which I had been so long trained
caused me to grope my way to my feet.
"What time is it, Corporal?" I asked sleepily.
"After midnight."
"Who wishes me?"
"Headquarters," he returned brusquely. "Come, move on. Fall in, men."
A moment later we were off, passing between long lines of dying fires,
tramping rapidly along a rough road which seemed to incline sharply
upward, our single torch throwing grotesque shadows on either side. The
swift movement and the crisp night air swept the vestiges of slumber
from my brain, and I began instinctively to gather together my
scattered wits for whatever new experience confronted me.
Our march was a short one, and we soon turned abruptly in at a wide-
open gateway. High pillars of brick stood upon either hand, and the
passage was well lighted by a brightly blazing fire of logs. Two
sentries stood there, and our party passed between them without
uttering a word. As we moved beyond the radiance I noted a little knot
of cavalrymen silently sitting their horses in the shadow of the high
wall. A wide gravelled walk, bordered, I thought, with flowers, led
toward the front door of a commodious house built after the colonial
type. The lower story seemed fairly ablaze with lights, and at the head
of the steps as we ascended a young officer came quickly forward.
"Is this the prisoner brought in to-night?"
The corporal pushed me forward.
"This is the man, sir."
"Very well; hold your command here until I send other orders."
He rested one hand, not unkindly, upon my arm, and his tone instantly
changed from that of command to generous courtesy.
"You will accompany me, and permit me to advise you, for your own sake,
to be as civil as possible in your answers to-night, for the 'old man'
is in one of his tantrums."
We crossed the rather dimly lighted hall, which had a sentry posted at
either end of it, and then my conductor threw open a side door, and
silently motioned for me to enter in advance of him. It was a spacious
room, elegant in all its appointments, but my hasty glance revealed
only three occupants. Sitting at a handsomely polished mahogany
writing-table near the centre of the apartment was a short, stoutly
built man, with straggly beard and fierce, stern eyes. I recognized him
at once, although he wore neither uniform nor other insignia of rank.
Close beside him stood a colonel of engineers, possibly his chief of
staff, while to the right, leaning negligently with one arm on the
mantel-shelf above the fireplace, and smiling insolently at me, was
Brennan.
The sight of him stiffened me like a drink of brandy, and as the young
aide closed the door in my rear, I stepped instantly forward to the
table, facing him who I knew must be in command, and removing my hat,
saluted.
"This is the prisoner you sent for, sir," announced the aide.
The officer, who remained seated, looked at me intently,
"Have I ever met you before?" he questioned, as though doubting his
memory.
"You have, General Sheridan," I replied, "I was with General Early
during your conference at White Horse Tavern. I also bore a flag to you
after the cavalry skirmish at Wilson's Ford."
"I remember," shortly, and as he spoke he wheeled in his chair to face
Brennan.
"I thought you reported this officer as a spy?" he said sternly. "He is
in uniform, and doubtless told you his name and rank."
"I certainly had every reason to believe he penetrated our lines in
disguise," was the instant reply. "This cavalry cloak was found with
him, and consequently I naturally supposed his claim of rank to be
false."
Sheridan looked annoyed, yet turned back to me without administering
the sharp rebuke which seemed burning upon his lips.
"Were you wearing that cavalry cloak within our lines?" he questioned
sternly.
"I was not, sir; it was indeed lying upon the floor of the hut when
Major Brennan entered, but I had nothing to do with it."
He gazed at me searchingly for a moment in silence.
"I regret we have treated you with so little consideration," he said
apologetically, "but you were supposed to be merely a spy. May I ask
your name and rank?"
"Captain Wayne, ----th Virginia Cavalry."
"Why were you within our lines?"
"I was passing through them with despatches."
"For whom?"
"You certainly realize that I must decline to answer."
"Major Brennan," he asked, turning aside again, "was this officer
searched by your party?"
"He was, sir, but no papers were found. He stated to me later that his
despatch was verbal."
"Had it been delivered?"
"I so understood him."
"Well, how did he account to you for being where he was found?"
Brennan hesitated, and glanced uneasily toward me. Like a flash the
thought came that the man was striving to keep her name entirely out of
sight: he did not wish her presence mentioned.
"There was no explanation attempted," he said finally. "He seemed
simply to be hiding there."
"Alone?"
Again I caught his eyes, and it almost seemed that I read entreaty in
them.
"Excepting the wife of the mountaineer," he answered hoarsely.
"Is this true?" asked Sheridan, his stern face fronting me.
I made my decision instantly. There might be some reason, possibly her
own request, whereby her being alone with me that night should remain
untold. Very well, it would never be borne to other ears through any
failure of my lips to guard the secret. She had voluntarily pledged
herself to go to Sheridan in my defence; until she did so, her secret,
if secret indeed it was, should remain safe with me. I could do no less
in honor.
"It is not altogether true," I said firmly, "and no one knows this
better than Major Brennan. I was there, as I told him, wholly because
of an accident upon the road, but as to its particulars I must most
respectfully decline to answer."
"You realize what such a refusal may mean to you?"
"I understand fully the construction which may unjustly be placed upon
it by those who desire to condemn me, but at present I can make no more
definite reply. I have reason to believe the full facts will be
presented to you by one in whose word you will have confidence."
I caught a gleam of positive delight in Brennan's eyes, and instantly
wondered if this seeming reluctance upon his part was not merely a
clever mode of tricking me into silence,--into what might seem an
insolent contempt of Federal authority. I would wait and see. There
would surely be ample time for her to act if she desired to do so.
Anyway, I was little disposed to find shelter behind a woman's skirts.
Sheridan straightened in his chair, and looked across the table at me
almost angrily.
"Very well, sir," he said gravely. "Your fate is in your own hands, and
will depend very largely upon your replies to my questions. You claim
to have been the bearer of despatches, and hence no spy, yet you
possess nothing to substantiate your claim. As your regiment is with
Lee, I presume you were seeking Longstreet. Were your despatches
delivered?"
"I have reason to believe so."
"By yourself?"
"By the sergeant who accompanied me, and who continued the journey
after I was detained."
"Is Lee contemplating an immediate movement?"
"General Sheridan," I exclaimed indignantly, "you must surely forget
that I am an officer of the Confederate Army. You certainly have no
reason to expect that I will so far disregard my obvious duty as to
answer such a question."
"Your refusal to explain why you were hiding within our lines is ample
reason for my insistence," he said tartly, "and I am not accustomed to
treating spies with any great consideration, even when they claim Rebel
commissions. You are not the first to seek escape in that way. Was your
despatch the cause of the hurried departure of Longstreet's troops
eastward?"
This last question was hurled directly at me, and I noticed that every
eye in the room was eagerly scanning my face. I had the quick, fiery
temper of a boy then, and my cheeks flushed.
"I positively decline to answer one word relative to the despatches
intrusted to me," I said deliberately, and my voice shook with sudden
rush of anger. "And no officer who did not dishonor the uniform he wore
would insult me with the question."
A bombshell exploding in the room could not have astonished them as did
my answer. I realized to the full the probable result, but my spirit
was high, and I felt the utter uselessness of prolonging the interview.
Sooner or later the same end must come.
Sheridan's face, naturally flushed, instantly grew crimson, and a
dangerous light flamed into his fierce eyes. For a moment he seemed
unable to speak; then he thundered forth:
"You young fool! I can tell you that you will speak before another
twenty-four hours, or I'll hang you for a spy if it cost me my command.
Major Brennan, take this young popinjay to the Mansion House under
guard."
Brennan stepped forward, smiling as if he enjoyed the part assigned to
him.
"Come on, you Johnny," he said coarsely, his hand closing heavily on my
arm. Then, seeming unable to repress his pleasure at the ending of the
interview, and his present sense of power, he bent lower, so that his
insolent words should not reach the others, and hissed hotly:
"Stealing women is probably more in your line than this."
At the sneering words, and the insulting look which accompanied them,
my blood, already boiling, leaped into sudden fire. All the fierce
hatred engendered within me by his past treatment, his cowardly
insinuations, his unknown yet intimate relationship to the woman I
loved, flamed up in irresistible power, and I struck him with my open
hand across the lips.
"You miserable hound!" I cried madly. "None but a coward would taunt a
helpless prisoner. I only hope I may yet be free long enough to write
the lie with steel across your heart."
Before he could move Sheridan was upon his feet and between us.
"Back, both of you!" he ordered sharply. "There shall be no brawling
here. Major Brennan, you will remain; I would speak with you further
regarding this matter. Lieutenant Caton, take charge of the prisoner."
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