CHAPTER XX
THE SECRETARY LOOKS ON
The old house in the woods which still lay within the Confederate linesbecame a hospital before morning, and when General Wood turned away fromit he beheld a woman staggering through the darkness, carrying a strangeburden. It was Lucia Catherwood, and when she came nearer he knew thatthe burden was a man. He saw then that the girl's expression was onethat he had never before seen on the face of woman. As he ran forwardshe gasped:
"Take him; it is Captain Prescott!"
Full of wonder, but with too much delicacy under his rough exterior toask questions, the mountaineer lifted Prescott in his arms and carriedhim into the house, where he was placed on the bed beside Harley, whowas unconscious, too. Lucia Catherwood followed alone. She had beenborne up by the impulse of excessive emotion, but she was exhausted nowby her mighty effort. She thought she was going to faint--she who hadnever fainted in her life--and leaned against the outside wall of thehouse, dizzy and trembling. Black shadows, not those of the night,floated before her eyes, and the house moved away; but she recoveredherself in a few moments and went in.
Improvised beds and cots were in every room, and many of the wounded layon the floor, too. Mixed with them were some in blue just as on theother side of the battlefield were some in gray mixed with the blue.There was a powerful odour of drugs, of antiseptics, and Helen and Mrs.Markham were tearing cloth into strips.
Prescott lay a long time awaiting his turn at the surgeon's hand--solong that it seemed to Lucia Catherwood it would never come; but shestayed by his side and did what she could, though conscious that bothMrs. Markham and Helen were watching her at times with the keenestcuriosity, and perhaps a little hostility. She did not wonder at it; herappearance had been so strange, and was still so lacking in explanation,that they could not fail, after the influence of the battlefield itselfhad somewhat passed, to be curious concerning her. But she added nothingto what she had said, doing her work in silence.
The surgeon came at last and looked at Prescott's head and its bandages.He was a thin man of middle age, and after his examination he nodded ina satisfied way.
"You did this, I suppose," he said to Lucia--it was not the first womanwhom he had seen beside a wounded man. When she replied in theaffirmative, he added:
"I could not have done better myself. He's suffering chiefly fromconcussion, and with good nursing he'll be fit for duty again in a fewweeks. You can stay with him, I suppose? You look strong, and women aregood for such work."
"Yes; I will stay with him," she replied, though she felt a sudden doubthow she should arrange to do so.
The surgeon gave a few instructions and passed on--it was a busy nightfor him and all his brethren, and they could not linger over one man.Lucia still sat by the side of Prescott, applying cooling bandages,according to the surgeon's instructions, and no one sought to interferewith her.
The house, which contained so many wounded, was singularly quiet. Hardlyone of them groaned. There was merely the sound of feet moving softly.Two or three lights burned very low. Outside was the same silence anddarkness. Men came in or went away and the others took no notice.
A man entered presently, a slender man, of no particular presence, withveiled eyes, it seemed to Lucia, and she observed that his comingcreated a faint rustle of interest, something that had not happenedwith any other. He was not in uniform, and his first glance was forHelen Harley. Then he came toward Lucia and, bending down, looked keenlyat the face of her patient.
"It is Captain Prescott," he said. "I am sorry. Is he badly hurt?"
"No," she replied; "he is suffering chiefly from concussion, the surgeonsays, and will be well again in two or three weeks."
"With good nursing?"
"Yes, with good nursing." She glaced up in a little surprise.
Revelation, comprehension, resolve, shot over James Sefton's face. Hewas genuinely pleased, and as he glanced at Lucia Catherwood again heranswering gaze was full of understanding.
"Your name is Lucia Catherwood," he said.
"Yes," she replied, without surprise.
"It does not matter how I knew it," he continued; "it is sufficient thatI do know it. I know also that you are the best nurse Robert Prescottcould have."
Her look met his, and, despite herself, the deep red dyed her face, evenher neck. There was a swift look of admiration on the Secretary's face.Then he smiled amiably. He had every reason to feel amiable. He realizednow that he had nothing to fear from Prescott's rivalry with HelenHarley so long as Lucia Catherwood was near. Then why not keep her near?
"You are to be his nurse," he continued, "and you must have the right togo through our lines, even to Richmond if necessary. Here is a pass foryou."
He took pencil and paper from his pocket and wrote an order which hehanded to her.
The Secretary's next concern was for Harley, and he spoke in low tonesof him to Mrs. Markham and his sister. He had heard of his heroic chargeat a critical moment--of a man rising from his bed of wounds to leadback his wavering regiment; the army was ringing with it. In the newrepublic such a hero should have a great reward. Helen flushed withpleasure, but Mrs. Markham, shrewder and keener, said nothing. Her ownhusband, unhurt, came an hour later, and he was proud of his wife atwork there among the wounded. The Secretary stayed a long while, andLucia felt at times that he was watching her with an eye that read herthroughout; but when she saw him looking at Helen Harley she thought sheknew the reason of his complacency. She, too, was acute.
The Secretary brought news of the battle, and as he prophesied that thenext day would be bloodier than the one just closed, he glanced throughthe window at the black Wilderness with real awe upon his face.
Lucia followed his look, and despite herself she felt a certain pride.This general, who struck so hard and never ceased striking, was hergeneral. She had known that it would be so, but these people about herhad not known it until now. She felt in her heart that the end wascoming, but she knew it would be over the roughest road ever traveled bya victorious army.
She formed plans, too, as she sat there, and was thankful for the passthat she concealed in her dress. No matter how it had come, she had itand it was all-powerful. She did not fear this Secretary whom othersseemed to fear. If necessary she would go to Richmond again, and shewould there join her cousin, Miss Grayson, her nearest living relative,who could now give her protection that no one could question.
About three o'clock in the morning a young man whose face and manner sheliked came in and looked at Prescott. He showed deep concern, and thenrelief, when assured that the wound was not serious. His name wasTalbot--Thomas Talbot, he said--and he was a particular friend ofPrescott's. He gave Lucia one or two glances, but in a few moments hewent away to take his part in the next day's battle.
Lucia dozed a little by and by, her sleep being filled with strangedreams. She was awakened by a low, distant sound, one that the precedingday had made familiar--the report of a cannon shot. She looked out ofthe window, and it was still so dark that the forest, but a shortdistance away, was invisible.
"They have begun early," she murmured.
She saw Prescott stir as if he had heard a call, and his eyes halfopened. Then he made an effort to move, but she put her hand gently uponhis forehead and he sank back to rest. She saw in his half-open eyes afleeting look of comprehension, gratitude and joy, then the eyes closedagain, and he floated off once more into the land of peace where heabode for the present. Lucia felt singularly happy and she knew why, forso engrossed was she in Prescott that she scarcely heard the secondcannon shot, replying to the first. There came others, all faint andfar, but each with its omen. The second day's battle had begun.
The supreme commanders of either side were now ready. Human minds hadnever been more busy than theirs had been. Grant was still preparing toattack; no thought of failure entered his resolute soul. If he did notsucceed to-day, then he would succeed on the next day or next week ornext month; he would attack and never cease atta
cking. Lee stoodresolutely in his path, resolved to beat him back, not only on thisline, but on every other line, always bringing up his thinning brigadefor a new defense.
The Wilderness still held secrets for both, but they intended to solvethem that day, to see which way the riddle ran, and the Wildernessitself was as dark, as calm and as somber as ever. It had been torn bycannon balls, pierced by rifle bullets and scorched by fire; but the twoarmies were yet buried in it and it gave no sign to the world outside.
In the house, despite the wounded, there was deep attention and aconcern that nothing could suppress. The scattered cannon shots blendedinto a steady thunder already, but it was distant and to the watcherstold nothing. The darkness, too, was still so great that they could seeno flashes.
The Secretary, mounted on an Accomack pony, rode out of the woods andlooked a little while at the house, then turned away and continued inthe direction of the new battle. He was in a good humour that morning,smiling occasionally when no one could see. The combat already begun didnot trouble Mr. Sefton, although it was his business there to see how itwas going and supplement, or, rather, precede, the General's reportswith such news as he could obtain, and so deft a mind as his couldobtain much. Yet he was not worried over either its progress or itsresult. He had based his judgment on calculations made long ago by amind free from passion or other emotion and as thoroughly arithmeticalas a human mind can be, and he had seen nothing since to change theestimates then formed.
When he thought how they missed Jackson it was with no intention ofdepreciating Wood. Both were needed, and he knew that the mountainGeneral would be wherever the combat was fiercest that day. And then, hemight not come back! The Secretary pondered over this phase of thematter. He had been growing suspicious of late, and Wood was a goodgeneral, but he was not sure that he liked him. But pshaw! There wasnothing to dread in such a crude, rough mountaineer.
He glanced to the left and saw there the heads of horses and horsemenrising and falling like waves as they swept over the uneven ground. Hebelieved them to be Wood's troopers, and, taking his field-glass, hestudied the figure that rode at their head. It was Wood, and theSecretary saw that they were about to strike the Northern flank. He wasnot a soldier, but he had an acute mind and a keen eye for effect. Herecognized at once the value of the movement, the instinct that hadprompted it and the unflinching way in which it was being carried out."Perhaps Wood will fall there! He rides in the very van," he thought,but immediately repented, because his nature was large enough to admitof admiration for a very brave man.
The sun shone through the clouds a little and directly upon the point inthe Northern lines where Wood was aiming to strike, and the Secretarywatched intently. He saw the ranks of horsemen rising and fallingquickly and then pausing for a second or two before hurling themselvesdirectly upon the Northern flank. He saw the flash of sabers, the jetsof white smoke from rifle or pistol, and then the Northern line was cutthrough. But new regiments came up, threw themselves upon the cavalry,and all were mingled in a wild pell-mell among the thickets and throughthe forests. Clouds of smoke, thick and black, settled down, and horseand foot, saber and gun were hidden from the Secretary.
"Stubborn! As stubborn as death!" he murmured; "but the end is ascertain as the setting of the sun."
Turning his horse, he rode to a new hill, from which he made anotherlong and careful examination. Then he rode a mile or two to the rear andstopped at a small improvised telegraph station, whence he sent threebrief telegrams. The first was to President Jefferson Davis of theSouthern Confederacy in Richmond; the others, somewhat different innature, were for two great banking houses--one in London, the other inParis--and these two despatches were to be forwarded from a seaport bythe quickest steamer.
This business despatched, Mr. Sefton, rubbing his hands with pleasure,rode back toward the battle.
A figure, black-bearded, gallant and large, came within the range of hisglasses. It was Wood, and the Secretary breathed a little sigh ofsorrow. The General had come safely out of the charge and was still atroublesome entity, but Mr. Sefton checked himself. General Wood was abrave man, and he could respect such splendid courage and ability.
Thinking deeply on the way and laying many plans, he turned his pony androde back toward the house which was still outside the area of battle,and the Secretary judged that it would not come within it on that day atleast. More than one in that log structure waited to hear what news hewould bring.
* * * * *
Prescott, shortly after daylight, had opened his ears to a dull, steady,distant sound, not unpleasant, and his eyes to a wonderful, luminousface--a face that he knew and which he once had feared he might neversee again.
"Lucia Catherwood!" he said.
"Yes, it is I," she replied softly, so softly that no one else couldhear.
"I think that you must have found me and brought me here," he said. Anintuition had told him this.
She answered evasively: "You are not hurt badly. It was a piece ofshell, and the concussion did the harm."
Prescott looked a question. "You will stay by me?" his eyes said to heras plain as day.
"Yes, I will stay by you," was her positive reply in the same language.
Then he lay quite still, for his head was dull and heavy; but it wasscarcely an ache, and he did not suffer pain. Instead, a soothingcontent pervaded his entire system and he felt no anxiety aboutanything. He tried to remember his moments of unconsciousness, but hismind went back only to the charge, the blow upon the head, and the fall.There everything had stopped, but he was still sure that LuciaCatherwood had found him and somehow had brought him here. He would havedied without her, of that he had no doubt, and by and by he should learnabout it all.
Men came into the house and went away, but he felt no curiosity. Thatpart of him seemed to be atrophied for the present, but after awhilesomething aroused his interest. It was not any of the men or women whopassed and repassed, but that curious, dull, steady, distant sound whichhad beat softly upon his ears the moment he awoke. He remembered nowthat it had never ceased, and it began to trouble him, reminding him ofthe buzzing of flies on a summer afternoon when he was a boy and wantedto sleep. He wondered what it was, but his brain was still dulled andgave no information. He tried to forget but could not, and looked up atLucia Catherwood for explanation, but she had none to offer.
He wished to go to sleep, but the noise--that soft but steady drummingon the ear--would not let him. His desire to know grew and becamepainful. He closed his eyes in thought and it came to him with suddentruth it was the sound of guns, cannon and rifles. The battle, taken upwhere it was left off the night before, was going on.
North and South were again locked in mortal strife, and the Wildernessstill held its secret, refusing to name the victor. Prescott felt asudden pang of disappointment. He knew the straits of the South; he knewthat she needed every man, and he was lying there helpless on a bedwhile the persistent Grant was hammering away and would continue tohammer away as no general before him had done. He tried to move, butLucia put her cool hand upon his forehead. That quieted him, but hestill listened intently to the sound of battle, distinguishing with atrained ear the deep note of the cannon and the sharper crash of therifle. All waited anxiously for the return of the Secretary, confidentthat he would come and confident that he would bring true news of thebattle's fortunes. It required but a short acquaintance with Mr. Seftonto produce upon every one the impression that he was a man who saw.
The morning had not been without pleasure to Prescott. His nurse seemedto know everything and to fear nothing. Lucia understood her peculiarposition. She had a full sense that she was an outsider, but she did notintend to go away, being strongly fortified by the feeling that she wasmaking repayment. Once as she sat by Prescott, Helen came, too, andleaned over him. Lucia drew away a little as if she would yield toanother who had a better claim, but Helen would not have it so.
"Do not go," she said. "He is yours, not mine
."
Lucia did not reply, but a tacit understanding arose between the twowomen, and they were drawn toward each other as friends, since there wasnothing to divide them.
* * * * *
The Secretary at that moment was riding slowly toward the house, turningnow and then to look at the battle which yet hung in doubt, in its vastcanopy of smoke. He studied it with keen eyes and a keener mind, but hecould yet make nothing of it, and could give no news upon his arrival atthe house.
The long day waned at last, but did not bring with its shadows anydecrease in the violence of the battle. Its sound was never absent for amoment from the ears of those in the house, and the women at the windowssaw the great pyramid of flame from the forest fire, but their anxietywas as deep as ever. No word came to indicate the result. Night fell,close, heavy and black, save where the forest burned, and suddenly thebattle ceased.
News came at length that the South had held her lines. Grant had failedto break through the iron front of Lee. A battle as bloody as Gettysburghad been fought and nothing was won; forty thousand men had been struckdown in the Wilderness, and Grant was as far as ever from Richmond.
The watchers in the house said little, but they rejoiced--all save LuciaCatherwood, who sat in silence. However the day might have ended, shedid not believe the campaign had ended with it, and her hope continued.
A messenger arrived in haste the next day. The house must be abandonedby all who could go. Grant had turned on his left flank and wasadvancing by a new road. The Southern army must also turn aside to meethim.
It was as Lucia Catherwood expected. Meade, a victor at Gettysburg, hadnot attacked again. Grant, failing in the Wilderness, moved forward tofight within three days another battle as great.
The story of either army was the same. The general in his tent touchedthe spring that set all things in motion. The soldiers rose from the hotground on which they lay in a stupor rather than sleep. Two streams ofwounded poured to the rear, one to the North and one to the South. Thehorses, like their masters, worn and scarred like them, too, wereharnessed to cannon and wagon; the men ate as they worked; there was notime for delay. This was to be a race, grand and terrible in its nature,with great battles as incidents. The stakes were high, and the playersplayed with deadly earnestness.
Both Generals sent orders to hurry and themselves saw that it was done.The battle of yesterday and the day before was as a thing long past; notime to think of it now. The dead were left for the moment in theWilderness as they had fallen. The air was filled with commands to themen, shouts to the horses, the sough of wheels in the mud, the breakingof boughs under weight, and the clank of metal. The Wilderness, torn nowby shells and bullets and scorched by the fires, waved over two armiesgloomier and more somber than ever, deserving to the full its name.
They were still in the Wilderness, and it had lost none of its ominousaspects. Far to left and right yet burned the forest fires set by theshells, flaring luridly in the intense blackness that characterizedthose nights. The soldiers as they hurried on saw the ribbons and coilsof flame leaping from tree-top to tree-top, and sometimes the languidwinds blew the ashes in their faces. Now and then they crossed parts ofthe forest where it had passed, and the earth was hot to their feet.Around them lay smouldering logs and boughs, and from these fallenembers tongues of flame arose. Overhead, the moon and stars were shutout by the clouds and smoke and vapour.
Even with a passion for a new conflict rising in them, the soldiers asthey hurried on felt the weirdness, the satanic character of thebattleground. The fitful flashes of lightning often showed faces stampedwith awe; wet boughs of low-growing trees held them back with a moistand sticky touch; the low rumble of thunder came from the far horizonand its tremendous echo passed slowly through the Wilderness; andmingled again with this sound was an occasional cannon shot as thefringes of the two armies hastening on passed the time of night.
The tread of either army was heavy, dull and irregular, and the fewtorches they carried added little light to the glare of the lightningand the glow of the burning forest. The two marched on in the dark,saying little, making little noise for numbers so great, but steadilyconverging on Spottsylvania, where they were destined to meet in aconflict rivaling in somber grandeur that of the past two days.