Part 53 (1/2)
He joined her, and they moved without speaking to the house.
They found the family gathered on the porch, an old horse waiting on the gravel below, and an elderly, plain man, a neighbouring farmer, standing halfway up the steps. He was speaking excitedly. Molly beckoned from above. ”Oh, Judith, it's news of the battle--”
”Yes'm,” said the farmer. ”Straight from Staunton--telegram to the colonel in Charlottesville. '_Big fighting at Port Republic. Jackson whipped s.h.i.+elds. Stonewall Brigade suffered heavily._'--No'm--That was all. We won't hear details till to-morrow.--My boy John's in the Stonewall, you know--but Lord! John always was a keerful fellow! I reckon he's safe enough--but I ain't going to tell his mother about the battle till to-morrow; she might as well have her sleep.--War's pernicious hard on mothers. I reckon we'll see the bulletin to-morrow.”
He was gone, riding in a st.u.r.dy, elderly fas.h.i.+on toward his home in a cleft of the hills. ”Major Stafford cannot stay to supper, Aunt Lucy,”
said Judith clearly. ”Is that Julius in the hall? Tell one of the boys to bring Major Stafford's horse around.”
As she spoke she turned and went into the house. The group upon the porch heard her step upon the polished stair. Unity proceeded to make conversation. A negro brought the horse around. Judith did not return.
Stafford, still and handsome, courteous and self-possessed, left farewell for her, said good-bye to the other Greenwood ladies, mounted and rode away. Unity, sitting watching him unlatch the lower gate and pa.s.s out upon the road, hummed a line--
”Nita! Juanita! Ask thy soul if we should part!”
”I have a curious feeling about that man,” said Miss Lucy, ”and yet it is the rarest thing that I distrust anybody!--What is it, Molly?”
”It's no use saying that I romance,” said Molly, ”for I don't. And when Mr. Hodge said 'the Stonewall Brigade suffered heavily' he looked _glad_--”
”Who looked glad?”
”Major Stafford. It's no use looking incredulous, for he did! There was the most curious light came into his face. And Judith saw it--”
”Molly--Molly--”
”She did! You know how Edward looks when he's white-hot angry--still and Greek looking? Well, Judith looked like that. And she and Major Stafford crossed looks, and it was like crossed swords. And then she sent for his horse and went away, upstairs to her room. She's up there now praying for the Stonewall Brigade and for Richard.”
”Molly, you're uncanny!” said Unity. ”Oh me! Love and Hate--North and South--and we'll not have the bulletin until to-morrow--”
Miss Lucy rose. ”I am going upstairs to Judith and tell her that I simply know Richard is safe. There are too many broken love stories in the world, and the Carys have had more than their share.”
XXVIII
THE LONGEST WAY ROUND
Having, in a month and ten days, marched four hundred miles, fought four pitched battles and a whole rosary of skirmishes, made of naught the operations of four armies, threatened its enemy's capital and relieved its own, the Army of the Valley wound upward toward the Blue Ridge from the field of Port Republic. It had attended s.h.i.+elds some distance down the Luray road. ”Drive them!--drive them!” had said Jackson. It had driven them then, turning on its steps it had pa.s.sed again the battlefield. Fremont's army, darkening the heights upon the further side of that river of burned bridges, looked impotently on. Fremont sh.e.l.led the meadow and the wheat fields over which ambulances and surgeons were yet moving, on which yet lay his own wounded, but his sh.e.l.ls could not reach the marching foe. Brigade after brigade, van, main and rear, cavalry, infantry, artillery, quartermaster, commissary and ordnance trains, all disappeared in the climbing forest. A cold and chilling rain came on; night fell, and a drifting mist hid the Army of the Valley. The next morning Fremont withdrew down the Valley toward Strasburg. s.h.i.+elds tarried at Luray, and the order from Was.h.i.+ngton directing McDowell to make at once his long delayed junction with McClellan upon the Chickahominy was rescinded.
The rear guard of the Army of the Valley buried the dead of Port Republic in trenches, and then it, too, vanished. To the last wagon wheel, to the last poor straggler, all was gone. It was an idiosyncrasy of Jackson's to gather and take with him every filing. He travelled like a magnet; all that belonged to him went with him. Long after dark, high on the mountain-side, an aide appeared in the rain, facing the head of the rear brigade.
”The general says have you brought off every inch of the captured guns?”
”Tell him all but one unserviceable caisson. We did not have horses for that.”
The aide galloped forward, reported, turned, and galloped back. ”General Jackson says, sir, that if it takes every horse in your command, that caisson is to be brought up before daylight.”
The other swore. ”All those miles--dark and raining!--Lieutenant Parke!--Something told me I'd better do it in the first place!”
Brigade after brigade the Army of the Valley climbed the Blue Ridge. At first the rain had been welcome, so weary and heated were the men. But it never took long for the novelty of rain to wear off. Wet and silent the troops climbed through the darkness. They had won a victory; they were going to win others. Old Jack was as great a general as Napoleon, and two or three hours ago it had seemed possible to his soldiers that history might rank them with the Old Guard. But the rain was chill and the night mournfully dark. When had they eaten? They hardly remembered, and it was an effort to lift one leg after the other. Numbers of men were dropping with sleep. All s.h.i.+vered; all felt the reaction. Back on the plain by the river lay in trenches some hundreds of their comrades.
In the rear toiled upwards ambulances filled with wounded. There were not ambulances enough; the wounded rode wherever there was room in any wagon. The less badly hurt sat or lay, dully suffering, on caissons. All as they toiled upward had visions of the field behind them. It had not been a great battlefield, as to extent and numbers engaged, but a horrible one. The height where the six guns had been, the gun which the Louisianians took--the old charcoal kiln where the guns had been planted, the ground around, the side of the ravine--these made an ugly sight between eyelid and ball! So many dead horses!--eighty of them in one place--one standing upright where he had reared and, dying, had been caught and propped by a blasted pine. So many dead men, grey and blue, lying as in pattern! And then the plain beneath, and the Stonewall's desperate fight, and the battle in the wheat! The Federal cannon had sheared the heads from the men. The soldiers, mounting through the darkness in the whistling wind and rain, saw again these headless bodies. One only, the body of a young soldier of the 2d Virginia, a brother of the colonel of the 65th, the army was carrying with it. The brother, wounded himself, had begged the body. At the first village where the army halted, he would get a coffin and lay the boy in a grave he could mark. His mother and sister could visit it then. Permission was given. It lay now in an ambulance, covered with a flag. Cleave lay upon the straw beside it, his arm flung across the breast. At its feet sat a dark and mournful figure, old Tullius with his chin propped on his knees.
The rain came down, fine as needles' points and cold. Somewhere far below a mountain stream was rus.h.i.+ng, and in the darkness the wind was sighing. The road wound higher. The lead horses, drawing a gun, stepped too near the edge of the road. The wet earth gave way. The unfortunate brutes plunged, struggled, went down and over the embankment, dragging the wheel horses after them. Gun, carriage, and caisson followed. The echoes awoke dismally. The infantry, climbing above, looked down the far wooded slopes, but incuriously. The infantry was tired, cold, and famished; it was not interested in artillery accidents. Perhaps at times the Old Guard had felt thus, with a sick and cold depression, kibed spirits as well as heels, empty of enthusiasm as of food, resolution lost somewhere in the darkness, sonority gone even from ”_l'empereur_”