Part 28 (2/2)
”It's begun again,” growled Harry, who wanted both of us to suffer all we could. Gholson led us through the camp. A large proportion of the men were sleeping when as yet it was hardly night.
”Has the brigade got marching orders?” I asked, and he said the three regiments had, though not the battery. He pa.s.sed over to me two pint bottles filled, corked, and dangling from his fingers by a stout double twine on the neck of each. ”Every man has them,” he said; ”hang one on each side of your belt in front of your pistol.”
I held them up and scowled from them to Harry, and we both laughed, so transparent was Gholson's purpose to get every one away from our patient who yearned to be near her. ”One in front of each pistol,” I said, so tying them; ”but use the pistols first, I suppose.”
”Yes,” replied Gholson, ”pistols first, and then the turpentine.” Whereat Harry and I exchanged glances again, it came so pat that Scott Gholson should be a dispenser of inflammables. At a house a mile behind the camp the surgeon stood waiting for us. He frowned at me the instant he saw Charlotte, and I heard him swear. As we bore her in with Gholson and me next her head she murmured to him:
”Mr. Gholson, when does the command move?”
”At twelve,” he replied, and I bent and softly added ”That's why--”
”Yes,” she said, with a quick, understanding look, and wiped her lips as daintily as if it were with wine they were crimsoned.
L
THE BOTTOM OF THE WHIRLWIND
On my way back through camp with Gholson I saw old Dismukes. He called me to him, quit his cards, and led me into his tent. There, very beguilingly, he questioned me at much length, evidently seeking to draw from the web of my replies the thread of Ferry's and Charlotte's story; and as I saw that he believed in both of them with all his brutal might, I let him win a certain success. ”Head laid wide open!” he said gleefully, and boiled over with happy blasphemings.
I left him, found supper, and had been long asleep tinder a tree, when I grabbed savagely at some one for silently shaking me, and found it was Ned Ferry. His horse's bridle was in his hand; his face was more filled with the old pain than I had ever seen it; he spoke low and hurriedly. ”Come, tell me what this means.”
In an envelope addressed to him in the handwriting I had first seen at Lucius Oliver's I found a scripture-text, a heading torn from a tract which the chaplain may have sent in to Charlotte in the morning. I turned it to the light of my fire. Under this printed line she had pencilled her name.
I asked if he had seen her. ”Ah, no! the Doctor has drugged her to sleep; but that woman who came with you was still in the parlor, reading a book, and she gave me this. What does it mean?”
”Lieutenant,” I replied, choking with dismay, ”why mind her meanings now? Ought you not rather to ignore them? She is fevered, dejected, overwrought. Why, sir, she is the very woman to say and mean things now which she would never say or mean at any other time!” But my tone must have shown that I was only groping in desperation after anything plausible, and he waved my suggestions away.
”The Doctor says that woman has been reading her an exciting story.”
”Yes, and that helps to account--”
”Richard, it helps the wrong way; I know that story. After hearing that story she is, yes! the one woman of all women to send me this.”
I took it again. The signature was extended in full, with the surname blackly underlined. The first clause of the print, too, was so treated. ”Keep thy heart,” it read; ”Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.--Charlotte Oliver.”
”Why, Lieutenant, that is just what you have done--”
”You think so? But I have done. I will keep it no longer! Ah, I never kept it; 'twas she! Without taking it from me she kept it--'with all diligence'; otherwise I should have lost it--and her, too--and all that is finest and hardest to keep--long ago. Give me that paper; come; saddle up; you may go with me if you want, as my courier.” No bugle had sounded, yet the whole camp was softly and diligently astir. We rode toward the staff tents; the pulse of enterprise enlivened him once more, though he clung to the same theme. ”I have her heart now, Smith, and I will keep that with all diligence, for out of that are the issues of my life--if I live. And if I do live I will have her if I have to steal her even from herself, as last night from the Yankees.”
Three hours later the stars still gleamed down through the balmy night above the long westward-galloping column of our brigade, that for those three hours had not slackened from the one unmitigated speed. The Federal regiment of whose plans Charlotte had apprised Ferry had been camped well to southward of this course, but in the day just past they had marched to the north, intending a raid around our right and into our rear. To-night they were resting in a wide natural meadow through the middle of which ran this road we were on. Around the southern edge of this inviting camp-ground by a considerable stream of water; the northern side was on rising ground and skirted by woods, and in these woods as day began to break stood our brigade, its presence utterly unsuspected in all that beautiful meadow whitened over with lane upon lane of the tents of the regiment of Federal cavalry, whose pickets we had already silently surprised and captured. Now, as warily as quails, we moved along an unused, woodcutters' road and began to trot up a gentle slope beyond whose crest the forest sank to the meadow. We were within a few yards of this crest, when a small mounted patrol came up from the other side, stood an instant profiled against the sky, bent low, gazed, wheeled and vanished.
Over the crest we swept after them at a gallop and saw them half-way down an even incline, going at a mad run and yelling ”Saddle up! saddle up! the rebels are coming! saddle up!” The bugles had begun the reveille; it ceased, and the next instant they were sounding the call To Arms. It was only a call to death; already we were half across the short decline and coming like a tornado; in the white camp the bluecoats were running hither and yon deaf to the brave shoutings of their captains; above the swelling thunder of our hoofs rose the mad yell of the onset; and now carbines peal and pistols crack, and here are the tents so close you may touch them, and yonder is one already in a light blaze, and at every hand and under every horse's foot is the crouching, quailing, falling foe, the air is one crash of huzzas and groans, screams, shots and commands, horses with riders and horses without plunge through the flames and smoke of the burning tents, and again and again I see Ned Ferry with the flat of his unstained sword strike pistol or carbine from hands too brave to cast them tamely down, and hear him cry ”Throw down your arms! For G.o.d's sake throw down your arms and run to the road! run to the public road!”
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