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.
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.”
I almost imagined I was looked upon as a soldier crazed by his sufferings; I heard a whisper, “Out of his head,” yet as I gazed earnestly into those stern gray eyes which fronted me, they suddenly grew moist.
“Surely,” he said gravely, “I have seen your face before. To what regiment were you attached?”
“The ——th Virginia Cavalry.”
The buzzing of voices about me instantly ceased, and General Lee took a step nearer.
“The ——th Virginia? You were a captain? Surely this is not Philip Wayne?”
So deeply surprised was his tone, so uncertain his recognition, I scarcely knew what to answer. Had I lost my very identity? was this all a dream?
“I am Captain Wayne, Troop D, ——th Virginia.”
He grasped my hand warmly between both his own, and his kindly face lit up instantly with a rare smile.
“Captain Wayne, I cannot tell you how greatly I rejoice at your safe return. We certainly owe you an apology for this poor reception, but you were reported as killed in action many months ago. I doubt not Colonel Maitland truly believed he looked upon a ghost when you first accosted him.”
For the moment I was unable to speak, so deeply did his words affect me.
“I fear, Captain Wayne,” he continued gravely, yet retaining my hand within his own, “that I must bring you sad news.”
“Sad news?” Instantly there came to me the thought of my widowed mother. “Not from home, I trust, sir?”
“No,” with great tenderness, “your mother, I believe, remains well; yet the words I must speak are nevertheless sad ones, and must prove a severe shock to you. There is no ——th Virginia.”
“No ——th Virginia?” I echoed, scarce able to comprehend his meaning, “no ——th Virginia? I beg you to explain, sir; surely”—and I looked about me upon the various uniforms of the service present—“the war has not yet ceased—we have not surrendered?”
“No, my boy,” and the old hero reverently bared his gray head in the sunlight, “but the ——th Virginia gave itself to the South that day in the Shenandoah.”
I must have grown very white, for a young aide sprang hastily forward and passed his arm about me. Yet I scarcely realized the action, for my whole thought was with the dead.
“Do you mean they are all gone?” I questioned, tremblingly, hardly able to grasp the full dread import of such ghastly tidings. “Surely, General Lee, some among them must have come back.”
“So few,” he responded soberly, his hat still retained in his hand, “so very few that we could only scatter them in other commands. But you have not yet fully recovered your strength. You must not remain longer standing here. Major Holmes, will you kindly conduct Captain Wayne to my headquarters, and see that he is furnished with a uniform suitable to his rank. For the present he will serve as extra aide upon my personal staff.”
I turned away, the Major leading me as if I had been a child. I walked as a man stunned by some sudden, unexpected blow. Speech was impossible, for all sensation seemed dead within me, save the one vivid memory of those loved comrades who had perished on the field. I could not realize, even dimly, in that awful hour, that of all those gallant fellows who had ridden so often at my side not enough remained alive to retain the old regimental name and number. The officer with me, himself a tried, true soldier, comprehended something of the agitation which swayed me, and respecting my silence, made no attempt to break my sorrowful reverie by speech. At the door of the room assigned me for present quarters, he left me with a warm, sympathetic pressure of the hand, and feeling utterly worn out, disheartened to a degree I had never before known, I flung myself face downward upon the cot and burst into tears.
With true soldierly kindness they left me to conquer my own sorrow and depression, and when I finally joined the mess upon the following day, clad now in fit uniform, I had regained no small measure of self-restraint, and with it came likewise renewal of the military spirit. My welcome proved extremely cordial, and the conversation of the others present soon placed in my possession whatever of incident had occurred since that disastrous day of battle in the valley. It was not much, other than a variety of desultory skirmishing, together with the steady closing in upon our lines of the overwhelming masses of the enemy, but I noted that the officers of the staff no longer hesitated to voice frankly the prevailing sentiment that the vast and unequal struggle was now rapidly drawing to its close. No attempt was made to conceal our weakness, nor to disguise the fact that we were making a last desperate stand. It was evident to all that nothing now remained but to fold our tattered battle-flags with honor.
Directly opposite me, at the long and rather scantily furnished mess-table, was seated a captain of infantry, quite foreign in appearance,—a tall, slender man, wearing a light-colored moustache and goatee. His name, as I gathered from the conversation, was Carlson, and I was considerably surprised at the fixedness with which his eyes were fastened upon me during the earlier part of the meal. Thinking we might have met somewhere before, I ransacked my memory in vain for any recollection which would serve to account for his evident interest in me. Finally, not a little annoyed by the persistency of his stare, I ventured to ask, as pleasantly as possible:
“Captain Carlson, do I remind you of some one, since you regard me so intently?”
The man instantly flushed all over his fair face at this direct inquiry.
“It vas not dat” (he almost stammered in sudden confusion, speaking quite brokenly), “bot, sair, it haf come to me dat you vos an insulter of womens, an' had refuse to fight mit mens. I know not; it seems not so.”
I was upon my feet in an instant, scarcely crediting my own ears, yet on fire with indignation.
“I know not what you may mean,” I said, white with anger. “But I hold you personally accountable for those words, and you shall discover that I will fight 'mit mens.'”
He pushed his chair hastily back, his face fairly crimson, and began to stammer an explanation; but Maitland interfered.
“What does all this mean, Carlson?” he exclaimed sternly. “Sit down, Wayne—there is some strange mistake here.”
I resumed my chair, wondering if they had all gone crazy, yet resolved upon taking instant action if some satisfactory explanation were not at once forthcoming.
“Come, Carlson, what do you mean by addressing such language to Captain Wayne?”
“Veil,” said the Swede, so agitated by the excitement about him he could scarcely find English in which to express himself intelligibly, “it vos dis vay. I vould not insult Captain Vayne; oh, no, bot it vos told to me, an' I vould haf him to know how it all vos. It vos two months ago I go mit de flag of truce into de Federal lines at Minersville. You know dat time? I vos vaitin' for answer ven a Yankee rides oop, an' looks me all ofer like I vos a hog. 'Veil,' I say, plain like, 'vot you vant?' He say, 'I heard der vos Reb officer come in der lines, an' I rides down to see if he vos der hound vot I vanted to horsevip.' 'Veil,' I say, for it made me much mad, 'maybe you like to horsevip me?' 'No,' he says, laughing, 'it vos a damn pup in der ——th Virginia Cavalry, named Vayne, I am after,' I say, 'Vot has he done?' He says, 'He insult a voman, an' vould not fight mit me.'”
He looked about him anxiously to see if we comprehended his words.
“And what did you say?” from a dozen eager voices.
The Swede gazed at them in manifest astonishment.
“I say I knowed netting about der voman, but if he say dat an officer of der ——th Virginia Cavalry vould not fight mit him he vos a damned liar. I vould have hit him, but I vos under der flag of truce.”
I reached my hand out to him across the table.
“I thank you, Captain Carlson,” I said, “for both your message and your answer. What did this man look like?”
“He vos a pig vellow, mit a black moustache and gray eyes.”
“Do you know him?” questioned Maitland.
“His name is Brennan,” I answered slowly, “a major in the Federal service. We have already met twice in rough and tumble contests, but the next time it will be with steel.”
“There is a woman, then?”
“It seems from Captain Carlson's report he has seen fit to connect one with our difficulty.”
There was a pause, as if they waited for me to add some further explanation, but I could not—her name should never be idly discussed about a mess-table through any word of mine.
“Gentlemen,” said Maitland at last, gravely, “this is evidently a personal matter with which we have no direct concern. Captain Wayne's reputation is not one to be questioned, either as regards his chivalry toward women or his bravery in arms. I pledge you his early meeting with this major.”
They drank the toast standing, and I read in each face before me a frank, soldierly confidence and comradeship which caused my heart to glow.
This premeditated insult, which Brennan had evidently despatched broadcast in hope that through some unknown channel it might reach me, changed my entire relationship with the man. Heretofore, while feeling deep resentment toward him, I yet was strongly inclined to avoid any personal meeting. Fear had nothing whatever to do with this shrinking on my part, nor would I have deliberately avoided him, yet as the husband of Edith Brennan I realized that if he suffered seriously at my hands it must for ever separate us. I felt more and more deeply the shame of loving the wife of another, and certainly I could never bring myself to advertise her as in any way the cause of so disgraceful a brawl. Far better was it for me to suffer in silence any taunts and degradations he chose to place upon me. Surely I loved her well enough to remain patient for her sake.
But now all this had been changed by a word. His deliberate attempt to soil my reputation among officers of my own corps left me no choice but that of a resort to arms. I have never felt that Brennan was at heart a bad man; he was hard, stern, revengeful, yet I have no doubt under different circumstances I might even have valued him highly as a comrade or a friend. There is no demon like jealousy; and his early distrust of me, fostered by that mad disease, had apparently warped his entire nature. Yet not even for love could I consent to leave my honor undefended, and after those hateful words there could be no rest for me until our differences were settled by the stern arbitrament of the naked blade. All prudence to the winds, no opportunity of meeting him should now be cast aside.
I decided this carefully before falling asleep, and had almost determined upon seeking release from immediate duty that I might hunt him out even within the fancied security of his own camp. This latter plan, however, was instantly halted by those events which crowded swiftly upon me. The coming day was barely gray in the east when I was awakened by a heavy pounding upon the door. A smart-looking orderly stood without.
“Captain Wayne?” he asked.
“That is my name. What have you, my man?”
“Compliments of Colonel Maitland, chief of staff, sir,” he said, handing me a folded paper.
I opened it eagerly, for I was more than ready to welcome any occurrence which would help to change the tenor of my thought.
“Dear Wayne:” the private note read, “Believing you would be glad to have the detail, I have just arranged to send you at once upon some active service. Please report at these quarters immediately, fully equipped for the field.”
Glad! It was the very medicine I most needed, and within twenty minutes of my receipt of this communication I was with Maitland, thanking him warmly for his thoughtfulness.
“Not another word, Wayne,” he insisted. “It is not much, a mere scouting detail over neutral territory, and will probably prove dull enough. I only hope it may help to divert your mind a trifle. Now listen—you are to proceed with twenty mounted men of the escort west as far as the foot-hills, and are expected to note carefully three things: First, the condition of forage for the sustenance of a wagon train; second, what forces of Federal troops, if any, are along the Honeywell; and third, the gathering of all information obtainable as to the reported consolidation of guerillas for purposes of plunder between the lines. If time suffice, you might cross over into the valley of the Cowskin and learn the condition of forage there as well. A guide will accompany your party, and you are to avoid contact with the enemy as far as possible. Your men carry five days' rations. You understand fully?”
“I do, sir; I presume I am to start at once?”
“Your squad, under command of Sergeant Ebers, is already waiting outside.”
I found them a sturdy looking lot, but, as they composed a portion of the commander's personal guard, somewhat better attired than I was accustomed to seeing Confederate soldiers. I possessed a field officer's prejudice relative to escort soldiery, yet their equipment looked well, they sat their horses easily, and I could find nothing worthy of criticism. I should have preferred riding at the head of men from my old troop, but in all probability we would none of us be called upon to draw a sabre.
“Are you all ready, Sergeant?” I asked of the rather heavy-weight German who stood fronting me, his broad, red face as impassive as though carved from stone.
“Ve vos, Captain.”
“Where is the guide?”
“Dot is him, mit der mule, ain't it?” he answered, pointing with one huge hand down the road.
“Very well, we will pick him up then as we go.” I cared so little as to whether or not he accompanied us at all, that we had advanced some distance before the thought of him again occurred to me. I knew the gentry fairly well, and had experienced in the past so many evidences of their stupidity, if not actual disloyalty, as to prefer my own knowledge of the country to theirs. My thought, indeed, for several miles was not at all with the little party of troopers jogging steadily at my heels, nor, in truth, was it greatly concerned with the fate of the expedition. That was but service routine, and I rode forward carelessly enough, never once dreaming that every hour of progress was bearing me toward the most important adventure of my life. So I feel we constantly advance into the future; and it is well that we do not know, for few would possess the necessary courage if beforehand we might perceive the sorrows and the dangers.
Outside my military duties I had but one thought in those days—Edith Brennan. The great struggle was rapidly drawing to its close; hope of future military preferment could no longer inspire a Confederate soldier, for we realized fully we were battling in a lost cause. All ambition which I might otherwise have experienced was therefore concentrated by this fate upon the woman I loved. And how earnestly I endeavored not to love her; how I sought to stifle such feeling, to remain true to what I deemed my highest duty to her and to my own honor! And yet she remained my constant dream. I thought of her now as I rode into the west. Somewhere out yonder, amid those distant blue hills—ay! even within the very zone of my present duty—it was possible she yet waited for the war to cease. I wished in my heart I might again meet her, and then roundly denounced myself as a cur for having such a desire. Yet again and again would the fond hope recur, surging up unbidden into my brain as I rode steadily forward, oblivious of both distance and pace, the sinking sun full in my eyes, yet utterly forgetful of the hoof-beats pounding along behind me. It was the German sergeant who recalled me to the responsibilities of command.
“Captain,” he exclaimed apologetically, riding up to my side, and wiping his round perspiring face with great energy, “ve are riding too hard, ain't ve? Mein Gott, but der horses vill give out ontirely, already.”
“Is that so?” I asked in surprise at his words. A single swift glance around convinced me he was correct, for the mounts were exceedingly soft, and already looked nearly played out from our sharp pace. “Very well, Ebers, we will halt here.”
With a sigh of relief he drew back, and as he did so my eyes fell for the first time upon the guide. As I live, it was Jed Bungay, and when I stared at him in sudden amazement he broke into a broad grin.
he quoted gravely, his eyes brightening at my recognition. “Durn if I didn't begin ter think as how ye'd gone an' clar fergot me, Cap.”
“Not a bit of it, Jed,” and I rode up to him and extended my hand. “But how came you here? Are you the guide?”
“Sure thing, Cap; know this yere kintry like a buk. 'Jaded horsemen from the west, at evening to the castle pressed.' By gum, you put Beelzebub an' me through a blamed hard jolt of it so fur.”
“Beelzebub?”
“Ye bet, ther muel; I reckon as how ye ain't gone an' fergot him, hev ye?” and the little man squirmed in the delight of his vivid recollection. “'One blast upon his bugle horn is worth a thousand men.' But ye did ride like thunder, Cap, that's a fac', an' I ain't ther only one done up, neither. Jist take a squint et thet fat Dutchman thar.”
The fleshy Sergeant was undoubtedly fatigued, yet he was a thorough soldier, a strict disciplinarian, and although he moved as if his coarse army trousers were constant torture, he was not guilty of omitting any known requirement of his office.
“Chones”, he shouted impressively, “dot is not a good vay to tie dot horse. By Chiminy, he vould break his neck mit der rope. Glen, vy you makes play mit der gun dot vay? Donnerwetter! ven I speak mit you, stand op mit der little finger to der seam of der pantaloons. You vill never be no good.”
“Ebers,” I interrupted, “let the men rest as they please. I regret having ridden so hard, but I am used to soldiers who are toughened in field work. Are you pretty sore, Sergeant?”
“By Chiminy, I am, Captain; der skin vos rubbed off me by der saddle,” he answered, touching the afflicted part tenderly. “It vos der rackin' gait mit der horse vot did it. He is der vorst horse dot ever I ride.”
“Well, get as comfortable as you can, and I'll try to be more thoughtful in the future. Bungay, what has become of Maria?”
The little man's eyes suddenly filled with tears.
“I jist don't know, Cap,” he answered mournfully.
“Whin I got hum ther ol' cabin hed bin plum burnt down, nary stick o' it left, by gum! an' Mariar she wus clean gone. Hain't seed neither hide ner hair o' her since, thet's a fac'. An' I sorter drifted back ter you uns 'cause I didn't hev nowhar else ter go.”
“Did you hunt for her among the old plantations along the valley?” I asked, deeply touched by his evident feeling. “She very likely sought refuge in some of those houses.”
He looked at me in surprise. “I reckon, Cap, as how ye don't know much 'bout whut's a goin' on in ther valley fer ther las' few months,” he said soberly, rubbing down his mule as he spoke. “Tell ye whut, thar jist hain't no plantation houses left thar now, thet's a fac', leastwise not north o' ther lines we uns sorter hol' onto yit. Sheridan he played hell with his cavalry raids, an' whut the blue-bellies left ther durned guerillas an' bushwhackers wiped up es clean es a slate. Durn if a crow wudn't starve ter deth in ther valley now. Why, Cap, them thar deserters an' sich truck is organized now till they're mighty nigh an army, an' they don't skeer fer nuthin' les' ner a reg'ment. I see more ner a hundred an' fifty in one bunch up on ther White Briar two week ago, an' they're worse ner a parcel er pirates. I reckon as how they got Mariar, but I 'll bet she giv 'em a hot ol' time afore she done quit.”
Rumors of this state of affairs to north and west of our defending lines had already reached me,—indeed, the verification had formed part of my instructions; but Bungay's homely yet graphic description made the situation appear terribly real, and my thought went instantly forth to those I knew who might even then be exposed to this great and unexpected danger. That it was indeed menacing and constantly growing worse I could not doubt; the certainty of our early defeat was leading to almost wholesale desertions, and doubtless many of these went to swell those lawless ranks, whose sole purpose was plunder, and whose safe rendezvous was the inaccessible mountains. Wherever the guarding armies left neutral ground, there these bands overflowed and inaugurated a reign of terror. What they had been in their weakness I knew well through experiences of the past; what they might become in strength I could readily conjecture,—wild wolves of the hills, to whom human life was of no account, the fierce spawn of civil war. The very conception of Edith Brennan in such hands as these was agony. I felt I could never rest until assured of her safety, and since my orders granted me full authority to prolong my journey, I might ascertain whether or not she yet remained within the valley.
“Jed,” I asked, my mind finally settled, “do you know the old Minor plantation?”
“Ol Jedge Minor's place? Sure; it's up on ther south branch of ther Cowskin, an' used ter be quite a shebang afore ther war, an' afore ther ol' Jedge died. I reckon as how he hed ther biggest gang o' niggers in ther whole county, an' he wus allers durn gud ter 'em tew. Never no nigger ever run 'way from ol' Jedge Minor, ye bet. Mariar she used ter live thar whin Mis' Celie wus a baby.”
“Have those fellows got down that far yet?”
“Wal, I reckon not, but durn if I know fer sure, Cap. Ther whole valley is mighty bare north o' thar, fer I rid through it, an' Beelzebub hed ter live on clay, fer sure. Gee! but he wus hot. So them thar vultures hes got ter either work south er quit, an' I reckon as how they hain't likely ter quit till they hes tew. 'Sides, they're strong 'nough by now ter laugh et any sojers thar'bouts, an' ther ol' Minor place u'd make mighty gud pickin'. Thar hain't neither army ever bin up thar durin' ther war.”
“How long would it take us to reach there?”
“'Bout two days, I reckon, pervidin' ye shuck ther Dutchman.”
I turned and looked at my men in some perplexity. They were scattered along the edge of the road, and only one group had taken the precaution to build a fire. The Sergeant lay flat upon his back on a grassy knoll, his stomach rising and falling with a regularity which convinced me he was sleeping.
“Ebers,” I said sternly.
There was no response, and I could distinguish clearly his heavy breathing.
“One of you stir up the Sergeant, will you? I want to speak with him.”
A young fellow came forward grinning, and laid one hand heavily on his officer's shoulder.
“Come, Dutchy,” he said with easy familiarity, “get up!”
The Sergeant shot to an upright position like a jack-in-the-box. “Mein Gott,” he asked anxiously, “is it der Yanks vot come already?”
“Hell, no; but the Captain wants you.”
“Der Captain?” He arose ponderously, and came forward with a decidedly halting gait.
“Vos I sent for?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said; “I want you to have the men get their supper at once, as we shall be obliged to ride a good portion of the night.”
“Ride?” and his face took on an expression of genuine horror. “By Chiminy, Captain, it vos impossible. Mem Gott! it could not be done.”
“Why, what is the difficulty, Sergeant?”
“I am vounded vare I sets me down on der saddle. I am all—vot you calls it?—rare. Dunder, but it could not be.”
“I am exceedingly sorry, Ebers, and if you are unable to travel we shall be compelled to leave you behind,” I said, tired of it all by this time. “Get the men to their supper. We shall go on in an hour.”
How often since have I smiled at the expression upon his solemn round face as he turned ruefully away!