Part 15 (2/2)

”Mr. Graham,” Grace began, with an indignant flush mantling the face that had been so pale, ”I am a soldier's daughter; and if Warren believed it to be his duty--” Then she faltered, and burst into a pa.s.sion of tears, as she moaned, ”O G.o.d! it's--it's true. The bullet that struck him would inflict a deadlier wound on me;” and she hid her face on Hilland's breast and sobbed piteously.

”It is also true,” said Graham, in tones that were as grave and solemn as they were gentle, ”that your father's spirit--nay, your own--would control you. Under its influence you might not only permit but urge your husband's departure, though your heart broke a thousand times, Therefore, Hilland, I appeal to your manhood. You would be unworthy of yourself and of this true woman were you guided by pa.s.sion or excitement. As a loyal man you are bound to render your country your best service. To rush to the fray now would be the poorest aid you could give.”

”Graham talks sense,” said the major, speaking with the authority of a veteran. ”If I had to meet the enemy at once, I'd rather have a regiment of _canaille_, and cowards at that, who could obey orders like a machine, than one of hot-headed millionaires who might not understand the command 'Halt!' Mr. Graham is right again when he says that Grace will not prevent a man from doing his duty any more than her mother did.”

”What do _you_ propose to do?” asked Hilland, breathing heavily. It was evident that a tremendous struggle was going on in his breast, for it had been his daily and nightly dream to join the grand onset that should sweep slavery and rebellion out of existence.

”Simply what I advise--watch, wait, and act when I can be of the most service.”

”I yield,” said Hilland, slowly, ”for I suppose you are right. You all know well, and you best of all, sweetheart”--taking his wife's face in his hands and looking down into her tearful eyes--”that here is the treasure of my life. But you also know that in all the past there have come times when a man must give up everything at the need of his country.”

”And when that time comes,” sobbed his wife, ”I--I--will not--” But she could not finish the sentence.

Graham stole away, awed, and yet with a peace in his heart that he had not known for years. He had saved his friend from the first wild melee of the war--the war that promised rest and nothingness to him, even while he kept his promise to ”live and do his best.”

CHAPTER XIX

THE BLOOD-RED SKY

Days and weeks of intense excitement followed the terrific Union reverses which at one time threatened the loss of the national capital; and the North began to put forth the power of which it was only half conscious, like a giant taken unawares; for to all, except men of Hilland's hopeful confidence, it soon became evident that the opponent was a giant also. It is not my purpose to dwell upon this, however, except as it influenced the actors of my story.

Hilland, having given up his plans, was contentedly carrying out the line of action suggested by his friend. By all the means within his power he was furthering the Union cause, and learned from experience how much more he could accomplish as a business man than by shouldering a musket, or misleading a regiment in his ignorance. He made frequent trips to New York, and occasionally went to Was.h.i.+ngton. Graham often accompanied him, and also came and went on affairs of his own.

Ostensibly he was acting as correspondent for the journal to which he had written when abroad. In reality, he was studying the great drama with an interest that was not wholly patriotic or scientific. He had found an antidote. The war, dreaded so unspeakably by many, was a boon to him; and the fierce excitement of the hour a counter-irritant to the pain at heart which he believed had become his life-long heritage.

He had feared the sorrowful reproaches of his aunt, as he gave himself almost wholly up to its influences, and became an actor in the great struggle. In this he was agreeably mistaken, for the spirited old lady, while averse to politics as such, had become scarcely less belligerent than the major since the fall of Sumter. She cheerfully let him come and go at his will; and in his loving grat.i.tude it must be admitted that his letters to her were more frequent and interesting than those to the journal whose badge was his pa.s.sport to all parts of our lines.

He spent every hour he could with her, also; and she saw with pleasure that his activity did him good. Grace thought he found few opportunities to pa.s.s an evening with them. She was exceedingly grateful--first, that he had interpreted her so n.o.bly, but chiefly because it was his influence and reasoning that had led her husband into his present large, useful, happy action; and she could not help showing it.

Graham's position of correspondent gave him far better opportunities for observation than he could have had in any arm of the service. Of late he was following the command of General Patterson, believing from his sanguinary vaporing that in his army would be seen the first real work of the war.[Footnote: Patterson wrote to the Secretary of War: ”You have the means; place them at my disposal, and shoot me if I do not use them to advantage.”] He soon became convinced, however, that the veteran of the Mexican War, like the renowned King of France, would march his ”twenty thousand men” up the hill only to march them down again. Hearing that McDowell proposed to move against the enemy at Mana.s.sas, he hastily repaired to Was.h.i.+ngton, hoping to find a general that dared to come within cannon-range of the foe.

A sultry day late in the month of July was drawing to a close. Hilland and his wife, with Mrs. Mayburn, were seated under the apple-tree, at which point the walk intersected with the main one leading to the street. The young man, with a heavy frown, was reading from an ”extra”

a lurid outline of General McDowell's overwhelming defeat and the mad panic that ensued. Grace was listening with deep solicitude, her work lying idle in her lap. It had been a long, hard day for her. Of late her father had been deeply excited, and now was sleeping from sheer reaction. Mrs. Mayburn, looking as grim as fate, sat bolt upright and knitted furiously. One felt instinctively that in no emergency of life could she give way to a panic.

”Well,” cried Hilland, springing to his feet and das.h.i.+ng the paper to the ground with something like an oath, ”one battle has been fought in America at which I thank the immortal G.o.ds I was not present. Why did not McDowell drive a flock of sheep against the enemy, and furnish his division commanders with shepherds' crooks? Oh, the burning, indelible disgrace of it all! And yet--and the possibility of it makes me feel that I would destroy myself had it happened--I might have run like the blackest sheep of them all. I once read up a little on the subject of panics; and there's a mysterious, awful contagion about them impossible to comprehend. These men were Americans; they had been fighting bravely; what the devil got into them that they had to destroy themselves and everything in an insane rush for life?”

”Oh, Warren, see the sky!” cried his wife, the deep solicitude of her expression giving place to a look of awe.

They all turned to the west, and saw a sunset that from the excitable condition of their minds seemed to reflect the scenes recently enacted, and to portend those in prospect now for years to come. Lines of light and broken columns of cloud had ranged themselves across the western arch of the sky, and almost from the horizon to the zenith they were blood-red. So deep, uniform, and ensanguined was the crimson, that the sense of beauty was subordinated to the thought of the national tragedy reflected in the heavens. Hilland's face grew stern as he looked, and Grace hid hers on his breast.

After a moment, he said, lightly, ”What superst.i.tious fools we are!

It's all an accidental effect of light and cloud.”

A cry from Mrs. Mayburn caused them to turn hastily, and they saw her rus.h.i.+ng down the path to the street entrance. Two men were helping some one from a carriage. As their obscuring forms stood aside, Graham was seen balancing himself on crutches.

Hilland placed his wife hastily but tenderly on the seat, and was at the gateway in almost a single bound.

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