CHAPTER V
THUNDER RUN
Allan Gold, teaching the school on Thunder Run, lodged at the tollgatehalfway down the mountain. His parents were dead, his brothers movedaway. The mountain girls were pretty and fain, and matches were earlymade. Allan made none; he taught with conscientiousness thirtytow-headed youngsters, read what books he could get, and worked in thetollgate keeper's small, bright garden. He had a passion for flowers. Heloved, too, to sit with his pipe upon the rude porch of the toll-house,fanned by the marvellous mountain air, and look down over ridges ofchestnut and oak to the mighty valley below, and across to the far bluewall of the Alleghenies.
The one-roomed, log-built schoolhouse stood a mile from the road acrossthe mountains, upon a higher level, in a fairy meadow below the mountainclearings. A walnut tree shaded it, Thunder Run leaped by in cascades,on either side the footpath Allan had planted larkspur and marigolds.Here, on a May morning, he rang the bell, then waited patiently untilthe last free-born imp elected to leave the delights of a minnow-filledpool, a newly discovered redbird's nest, and a blockhouse in process ofconstruction against imaginary Indians. At last all were seated upon therude benches in the dusky room,--small tow-headed Jacks and Jills, heirsto a field of wheat or oats, a diminutive tobacco patch, a log cabin, apiece of uncleared forest, or perhaps the blacksmith's forge, a smallmountain store, or the sawmill down the stream. Allan read aloud theParable of the Sower, and they all said the Lord's Prayer; then hecalled the Blue Back Speller class. The spelling done, they read fromthe same book about the Martyr and his Family. Geography followed, withan account of the Yang-tse-Kiang and an illustration of a pagoda, afterwhich the ten-year-olds took the front bench and read of little Hugh andold Mr. Toil. This over, the whole school fell to ciphering. Theyciphered for half an hour, and then they had a history lesson, whichtold of one Curtius who leaped into a gulf to save his country. Historybeing followed by the writing lesson, all save the littlest presentbegan laboriously to copy a proverb of Solomon.
Half-past eleven and recess drawing on! The scholars grew restless.Could the bird's nest still be there? Were the minnows gone from thepool? Had the blockhouse fallen down? Would writing go on forever?--Thebell rang; the teacher, whom they liked well enough, was speaking. _Nomore school!_ Recess forever--or until next year, which was the samething! No more geography, reading, writing, arithmetic, and spelling; nomore school! Hurrah! Of course the redbird's nest was swinging on thebough, and the minnows were in the pool, and the blockhouse wasstanding, and the sun shining with all its might! "All the men abouthere are going to fight," said Allan. "I am going, too. So we'll have tostop school until the war is over. Try not to forget what I've taughtyou, children, and try to be good boys and girls. You boys must learnnow to be men, for you'll have to look after things and the women. Andyou girls must help your mothers all you can. It's going to be hardtimes, little folk! You've played a long time at fighting Indians, andlatterly I've noticed you playing at fighting Yankees. Playtime's overnow. It's time to work, to think, and to try to help. You can't fightfor Virginia with guns and swords, but every woman and child, everyyoung boy and old man in Virginia can make the hearts easier of thosewho go to fight. You be good boys and girls and do your duty here onThunder Run, and God will count you as his soldiers just the same as ifyou were fighting down there in the valley, or before Richmond, or onthe Potomac, or wherever we're going to fight. You're going to be goodchildren; I know it!" He closed the book before him. "School's over now.When we take in again we'll finish the Roman History--I've marked theplace." He left his rude old desk and the little platform, and steppingdown amongst his pupils, gave to each his hand. Then he divided amongthem the scanty supply of books, patiently answered a scurry ofquestions, and outside, upon the sunshiny sward, with the wind in thewalnut tree and the larkspur beginning to bloom, said good-bye oncemore. Jack and Jill gave no further thought to the bird's nest, theminnows in the pool, the unfinished blockhouse. Off they rushed, up theside of the mountain, over the wooded hills, along Thunder Run, where itleaped from pool to pool. They must be home with the news! No moreschool--no more school! And was father going--and were Johnny and Samand Dave? Where were they going to fight? As far as the big sawmill? asfar away as the _river_? Were the dogs going, too?
Allan Gold, left alone, locked the schoolhouse door, walked slowly alongthe footpath between the flowers he had planted, and, standing byThunder Run, looked for awhile at the clear, brown water, then, with along breath and a straightening of the shoulders, turned away."Good-bye, little place!" he said, and strode down the ravine to theroad and the toll-house.
The tollgate keeper, old and crippled, sat on the porch beside a woodenbucket of well-water. The county newspaper lay on his knee, and he wasreading the items aloud to his wife, old, too, but active, standing ather ironing-board within the kitchen door. A cat purred in the sunshine,and all the lilac bushes were in bloom. "'Ten companies from thisCounty,'" read the tollgate keeper; "'Ten companies from OldBotetourt,--The Mountain Rifles, the Fincastle Rifles, the BotetourtDragoons, the Zion Hill Company, the Roaring Run men, the Thunder Run--'Air you listenin', Sairy?"
Sairy brought a fresh iron from the stove. "I am a-listenin', Tom.'Pears to me I ain't done nothing but listen sence last December! It'sgot to be sech a habit that I ketch myself waking up at night to listen.But I've got to iron as well as listen, or Allan Gold won't have anyshirts fit to fight in! Go on reading, I hear ye."
"It's an editorial," said Tom weightily. "'Three weeks have passed sincewar was declared. At once Governor Letcher called for troops; at oncethe call was answered. We have had in Botetourt, as all over Virginia,as through all the Southern States, days of excitement, sleeplessnights, fanfare of preparation, drill, camp, orders, counter-orders,music, tears and laughter of high-hearted women--'"
Sairy touched her iron with a wet finger-tip. "This time next yearthar'll be more tears, I reckon, and less laughter! I ain't a girl, andI don't hold with war--Well?"
"'Beat of drums and call of fife, heroic ardour and the cult of Mars--'"
"Of--?"
"That's the name of the heathen idol they used to sacrifice men to.'Parties have vanished from county and State. Whigs and Democrats,Unionists and Secessionists, Bell and Everett men and Breckinridgemen--all are gone. There is now but one party--_the party of theinvaded_. A month ago there was division of opinion; it does not existto-day. It died in the hour when we were called upon to deny ourconvictions, to sacrifice our principles, to juggle with theConstitution, to play fast and loose, to blow hot and cold, to say onething and do another, to fling our honour to the winds and to assist incoercing Sovereign States back into a Union which they find intolerable!It died in the moment when we saw, no longer the Confederation ofRepublics to which we had acceded, but a land whirling toward Empire. Itis dead. There are no Union men to-day in Virginia. The ten Botetourtcompanies hold themselves under arms. At any moment may come the orderto the front. The county has not spared her first-born--no, nor thedarling of his mother! It is a rank and file different from the OldWorld's rank and file. The rich man marches, a private soldier, besidethe poor man; the lettered beside the unlearned; the planter, thelawyer, the merchant, the divine, the student side by side with the manfrom the plough, the smith, the carpenter, the hunter, the boatman, thelabourer by the day. Ay, rank and file, you are different; and the armythat you make will yet stir the blood and warm the heart of the world!'"
The ironer stretched another garment upon the board. "If only we fighthalf as well as that thar newspaper talks! Is the editor going?"
"Yes, he is," said the old man. "It's fine talking, but it's mighty nearGod's truth all the same!" He moved restlessly, then took his crutch andbeat a measure upon the sunken floor. His faded blue eyes, set in athousand wrinkles, stared down upon and across the great view of ridgeand spur and lovely valleys in between. The air at this height was clearand strong as wine, the noon sunshine bright, not hot, the murmur in theleaves and the sound of Thunder
Run rather crisp and gay than slumbrous."If it had to come," said Tom, "why couldn't it ha' come when I wasyounger? If 't weren't for that darned fall out o' Nofsinger's hayloftI'd go, anyhow!"
"Then I see," retorted Sairy, "what Brother Dame meant by good comin'out o' evil!--Here's Christianna."
A girl in a homespun gown and a blue sunbonnet came up the road andunlatched the little gate. She had upon her arm a small basket such asthe mountain folk weave. "Good-mahnin', Mrs. Cole. Good-mahnin', Mr.Cole. It cert'ny is fine weather the mountain's having."
"Yes, it's fine weather, Christianna," answered the old man. "Come in,come in, and take a cheer!"
Christianna came up the tiny path and seated herself, not in thesplit-bottomed chair to which he waved her, but upon the edge of theporch, with her back to the sapling that served for a pillar, and withher small, ill-shod feet just touching a bed of heartsease. She pushedback her sunbonnet. "Dave an' Billy told us good-bye yesterday. Pap isgoing down the mountain to-day. Dave took the shotgun an' pap hasgrandpap's flintlock, but Billy didn't have a gun. He said he'd take onefrom the Yanks."
"Sho!" exclaimed Sairy. "Didn't he have no weapon at all?"
"He had a hunting-knife that was grandpap's. An' the blacksmith made himwhat he called a spear-head. He took a bit o' rawhide and tied it to anoak staff, an' he went down the mountain _so_!" Her drawling voice died,then rose again. "I'll miss Billy--I surely will!" It failed again, andthe heartsease at her feet ran together into a little sea of purple andgold. She took the cape of her sunbonnet and with it wiped away theunaccustomed tears.
"Sho!" said Sairy. "We'll all miss Billy. I reckon we all that stay athome air going to have our fill o' missing!--What have you got in yourbasket, honey?"
Christianna lifted a coloured handkerchief and drew from the basket alittle bag of flowered chintz, roses and tulips, drawn up with a blueribbon. "My! that's pretty," exclaimed Sairy. "Whar did you get thestuff?"
The girl regarded the bag with soft pride. "Last summer I toted a bucketo' blackberries down to Three Oaks an' sold them to Mrs. Cleave. An' shewas making a valance for her tester bed, an' I thought the stuff wasmighty pretty, an' she gave me a big piece! an' I put it away in mypicture box with my glass beads. For the ribbon--I'd saved a little o'my berry money, an' I walked to Buchanan an' bought it." She drew a longbreath. "My land! 't was fine in the town--High Street just crowded withVolunteers, and the drums were beating." Her eyes shone like stars."It's right hard on women to stay at home an' have all the excitement goaway. There don't seem to be nothin' to make it up to us--"
Sairy put away the ironing-board. "Sho! We've just got the little end,as usual. What's in the bag, child?"
"Thar's thread and needles in a needle-case, an' an emery," saidChristianna. "I wanted a little pair of scissors that was at Mr.Moelick's, but I didn't have enough. They'd be right useful, I reckon,to a soldier, but I couldn't get them. I wondered if the bag ought to besmaller--but he'll have room for it, I reckon? _I_ think it's rightpretty."
Old Tom Cole leaned over, took the tiny, flowery affair, and balanced itgently upon a horny hand. "Of course he'll have room for it! An' it'sjest as pretty as they make them!--An' here he comes now, down themountain, to thank ye himself!"
Allan Gold thanked Christianna with simplicity. He had never had sopretty a thing, and he would keep it always, and every time he looked atit he would see Thunder Run and hear the bees in the flowers. It wasvery kind of her to make it for him, and--and he would keep it always.Christianna listened, and then, with her eyes upon the heartsease, beganto say good-bye in her soft, drawling voice. "You're going down themountain to-day, Mrs. Cole says. Well, good-bye. An' pap's goin' too,an' Dave an' Billy have gone. I reckon the birds won't be singin' whenyou come again--thar'll be ice upon the creeks, I reckon." She drew hershoulders together as though she shivered for all the May sunshine."Well, good-bye."
"I'll walk a piece of the road with you," said Allan, and the two wentout of the gate together.
Sairy, a pan of biscuits for dinner in her hand, looked after them."There's a deal of things I'd do differently if I was a man! What wasthe use in sayin' that every time he looked at that thar bag he'd seeThunder Run? Thunder Run ain't a-keerin' if he sees it or if he don'tsee it! He might ha' said that every time he laid eyes on them roseshe'd see Christianna!--Thar's a wagon comin' up the road an' a man onhorseback behind. Here, I'll take the toll--"
"No, I'll take it myself," said Tom, reaching for the tobacco box whichserved as bank. "If I can't 'list, I reckon I can get all the newsthat's goin'!" He hobbled out to the gate. "Mornin', Jake! Mornin', Mr.Robinson! Yes, 't is fine weather for the crops. What--"
"The Rockbridge companies are ordered off! Craig and Bedford are going,too. They say Botetourt's time will come next. Lord! we used to thinkforest fires and floods were exciting! Down there in camp the boys can'tsleep at night--every time a rooster crows they think it's JohnnyMason's bugle and the order to the front! Ain't Allan Gold going?"
Sairy spoke from the path. "Course he's goin'--he and twenty more fromThunder Run. I reckon Thunder Run ain't goin' to lag behind! Even SteveDagg's goin'--though I look for him back afore the battle. Jim's goin',too, to see what he can make out of it--'t won't harm no one, I reckon,if he makes six feet o' earth."
"They're the only trash in the lot," put in Tom. "The others arefirst-rate--though a heap of them are powerfully young."
"Thar's Billy Maydew, for instance," said Sairy. "Sho! Billy is tooyoung to go--"
"All the cadets have gone from Lexington, remarked the man on horseback.They've gone to Richmond to act as drill-masters--every boy of them withhis head as high as General Washington's! I was at Lexington and sawthem go. Good Lord! most of them just children--that Will Cleave, forinstance, that used to beg a ride on my load of hay! Four companies ofthem marched away at noon, with their muskets shining in the sun. Allthe town was up and out--the minister blessing them, and the peoplecrying and cheering! Major T. J. Jackson led them."
"The Thunder Run men are going in Richard Cleave's company. He sets aheap o' store by Allan, an' wanted him for second lieutenant, but themen elected Matthew Coffin--"
"Coffin's bright enough," said Tom, "but Allan's more dependable.--Well,good-day, gentlemen, an' thank ye both!"
The wagon lumbered down the springtime road and the man on horsebackfollowed. The tollgate keeper hobbled back to his chair, and Sairyreturned to her dinner. Allan was going away, and she was makinggingerbread because he liked it. The spicy, warm fragrance permeated theair, homely and pleasant as the curl of blue smoke above the chimney,the little sunny porch, the buzzing of the bees in the lilacs. "Here'sAllan now," said Tom. "Hey, Allan! you must have gone a good bit o' theway?"
"I went all the way," answered Allan, lifting the gourd of well-water tohis lips. "Poor little thing! she is breaking her heart over Billy'sgoing."
Sairy, cutting the gingerbread into squares, held the knife suspended."Have ye been talkin' about Billy all this time?"
"Yes," said Allan. "I saw that she was unhappy and I tried to cheer herup. I'll look out for the boy in every way I can." He took the littlebag of chintz from the bench where he had laid it when he went withChristianna, and turned to the rude stair that led to his room in thehalf story. He was not kin to the tollgate keepers, but he had livedlong with them and was very fond of both. "I'll be down in a moment,Aunt Sairy," he said. "I wonder when I'll smell or taste yourgingerbread again, and I don't see how I am going to tell you and Tomgood-bye!" He was gone, humming "Annie Laurie" as he went.
"'T would be just right an' fittin'," remarked Mrs. Cole, "if half themen in the world went about with a piece of pasteboard round their necksan' written on it, 'Pity the Blind!' Dinner's most ready, Tom,--an' Idon't see how I'm goin' to tell him good-bye myself."
An hour later, in his small bare room underneath the mossy roof, withthe small square window through which the breezes blew, Allan stood andlooked about him. Dinner was over. It had been something of a feast,
with unusual dainties, and a bunch of lilacs upon the table. Sairy hadon a Sunday apron. The three had not been silent either; they had talkeda good deal, but without much thought of what was said. Perhaps it wasbecause of this that the meal had seemed so vague, and that nothing hadleft a taste in the mouth. It was over, and Allan was making ready todepart.
On the floor, beside the chest of drawers, stood a small hair trunk. Aneighbour with a road wagon had offered to take it, and Allan, too, downthe mountain at three o'clock. In the spring of 1861, one out of everytwo Confederate privates had a trunk. One must preserve the decencies oflife; one must make a good appearance in the field! Allan's was smalland modest enough, God knows! but such as it was it had not occurred tohim to doubt the propriety of taking it. It stood there neatly packed,the shirts that Sairy had been ironing laid atop. The young man,kneeling beside it, placed in this or that corner the last few articlesof his outfit. All was simple, clean, and new--only the books that hewas taking with him were old. They were his Bible, his Shakespeare, avolume of Plutarch's Lives, and a Latin book or two beside. In a placeto themselves were other treasures, a daguerreotype of his mother, acapacious huswife that Sairy had made and stocked for him, the littlebox of paper "to write home on" that had been Tom's present, varioustrifles that the three had agreed might come in handy. Among these henow placed Christianna's gift. It was soft and full and bright--he hadthe same pleasure in handling it that he would have felt in touching adamask rose. He shut it in and rose from his knees.
He had on his uniform. They had been slow in coming--the uniforms--fromRichmond. It was only Cleave's patient insistence that had procured themat last. Some of the companies were not uniformed at all. So enormouswas the press of business upon the authorities, so limited was the powerof an almost purely agricultural, non-manufacturing world suddenly toclothe alike these thousands of volunteers, suddenly to arm them withsomething better than a fowling-piece or a Revolutionary flintlock, thatthe wonder is, not that they did so badly, but that they did so well.Pending the arrival of the uniforms the men had drilled in strangearray. With an attempt at similarity and a picturesque taste of theirown, most of them wore linsey shirts and big black hats, tucked up onone side with a rosette of green ribbon. One man donned hisgrandfather's Continental blue and buff--on the breast was a dark stain,won at King's Mountain. Others drilled, and were now ready to march, asthey came from the plough, the mill, or the forge. But Cleave's company,by virtue of Cleave himself, was fairly equipped. The uniforms had come,and there was a decent showing of modern arms. Billy Maydew'shunting-knife and spear would be changed on the morrow for a musket,though in Billy's case the musket would certainly be the old smoothbore,calibre sixty-nine.
Allan's own gun, left him by his father, rested against the wall. Theyoung man, for all his quietude, his conscientious ways, his daily workwith children, his love of flowers, and his dreams of books, inheritedfrom frontiersmen--whose lives had depended upon watchfulness--quicknessof wit, accuracy of eye, and steadiness of aim. He rarely missed hismark, and he read intuitively and easily the language of wood, sky, androad. On the bed lay his slouch hat, his haversack, knapsack, andcanteen, cartridge-box and belt, and slung over the back of a chair washis roll of blanket. All was in readiness. Allan went over to thewindow. Below him were the flowers he had tended, then the great forestsin their May freshness, cataracts of green, falling down, down to thevalley. Over all hung the sky, divinely blue. A wind went rustlingthrough the forest, joining its voice to the voice of Thunder Run. Allanknelt, touching with his forehead the window-sill. "O Lord God," hesaid, "O Lord God, keep us all, North and South, and bring us throughwinding ways to Thy end at last." As he rose he heard the wagon comingdown the road. He turned, put the roll of blanket over one shoulder,and beneath the other arm assumed knapsack, haversack, and canteen,dragged the hair trunk out upon the landing, returned, took up hismusket, looked once again about the small, familiar room, then left itand went downstairs.
Sairy and Tom were upon the porch, the owner of the wagon with them."I'll tote down yo' trunk," said the latter, and presently emerged fromthe house with that article upon his shoulder. "I reckon I'll volunteermyself, just as soon 's harvest's over," he remarked genially. "But,gosh! you-all'll be back by then, telling how you did it!" He went downthe path whistling, and tossed the trunk into the wagon.
"I hate good-byes," said Allan. "I wish I had stolen away last night."
"Don't ye get killed!" answered Sairy sharply. "That's what I'm afraidof. I know you'll go riskin' yourself!"
"God bless you," said Tom. "You've been like a son to us these fiveyears. Don't you forget to write."
"I won't," answered Allan. "I'll write you long letters. And I won't getkilled, Aunt Sairy. I'll take the best of care." He took the old womanin his arms. "You two have been just as good as a father and mother tome. Thank you for it. I'll never forget. Good-bye."
Toward five o'clock the wagon rolled into the village whence certain ofthe Botetourt companies were to march away. It was built beside theriver--two long, parallel streets, one upon the water level, the othermuch higher, with intersecting lanes. There were brick and frame houses,modest enough; there were three small, white-spired churches, manylocust and ailanthus trees, a covered bridge thrown across the river toa village upon the farther side and, surrounding all, a noble frame ofmountains. There was, in those days, no railroad.
Cleave's hundred men, having the town at large for their friend, stoodin no lack of quarters. Some had volunteered from this place or itsneighbourhood, others had kinsmen and associates, not one was so forlornas to be without a host. The village was in a high fever of hospitality;had the companies marching from Botetourt been so many brigades, itwould still have done its utmost. From the Potomac to the Dan, from theEastern Shore to the Alleghenies the flame of patriotism burned high andclear. There were skulkers, there were braggarts, there were knaves andfools in Virginia as elsewhere, but by comparison they were not many,and theirs was not the voice that was heard to-day. The mass of thepeople were very honest, stubbornly convinced, showing to the end a mostheroic and devoted ardour. This village was not behindhand. All heryoung men were going; she had her company, too. She welcomed Cleave'smen, gathered for the momentarily expected order to the front, andlavished upon them, as on two other companies within her bounds, everyhospitable care.
The wagon driver deposited Allan Gold and his trunk before the porch ofthe old, red brick hotel, shook hands with a mighty grip, and rattled ontoward the lower end of town. The host came out to greet the young man,two negro boys laid hold of his trunk, a passing volunteer in butternut,with a musket as long as Natty Bumpo's, hailed him, and a cluster ofelderly men sitting with tilted chairs in the shade of a locust treerose and gave him welcome. "It's Allan Gold from Thunder Run, isn't it?Good-day, sir, good-day! Can't have too many from Thunder Run; goodgiant stuff! Have you somewhere to stay to-night? If not, any one of uswill be happy to look after you.--Mr. Harris, let us have juleps allround--"
"Thank you very kindly, sir," said Allan, "but I must go find mycaptain."
"I saw him," remarked a gray-haired gentleman, "just now down thestreet. He's seeing to the loading of his wagons, showing Jim Ball andthe drivers just how to do it--and he says he isn't going to show thembut this once. They seemed right prompt to learn."
"I was thar too," put in an old farmer. "'They're mighty heavy wagons,'I says, says I. 'Three times too heavy,' he says, says he. 'Thiscompany's got the largest part of its provisions for the whole war righthere and now,' says he. 'Thar's a heap of trunks,' says I. 'More thanwould be needed for the White Sulphur,' he says, says he. 'This time twoyears we'll march lighter,' says he--"
There were exclamations. "Two years! Thunderation!--This war'll be overbefore persimmons are ripe! Why, the boys haven't volunteered but forone year--and even that seemed kind of senseless! Two years! He's daft!"
"I dunno," quoth the other. "If fighting's like farming it's all-firedslow work. Anyhow, that's what he said. 'Th
is time two years we'll marchlighter,' he says, says he, and then I came away. He's down by the oldwarehouse by the bridge, Mr. Gold--and I just met Matthew Coffin and hesays thar's going to be a parade presently."
An hour later, in the sunset glow, in a meadow by the river, the threecompanies paraded. The new uniforms, the bright muskets, the silkencolours, the bands playing "Dixie," the quick orders, the more or lesspractised evolutions, the universal martial mood, the sense of dangerover all, as yet thrilling only, not leaden, the known faces, the lovedfaces, the imminent farewell, the flush of glory, the beckoning of greatevents--no wonder every woman, girl, and child, every old man and youngboy who could reach the meadow were there, watching in the golden light,half wild with enthusiasm!
Wish I was in de land ob cotton, Old times dar am not forgotten Look away! look away! Dixie Land.
At one side, beneath a great sugar maple, were clustered a number ofwomen, mothers, wives, sisters, sweethearts, of those who were goingforth to war. They swayed forward, absorbed in watching, not thecompanies as a whole, but one or two, sometimes three or four figurestherein. They had not held them back; never in the times of history werethere more devotedly patriotic women than they of the Southern States.They lent their plaudits; they were high in the thoughts of the menmoving with precision beneath the great flag of Virginia, to the soundof music, in the green meadow by the James. The colours of the severalcompanies had been sewed by women, sitting together in dim old parlours,behind windows framed in roses. One banner had been made from a weddinggown.
Look away! look away! Look away down South to Dixie!
The throng wept and cheered. The negroes, slave and free, belonging tothis village and the surrounding country, were of an excellent type,worthy and respectable men and women, honoured by and honouring their"white people." A number of these were in the meadow by the river, andthey, too, clapped and cheered, borne away by music and spectacle,gazing with fond eyes upon some nursling, or playmate, or young,imperious, well-liked master in those gleaming ranks. Isaac, son ofAbraham, or Esau and Jacob, sons of Isaac, marching with banners againstCanaan or Moab, may have heard some such acclaim from the servants leftbehind. Several were going with the company. Captain and lieutenants,and more than one sergeant and corporal had their body-servants--thesewere the proudest of the proud and the envied of their brethren. Thelatter were voluble. "Des look at Wash,--des look at Washington Mayo!Actin' lak he own er co'te house an' er stage line! O my Lawd! wish Iwuz er gwine! An dat dar Tullius from Three Oaks--he gwine march rightbehin' de captain, an' Marse Hairston Breckinridge's boy he gwine marchright behin' him!--Dar de big drum ag'in!"
In Dixie land I'll take my stand, To live and die in Dixie! Look away! Look away! Look away down South to Dixie!
The sun set behind the great mountain across the river. Parade was over,ranks broken. The people and their heroes, some restless, others tense,all flushed of cheek and bright of eye, all borne upon a momentousupward wave of emotion, parted this way and that, to supper, to diverspreparations, fond talk, and farewells, to an indoor hour. Then,presently, out again in the mild May night, out into High Street and LowStreet, in the moonlight, under the odour of the white locust clusters.The churches were lit and open; in each there was brief service, wellattended. Later, from the porch of the old hotel, there was speaking. Itdrew toward eleven o'clock. The moon was high, the women and childrenall housed, the oldest men, spent with the strain of the day, also goneto their homes, or their friends' homes. The Volunteers and a faithfulfew were left. They could not sleep; if war was going to be always asexciting as this, how did soldiers ever sleep? There was not among thema man who had ever served in war, so the question remained unanswered. AThunder Run man volunteered the information that the captain wasasleep--he had been to the house where the captain lodged and his motherhad come to the door with her finger on her lips, and he had lookedpast her and seen Captain Cleave lying on a sofa fast asleep. ThunderRun's comrades listened, but they rather doubted the correctness of hisreport. It surely wasn't very soldier-like to sleep--even upon asofa--the night before marching away! The lieutenants weren't asleep.Hairston Breckinridge had a map spread out upon a bench before the postoffice, and was demonstrating to an eager dozen the indubitable factthat the big victory would be either at Harper's Ferry or Alexandria.Young Matthew Coffin was in love, and might be seen through the hotelwindow writing, candles all around him, at a table, covering one paleblue sheet after another with impassioned farewells. Sergeants andcorporals and men were wakeful. Some of these, too, were writingletters, sending messages; others joined in the discussion as to thetheatre of war, or made knots of their own, centres of conjectures andprophecy; others roamed the streets, or down by the river bank watchedthe dark stream. Of these, a few proposed to strip and have a swim--whoknew when they'd see the old river again? But the notion was frownedupon. One must be dressed and ready. At that very moment, perhaps, a manmight be riding into town with the order. The musicians were not asleep.Young Matthew Coffin, sealing his letter some time after midnight, andcoming out into the moonlight and the fragrance of the locust trees, hadan inspiration. All was in readiness for the order when it should come,and who, in the meantime, wanted to do so prosaic a thing as rest?"Boys, let us serenade the ladies!"
The silver night wore on. So many of the "boys" had sisters, that therewere many pretty ladies staying in the town or at the two or threepleasant old houses upon its outskirts. Two o'clock, three o'clockpassed, and there were yet windows to sing beneath. Old love songsfloated through the soft and dreamy air; there was a sense of angelicbeings in the unlit rooms above, even of the flutter of their wings.Then, at the music's dying fall, flowers were thrown; there seemed todescend a breath, a whisper, "Adieu, heroes--adored, adored heroes!" Ascramble for the flowers, then out at the gate and on to the next house,and so _da capo_.
Dawn, though the stars were yet shining, began to make itself felt. Acoldness was in the air, a mist arose from the river, there came asensation of arrest, of somewhere an icy finger upon the pulse of life.
Maxwelton's braes are bonnie, Where early fa's the dew, And 't was there that Annie Laurie Gie'd me her promise true,--
They were singing now before an old brick house in the lower street.There were syringas in bloom in the yard. A faint light was rising inthe east, the stars were fading.
Gie'd me her promise true Which ne'er forgot shall be--
Suddenly, from High Street, wrapped in mist, a bugle rang out. Theorder--the order--the order to the front! It called again, sounding theassembly. _Fall in, men, fall in!_
At sunrise Richard Cleave's company went away. There was a dense crowdin the misty street, weeping, cheering. An old minister, standing besidethe captain, lifted his arms--the men uncovered, the prayer was said,the blessing given. Again the bugle blew, the women cried farewell. Theband played "Virginia," the flag streamed wide in the morning wind.Good-bye, good-bye, and again good-bye! _Attention! Take arms! Shoulderarms! Right face!_ FORWARD, MARCH!