Part 67 (1/2)

”What did you thwim for? Where'th your jacket? What's your wegiment?--'65th Virginia?'--Well, 65th Virginia, you appear to me a detherter--”

Steve began to whine. ”Gawd, general, I ain't no deserter. If you'll jest have patience and listen, I kin explain--”

”Time'th lacking, thir. You get up behind one of my couriers, and if Jackthon's crothed I'll return you to your colonel. Take him up, O'Brien.”

”General Magruder, sor, can't I make him trot before me face like any other water-spaniel? He's wet and dhirty, sor.”

”All wight, all wight, O'Brien. Come on, Gwiffith. Nine-Mile road and Thavage Thation!”

The officers rode on. The courier regarded with disfavour the unlucky Steve. ”Forward march, dhirty, desartin', weak-kneed crayture that ye be! Thrott!”

Beyond the pine wood the two came into an area which had been overtrampled. Indescribably dreary under the hot sun looked the smouldering heaps and mounds of foodstuffs, the wrecked wagons, the abandoned picks and spades and shovels, the smashed camp equipage, broken kettles, pots and pans, the blankets, bedding, overcoats, torn and trampled in the mire, or piled together and a dull red fire slow creeping through the ma.s.s. Medicine-chests had been split by a blow of the axe, the vials s.h.i.+vered, and a black mire made by the liquids.

Ruined weapons glinted in the sun between the furrows of a ruined cornfield; bags of powder, boxes of cartridges, great chests of shot and sh.e.l.l showed, half submerged in a tortuous creek. At the edge of the field, there was a cannon spiked and overturned. Here, too, were dead horses, and here, too, were the black, ill-omened birds. There was a trench as well, a long trench just filled, with two or three little head boards bearing some legend. ”Holy Virgin!” said the courier, ”if I was a horse, a child, or a woman, I'd hate war with a holy hathred!”

Steve whined at his stirrup. ”Look a-here, sir, I can't keep up! My foot's awful sore. Gawd don't look my way, if it ain't! I ain't desertin'. Who'd I desert to? They've all gone. I wanted a bath an' I swum the river. The regiment'll be over directly an' I'll rejoin. Take my oath, I will!”

”You trot along out of this plundering mess,” ordered the courier. ”I'm thinking I'll drop you soon, but it won't be just here! Step lively now!”

The two went on through the blazing afternoon suns.h.i.+ne, and in a straggling wood came upon a deserted field hospital. It was a ghastly place. The courier whistled reflectively, while the imaginative Steve felt a sudden sinking at the pit of the stomach, together with a cold dizziness and perspiration on the backs of his hands. The mind of the courier, striking out vigorously for some kind of a stimulant, laid hold of anger as the nearest efficient. ”Bedad,” he cried, ”ye desartin', dhirty hound! it's right here I'll be afther lavin' ye, with the naked dead and the piles of arms and legs! Let go of my bridle or I'll strike you with my pistol b.u.t.t! Ughrrrrr!--Get out of this, Peggy!”

They left, mare and man, in a cloud of pine needles and parched earth.

Steve uttered something like a howl and went too, running without regard to an in truth not mythical sore foot. He ran after the disappearing courier, and when presently he reached a vast patch of whitened raspberry bushes giving on a not wide and very dusty road and halted panting, it was settled forever that he couldn't go back to the plundering possibilities or to his original station by the Chickahominy, since to do so would be to pa.s.s again the abandoned field hospital. He kept his face turned from the river and somewhat to the east, and straggled on. A signpost told him that the dusty ribbon was the Nine-Mile road. Presently, among the berry bushes, he came upon a grey artilleryman sitting winding a strip of cloth around a wound in his leg.

The artilleryman gave him further information. ”Magruder's moving this way. I was ahead with my battery,--Griffith's brigade,--and some stinking sharpshooters sitting with the buzzards in the trees let fly at us! Result, I've got to hobble in at the end of the parade!--What's the matter with you?”

”Captain,” said Steve, ”asked for a volunteer to swim the river (we're on the other side) and find out 'bout the currents. I swam it, and Gawd!

jest then a Yankee battery opened and I couldn't get back! Regiment'll be over after awhile I reckon.”

The two sat down among the berry bushes. The road was visible, and upon it a great approaching pillar of dust. ”Head of our column,” said the artilleryman. ”Four roads and four pursuing forces, and if we can only all strike Mac at once there'll be a battle that'll lay over Friday's, and if he gets to his gunboats at all it will be in a damaged condition.

Magruder's bearing toward Savage Station, and if Jackson's across the Chickahominy we might do for Fitz John Porter--eh?”

”We might,” agreed Steve. ”I'll lie a little flatter, because the sun and the wetting has made my head ache. They're fine troops.”

The grey regiments went by, long swinging tread and jingling accoutrements. A major-general, riding at the head of the column, had the air of a Roman consul, round, strong, bullet head, which he had bared to the breeze that was springing up, close-cropped black hair, short black beard, high nose, bold eyes, a red in his cheeks. ”That's General Lafayette McLaws,” volunteered the artilleryman. ”That's General Kershaw with him. It's Kershaw's brigade. See the palmetto on the flags.”

Kershaw's went by. Behind came another high and thick dust cloud. ”Cobb and Toombs and Barksdale and Kemper and Semmes,” said the artilleryman.

”Suppose we canter on? I'll break a staff from those little heaven trees there. We might get to see the show, after all. York River Railroad's just over there.”

They went on, first to the ailanthus bushes, then, leaving the road to the troops, they struck across a ruined cornfield. Stalk and blade and ta.s.sel, and the intertwining small, pale-blue morning-glory, all were down. Gun-wheels, horses' hoofs, feet of men had made of naught the sower's pains. The rail fence all around was burning. In a furrow the two found a knapsack, and in it biscuit and jerked beef. ”My Aunt Eliza!

I was hungry!” said the artilleryman. ”Know how the Israelites felt when they gathered manna off the ground!” Out of the cornfield they pa.s.sed into a s.h.a.ggy finger of forest. Suddenly firing broke out ahead. Steve started like a squirrel. ”That's close to us!”

”There's the railroad!” said the other. ”There's Fair Oaks Station. They had entrenchments there, but the scouts say they evacuated them this morning. If they make a stand, reckon it'll be at Savage Station. That musketry popping's down the line! Come on! I can go pretty fast!”

He plied his staff. They came into another ragged field, narrow and sloping to a stretch of railroad track and the smoking ruins of a wooden station. Around were numerous earthworks, all abandoned. Beyond the station, on either side the road, grey troops were ma.s.sing. The firing ahead was as yet desultory. ”Just skirmishers pa.s.sing the time of day!”

said the artilleryman. ”h.e.l.lo! What're they doing on the railroad track?

Well, I should think so!”

Across the track, immediately below them, had been thrown by the retreating army a very considerable barricade. Broken wagons, felled trees, logs and a great ma.s.s of earth spanned it like a landslide. Over and about it worked a grey company detailed to clear the way. From the edge of a wood, not many yards up the track, came an impatient chorus.

”Hurry up, boys! hurry up! hurry up! We want to get by--want to get by--”