CHAPTER XXXIV
MORTALLY WOUNDED
"It is a mercy that she is delirious; otherwise her unavoidable excitementand anxiety would probably prove fatal. She is very ill, of course; but,with careful nursing, I think you have little to apprehend. Above allthings, Irene, suffer nobody to bolt into that room with the news--keep heras quiet as possible. I have perfect confidence in Whitmore's skill; hewill do all that I could, though I would not leave her if I did not feel itmy duty to hurry to the battlefield. Queen, you look weary; but it is notstrange, after all that you have passed through."
"Doctor, when will you start?"
"In twenty minutes."
"Has any intelligence been received this morning?"
"Nothing but confirmation of last night's news. Hill holds Mechanicsville,and the enemy have fallen back in the direction of Powhite Swamp. A generaladvance will be made all along our lines to-day, and I must be off. What isthe matter? Surely you are not getting frightened."
"Frightened--Dr. Arnold? No. I have no fears about the safety of Richmond;defeat is not written in Lee's lexicon; but I shudder in view of theprecious human hecatombs to be immolated on yonder hills before McClellanis driven back. No doubt of victory disquiets me, but the thought of itsawful price."
She paused, and her whole face quivered as she laid her clasped hands onhis arm.
"Well--what is it? Dear child, what moves you so?"
"Doctor, promise me that if Colonel Aubrey is mortally wounded you willsend instantly for me. I must see him once more."
Her head went down on her hands, and she trembled as white asters do in anearly autumn gale. Compassionately the old man drew one arm around her.
"After all, then, you do care for him--despite your life-long reserve andapparent indifference? I have suspected as much, several times, but thatimperturbable sphinx-face of yours always baffled me. My child, you neednot droop your head; he is worthy of your love; he is the only man I knowwhom I would gladly see you marry. Irene, look up--tell me--did Leonardknow this? Conscious of your affection for Aubrey, did he doom you to yourlonely lot?"
"No. My father died in ignorance of what would have pained and mortifiedhim beyond measure. Knowing him as well as you do, can you suppose that Iwould ever have allowed him to suspect the truth? I realized my duty andfulfilled it; that is the only consolation I have left. It never caused himone throb of regret, or furnished food for bitter reflection; and the debtof respect I owe to his memory shall be as faithfully discharged. IfColonel Aubrey lives to enjoy the independence for which he is fighting--ifhe should be spared to become a useful, valued member of society--one ofthe pure and able statesmen whom his country will require when these darkdays of strife are ended, I can be content, though separated from him, andwatching his brilliant career afar off. But if he must give his life forthat which he holds dearer still, I ask the privilege of seeing him again,of being with him in his last moments. This consolation the brave spirit ofmy father would not withhold from me, were communion allowed between livingand dead; this none can have the right to deny me."
"I promise that you shall know all as early as possible. If you receive notidings, believe that he is uninjured. As yet, his regiment has not movedforward, but I know not how soon it may. Heaven preserve you! my preciouschild."
He pressed a kiss on the drooped head, and left her to resume her watch inthe darkened room where Electra had been ill with typhoid-fever for nearlythree weeks. It was thought that she contracted the disease in the crowdedhospital; and when delirium ensued, Irene temporarily relinquished her wardto other nurses, and remained at the boarding-house, in attendance on herfriend. It was a season of unexampled anxiety, yet all was singularly quietin the beleaguered city. Throughout the Confederacy hushed expectancyreigned. Gallant Vicksburg's batteries barred the Mississippi; Beauregardand Price, lion-hearted idols of the West, held the Federal army in Corinthat bay; Stonewall Jackson--synonym of victory--after sweeping like awhirlwind through the Valley, and scattering the columns that stealthilycrept southward, had arrived at Richmond at the appointed time. A greaterthan Serrurier, at a grander than Castiglone, he gave the signal to begin;and as a sheet of flame flashed along the sombre forests of Chickahominy,the nation held its breath, and watched the brilliant Seven Days' conflict,which converted twenty-six miles of swamp and forest into a vastnecropolis.
During Friday the wounded came slowly in, and at four in the afternoon theroar of artillery told that the Battle of Gaines Mill was raging: that theenemy were fighting desperately, behind entrenchments which none butConfederate soldiers could successfully have assaulted. Until eight atnight the houses trembled at every report of cannon, and then McClellan'sgrand army, crippled and bleeding, dragged itself away, under cover ofdarkness, to the south bank of the Chickahominy. Saturday saw a temporarylull in the iron storm; but the wounded continued to arrive, and thedevoted women of the city rose from their knees to minister to the needs ofthese numerous sufferers. Sunday found our troops feeling about the swampsfor the retreating foe; and once more, late in the afternoon, distantthunder resounded from the severely contested field of Savage's Station,whence the enemy again retreated.
On Sabbath morning Irene learned that Russell's command had joined in thepursuit; and during that day and night, as the conflict drifted farthersouthward, and details became necessarily more meagre, her anxietyincreased. Continually her lips moved in prayer, as she glided fromElectra's silent room to aid in dressing the wounds of those who had beendisabled for further participation in the strife; and, as Monday passedwithout the receipt of tidings from Dr. Arnold, she indulged in the hopethat Russell would escape uninjured. During Tuesday morning Electra seemedto have recovered her consciousness, but in the afternoon she relapsed intoincoherent muttering of "Cuyp," "Correggio," "Titian's Bella," and "my bestgreat picture left in Florence."
Irene was sitting at her bedside, rolling bandages, when the sudden,far-distant, dull boom of cannon, followed by the quick rattling of thewindow-panes, gave intimation that the long contest was fiercely renewed. Acourier had arrived from Malvern Mill with intelligence that here theenemy's forces were very strongly posted, were making desperate resistance;and though no doubt of the result was entertained, human nature groanedover the carnage.
At ten o'clock, having given a potion, and renewed the folds of wet linenon Electra's head, Irene stole back to the window, and, turning theshutters, looked down the street. Here and there an anxious group huddledon the corners, with ears strained to catch every sound, and, while shewatched, a horseman clattered at a hard gallop over the paving-stones,reined up at the door of the boarding-house, swung himself to the sidewalk,and an instant after the sharp clang of the bell rang startlingly throughthe still mansion.
"Oh, my God! it has come at last!"
Irene groaned, and leaned heavily against the window-facing, and quicksteps came up the stairway. Martha entered, and held out a slip of paper.
"Miss Irene, Cyrus has just brought this."
Her mistress' icy fingers clutched it, and she read--
"Come at once. Aubrey is badly wounded. Cyrus will show the way.
"HIRAM ARNOLD."
"You are going to faint, Miss Irene! Drink some of this cordial."
"No. Tell Andrew to go after the carriage as quick as possible, and have itbrought here immediately; and ask Uncle Eric to come to my room at once."
Irene went to her own apartment, which adjoined Electra's, put on herbonnet and veil, and, though the night was warm, wrapped a shawl about her.
Mr. Mitchell entered soon after, and started at sight of his niece's face.
"Irene, what does this mean? Where are you going at this hour?"
"To the battlefield!--to Malvern Hill. Colonel Aubrey is mortally wounded,and I must see him. Will you go with me? Oh, Uncle Eric! if you have anymercy in your soul ask me no questions now! only go with me."
"Of course, my dear child, I will go with you, if it is possible to procurea carriage of any kind. I
will see----"
"I have had one engaged for three days. Martha, stay with Electra till Icome back; leave her on no account. If you notice any change, send for Dr.Whitmore. Here is my watch; count her pulse carefully, and as long as it isover one hundred, give her, every two hours, a spoonful of the medicine inthat square vial on the table. I trust to you, Martha, to take care of her.If she should be rational, and ask for me, tell her nothing about thebattles, and say I have gone to see a sick man, and will be back soon.Come, Uncle Eric."
They entered the close carriage which she had ordered reserved for her, andshe called Cyrus to the door.
"Did you see Colonel Aubrey after he was wounded?"
"I only had a glimpse of him, as they brought him in. Miss Irene, he wasshot in the breast."
"You know the way; ride outside; and, Cyrus, drive as fast as possible."
By the glimmer of the carriage lamps she could see the wagons going to andfro, some filled with empty coffins, some with mangled sufferers. Now andthen weary, spent soldiers sat on the roadside, or struggled on toward thecity which they had saved, with their arms in slings, or hands bound up, orbloody bandages across their stern faces. After another hour, when theincreasing number of men showed proximity to the scene of danger, Cyrusturned away from the beaten track, and soon the flash of lights and the humof voices told that they were near the place of destination. The carriagestopped, and Cyrus came to the door.
"We are at the lines, and I can't drive any nearer. If you will wait, Iwill go and find master."
The delay seemed intolerably long, and for the first time an audible moanescaped Irene just as Cyrus came back accompanied by a muffled figure.
"Irene, my child."
She leaned out till her face nearly touched Dr. Arnold's.
"Only tell me that he is alive, and I can bear all else."
"He is alive, and sleeping just now. Can you control yourself if I take youto him?"
"Yes; you need not fear that I will disturb him. Let me go to him."
He gave her his arm, and led her through the drizzling rain for somedistance--avoiding, as much as possible, the groups of wounded, wheresurgeons were at their sad work. Finally, before a small tent, he paused,and whispered--
"Nerve yourself, dear child."
"Is there no hope?"
She swept aside her long mourning veil, and gazed imploringly into hisface.
Tears filled his eyes, and hastily averting his head, he raised the curtainof the tent and drew her inside.
A candle burned dimly in one corner, and there, on a pallet of straw, overwhich a blanket had been thrown, lay the powerful form of the dauntlessleader, whose deeds of desperate daring had so electrified his worshippingcommand but a few hours before. The noble head was pillowed on a knapsack;one hand pressed his heart, while the other drooped nerveless at his side,and the breast of his coat was saturated with blood, which at intervalsoozed through the bandages and dripped upon the straw. The tent was silentas a cemetery, and not a sound passed Irene's white, fixed lips as she bentdown and looked upon the loved face, strangely beautiful in its pallidrepose. The shadowy wings of the bitter bygone hovered no longer over thefeatures, darkening their chiselled perfection; a tranquil half-smileparted the lips, and unbent the lines between the finely-arched blackbrows.
Sinking softly on the floor of the tent, Irene rested her chin on herfolded hands, and calmly watched the deep sleep. So passed three-quartersof an hour; then, as Dr. Arnold cautiously put his fingers on the pulse,the sufferer opened his eyes.
Irene was partially in the shade, but as she leaned forward, a sudden,bewildered smile lighted his countenance; he started up, and extended onearm.
"Irene! My darling! Do I dream, or are you indeed with me?"
"I have come to nurse you, Russell; but if you do not calm yourself, thedoctor will send me away."
She took the outstretched hand in both of hers, and pressed her lipsrepeatedly upon it.
"Come close to me. I am helpless now, and cannot go to you."
She seated herself on the edge of the straw, laid her shawl in her lap, andlifting his head, rested it on the soft woollen folds. Dr. Arnold removedthe warm cloth soaked with blood, placed a cold, dripping towel on thegaping wound, and after tightening the bandages to check the haemorrhage,passed out of the tent, leaving the two alone.
"Oh, Irene! this is a joy I never hoped for. I went at night to thehospital in Richmond just to get a glimpse of you--to feast my eyes withanother sight of your dear, dear face! I watched you ministering like anangel to sick and wounded soldiers, and I envied them the touch of yourhand--the sound of your voice. I little expected to die in your arms. Thisreconciles me to my fate; this compensates for all."
Her fingers tenderly smoothed the black locks that clung to his temples,and bending down she kissed his forehead. His uninjured arm stole uparound her neck, drew her face to his, and his lips pressed hers again andagain.
"Dear Russell, you must be quiet, or you will exhaust yourself. Try tosleep--it will refresh, strengthen you."
"Nothing will strengthen me. I have but a short time to live; shall I sleepaway the opportunity of my last earthly communion with you, my life-longidol! Oh, Irene! my beautiful treasure! This proof of your love sweetensdeath itself. There have been hours (ever since we parted a year ago) whenI reproached you for the sorrow and pain you sternly meted out to me, andto yourself. When I said bitterly, _if_ she loved as she should, she wouldlevel all barriers--she would lay her hands in mine--glorify my name bytaking it as my wife, and thus defy and cancel the past. I was selfish inmy love; I wanted you in my home; I longed for the soft touch of yourfingers, for your proud, dazzling smile of welcome when the day's work wasended; for the privilege of drawing you to my heart, and listening to yourwhispered words of encouragement and fond congratulation in my successes. Iknew that this could never be; that your veneration for your father'smemory would separate us in future, as in the past; that my pleadings wouldnot shake your unfortunate and erroneous resolution; and it was hard togive up the dearest hope that ever brightened a lonely man's life. Now Iknow, I feel that your love is strong, deathless as my own, though longlocked deep in your heart. I know it by the anguish in your face, by thequiver of your mouth, by your presence in this place of horrors. Godcomfort and bless you, my own darling!--my brave, patient, faithful Irene!"
He smiled triumphantly, and drew her hand caressingly across his cheek.
"Russell, it is useless now to dwell upon our sorrowful past; whatsuffering our separation has cost me, none but my God can ever know. To Hishands I commit my destiny, and 'He doeth all things well.' In a littlewhile you will leave me, and then--oh! then, I shall be utterly desolateindeed! But I can bear loneliness--I can walk my dreary earthly pathuncomplainingly, I can give you up for the sake of my country, if I havethe blessed assurance that you have only hastened home before me, waitingfor me there--that, saved through Christ, we shall soon meet in Heaven, andspend Eternity together. Oh, Russell! can you give me this consolation,without which my future will be dark indeed? Have you kept your promise, tolive so that you could at last meet the eyes of your God in peace?"
"I have. I have struggled against the faults of my character; I haveearnestly endeavoured to crush the vindictive feelings of my heart; and Ihave conscientiously tried to do my duty to my fellow-creatures, to mycommand, and my country. I have read the Bible you gave me; and, dearest,in praying for you, I have learned to pray for myself. Through Jesus, Ihave a sure hope of happiness beyond the grave. There, though separated inlife, you and I shall be united by death. Oh, Irene! but for your earnestpiety this precious anticipation might never have been mine. But for you Iwould have forgotten my mother's precepts and my mother's prayers. Throughyour influence I shall soon join her, where the fierce waves of earthlytrial can lash my proud soul no more."
"Thank God! Oh, Russell! this takes away the intolerable bitterness ofparting; this will support me in coming years. I can brave all things infuture."
r /> She saw that a paroxysm of pain had seized him. His brow wrinkled, and hebit his lips hard, to suppress a groan. Just at this moment Dr. Arnoldre-entered, and immediately after gave him another potion of morphine.
"Aubrey, you must be quiet, if you would not shorten your life."
He silently endured his sufferings for some moments, and raising his eyesagain to Irene's said, in a tone of exhaustion--
"It is selfish for me to make you witness my torture; but I could not bearto have you leave me. There is something I want to say while I havestrength left. How is Electra?"
"Partially delirious still, but the doctor thinks she will recover. Whatshall I tell her for you?"
"That I loved and remembered her in my dying hour. Kiss her for me, andtell her I fell where the dead lay thickest, in a desperate charge on theenemy's batteries--that none can claim a nobler, prouder death thanmine--that the name of Aubrey is once more glorified--baptized with myblood upon the battlefield. Irene, she is alone in the world; watch overher and love her, for my sake. Doctor, give me some water."
As the haemorrhage increased despite their efforts to stanch it, he becamerapidly weaker, and soon after, with one hand locked in Irene's, he fellasleep.
She sat motionless, supporting his head, uttering no sound, keeping hereyes fixed on his upturned countenance. Dr. Arnold went noiselessly in andout, on various errands of mercy; occasionally anxious, weather-beatensoldiers softly lifted the curtain of the tent, gazed sadly, fondly, on theprostrate figure of the beloved commander, and turned away silently, withtears trickling down their bronzed faces. Slowly the night waned, and theshrill tones of _reveille_ told that another day had risen before the murkysky brightened. Hundreds, who had sprung up at that call twenty-four hoursago, now lay stiffening in their gore, sleeping their last sleep, whereneither the sound of fife and drum, nor the battle-cry of comrades, wouldever rouse them from their final rest before Malvern Hill--over which windswailed a requiem, and trailing, dripping clouds settled like a pall.
The bustle and stir of camp increased as preparations were made to followthe foe, who had again taken up the line of retreat; but within the tentunbroken silence reigned. It was apparent that Russell was sinking fast,and at eight o'clock he awoke, looked uneasily around him, and saidfeebly--
"What is going on in front?"
"McClellan has evacuated Malvern Hill, and is in full retreat toward hisgunboats," answered the doctor.
"Then there will be no more fighting. My shattered regiment will rest for aseason. Poor fellows! they did their duty nobly yesterday."
He lifted his eyes toward heaven, and for some moments his lips movedinaudibly in prayer. Gradually a tranquil expression settled on hisfeatures, and as his eyes closed again he murmured faintly--
"Irene--darling--raise me a little."
They lifted him, and rested his head against her shoulder.
"Irene!"
"I am here, Russell; my arms are around you."
She laid her cheek on his, and listened to catch the words, but none came.The lips parted once, and a soft, fluttering breath swept across them. Dr.Arnold put his hand over the heart--no pulsation greeted him; and, turningaway, the old man covered his face with his handkerchief.
"Russell, speak to me once more."
There was no sound, no motion. She knew that the soldier's spirit hadsoared to the shores of Everlasting Peace, and that not until she joinedhim there would the loved tones again make music in her heart. Shetightened her arms around the still form, and nestled her cheek closer tohis, now growing cold. No burst of grief escaped her, to tell of agony anddespair.
* * * * *
Electra's speedy convalescence repaid the care bestowed upon her, and oneafternoon, ten days after quiet had again settled around the Confederatecapital, she insisted on being allowed to sit up later than usual,protesting that she would no longer be regarded as an invalid.
"Irene, stand in the light where I can see you fully. How worn and wearyyou look! I suspect I am regaining my health at the expense of yours."
"No; I am as well in body as I could desire. But no doubt my anxiety hasleft its traces on my countenance."
She leaned over Electra's chair, and stroked back the artist's shininghair.
"I wish you would let me see the papers. My eyes are strong enough now, andI want to know exactly what has taken place everywhere during my sickness.It seems to me impossible that General Lee's army can face McClellan's muchlonger without bringing on a battle, and I am so anxious about Russell. Ifhe should be hurt, of course, I must go to him. It is very strange that hehas not written. Are you sure no letters came for me?"
"There are no letters, I am sure; but I have a message for you. I have seenhim once since you were taken sick."
"Ah! what is it? He heard that I was ill, and came to see me, I suppose.When was he here?"
Irene bent down and kissed her companion tremulously, saying slowly--
"He desired me to kiss you for him. Electra, I have not told you beforebecause I feared the effect upon you in your weak state; but there havebeen desperate battles around Richmond during your illness, and theFederals have been defeated--driven back to James river."
"Was Russell wounded? Yes--I understand it all now! Where is he? Oh! tellme that I may go to him."
She sprang up, but a deathlike pallor overspread her face and she totteredto the open window.
Irene followed the thin figure, and, putting her arms about her, made herlean against her.
"He was wounded on the last day, and I went to see him; you were thendelirious."
"Let me go at once! I will not disturb him; I will control myself! Only letme see him to-day!"
"Electra, you cannot see him. He has gone to his God; but in his dying hourhe spoke of you fondly, sent love, and----"
The form reeled, drooped, shivered, and fell back insensible in Irene'sarms.
So heavy was the swoon, that it seemed as if her spirit had fled to joinher cousin's in endless union; but at length consciousness returned, andwith it came the woeful realization of her loss. A long, low wail rose andfell upon the air, like the cry from lips of feeble, suffering, helplesschildren, and her head sank upon the shoulder of the sad-faced nurse, whosegrief could find no expression in sobs, or moans, or tears.
"Dead! dead! and I shall see his dear face no more! Oh! why did you not letme die, too? What is my wretched life worth now? One grave might have heldus both! My noble, peerless Russell! the light of my solitary life! O God!be merciful! take me with my idol! Take me now!"
Very tenderly and caressingly Irene endeavoured to soothe her--detailed thecircumstances of her cousin's death, and pointed her despairing soul to afinal reunion.
But no rift appeared in the artist's black sky of sorrow; she had not yetlearned that, in drawing near the hand that holds the rod, the blow islightened, and she bitterly demanded of her Maker to be released from theburden of life.