CHAPTER XIII
FOOL TOM JACKSON
The Reverend Mr. Corbin Wood, chaplain to one of Loring's regiments,coming down from the hillside where he had spent the night, veryliterally like a shepherd, found the little stream at its foot frozen tothe bottom. No morning bath for a lover of cleanliness! There had beenlittle water, indeed, to expend on any toilet since leaving Winchester.Corbin Wood tried snow for his face and hands, but the snow was nolonger soft, as it had fallen the day before. It was frozen and harsh."And the holy hermits and the saints on pillars never had abath--apparently never wanted one!"
Reveille sounded drearily enough from the surrounding mountains. Thefires sprang up, but they did not burn brightly in the livid day. Thelittle there was to eat was warmed and eaten. When, afterwards, therolls were called, there were silences. Mr. Ready-to-halt, Mr. FaintHeart, Mr. Fearing, and also Mr. Honesty, really too ill to march, weresomewhere on the backward road to Winchester. Length by length, like aserpent grey and cold, sluggish, unburnished, dull, and bewildered, thecolumn took the road. Deeply cut the day before by the cavalry, byGarnett's brigade, and by the artillery, the road was horrible. What hadbeen ridged snow was now ridged ice.
Corbin Wood and his old grey horse were loved by their regiment. Thechaplain was not, physically, a strong man, and his ways were those of ascholar, but the regiment found them lovable. Pluto the horse was verywise, very old, very strong and gentle. Upon the march he was of use tomany beside his master. The regiment had grown accustomed to the sightof the chaplain walking through dust or mud at the bridle of the grey,saying now and then a word in a sober and cheerful fashion to thehalf-sick or wholly weary private seated in his saddle. He was forevergiving some one a lift along the road. Certain things that have hadsmall place in the armies of the world were commonplaces in theConfederate service. The man on horseback was a more fortunate, but nota better man--not even a better born or educated man--than he on foot.The long grey lines saw nothing strange in a dismounted officer giving acast of the road to a comrade in the ranks. So, to-day, the chaplain'shorse was rather for everybody than for the chaplain himself. An oldcollege mate slipping stiffly to earth after five inestimable minutes,remonstrated. "I'd like to see you riding, Corbin! Just give yourself alift, won't you? Look at Pluto looking at that rent in your shoe! You'llnever be a bishop if you go on this way."
The sleet fell and fell, and it was intensely cold. The wagons wereinvisible. It was rumoured that they had taken another road. The countrywas almost a wilderness. At long intervals the troops came upon alonely farmhouse, or a wayside cabin, a mill, a smithy. Loring sentahead a foraging party, with orders to purchase all supplies. Hardlyanything was gotten. Little had been made this year and little stored.Moreover, latterly, the Yankees at Bath had taken all the stock andpoultry and corn--and without paying for it either. "Yes, sir, there areYankees at Bath. More'n you can shake a stick at!"
The foragers brought back the news. "There are Yankees at Bath--eightmiles away! Any number of them. Just as certain as it's sleeting, that'swhere Old Jack's going!"
The news running along the column awoke a small flare of interest. Butit filled no empty stomachs, nor dissipated the numbing cold. Themomentary enthusiasm passed. "Eight miles! Have we got to go eight milesto-day? We haven't made three miles since dawn. If George Washington,Napoleon Bonaparte, and Julius Caesar were here they couldn't get thisarmy eight miles to-day!"
The cavalry, the artillery, the Stonewall Brigade, Meems and Carson'sMilitia, the three brigades of Loring--on wound the sick and sluggishcolumn. The hills were now grey glass, and all the horses smooth-shod.In advance a corps of pioneers broke with pickaxes the solid andtreacherous surface, roughening the road so that the poor brutes mightgain foothold. The vanguard, stumbling around a bend of the road,stumbled upon a Federal ambush, horse and foot. To either side a wood ofcedars blazed and rang. A lieutenant of the 21st Virginia threw up hisarms and pitched forward, dead. A private was badly wounded. The companycharged, but the blue outposts fired another volley and got away,crashing through the woods to some by-road. It was impossible to follow;chase could not be given over grey glass.
With the closing in of the ghostly day, in a stretch of fields beside afrozen stream, the column halted. There were no tents, and there wasscarcely anything to eat. One of the fields was covered by stacked corn,and it was discovered that the ear had been left. In the driving sleetthe men tore apart the shocks and with numbed fingers stripped from thegrain the sere, rough, and icy husks. They and the horses ate the yellowcorn. All night, stupid with misery, the soldiers dozed and mutteredbeside the wretched fires. One, a lawyer's clerk, cried like a child,with his hands scored till they bled by the frozen corn husks. Down thestream stood a deserted sawmill, and here the Rockbridge men foundplanks with which they made for themselves little pens. The sleetsounded for hours on the boards that served for roof, but at last itdied away. The exhausted army slept, but when in the grey dawn itstirred and rose to the wailing of the bugles, it threw off a weight ofsnow. All the world was white again beneath a livid sky.
This day they made four miles. The grey trees were draped with ice, thegrey zigzag of the fences was gliding ice under the hands that caught atit, the hands of the sick and weak. Motion resolved itself into a DeadMarch; few notes and slow, with rests. The army moved and halted, movedand halted with a weird stateliness. Couriers came back from the manriding ahead, cadet cap drawn over eyes that saw only what a giant andiron race might do under a giant and iron dictatorship. General Jacksonsays, "Press Forward!" General Jackson says, "Press Forward, men!"
They did not reach Bath that night. They lay down and slept behind ascreen of hills and awoke in an amethyst dawn to a sky of promise. Thelight, streaming from the east, made glorious the ice-laden trees andthe far and dazzling wastes of snow. The sunshine cheered the troops.Bath was just ahead--Bath and the Yankees! The 1st Tennessee and the48th Virginia suddenly swung from the main road, and moved across thefields to the ridges overlooking the town. Apparently they had gatheredtheir strength into a ball, for they went with energy, double-quickeningover the snow. The afternoon before Carson and Meems had been detached,disappearing to the right. A rumour ran through the ranks. This forcewould be now on the other side of Bath. "It's like a cup, all of us onthe rim, and the Yanks at the bottom. If Carson can hold the roads onthe other side we've got them, just like so many coffee grounds! Fifteenhundred of them in blue, and two guns?--Boys, I feel better!"
Old Jack--the men began with suddenness again to call him Old Jack--OldJack divulged nothing. Information, if information it was, came fromscouts, couriers, Ashby's vedettes, chance-met men and women of theregion. Something electric flashed from van to rear. The line went upthe hill with rapidity. When they reached the crest the men saw thecavalry far before and below them, charging upon the town and shouting.After the horse came a body of skirmishers, then, pouring down thehillside the 1st Tennessee and the 48th Virginia, yelling as they ran.From the town burst a loud rattle of musketry, and from a height beyonda cannon thundered. All the white sides of the cup echoed the sound.
The infantry swerved to let the artillery by. The guns, grim beneaththeir ice coats, the yelling men, the drivers loudly encouraging thehorses, the horses, red-nostrilled, wide-eyed--all came somehow,helter-skelter down the long windings of the ridge. The infantryfollowed; the town was entered; the Federals retreated, firing as theywent, streaming out by two roads. One led toward Sir John's Run, theother direct to the Potomac with Hancock on the Maryland shore, and atHancock General Lander with a considerable force. Carson's men, alack!had found the winter hills no bagatelle. They were not in time to securethe roads.
The Confederate cavalry, dividing, followed, full tilt, the retreatingfoe. A courier brought back to the artillery a curt order from Jacksonto push on by the Hancock road. As he turned, his mare slipped, and thetwo came crashing down upon the icy road. When they had struggled up andout of the way the batteries passed rumbling through the town. Old men
and boys were out upon the trampled sidewalks, and at window and doorwomen and children waved handkerchiefs, clapped hands. At a corner, inthe middle of the street, lay a horse, just lifeless, covered withblood. The sight maddened the battery horses. They reared and plunged,but at last went trembling by. From the patriarchs and the eager boyscame information. The Yankees were gone, but not their baggage andstores. Everything had been left behind. There were army blankets,tents, oilcloths, clothing, _shoes_, cords of firewood, forage for thehorses, flour, and fresh meat, sugar, coffee, sutlers' stores of everykind, wines, spirits, cigars--oh, everything! The artillery groaned andswore, but obeyed orders. Leaving Capua behind, it strained along theHancock road in the wake of the pursuing cavalry and the fleeingFederals.
The main body of the latter, well in advance and with no exhaustingmarch behind them to weaken horse and man, reached the Potomac by theHancock road at a point where they had boats moored, and got clean away,joining Lander on the Maryland shore. The lesser number, making for SirJohn's Run and the Big Cacapon and followed by some companies ofAshby's, did not so quickly escape. The Confederate advance came,artillery, horse, and skirmishers, upon the river bank at sunset. Allaround were great rolling hills, quite bare of trees and covered withsnow, over which the setting sun threw a crimson tinge. Below was theriver, hoarsely murmuring, and immediately upon the other side, theclustering Maryland village, with a church spire tall and taperingagainst the northern sky. About the village was another village oftents, and upon a hilltop frowned a line of guns. Dusk as it was, theConfederate batteries unlimbered, and there opened an artillery duel,shells screaming from north to south and south to north across the riveryet stained with the sunset glow.
That night the infantry remained at Bath, warmed and comforted by thecaptured stores. They came like a gift from the gods, and as is usualwith that gift they disappeared in a twinkling. In the afternoon thethree arms met on the river bank. The sky was again a level grey; it wasevident that a snowstorm was brewing. There was not a house; except forthe fringe along the water's edge there was hardly a tree. The hillswere all bare. The snow was packed so hard and so mingled with ice thatwhen, in the cannonading, the Federal missiles struck and tore it up thefragments were as keen and troublesome, almost, as splinters of shell.There was no shelter, little wood for burning. The men gazed about themwith a frown of uneasiness. The storm set in with a whirl of snow andwith a wind that raved like a madman and broke the spectral white armsof the sycamores by the river. In a short time there was a shifting,wonderful, numbing veil streaming silent from the grey heavens. It wasalmost a relief when dark came and wrapped the great, lonely, ghostlycountryside. This night the men disregarded the taboo and burned everyavailable fence rail.
In the morning a boat was put across the half-frozen river. It bore asummons to Lander to surrender, the alternative being a bombardment ofthe town. "Retaliation for Shepherdstown" read Jackson's missive. Ashbybore the summons and was led blindfold through the streets toheadquarters. Lander, looking momently for reinforcements fromWilliamsport, declined to surrender. Ashby passed blindfolded out of thetown, entered the boat, and came back to Stonewall Jackson. The latterwaited two hours, then began to throw shells into the town. Since earlymorning a force had been engaged in constructing, two miles up theriver, a rude bridge by which the troops might cross. The evening beforethere had been skirmishes at Sir John's Run and at the Big Cacapon. Aregiment of Loring's destroyed the railroad bridge over the latterstream. The Federals withdrew across the river, leaving no command inMorgan County.
Throughout the afternoon McLaughlin's battery dropped shells intoHancock, but an hour before dark came orders to cease firing. Ascout--Allan Gold--brought tidings of heavy reinforcements pouring intothe town from Williamsport and Hagerstown. So heavy were they thatJackson, after standing for five minutes with his face to the north,sent orders to discontinue work upon the bridge. Romney, when all wassaid, not Hancock, was his destination--Kelly's eight thousand inVirginia, not Lander's brigades across the line. Doubtless it had beenhis hope to capture every Federal in Bath, to reach and cross thePotomac, inflict damage, and retire before those reinforcements couldcome up. But the infantry which he commanded was not yet his "footcavalry," and neither knew nor trusted him as it was to know and trust.The forces about him to-day were not homogeneous. They pulled two ways,they were not moulded and coloured as they were to be moulded andcoloured, not instinct with the one man view as they were to becomeinstinct. They were not iron as he was iron, nor yet thunderbolts ofwar. They could not divine the point and hour of attack, and, sooth tosay, they received scant assistance from the actual wizard. They werepatriot forces, simple and manly souls ready enough to die for theircause, but few were yet at the arrowhead of concentration as was thisman. They were to attain it, but not yet. He looked at the north and helooked at his complaining legions, and he strode off to his bivouacbeneath a solitary tree. Here, a little later he gave orders to hisbrigadiers. The Army of the Northwest would resume the march "at earlydawn."
In the harsh coldness of the morning they retraced the road to Bath, afrightful road, a road over which an army had passed. At noon they cameto Bath, but there was hardly a pause in the town. Beneath a sky oflead, in a harsh and freezing wind, the troops swung slowly into anarrow road running west through a meagre valley. Low hills were oneither side--low and bleak. Scrub oak and pine grew sparsely, and alongthe edges of the road dead milkweed and mullein stood gaunt above thesnow. The troops passed an old cider press and a cabin or two out ofwhich negroes stared.
Before long they crossed a creek and began to climb. All the landscapewas now mountainous. To the right, as the way mounted, opened a greatview, white dales and meadows, far winter forests, and the long, longwall of North Mountain. There was small care for the view among thestruggling soldiers. The hills seemed perpendicular, the earthtreacherous glass. Going up, the artillerymen must drag with the horsesat gun and caisson; going down the carriages must be held back, elsethey would slide sideways and go crashing over the embankment. Again andagain, going down, the horses slipped and fell. The weight of metalbehind coming upon them, the whole slid in a heap to the bottom. Therethey must be gotten to their feet, the poor trembling brutes! and set tothe task of another hill. The long, grey, halting, stumbling, creepingline saw no beauty in the winter woods, in the arched fern over thesnow, in the vivid, fairy plots of moss, in the smooth, tall ailanthusstems by the wayside, in the swinging, leafless lianas of grape, pendentfrom the highest trees, in the imposing view of the mountains. The linewas sick, sick to the heart, numbed and shivering, full of pain. Everyambulance and wagon used as ambulance was heavy laden; at everyinfrequent cabin or lonely farmhouse were left the too ill to travelfarther. The poor servants, of whom there were some in each company,were in pitiable plight. No negro likes the cold; for him all the hotsunshine he can get! They shivered now, in the rear of the companies,their bodies drawn together, their faces grey. The nature of most was ofan abounding cheerfulness, but it was not possible to be cheerful onthis January road to Romney.
The army crossed Sleepy Creek. It was frozen to the bottom. The cedarsalong its shore stood so funereally, so crape-like and dark, thesycamores were so clay-white and long of arm, the great birds slowlycircling above a neighbouring wood of so dreary a significance, that theheart sank and sank. Was this war?--war, heroic and glorious, withbanners, trumpets, and rewarded enterprise? Manassas had been war--forone brief summer day! But ever since there was only marching, tenting,suffering, and fatigue--and fatigue--and fatigue.
Maury Stafford and the Reverend Mr. Corbin Wood found themselves ridingside by side, with other mounted officers, in advance of Loring'sleading regiment. The chaplain had experienced, the day before, an uglyfall. His knee was badly wrenched, and so, perforce, he rode to-day,though, as often as he thought the grey could stand it, he took up a manbehind him. Now, however, he was riding single. Indeed, for the lastmile he had uttered no pitiful comment and given no invitation.Moreover, he talked
persistently and was forever calling his companion'sattention to the beauty of the view. At last, after a series of shortanswers, it occurred to Stafford to regard him more closely. There was acolour in the chaplain's cheek and he swayed ever so slightly andrhythmically in his saddle. Stafford checked his horse, drew his handout of an ice-caked gauntlet, and leaning over laid it on the other'swhich was bare. The chaplain's skin was burning hot. Stafford made asound of concern and rode forward to the colonel. In a minute hereturned. "Now you and I, Mr. Wood, will fall out here and just quietlywait until the wagons come by. Then the doctor will fix you up nicely inthe ambulance.... Oh, yes, you are! You're ill enough to want to liedown for awhile. Some one else, you know, can ride Pluto."
Corbin Wood pondered the matter. "That's true, that's very true, my dearMaury. Fontaine, now, behind us in the ranks, his shoes are all wornout. Fontaine, eh? Fontaine knows more Greek than any man--and he'll begood to Pluto. Pluto's almost worn out himself--he's not immortal likeXanthius and Balius. Do you know, Maury, it's little wonder thatGulliver found the Houyhnhnms so detesting war? Horses have a dreadfullot in war--and the quarrel never theirs. Do but look at thatstream!--how cool and pleasant, winding between the willows--"
Stafford got him to one side of the road, to a small plateau beneath anoverhanging bank. The column was now crawling through a ravine with asheer descent on the right to the frozen creek below. To the left,covering the mountain-side, were masses of evergreen kalmia, and abovethem tall and leafless trees in whose branches the wind made a gratingsound. The sleet was falling again--a veil of sleet. The two waiting forthe ambulance looked down upon the grey soldiers, grey, weary, and bentbefore the wind. "Who would ever have thought," said the chaplain,"that Dante took an idea from Virginia in the middle of the nineteenthcentury? I remember things being so happy and comfortable--but it musthave been long ago. Yes, my people, long ago." Dropping the bridle, heraised his arm in a gesture usual with him in the pulpit. In the fadinglight there was about him an illusion of black and white; he moved hisarm as though it were clad in the sleeve of a surplice. "I am not oftendenunciatory," he said, "but I denounce this weary going to and fro,this turning like a dervish, this finding that every straight line isbut a fraction of a circle, this squirrel cage with the greenwood neverreached, this interminable drama, this dance of midges,--
Through a circle that ever returneth in To the selfsame spot, And much of Madness and more of Sin And Horror the soul of the plot--
Is it not wonderful, the gold light on the mountains?"
At last the ambulance appeared--a good one, captured at Manassas. Thechaplain, still talking, was persuaded stiffly to dismount, to givePluto's bridle into Stafford's hand, and to enter. There were otheroccupants, two rows of them. Stafford saw his old friend laid in acorner, on a wisp of straw; then, finding Fontaine in the ranks, gaveover the grey, and joined the staff creeping, creeping on tired horsesthrough the sleet.
Cavalry and infantry and wagon train wound at the close of day over avast bare hilltop toward Unger's Store where, it was known, would be thebivouac. The artillery in the rear found it impossible to finish out themarch. Two miles from Unger's the halt was ordered. It was full dark;neither man nor brute could stumble farther. All came to a stand high upon the wind-swept hill. The guns were left in the road, the horses leddown the slope and picketted in the lee of a poor stable, placed there,it seemed, by some pitying chance. In the stable there was even foundsome hay and corn. The men had no supper, or only such crumbs as werefound in the haversacks. They made their fires on the hillside andcrouched around them, nodding uneasily, trying to sleep with facesscorched by the flame and freezing backs. They put their feet in thesodden shoes to the fire, and the poor, worn-out leather fell into yetgreater holes. There was some conjecture as to how far the thermometerstood below zero. Some put it at forty, but the more conservativedeclared for twenty. It was impossible to sleep, and every one washungry, and the tobacco was all out. _What were they doing at home, bythe fire, after supper, with the children playing about?_
At dawn the bugles blew. Stiff and sore, racked with pains and aches,coughing, limping, savagely hungry, the men rose. Time was to come wheneven a dawn like this would be met by the Confederate soldier withwhimsical cheer, with greetings as to an oft-encountered friend, with acourage quaint, pathetic, and divinely high--but the time was not yet.The men swore and groaned. The haversacks were quite empty; there wouldbe no breakfast until the wagons were caught up with at Unger's. Thedrivers went down the hillside for the horses. When they came to thestrength that had drawn the guns and looked, there was a moment'ssilence. Hetterich the blacksmith was with the party, and Hetterichwept. "If I was God, I wouldn't have it--I wouldn't have a horse treatedso! Just look at Flora--just look at her knees! Ah, the poor brute!" Sofrequent had been the falls of the day before, so often had the animalsbeen cut by the carriages coming upon them, that many were scarred in adreadful fashion. The knees of Flora had been badly cut, and whatHetterich pointed at were long red icicles hanging from the wounds.
At Unger's the evening before, in a narrow valley between the silverhills, the infantry stacked arms, broke ranks, and listened with sullenbrows to two pieces of news. At Hanging Rock, between Unger's andRomney, the advance, composed of a regiment of militia and a section ofartillery, had come into touch with the enemy. The militia had broken,the two guns had been lost. "Fool Tom Jackson" was reported to havesaid, "Good! good!" and lifted that right hand of his to the sky. Theother tidings were to the effect that the troops would rest at Unger'sfor three days, to the end, chiefly, that the horses might berough-shod. Rest--delicious sound! But Unger's! To the east theunutterably bleak hills over which they had toiled, to the west CaponMountain high and stark against the livid skies, to the south a darkforest with the snow beneath the trees, to the north long, low hills,with faded broomsedge waving in the wind. Upon a hilltop perched acountry store, a blacksmith shop, and one or two farmhouses, forlorn andlonely in the twilight, and by the woods ran Buffalo Run, ice upon theshallows to either bank.
In the morning, when the artillery was up, when breakfast was over, rollcalled, orders read, the army fell to the duties upon which paramountstress had been laid. All the farriers, the drivers, the men who had todo with horses, went to work with these poor, wretched, lame, andwounded friends, feeding them, currying them, dressing their hurts and,above all, rough-shoeing them in preparation for the icy mountainsahead. The clink of iron against iron made a pleasant sound; moreover,this morning, the sun shone. Very cold as it was, there was cheer in thesky. Even the crows cawing above the woods did not sound so dolefully. AThunder Run man found a tree laden with shrivelled persimmons. He was upit like a squirrel. "Simmon tree! Simmon tree!" Comrades came hurryingover the snow; the fruit was dropped into upheld caps, lifted towardeager mouths. Suddenly there flamed a generous impulse. "Boys! them poorsick fellows with nothing but hardtack--" The persimmons were carried tothe hospital tents.
Before the sun was halfway to the meridian a curious spectacle appearedalong the banks of Buffalo Run. Every hundred feet or so was built alarge fire. Over it hung a camp kettle, full of water--water hot as thefire could make it. Up and down the stream an improvised laundry wentinto operation, while, squad by squad, the men performed their personalablutions. It was the eighth of January; they had left Winchester uponthe first, and small, indeed, since then had been the use of washingwater. In the dire cold, with the streams frozen, cleanliness had nottempted the majority, and indeed, latterly, the men had been too wornout to care. Sleep and food and warmth had represented the sum ofearthly desire. A number, with ostentation, had each morning broken theice from some pool or other and bathed face and hands, but few extendedthe laved area. The General Order appointing a Washerman's Day came nonetoo soon. Up and down Buffalo Run, in the zero weather, the men strippedand bathed. Soap was not yet the scarce and valuable commodity it was tobecome; there was soap enough for all and the camp kettle
s were filledfrom the stream as soon as emptied. Underclothing, too, flannel andcotton, must be washed.... There came discoveries, made amid "Ughs!" ofdisgust. The more fastidious threw the whole business, undergarment andparasites into the fire; others, more reasonable, or without a change ofclothing, scalded their apparel with anxious care. The episode marked astage in warfare. That night Lieutenant Coffin, writing a letter on hislast scrap of pale blue paper, sat with scrupulously washed hands wellback from the board he was using as a table. His boyish face flushed,his lips quivered as he wrote. He wrote of lilies and moss rose-buds andthe purity of women, and he said there was a side of war which WalterScott had never painted.
Three bleak, pinched days later the army again took the road to Romney.Four miles from Unger's they began to climb Sleepy Creek Mountain,mounting the great, sparsely wooded slope like a long line of warriorants. To either hand the view was very fine, North Mountain to the left,Capon Mountain to the right, in between a sea of hills and long deepvales--very fine and utterly unappreciated. The earth was hostile, thesky was hostile, the commanding general was hostile. Snow began to fall.
Allan Gold, marching with Company A, began to think of Thunder Run, theschoolhouse, and the tollgate. The 65th was now high upon themountain-side and the view had vastly widened. The men looked out andover toward the great main Valley of Virginia, and they lookedwistfully. To many of the men home was over there--home, wife, child,mother--all hopelessly out of reach. Allan Gold had no wife nor childnor mother, but he thought of Sairy and Tom, and he wondered if Sairywere making gingerbread. He tried to smell it again, and to feel thewarmth of her kitchen--but then he knew too well that she was not makinggingerbread! Tom's last letter had spoken of the growing scarcity; flourso high, sugar so high. Everybody was living very plainly, and the poorwere going to suffer. Allan thought of the schoolhouse. It was closed.He could see just how it looked; a small unused building, mournful,deserted, crumbling, while past it rushed the strong and wintry torrent.He thought suddenly of Christianna. He saw her plainly, more plainlythan ever he had done before. She looked starved, defeated. He thoughtof the Country. How long would the war last? In May they had thought"Three months." In the flush of triumph after Manassas they had said "Itis over." But it wasn't over. Marching and camping had followed, fightson the Peninsula, fights on the Kanawha, at Leesburg, at Cheat Mountain,affairs in the far South; and now McClellan drilling, organizing,organizing below Washington! with rumours of another "On to Richmond."When would the war be over? Allan wondered.
The column, turning to the right, began to descend the mountain, a long,slipping, stumbling downward going, with the snow falling heavily andthe wind screaming like a banshee. At the foot was a stretch of bottomland, then, steep and rocky, grimly waiting to be crossed, rose BearGarden Ridge. High Top loomed behind. The infantry could see thecavalry, creeping up Bear Garden, moving slowly, slowly, bent before theblast, wraith-like through the falling snow. From far in the rear, backof the Stonewall Brigade, back of Loring, came a dull sound--theartillery and the wagon train climbing Sleepy Creek Mountain. It wasthree o'clock in the afternoon--oh, leaden weariness, hunger, cold,sickness, worn-out shoes--
Back upon the mountain top, in the ambulance taken at Manassas, Mr. CorbinWood, better than he had been for several days, but still feverish, proppedhimself upon the straw and smiled across at Will Cleave, who, half carriedby his brother, had appeared beside the ambulance an hour before. Swayingas he stood, the boy protested to the last that he could march just as wellas the other fellows, that they would think him a baby, that Richard wouldruin his reputation, that he wasn't giddy, that the doctor in Winchesterhad told him that after you got well from typhoid fever you were strongerthan you ever had been before, that Mr. Rat would think he was malingering,that--that--that--Richard lifted him into the ambulance and laid him uponthe straw which several of the sick pushed forward and patted into place.The surgeon gave a restorative. The elder brother waited until the boy'seyes opened, stooped and kissed him on the forehead, and went away. NowWill said that he was rested, and that it was all a fuss about nothinganyway, and it was funny, travelling like animals in a circus, and wasn'tit most feeding time anyway? Corbin Wood had a bit of bread which heshared, and two or three convalescents in a corner took up the circus idea."There ain't going to be another performance this year! We're going intowinter quarters--that's where we're going. Yes, siree, up with the polarbears--" "And the living skeletons--" "Gosh! I'm a warm weather crittur!I'd jest like to peacefully fold the equator in my arms an' go to sleep.""Oh, hell!--Beg your pardon, sir, it just slipped out, like one of thesnake charmer's rattlers!" "Boys, jes' think of a real circus, with all thewomen folk, an' the tarletan, an' the spangles, an' the pink lemonade, an'the little fellers slipping under the ropes, an' the Grand Parade comingin, an' the big tent so hot everybody's fanning with their hats--Oh, Lord!""Yes, and the clown--and the ring master--" "_What d'ye think of our ringmaster?_" "Who d'ye mean? _Him?_ Think of him? I think he's a damned clown!Don't they call him Fool Tom--"
Will rose from the straw. "While I am by, I'll allow no man to reflectupon the general commanding this army--"
A Georgian of Loring's, tall, gaunt, parched, haggard, a college man andhigh private astray from his own brigade, rose to a sitting posture."What in hell is that young cockerel crowing about? Is it about thedamned individual at the head of this army? I take it that it is. Then Iwill answer him. The individual at the head of this army is not ageneral; he is a schoolmaster. Napoleon, or Caesar, or Marlborough, orEugene, or Cromwell, or Turenne, or Frederick wouldn't turn their headsto look at him as they passed! But every little school-yard martinetwould! He's a pedagogue--by God, he's the Falerian pedagogue who soldhis pupils to the Romans! Oh, the lamb-like pupils, trooping after himthrough flowers and sunshine--straight into the hands of Kelly atRomney, with Rosecrans and twenty thousand just beyond! Yaaah! Aschoolmaster leading Loring and all of us! Let him go back to Lexingtonand teach the Rule of Three, for by God, he'll never demonstrate theRule of One!"
He waved a claw-like hand. "Kindly do not interrupt. Stiff, fanatic,inhuman, callous, cold, half mad and wholly rash, without militarycapacity, ambitious as Lucifer and absurd as Hudibras--I ask again whatis this person doing at the head of this army? Has any one confidence inhim? Has any one pride in him? Has any one love for him? In all thisfrozen waste through which he is dragging us, you couldn't find an echoto say 'One!' Oh, you needn't shout 'One!' You're not an echo; you'reonly a misguided V. M. I. cadet! And you don't count either, chaplain!With all respect to you, you're a non-combatant. And that Valley manover there--he doesn't count either. He belongs to the StonewallBrigade. He's one of Major-General T. J. Jackson's pet lambs. They'reschool-teachers' favourites. All they've got to do is to cheer for theirmaster.--Hip, hip, hooray! Here's Old Jack with his hand lifted and hisold cap pulled low, and his sabre carried _oblikely_, and his 'God hasbeen very good to us to-day, men!' Yaaah--Look out! What are you about?"
The cadet and the Valley man threw themselves across the straw, upon theGeorgian. Corbin Wood crawled over and separated them. "Boys, boys!You're quarrelling just because you're sick and tired and cold andfretful! Try to be good children. I predict there'll come a day whenwe'll _all_ cheer like mad--our friend from Georgia, too--all cheer likemad when General Jackson goes by, leading us to victory! Be good now. Iwas at the circus once, when I was a little boy, when the animals got tofighting--"
The way over Bear Garden was steep, the road a mere track amongboulders. There were many fallen trees. In places they lay across theroad, abatis thrown there by the storm to be removed by half-frozenhands while the horses stood and whinnied. The winter day was failingwhen Stonewall Jackson, Ashby, and a portion of the cavalry with thesmall infantry advance, came down by precipitous paths into BloomeryGap. Here, in a dim hollow and pass of the mountains, beside a shallow,frozen creek, they bivouacked.
From the other side of Bear Garden, General Loring again sent Staffordforward with a statement, co
uched in terms of courtesy three-piled andicy. The aide--a favourite with his general--had ventured to demur. "Idon't think General Jackson likes me, sir. Would not some other--"Loring, the Old Blizzard of two years later--had sworn. "Damn you,Maury, whom does he like? Not any one out of the Stonewall Brigade!You've got a limberer wit than most, and he can't make you cower--by theLord, I've seen him make others do it! You go ahead, and when you'rethere talk indigo Presbyterian!"
"There" was a space of trampled snow underneath a giant pine. A picketon the eastern side of the stream pointed it out, three hundred yardsaway, a dark sentinel towering above the forest. "He's thar. His staff'sthis side, by the pawpaw bushes." Stafford crossed the stream, shallowand filled with floating ice, climbed the shelving bank, and coming tothe pawpaw bushes found Richard Cleave stooping over the small flamethat Tullius had kindled and was watchfully feeding with pine cones.Cleave straightened himself. "Good-evening, Stafford! Come to my tiny,tiny fire. I can't give you coffee--worse luck!--but Tullius has acouple of sweet potatoes."
"I can't stay, thank you," said the other. "General Jackson is overyonder?"
"Yes, by the great pine. I will take you to him." The two stepped fromout the ring of pawpaws, Stafford, walking, leading his horse. "GeneralLoring complains again?"
"Has he not reason to?" Stafford looked about him. "Ugh! steppes ofRussia!"
"You think it a Moscow march? Perhaps it is. But I doubt if Neycomplained."
"You think that we complain too much?"
"What do you think of it?"
Stafford stood still. They were beside a dark line of cedars, skirtingthe forest, stretching toward the great pine. It was twilight; all thenarrow valley drear and mournful; horses and men like phantoms on themuffled earth. "I think," said Stafford deliberately, "that to aNapoleon General Loring would not complain, nor I bear his message ofcomplaint, but to General Jackson we will, in the interests of all,continue to make representations."
"In the interests of all!" exclaimed Cleave. "I beg that you willqualify that statement. Garnett's Brigade and Ashby's Cavalry have notcomplained."
"No. Many disagreeable duties are left to the brigades of GeneralLoring."
"I challenge that statement, sir. It is not true."
Stafford laughed. "Not true! You will not get us to believe that. Ithink you will find that representations will be forwarded to thegovernment at Richmond--"
"Representations of disaffected soldiers?"
"No, sir! Representations of gentlemen and patriots. Remonstrances ofbrave men against the leadership of a petty tyrant--a diseased mind--aPresbyterian deacon crazed for personal distinction--"
Cleave let his hand fall on the other's wrist. "Stop, sir! You willremember that I am of Garnett's Brigade, and, at present, of GeneralJackson's military family--"
Stafford jerked his wrist away. He breathed hard. All the pentweariness, irritation, wrath, of the past most wretched days, all thechill discomfort of the hour, the enmity toward Cleave of which he wasincreasingly conscious, the very unsoundness of his position anddissatisfaction with his errand, pushed him on. Quarrel was in the air.Eight thousand men had, to-day, found their temper on edge. It was notsurprising that between these two a flame leaped. "Member of Garnett'sBrigade and member of General Jackson's military family to thecontrary," said Stafford, "these are Russian steppes, and this is amarch from Moscow, and the general in command is no Napoleon, but a fooland a pedant--"
"I give you warning!"
"A crazy Barebones masquerading as a Cromwell--"
The other's two hands on the shoulders of General Loring's aide hadundoubtedly--the weight of the body being thrown forward--the appearanceof an assault. Stafford's foot slipped upon the freezing snow. Down hecame to the earth, Cleave upon him. A voice behind them spoke with akind of steely curtness, "Stand up, and let me see who you are!"
The two arose and faced Stonewall Jackson. He had come upon themsilently, out from the screen of blackening cedars. Now he blocked theirpath, his lips iron, his eyes a mere gleaming line. "Two squabblersrolling in the snow--two staff officers brawling before a disheartenedarmy! What have you to say for yourselves? Nothing!"
Stafford broke the silence. "Major Cleave has my leave to explain hisaction, sir."
Jackson's eyes drew to a yet narrower line. "Your leave is notnecessary, sir. What was this brawl about, Major Cleave?"
"We quarrelled, sir," said Cleave slowly. "Major Stafford gaveutterance to certain sentiments with which I did not agree, and ... wequarrelled."
"What sentiments? Yes, sir, I order you to answer."
"Major Stafford made certain statements as to the army and thecampaign--statements which I begged to contradict. I can say no more,sir."
"You will tell me what statements, major."
"It is impossible for me to do that, sir."
"My orders are always possible of execution, sir. You will answer me."
Cleave kept silence. The twilight settled closer; the dark wall of thecedars seemed to advance; a hollow wind blew through the forest. "Why, Iwill tell you, sir!" said Stafford impatiently. "I said--"
Jackson cut him short. "Be silent, sir! I have not asked you for yourreport. Major Cleave, I am waiting."
Cleave made a slight gesture, sullen, weary, and determined. "I am verysorry, sir. Major Stafford made certain comments which I resented. Hencethe action of a moment. That is all that I can say, sir."
Stafford spoke with curt rapidity. "I said that these were Russiansteppes and that this was a march from Moscow, but that we had not aNapoleon to soften privation for us. I said that the Stonewall Brigadewas unduly favoured, that the general commanding was--"
He got no further. "Silence, sir," said Jackson, "or I will bring youbefore a court martial! You will come with me now to my tent. I willhear General Loring's latest communication there." He turned uponCleave. "As for you, sir, you will consider yourself under arrest, firstfor disobedience of orders, second for brawling in camp. You will marchto-morrow in the rear of your regiment."
He towered a moment, then with a jerk of his hand went away, taking withhim the officer from Loring. Stafford had a moment in which to make agesture of anger and deprecation--a gesture which the other acknowledgedwith a nod; then he was gone, looking back once. Cleave returned toTullius and the small fire by the pawpaw bushes.
An hour later when his regiment came down into Bloomery Gap, he foundthe colonel and made his report. "Why, damn it all!" said the colonel."We were backing you for the brush. Hunting weather, and a clean runand all the dogs of war to fawn upon you at the end! And here's a paltrythree-foot hedge and a bad tumble! Never you mind! You'll pick yourselfup. Old Jack likes you first-rate."
Cleave laughed. "It doesn't much look like it, sir! Well--I'm back withthe regiment, anyway!"
All that night it snowed, snowed hard. When the day broke the valley hadthe seeming of a crowded graveyard--numberless white mounds stretchingnorth and south in the feeble light. A bugle blew, silver chill;--themen beneath the snow stirred, moaned, arose all white. All that day theymarched, and at dusk crossed the Capon and bivouacked below the shoulderof Sand Mountain. In the morning they went up the mountain. The road wasdeep sand, intolerably toilsome. The column ascended in long curves,through a wood of oak and hickory, with vast tangles of grape hangingfrom the trees. Cavalry, infantry, artillery, wagon train, stragglers,the army came slowly, slowly down Sand Mountain, crossed the slenderlevels, and climbed Lovett's Mountain. Lovett's was long and high, butat last Lovett's, too, was overpassed. The column crept through a ravinewith a stream to the left. Grey cliffs appeared; fern and laurel growingin the clefts. Below lay deep snowdrifts with blue shadows. Ahead,overarching the road, appeared a grey mass that all but choked thegorge. "Hanging Rock!" quoth some one. "That's where the guns werelost!" The army woke to interest. "Hanging Rock!... How're we going toget by? That ain't a road, it's just a cow path!--Powerful good placefor an ambush--"
The column passed the rock, and leaving the pass
came into open country.Before the leading brigade was a creek, an old covered bridge now almostburned away, and the charred ruin of a house. By the roadside lay a deadcow; in the field were others, and buzzards were circling above a pieceof woods. A little farther a dog--a big, brown shepherd--lay in themiddle of the road. Its throat had been cut. By the blackened chimney,on the stone hearth drifted over by the snow, stood a child's cradle.Nothing living was to be seen; all the out-houses of the farm and thebarn were burned.
It was the beginning of a track of desolation. From Hanging Rock toRomney the Confederate column traversed a country where Kelly's troopshad been before it. To well-nigh all of the grey rank and file thevision came with strangeness. They were to grow used to such sights,used, used! but now they flamed white with wrath, they exclaimed, theystammered. "What! what! Just look at that thar tannery! They've slit thehides to ribbons!--That po' ole white horse! What'd he done, Iwonder?... What's that trampled in the mud? That's a doll baby. O Lord!Pick it up, Tom!--Maybe 'twas a mill once, but won't never any morewater go over that wheel!... Making war on children and doll babies anddumb animals and mills!"
Now as hereafter the immediate effect was almost that of warmth andrest, food and wine. Suddenly the men began to say, "Old Jack. Wait tillOld Jack gets there! Just wait till Old Jack and us gets there. I reckonthere'll be something doing! There'll be some shooting, I reckon, thatain't practised on a man's oxen!--I reckon we'd better step up,boys!--Naw, my foot don't hurt no more!"
A mounted officer came by. "General Jackson says, 'Press forward, men!'"
The men did their best. It was very cold, with a high, bitter wind.Another low mountain presented itself; the road edged by banks ofpurplish slate, to either hand great stretches of dogwood showingscarlet berries, or sumach lifting torches in which colour yetsmouldered. The column came down a steep descent, crossed a creek, andsaw before it Jersey Mountain. Jersey Mountain proved ghastly; long,high, bare, blown against by all the winds. There had been upon Jersey afew cabins, a smithy, a mountain school--now there were only blackenedchimneys. The men panted as they climbed; the wind howled along thecrest, the snow began to swirl. At a turn of the road where had been acabin, high upon the bank above the men, stood a mountain woman, herlinsey skirt wrapped about her by the wind, her thick, pale Saxon hairlifted and carried out to its full length, her arms raised above herhead. "Air ye going against them? Air ye going against them? Thelightning go with ye--and the fire go with ye--and the hearts of yourmothers go with ye! Oh-h!--Oh-h-h-h!--Oh-h! Shoot them down!"
It was as though Jersey would never be overpassed. There grew before themen's eyes, upon the treeless plateau which marked the summit, a smallcountry church and graveyard. Inexpressibly lonely they looked againstthe stormy sky, lonely and beckoning. From company to company ran astatement. "When you get to that church you're just three miles fromRomney." Up and up they mounted. The cavalry and advance guard, seen fora moment against a level horizon, disappeared beyond the church, overthe brink of the hill. The main column climbed on through the wind andthe snow; the rear came far behind. The Stonewall Brigade led the mainbody. As it reached the crest of Jersey, a horse and rider, a courier ofJackson's coming from the west, met it, rose in his stirrups, andshouted, "The damned vandals have gone! The Yankees have gone! They'vegotten across the river, away to Cumberland! You weren't quick enough.General Jackson says, 'By God, you are too slow!'" The courier even inhis anger caught himself. "_I_ say, 'By God!' General Jackson says, 'Youare too slow.' They've gone--only Ashby at their heels! They've lefttheir stores in Romney, but they've gone, every devil of them! By God,General Jackson says, 'you should have marched faster!'"
He was gone, past the brigade, on to Loring's with his tidings. TheStonewall Brigade left behind the graveyard and the church and began thelong descent. At first a great flame of anger kept up the hearts of themen. But as they marched, as they toiled down Jersey, as the realizationof the facts pressed upon them, there came a change. The enemy had beengone from Bath; the enemy had been inaccessible at Hancock; now theenemy was not at Romney. Cumberland! Cumberland was many a wintry mileaway, on the other side of the Potomac. Here, here on Jersey, there werecold, hunger, weariness, sickness, clothing grown ragged, shoes betweena laugh and a groan, the snow falling, the wind rising, the daydeclining, and misery flapping dark wings above the head of the Army ofthe Northwest! Over the troops flowed, resistless, a wave of reaction,nausea, disappointment, melancholy. The step changed. Toward the foot ofJersey came another courier. "Yes, sir. On toward New Creek. GeneralJackson says, 'Press forward!'"
The Stonewall Brigade tried to obey, and somewhat dismally failed. Howcould it quicken step again? Night was coming, the snow was falling,everybody was sick at heart, hobbling, limping, dog-tired. The _Closeup, men_, the _Get on, men!_ of the officers, thin, like a child'sfretful wail, was taken up by the wind and lost. With Romney well insight came a third courier. "General Jackson says, 'Press forward!'--No,sir. He didn't say anything else. But I've been speaking with a courierof Ashby's. _He_ says there are three railroad bridges,--one acrossPatterson's Creek and two across the river. If they were destroyed theenemy's communications would be cut. He thinks we're headed that way.It's miles the other side of Romney." He passed down the column."General Jackson says, 'Press forward!'"
_Press forward--Press forward!_ It went like the tolling of a bell, onand on toward the rear, past the Stonewall Brigade, past the artillery,on to Loring yet climbing Jersey. Miles beyond Romney! Railroad bridgesto cut!--Frozen creeks, frozen rivers, steel in a world of snow--Kellyprobably already at Cumberland, and Rosecrans beyond atWheeling--hunger, cold, winter in the spurs of the Alleghenies, disease,stragglers, weariness, worn-out shoes, broken-down horses,disappointment, disillusion, a very, very strange commandinggeneral--Suddenly confidence, heretofore a somewhat limping attendant ofthe army, vanished quite away. The shrill, derisive wind, the greywraiths of snow, the dusk of the mountains took her, conveyed her fromsight, and left the Army of the Northwest to the task of followingwithout her "Fool Tom Jackson."