CHAPTER XXXIII
THE HEEL OF ACHILLES
The Stonewall Brigade, a unit in Jackson's advance, halted on theplateau near the McGehee house. All was dark, all was confused. In thefinal and general charge, regiments had become separated from brigades,companies from regiments. Fragments of many commands were on theplateau,--Whiting, Ewell, D. H. Hill, Jackson's own division, portionsof Longstreet's brigades, even a number of A. P. Hill's broken,exhausted fighters. Many an officer lay silent or moaning, on thescarped slope, in the terrific tangle about the creek, or on themelancholy plain beyond. Captains shouted orders in the colonels'places; lieutenants or sergeants in the captains'. Here, on the plateau,where for hours the blue guns had thundered, the stars were seen butdimly through the smoke. Bodies of men, and men singly or in twos andthrees, wandered like ghosts in Hades. "This way, Second Virginia!""Fall in here, Hood's Texans!"--"Hampton's men, over here!"--"FifteenthAlabama! Fifteenth Alabama!"--"I'm looking for the MilledgevilleHornets."--"Iverson's men! Iverson's men!"--"Fall in here, Cary'sLegion!"--"First Maryland!"--"Fifth Virginia over here!"--"Where in hellis the Eleventh Mississippi!"--"Lawton! Lawton!"--"Sixty-fifth Virginia,fall in here!"
East and south, sloping toward the Chickahominy, ran several miles ofheavy forest. It was filled with sound,--the hoofs of horses, therumbling of wheels, the breaking through undergrowth of masses ofmen,--sound that was dying in volume, rolling toward the Chickahominy.On the trampled brow of the plateau, beneath shot-riddled trees, GeneralD. H. Hill, coming from the northern face, found General Winder of theFirst Brigade standing with several of his officers, trying to piercethe murk toward the river. "You rank here, General Winder?" said Hill.
"I think so, general. Such a confusion of troops I have never seen! Theyhave been reporting to me. It is yours now to command."
"Have you seen General Jackson?"
"No. Not lately."
D. H. Hill looked toward the Chickahominy. "I don't deny it'stemptatious! And yet.... Very dark. Thick woods. Don't know whatobstructions. Men exhausted. Our centre and right not come up. Artillerystill across the swamp--What's that cheering toward the river?"
"I don't know. McClellan may have sent reinforcements."
"Have you pickets out?"
"Yes. What do you think, Cleave?"
"I think, sir, the rout outweighs the reinforcements. I think we shouldpress on at once."
"If we had cavalry!" said Winder impatiently. "However, General Stuarthas swept down toward the Pamunkey. That will be their line ofretreat--to the White House."
"There is the chance," said Cleave, "that General McClellan will abandonthat line, and make instead for the James and the gunboats at Harrison'sLanding."
Hill nodded. "Yes, it's a possibility. General Lee is aware of it. He'llnot unmask Richmond and come altogether on this side the Chickahominyuntil he knows. All that crowd down there may set to and crossto-night--"
"How many bridges?" asked Lawton.
"Alexander's and Grapevine. Woodbury's higher up."
"I do not believe that there are three, sir. There is a report that twoare burned. I believe that the Grapevine is their only road--"
"You believe, colonel, but you do not know. What do you think, GeneralWinder?"
"I think, sir, with Colonel Cleave, that we should push down through thewoods to the right of the Grapevine Bridge. They, too, are exhausted,their horses jaded, their ammunition spent. We could gather a littleartillery--Poague's battery is here. They are crushed together, in greatmasses. If we could fall upon them, cause a great panic there at thewater, much might come of it."
Hill looked with troubled eyes about the plateau. "And two or threethousand men, perhaps, be swallowed up and lost! A grand charge thattook this plateau--yes! and a grand charge at Beaver Dam Creek yesterdayat dark, and a grand charge when Albert Sidney Johnston was killed, anda grand charge when Ashby was killed, and on a number of otheroccasions, and now a grand night-time charge with worn-out troops. Allgrand--just the kind of grandeur the South cannot afford!... An army yetof blue troops and fresh, shouting brigades, and our centre and right onthe other side of the creek.... I don't dare do it, gentlemen!--not onmy own responsibility. What do you think, General Lawton?"
"I think you are right, sir."
"More and more troops are coming upon the plateau," said Winder."General Hill, if you will order us to go we will see to it that you donot repent--"
"They are defeated and retreating, sir," said Cleave. "If they arecrossing the river, it is at least in the realm of probability that theyhave but the one path. No one knows better than you what resolutepressure might now accomplish. Every moment that we wait they gain insteadiness, and other reserves will come up. Make their junction withtheir centre, and to-morrow we fight a terrific battle where to-night alesser struggle might secure a greater victory."
"Speaking largely, that is true," said Hill. "But--I wish GeneralJackson were here! I think you know, gentlemen, that, personally, Icould wish, at this minute, to be down there in the woods, beside theGrapevine Bridge. But with the knowledge that the enemy is bringing upreserves, with the darkness so thick, with no great force, and thatexhausted, and with no artillery, I cannot take the responsibility ofthe advance. If General Jackson were here--"
"May I send in search of him, sir?"
"Yes, General Winder, you may do that. And if he says, 'Go!' there won'tone of you be happier than I."
"We know that, general.--Cleave, I am going to send you. You're far thelikeliest. We want him to come and lead us to the completest victory. ByGod, we want Front Royal and Port Republic again!"
Cleave, turning, disappeared into the darkness. "See to your men,General Winder. Get them ready," said Hill. "I'm going a little way intothe woods to see what I can see myself." He went, Lawton with him.Before many minutes had passed they were back. "Nearly walked into theirlines! Strung across the Grapevine road. Massed thick between us and theChickahominy. Scattered like acorns through the woods. Pretty miserable,I gather. Passed party hunting water. Speech bewrayeth the man, sodidn't say anything. Heard the pickets talking. 'Twas Meagher and Frenchcame up. They're building great fires by the water. Looks as though theymeant to cross. Nothing of General Jackson yet?"
"No, sir. Not yet."
"Well, I'm going into the house for a morsel of food. Send for me themoment you hear anything. I wish the artillery were up. Who's this?Colonel Fauquier Cary? In the darkness, couldn't tell. Yes, GeneralWinder thinks so, too. We've sent to ask General Jackson. Come with me,Cary, to the house. Faugh! this stifling heat! And that was Sykes wewere fighting against--George Sykes! Remember he was my roommate at thePoint?"
The short path to McGehee's house was not trodden without difficulty.All the great plateau was cumbered with debris of the struggle. On thecut and furrowed ground one stumbled upon abandoned stores and arms.There were overturned wagons and ambulances with dead horses; there wereruined gun-carriages; there were wrecked litters, fallen tents, dead menand the wounded. Here, and on the plain below, the lanterns of thesurgeons and their helpers moved like glowworms. They gathered thewounded, blue and grey. "Treat the whole field alike," had said Lee.Everywhere were troops seeking their commands, hoarsely calling, joiningat last their comrades. Fires had been kindled. Dim, dim, in thesouthwestern sky beyond the yet rolling vapour, showed a gleaming wherewas Richmond. D. H. Hill and Fauquier Cary went indoors. An aide managedto find some biscuits, and there was water from the well. "I haven'ttouched food since daybreak," said the general.
"Nor I. Much as I like him, I am loath to let Fitz John Porter strikedown the York River line to-night, if that's his road, or cross theChickahominy if that's the road! We have a victory. Press it home andfix it there."
"I believe that you are right. Surely Jackson will see it so."
"Where is General Jackson?"
"God knows!--Thank you, Reid. Poor fare, Cary, but familiar. Come, Reid,get your share."
They ate the hard biscuits and drank the well-water
. The air was stilland sultry; through the windows they heard, afar off, the bugles--theirown and those of the foe.
"High, over all the melancholy bugle grieves."
Moths came in to the candle. With his hand Cary warned them away. Onelit on his sleeve. "I wonder what you think of it," he said, and put himout of window. There was a stir at the door. A sergeant appeared. "We'regathering up the wounded, general--and we found a Yankee officer underthe trees just here--and he said you'd know him--but he's fainted deadaway--" He moved aside. "Litters gave out long ago, so we're taking U.S. blankets--"
Four men, carrying by the corners a blanket with an unconscious man uponit, came into the room. The Confederate officers looked. "No, I don'tknow him. Why, wait--Yes, I do! It's Clitz--Clitz that was so young andred-cheeked and our pet at the Point!... Yes, and one day in Mexico hisregiment filed past, going into a fight, and he looked so like a gallantboy that I prayed to God that Clitz might not be hurt!... Reid, have himput in a room here! See that Dr. Mott sees him at once.--O God, Cary,this fratricidal war! Fighting George Sykes all day, and now this boy--"
"Yes," said Cary. "Once to-day I was opposed to Fitz John Porter. Helooked at me out of a cloud, and I looked at him out of one, and thebattle roared between. I always liked him." He walked across the room,looked out of the window upon the battlefield, and came back. "But," hesaid grimly, "it is a war of invasion. What do you think is wrong withJackson?"
The other looked at him with his fine, kindly eyes. "Why, let me tellyou, Cary,--since it won't go any further,--I am as good a Presbyterianas he is, but I think he has prayed too much."
"I see!" said Cary. "Well, I would be willing to put up a petition of myown just now.--Delay! Delay! We have set opportunity against a wall andcalled out the firing party." He rose. "Thanks for the biscuits. I feelanother man. I'll go now and look after my wounded. There are enough ofthem, poor souls!"
Another stir occurred at the door. The aide appeared. "They've takensome prisoners in the wood at the foot of the hill, sir. One of themsays he's General Reynolds--"
"Reynolds! Good God, Reynolds! Bring him in--"
General Reynolds came in. "Reynolds!"--"Hill!"--"How are you,Reynolds?"--"Good Lord, it's Fauquier Cary!"
The aide put a chair. The prisoner sank into it and covered his facewith his hands. Presently he let them drop. "Hill, we ought not to beenemies! Messmates and tent-mates for a year!... It's ghastly."
"I'll agree with you there, Reynolds. It's ghastlier than ghastly.--Youaren't hurt?"
Outside, over the great hilltop upon which Richard Cleave was moving,the darkness might be felt. The air smelled strongly of burned powder,was yet thickened by smoke. Where fires had been kindled, the ruddylight went up like pillars to sustain a cloudy roof. There weretreetops, burnished, high in air; then all the land fell to the swampyshores of the creek, and beyond to the vast and sombre battle plain,where the shells had rained. The masses of grey troops upon it, restingon their arms, could be divined by the red points of camp-fires.Lanterns, also, were wandering like marsh lights, up and down and to andfro. Here, on the plateau, it was the same. They danced like giantfireflies. He passed a blazing log about which were gathered a dozenmen. Some wag of the mess had said something jocular; to a man they werelaughing convulsively. Had they been blamed, they would perhaps haveanswered that it was better to laugh than to cry. Cleave passed themwith no inclination to blame, and came to where, under the trees, the65th was gathered. Here, too, there were fires; his men were droppedlike acorns on the ground, making a little "coosh," frying a littlebacon, attending to slight hurts, cognizant of the missing but notreferring to them loudly, glad of victory, burying all loss, with a wideswing of courage making the best of it in the darkness. When they sawCleave they suspended all other operations long enough to cheer him. Hesmiled, waved his hand, spoke a short word to Hairston Breckinridge, andhurried on. He passed the 2d Virginia, mourning its colonel--ColonelAllen--fallen in the front of the charge. He passed other bivouacs--menof Rodes's, of Garland's, of Trimble's. "Where is GeneralJackson?"--"Can't tell you, sir--" "Here is General Ewell."
"Old Dick" squatted by a camp-fire, was broiling a bit of bacon, head onone side, as he looked up with bright round eyes at Cleave, whom heliked. "That you, Richard Cleave? By God, sir, if I were as excellent amajor-general as I am a cook!--Have a bit?--Well, we wolloped them! Theyfought like men, and we fought like men, and by God, I can't get thecannon out of my ears! General Jackson?--I thought he was in front withD. H. Hill. Going to do anything more to-night? It's pretty late, butI'm ready."
"Nothing--without General Jackson," said Cleave. "Thank you, general--ifI might have a mouthful of coffee? I haven't the least idea when I haveeaten."
Ewell handed him the tin cup. He drank hastily and went on. Now it wasby a field hospital, ghastly sights and ghastly sounds, pine boughs setfor torches. He shut his eyes in a moment's faintness. It looked ademoniac place, a smoke-wreathed platform in some Inferno circle. He meta staff officer coming up from the plain. "General Lee has ridden to theright. He is watching for McClellan's next move. There's a rumour thateverything's in motion toward the James. If it's true, there's a chasebefore us to-morrow, eh?--A. P. Hill suffered dreadfully. 'Prince John'kept McClellan beautifully amused.--General Jackson? On the slope of thehill by the breastworks."
A red light proclaimed the place as Cleave approached it. It seemed asolitary flame, night around it and a sweep of scarped earth. Cleave,coming into the glow, found only the old negro Jim, squat beside it likea gnome, his eyes upon the jewelled hollows, his lips working. Jim rose."De gineral, sah? De gineral done sont de staff away ter res'. Fo' deLawd, de gineral bettah follah dat 'zample! Yaas, sah,--ober dar in debig woods."
Cleave descended the embankment and entered a heavy wood. A voicespoke--Jackson's--very curtly. "Who is it, and what is your business?"
"It is the colonel of the 65th Virginia, sir. General Winder sends me,with the approval of General D. H. Hill, from the advance by the McGeheehouse."
A part of the shadow detached itself and came forward as Jackson. Itstalked past Cleave out of the belt of trees and over the bare red earthto the fire. The other man followed, and in the glare faced the generalagain. The leaping flame showed Jackson's bronzed face, with the browsdrawn down, the eyes looking inward, and the lips closed as though noforce could part them. Cleave knew the look, and inwardly set his ownlips. At last the other spoke. "Well, sir?"
"The enemy is cramped between us and the Chickahominy, sir. Our picketsare almost in touch of theirs. If we are scattered and disorganized,they are more so,--confused--distressed. We are the victors, and thetroops still feel the glow of victory."
"Well?"
"There might be a completer victory. We need only you to lead us, sir."
"You are mistaken. The men are wearied. They worked very hard in theValley. They need not do it all."
"They are not so wearied, sir. There is comment, I think, on what theArmy of the Valley has not done in the last two days. We have our chanceto refute it all to-night."
"General Lee is the commander-in-chief. General Lee will give orders."
"General Lee has said to himself: 'He did so wonderfully in the Valley,I do not doubt he will do as wonderfully here. I leave him free. He'llstrike when it is time.'--It is time now, sir."
"Sir, you are forgetting yourself."
"Sir, I wish to rouse you."
Jackson walked past the fire to a fallen tree, sat himself down andlooked across to the other man. The low flame more deeply bronzed hisface. His eyes looked preternaturally sunken. He sat, characteristicallyrigid, a figure in grey stone. There was about him a momentary air of anIndian, he looked so ruthless. If it was not that, thought Cleave, thenit was that he looked fanatic. Whichever it might be, he perceived thathe himself stood in arctic air. He had been liked, he knew; now he sawthe mist of disfavour rise. Jackson's voice came gratingly. "Who sentyou?"
"General Winder and General D. H. Hill."
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"You will tell General Hill that I shall make no further attackto-night. I have other important duties to perform."
"I know what I risk," said Cleave, "and I do not risk it lightly. Haveyou thought of how you fell on them at Front Royal and at Winchester?Here, too, they are confused, retreating--a greater force to strike, agreater result to win, a greater service to do for the country, agreater name to make for yourself. To-morrow morning all the world maysay, 'So struck Napoleon--'"
"Napoleon's confidence in his star was pagan. Only God rules."
"And the man who accepts opportunity--is he not His servant? May we not,sir, may we not make the attack?"
"No, sir; not to-night. We have marred too many Sundays--"
"It is not Sunday!"
Jackson looked across with an iron countenance. "So little the fighterknows! See, what war does! But I will keep, in part at least, theSabbath. You may go, sir."
"General Jackson, this is Friday evening."
"Colonel Cleave, did you hear my order? Go, sir!--and think yourselffortunate that you do not go under arrest."
"Sir--Sir--"
Jackson rose. "One other word, and I take your sword. It occurs to methat I have indulged you in a freedom that--Go!"
Cleave turned with sharp precision and obeyed. Three paces took him outof the firelight into the overhanging shadow. He made a gesture ofsorrow and anger. "Who says that magic's dead? Now, how long will thatpotion hold him?" He stumbled in the loose, bare earth, swamp and creekbelow him. He looked down into that trough of death. "I gained nothing,and I have done for myself! If I know him--Ugh!"
He shook himself, went on through the sultry, smoky night, alternatelantern-slides of glare and darkness, to the eastern face of theplateau. Here he found Winder, reported, and with him encountered D. H.Hill coming with Fauquier Cary from the McGehee house. "What's that?"said Hill. "He won't pursue to-night? Very well, that settles it! Maybethey'll be there in the morning, maybe not. Look here, Winder!Reynolds's taken--you remember Reynolds?"
Cary and Cleave had a moment apart. "All well, Fauquier? Thegeneral?--Edward?"
"I think so. I saw Warwick for a moment. A minie had hurt his hand--notserious, he said. Edward I have not seen."
"I had a glimpse of him this morning.--This morning!"
"Yes--long ago, is it not? You'll get your brigade after this."
The other looked at him oddly. "Will I? I strongly doubt it. Well, itseems not a large thing to-night."
Beyond the main battlefield where A. P. Hill's and Longstreet'sshattered brigades lay on their arms, beyond the small farmhouse whereLee waked and watched, beyond the Chickahominy and its swamps, beyondforest and farm land, lay Richmond under the stars. Eastwardly, withinand without its girdling earthworks, that brilliant and histrionicgeneral, John Bankhead Magruder, El Capitan Colorado, with a lispingtongue, a blade like Bayard's, and a talent for drama and strategy, keptGeneral McClellan under the impression, confirmed by the whole Pinkertonforce, that "at least eighty thousand men" had remained to guardRichmond, when Lee with "at least eighty thousand men" had crossed theChickahominy. Richmond knew better, but Richmond was stoically calm asto the possibility of a storming. What it had been hard to be calm overwas the sound, this Friday, of the guns beyond the Chickahominy.Mechanicsville, yesterday, was bad enough, but this was frightful.Heavy, continuous, it took away the breath and held the heart in an irongrip. All the loved ones there--all the loved ones there!--and heavierand heavier toward night grew the fearful sound.... Then began thecoming of the wounded. In the long dusk of the summer evening, thecannonading ceased. A little after nine arrived couriers, announcing thevictory. The church bells of Richmond, not yet melted into cannon, beganto ring. "It was a victory--it was a victory," said the people to oneanother.... But the wounded continued to come in, ambulance, cart, andwagon rolling like tumbrels over the stones. To many a mother wasbrought tidings of the death of her son, and many a wife must say, "I amwidowed," and many children cried that night for their father. The heatwas frightful. The city tossed and moaned, without sleep, or nursed, orwatched, or wandered fevered through the streets. The noise of the Jamesaround its rocky islands was like the groaning of the distantbattlefield. The odour of the June flowers made the city like a chamberof death. All windows were open wide to the air, most houses lighted.Sometimes from these there came forth a sharp cry; sometimes womens'forms, restless in the night, searching again the hospitals. "He mightbe here."--"He might be at this one." Sometimes, before such or such ahouse, cart or carriage or wagon stopped. "Oh, God! wounded or--?" Allnight long fared the processions from the field of Gaines's Mill to thehospitals. Toward dawn it began to be "No room. Try Robinson's--try theDe Sales."--"Impossible here! We can hardly step between the rows. Thebeds gave out long ago. Take him to Miss Sally Tompkins."--"No room. Oh,the pity of it! Take him to the St. Charles or into the first privatehouse. They are all thrown open."
Judith, kept at the Stonewall all the night before, had gone home,bathed, drawn the shutters of her small room, lain down and resolutelyclosed her eyes. She must sleep, she knew,--must gather strength for theafternoon and night. The house was quiet. Last night the eldest son hadbeen brought in wounded. The mother, her cousin, had him in her chamber;she and his mammy and the old family doctor. His sister, a young wife,was possessed by the idea that her husband might be in one of thehospitals, delirious, unable to tell where he belonged, calling uponher, and no one understanding. She was gone, in the feverish heat, uponher search. There came no sounds from below. After the thunder which hadbeen in the ear, after the sounds of the hospital, all the world seemedas silent as a cavern or as the depth of the sea. Judith closed hereyes, determinedly stilled her heart, drew regular breath, put herselfout of Richmond back in a certain cool and green forest recess which sheloved, and there wooed sleep. It came at last, with a not unhappy dream.She thought she was walking on the hills back of Greenwood with her AuntLucy. The two said they were tired and would rest, and entered thegraveyard and sat down upon the bank of ivy beside Ludwell Cary's grave.That was all natural enough; a thing they had done many times. They weretaught at Greenwood that there was nothing mournful there. Shells layabout them, beneath the earth, but the beneficent activities hadescaped, and were active still, beneficent still.... The word "shells"in the dream turned the page. She was upon a great sea beach and quitealone. She sat and looked at the waves coming rolling in, and presentlyone laid Richard at her feet. She bandaged the cut upon his forehead,and called him by his name, and he looked at her and smiled. "Out of theocean, into the ocean," he said. "All of us. A going forth and areturning." She felt herself, in the dream, in his arms, and found itsweet. The waves were beneath them; they lay now on the crests, now inthe hollows, and there seemed no port. This endured a long while, untilshe thought she heard the sea-fairies singing. Then there came a boomingsound, and she thought, "This is the port, or perhaps it is an islandthat we are passing." She asked Richard which it was, but he did notanswer, and she turned upon the wave and found that he was not there....It was seaweed about her arms. The booming grew louder, rattled thewindow-glass. She opened her eyes, pushed her dark loosened hair fromher arms and bosom, and sat up. "The cannon again!"
She looked at her watch. It was two o'clock. Rising, she put on herdark, thin muslin, and took her shady hat. The room seemed to throb tothe booming guns. All the birds had flown from the tulip tree outside.She went downstairs and tapped at her cousin's door. "How ishe?"--"Conscious now, thank God, my dear! The doctor says he will bespared. How the house shakes! And Walter and Ronald out there. You aregoing back?"
"Yes. Do not look for me to-night. There will be so much to be done--"
"Yes, yes, my dear. Louder and louder! And Ronald is so reckless! Youmust have something to eat."
"Shirley will give me a glass of milk. Tell Rob to get well. Good-bye."
She kissed her cousin, drank her glass of milk in the dining-room wherethe silver was jingling on the sideboard, and went out into the
hot,sound-filled air. At three she was at her post in the hospital.
The intermittent thunder, heavier than any on the continent before, wasstilled at last,--at nine, as had happened the night before. The mazedcity shook the mist from before its eyes, and settled to the hot night'swork, with the wagons, bringing the dead and the wounded, dull on thecobblestones to the ear, but loud, loud to the heart. All that night theStonewall Hospital was a grisly place. By the next morning everyhospital in town was choked with the wounded, and few houses but hadtheir quota. The surgeons looked like wraiths, the nursing women haddark rings beneath their eyes, set burningly in pale faces, the negroeswho valiantly helped had a greyish look. More emotional than the whites,they burst now and then into a half wail, half chant. So heavy was theburden, so inadequate the small, beleaguered city's provision for theweight of helpless anguish, that at first there was a moment ofparalysis. As easy to strive with the tornado as with this wind of painand death! Then the people rallied and somewhat outstripped a people'sbest.
From the troops immediately about the city came the funeral escorts. Allday the Dead March from "Saul" wailed through the streets, out toHollywood. The churches stayed open; old and young, every man in thecity, white or black, did his part, and so did all the women. The needwas so great that the very young girls, heretofore spared, found placenow in hospital or house, beside the beds, the pallets, the mereblanket, or no blanket, on the floor. They could keep away thetormenting flies, drawn by the heat, the glare, the blood and effluvia,could give the parched lips water, could watch by the less terrificallyhurt. All the city laboured; putting aside the personal anguish, theprivate loss known, suspected, or but fearfully dreaded. Glad of thevictory but with only calamity beneath its eyes, the city wrestled withcrowding pain, death, and grief.
Margaret Cleave was at one of the great hospitals. An hour later came,too, Miriam and Christianna. "Yes, you can help. Miriam, you are used toit. Hold this bandage so, until the doctor comes. If it growsblood-soaked--like this one--call some one at once. Christianna, you arestrong.--Mrs. Preston, let her have the bucket of water. Go up and down,between the rows, and give water to those who want it. If they cannotlift themselves, help them--so!"
Christianna took the wooden bucket and the tin dipper. For all shelooked like a wild rose she was strong, and she had a certain mountainskill and light certainty of movement. She went down the long room,giving water to all who moaned for it. They lay very thick, the wounded,side by side in the heat, the glare of the room, where all the lightpossible must be had. Some lay outstretched and rigid, some muchcontorted. Some were delirious, others writhed and groaned, some weremost pathetically silent and patient. Nearly all were thirsty; clutchedthe dipper with burning fingers, drank, with their hollow eyes now onthe girl who held it, now on mere space. Some could not help themselves.She knelt beside these, raised the head with one hand, put water to thelips with the other. She gained her mountain steadiness and did well,crooning directions in her calm, drawling voice. This bucket emptied,she found where to fill it again, and pursued her task, stepping lightlybetween the huddled, painful rows, among the hurrying forms of nursesand surgeons and coloured helpers.
At the very end of the long lane, she came upon a blanket spread on theblood-stained floor. On it lay a man, blond and straight, closed eyeswith a line between them, hand across his breast touching his shirtwhere it was stiff with dried blood. "Air you thirsty?" beganChristianna, then set the bucket suddenly down.
Allan opened his eyes. "Very thirsty.... I reckon I am light-headed. I'mnot on Thunder Run, am I?"
The frightful day wore on to late afternoon. No guns shook the air inthese hours. Richmond understood that, out beyond the entrenchments,there was a pause in the storm. McClellan was leaving his own wonderfulearthworks. But would he retreat down the Peninsula by the way he hadcome, or would he strike across and down the James to his gunboats byWestover? The city gathered that General Lee was waiting to find out. Inthe meantime the day that was set to the Dead March in "Saul" passedsomehow, in the June heat and the odour of flowers and blood.
Toward five o'clock Judith left the Stonewall Hospital. She had notquitted it for twenty-four hours, and she came now into the light andair like a form emerging from Hades, very palely smiling, with the greyof the underworld, its breath and its terror still about her. There washardly yet a consciousness of fatigue. Twelve hours before she hadthought, "If I do not rest a little, I shall fall." But she had not beenable to rest, and the feeling had died. For the last twelve she hadmoved like an automaton, swift, sure, without a thought of herself. Itwas as though her will stood somewhere far above and swayed her bodylike a wand. Even now she was going home, because the will said shemust; must rest two hours, and come back fresher for the night.
As she came out into the golden light, Cleave left the group of youngand old about the door and met her. In the plane along which life nowmoved, nothing was unnatural; certainly Richmond did not find it so,that a lover and his beloved should thus encounter in the street, amoment between battles. Her dark eyes and his grey ones met. To find himthere seemed as natural as it had been in her dream; the street was nomore to her than the lonely beach. They crossed it, went up toward theCapitol Square, and, entering, found a green dip of earth with a benchbeneath a linden tree. Behind them rose the terraced slope to thepillared Capitol; as always, in this square children's voices were heardwith their answering nurses, and the squirrels ran along the grass orupon the boughs above. But the voices were somewhat distant and thesquirrels did not disturb; it was a leafy, quiet nook. The few men orwomen who passed, pale, distrait, hurrying from one quarter of the cityto another, heeded as little as they were heeded. Lovers'meetings--lovers' partings--soldiers--women who loved them--faces paleand grave, yet raised, hands in hands, low voices in leafy places--manand woman together in the golden light, in the breathing space beforethe cannon should begin again--Richmond was growing used to that. Alllife was now in public. For the most part a clear altruism swayed theplace and time, and in the glow smallness of comment or of thought wasdrowned. Certainly, it mattered not to Cleave and Judith that it was theCapitol Square, and that people went up and down.
"I have but the shortest while," he said. "I came this morning withAllen's body--the colonel of the 2d. I ride back directly. I hope thatwe will move to-night."
"Following McClellan?"
"To get across his path, if possible."
"There will be another battle?"
"Yes. More than one, perhaps."
"I have believed that you were safe. I do not see that I could havelived else."
"Many have fallen; many are hurt. I found Allan Gold in the hospital. Hewill not die, however.... Judith, how often do I see your face besidethe flag!"
"When I was asleep I dreamed of you. We were drifting together, far outat sea--your arm here--" She lifted his hand, drew his arm about her,rested her head on his breast. "I love you--I love you--I love you."
They stayed in the leafy place and the red-gold light for half an hour,speaking little, sitting sometimes with closed eyes, but hand in hand.It was much as though they were drifting together at sea, understandingperfectly, but weary from battling, and with great issues towering tothe inner vision. They would have been less nobly minded had their ownpassion inexorably claimed them. All about them were suffering and deathand the peril of their cause. For one half-hour they drew happiness fromthe darkly gigantic background, but it was a quiet and lofty form,though sweet, sweet! with whom they companioned. When the time waspassed the two rose, and Cleave held her in his arms. "Love--Love--"
When he was gone she waited awhile beneath the trees, then slowlycrossed the Capitol Square and moved toward the small room behind thetulip tree. The streets were flooded with a sunset glow. Into Franklinfrom Main came marching feet, then, dull, dull! the muffled drums.Soldiers and furled colours and the coffin, atop it the dead man's capand gauntlets and sword; behind, pacing slowly, his war horse, stirrupscrossed over saddle. Soldiers, soldie
rs, and the drums beating likebreaking hearts. She moved back to a doorstep and let the Dead Marchfrom "Saul" go by.