Part 43 (1/2)
The a.s.sistant placed a basin and cloths. The surgeon gave a jerk of his head. ”You come on this side, Mrs. Cleave.”
”No chloroform?”
”No chloroform. Contraband of war. d.a.m.ned chivalric contest.”
Late in the afternoon, as she was crossing the hall upon some other of the long day's tasks she heard a group of soldiers talking. There were infantry officers from the regiments left in town, and a dusty cavalryman or two--riders from the front with dispatches or orders. One with an old cut gla.s.s goblet of water in his hand talked and drank, talked and drank.
”The aide came to George H. Steuart and said, 'General Jackson orders you to pursue vigorously. He says lose no time. He says kill and capture; let as few as possible get to the Potomac. Do your best.'” He filled his gla.s.s again from the pitcher standing by. ”Steuart answers that he's of General Ewell's Division. Must take his orders from General Ewell.”
”West Point notions! Good Lord!”
”Says the aide, 'General Jackson commands General Ewell, and so may command you. His orders are that you shall pursue vigorously'--Says Steuart, 'I will send a courier to find General Ewell. If his orders are corroboratory I will at once press forward--'”
”Good G.o.d! did he think Banks would wait?”
”Old d.i.c.k was in front; he wasn't behind. Took the aide two hours to find him, sitting on Rifle, swearing because he didn't see the cavalry!
Well, he made the air around him blue, and sent back highly 'corroboratory' orders. Steuart promptly 'pressed forward vigorously,'
but Lord! Banks was halfway to the Potomac, his troops streaming by every cow path, Stonewall and the infantry advance behind him--but Little Sorrel couldn't do it alone.” He put down the gla.s.s. ”Steuart'll catch it when Old Jack reports. We might have penned and killed the snake, and now it's gotten away!”
”Never mind! It's badly hurt and it's quitting Virginia at a high rate of speed. It's left a good bit of its skin behind, too. Hawks says he's d.a.m.ned if the army shan't have square meals for a week, and Crutchfield's smiling over the guns--”
”Falligant says the men are nigh dead, officers nodding in their saddles, giving orders in their sleep. Falligant says--”
Margaret touched one of the group upon the arm. He swung round in the hall that was darkening toward sunset and swept off his hat. ”Do you think, sir, that there will be fighting to-night?”
”I think not, madam. There may be skirmishes of course--our men may cut off parties of the enemy. But there will be no general battle. It is agreed that General Banks will get across the Potomac. The troops will bivouac this side of Martinsburg.”
The wounded in the house slept or did not sleep. The young widow sat beside the dead officer. She would not be drawn away--said that she was quite comfortable, not unhappy, there was so much happiness to remember.
Hannah found a nook for the little girl and put her to bed. The officers went away. There were a thousand things to do, and, also, they must s.n.a.t.c.h some sleep, or the brain would reel. The surgeon, hollow-eyed, grey with fatigue, dropping for sleep, spoke at the open front door to the elderly lady of the house and to Margaret Cleave. ”Lieutenant Waller will die, I am afraid, though always while there is life there is hope.
No, there is nothing--I have given Mrs. Cleave directions, and his boy is a good nurse. I'll come back myself about midnight. That Louisiana youngster is all right. You might get two men and move him from that room. No; the other won't lose the foot. He, too, might be moved, if you can manage it. I'll be back--”
”I wish you might sleep yourself, doctor.”
”Shouldn't mind it. I don't expect you women do much sleeping either.
Got to do without like coffee for a while. Funny world, funny life, funny death, funny universe. Could give whoever made it a few points myself. Excuse me, ladies, I hardly know what I am saying. Yes, thank you, I see the step. I'll come back about midnight.”
The old yards up and down the old street were much trampled, shrubbery broken, fences down, the street thick dust, and still strewn with accoutrements that had been thrown away, with here and there a broken wagon. Street and pavement, there was pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing--the life of the rear of an army, and the faring to and fro on many errands of the people of the relieved town. There were the hospitals and there were the wounded in private houses. There were the dead, and all the burials for the morrow--the negroes digging in the old graveyard, and the children gathering flowers. There were the living to be cared for, the many hungry to be fed. All the town was exalted, devoted, bent on service--a little city raised suddenly to a mountain platform, set in a strange, high light, fanned by one of the oldest winds, and doing well with a clear intensity.
Miriam came and stood beside her mother, leaning her head upon the other's breast. The two seemed like elder and younger sister, no more.
There was a white jasmine over the porch, in the yard the fireflies were beginning to sparkle through the dusk. ”Dear child, are you very tired?”
”I am not tired at all. That Louisiana boy called me 'Zephine'--'Zephine!' 'Zephine, your eyes are darker, but your lips are not so red.' He said he kept all my letters over his heart--only he tore them up before the battle, tore them into little bits and gave them to the wind, so that if he fell into his hands 'l'ennemi' might not read them.”
”The doctor says that he will do well.”
”He is like Will. Oh, mother, I feel ten thousand years old! I feel as though I had always lived.”
”I, too, dear. Always. I have always borne children and they have always gone forth to war. They say there will be no fighting to-night.”