THE SECOND DAY OF BATTLE
At the sound of the cannon shot, Private Christy, still sitting calmly
on the step, looked up.
"No call to be--"
Another roar cut short Private Christy's speech. Emmeline fled into the
kitchen, and Christy rose and followed her.
"No call to be skeered, sissy," he said, speaking loudly into her ear.
"The shooting ain't _here_."
Emmeline covered her ears with her hands. Another fearful detonation
shook the old farmhouse to its foundations. The windows trembled in
their frames, the floor seemed to rock. Emmeline sank into a chair by
the kitchen table, hid her face in her arms, and screamed hysterically.
"Sissy," cried Private Christy, "stop it! Don't ye dare to cry like
that!" Private Christy's face was drawn. "It's an awful thing to have
to hear a woman cry like that! Listen to me! The shooting ain't this
way; it's that way. Them guns is half a mile off and pointing the other
way. Noise can't hurt ye, don't ye know that? You've got to get used to
it, for it's going to last some time. Do you hear me?" Private Christy
bent his head until it was near Emmeline's. "You're the only one among
all these thousands that's safe, sissy. Now stop it!"
Emmeline checked her sobs. "I can't stand it!" she cried.
"But you've got to stand it. Now dry your tears. You can sit here, or
you can go down cellar, or up attic under the eaves, or you can come
out on the porch and sit with me. It ain't everyone can watch troops
going into battle. I wish _I_ could hold a gun again!" he added, with
longing in his voice.
Thus admonished and encouraged, Emmeline rose slowly and dried her
tears. Private Christy put his hand on her shoulder, and they returned
to the porch.
There was little confusion to be seen. The long morning's work had put
all in readiness for the engagement. Round the farmhouse regiments
waited in line. Other troops had moved from their posts farther to
the south, across the ridge, and down into the valley between the
ridge and the two Round Tops. In that direction, and hidden from the
farmhouse, were the cannon from which issued the thunderous roar. Now
the sharp crack of musketry and confused shouts and yells accompanied
the deep boom of the cannon. Clouds of white smoke, growing thicker
every moment, rose from the valley.
Near the farmhouse, regiments waited motionless beneath their banners.
Officers were already in the saddle; men stood at attention. It was as
if the great commotion were no concern of theirs. But suddenly a quiver
passed through them. Swords flashed in the air, commands were shouted,
bugles blew; to the music of fife and drum the troops mounted the slope
toward the ridge.
"There they go!" cried Private Christy. "That's my company, and they're
goin' without me!"
The troops topped the ridge and vanished under the white, thick blanket
of smoke. As if fresh fuel had been added to a great flame, the smoke
thickened, the cannonading grew heavier, the crack! crack! of musketry
more incessant.
Emmeline stood with her arms clasped round the pillar of the porch.
With each great detonation she grasped the pillar more tightly, as if
she feared that the waves of sound might wash her away. Sometimes she
closed her eyes and drew in deep breaths of air. Between her gasps
of fright she stared, awed and fascinated. She saw the last troops
cross the hill and the smoke clouds thicken. Presently she saw black
missiles hurtle through the air and bright flashes from beyond the
hill divide the low-lying cloud. Suddenly she screamed. A dark object,
passing over the ridge with a shrill, whistling sound, had plunged into
Grandfather Willing's potato patch. Private Christy took Emmeline by
the arm and led her round the corner of the house.
"Nothing but a stray shot, sissy; but if I was you, I believe I'd stay
here. Nothing can hurt you through these stone walls."
He led her to a seat on the grass close to the west wall of the house.
There she sat dazed. Sometimes she blinked; sometimes she smoothed
absently the wrinkled, soiled fabric of her blue and white dress;
otherwise she did not move. She could not think or reason; she could
only listen.
Private Christy went back to his seat on the porch. Presently he
returned and smiled at Emmeline, and then went into the house. There
in the hot kitchen, working slowly with his single hand, he made a
fresh fire, and set upon the stove Grandmother Willing's washboiler and
filled it with water. Then he went upstairs and looked round. Emmeline
vaguely wondered again what his business was as a member of the army.
Thus far he had done nothing.
Still Emmeline sat on the grassy bank by the house. Before her was the
sloping field leading to Willoughby Run. Down that field she had often
raced. Under the trees by the side of the stream horses were tethered,
and near by were hundreds of wagons. The sun was getting low.
Emmeline rose stiffly. It seemed to her that the roar of cannon had
grown a little less thunderous. She would go round the house and out to
Private Christy. Private Christy, although an enemy, was comforting. As
night drew near, her longing for home grew keener, but she had begun to
realize that she could not return now.
Emmeline did not find Private Christy on the porch; he was apparently
running away from her. She saw his long legs carrying him up the slope;
presently he broke into a run. He was not going into the battle; he was
meeting those who were returning. That is, he was meeting a few--those
who, although wounded, could still drag themselves along. They had
left behind them thousands of their comrades, who could not join even
such a halting, pitiful procession as theirs. Hundreds who had started
with the procession had fallen by the way.
In the forefront of the straggling line was Private Mallon, who had
carried Emmeline up to bed. His arm hung limp and his hair was clotted
with blood; he fell heavily against Private Christy as they met.
Again Emmeline's arm encircled the porch pillar. In some dim, long-past
existence Emmeline had dreamed of binding wounds, of smoothing fevered
brows, of lifting her voice in song for the comfort of the suffering!
Now Emmeline wished that the earth would open and swallow her.
While she stood with her arm clasping the pillar, Private Christy and
Private Mallon entered the gate. Private Christy's work was now before
him; for this task had he remained with the army, while in Georgia his
little Bessie grew beyond his recollection.
"Leetle Emmyline," he shouted, "you get some warm water in a basin and
some old cloths, will you, Emmyline?"
Emmeline grew paler and paler; the first shocking sight of wounds
seemed to paralyze her. Private Mallon, tottering in upon the arm of
his comrade, fixed apologetic, tortured eyes upon her.
"It ain't no place for a leetle gal!" he muttered.
Then Emmeline took another great step toward womanhood.
"I will try," she said, weeping.
When she had filled her basin with water, and had gathered the worn
fragments of homespun linen that Grandmother Willing had laid away
for emergencies, she took them with trembling hands into the parlor.
Other wounded, blackened forms had crept in and had lain themselves
down on the parlor carpet--the treasured carpet that was the pride of
Grandmother Willing's life.
"Put wood in the stove, Emmyline," commanded Private Christy
cheerfully, "and bring more of these rags. You'll make a fine nurse,
Emmyline!"
As she turned to obey, Emmeline glanced out of the door. Creeping and
crawling, the procession continued to arrive. They came through the
gate one by one; they crossed the yard and the porch. A man fell
heavily on the steps, and involuntarily Emmeline took her enemy by the
arm and helped him up.
"I'm looking for Christy," he said in a dazed voice.
Private Christy and his work were evidently well known.
"I am to keep the boiler filled," repeated Emmeline, as she went back
to the kitchen. "I am to bring warm water and towels and cloths. I am
not to cry or scream. I am not to cry or scream!"
Into the house still came the wounded, into Grandmother Willing's
parlor, and into Grandmother Willing's sitting-room, and up the stairs
into the bedchambers, and out to the kitchen.
"Keep the kitchen clear!" commanded Private Christy. "Keep the room
above clear! Nobody in there!"
Some one answered roughly that the room above was to be filled.
Private Christy's voice did not always drawl; he raised it now so that
it could be heard above the slackening crash of musketry:--
"There's a leetle gal in this house, gentlemen. That is her room above
the kitchen."
"A little girl!" repeated a weary voice somewhere. "I'd like to see a
little girl!"
Moving about deftly, Private Christy helped this man to lie down and
that one to find a more comfortable position. He seemed like a mother
getting her brood together for the night; they looked up to him like
children who found in him their only hope.
"Emmyline," he said gently, when she brought him the things for which
he had asked, "do you suppose you could help me?"
"I could try," said Emmeline.
Private Christy passed her the end of one of the long strips of cloth.
"There, Emmyline, you take that and wind it round and round."
With a gasp, Emmeline obeyed; together she and Private Christy bound
the wounded arm of Private Mallon.
The sun had vanished behind the woodland and the fleecy clouds above
were golden; the cooler air of evening had begun to breathe through the
old farmhouse. The sound of firing near by had ceased entirely. The
battle was surely over; surely, thought Emmeline, these men would go
away and Gettysburg could have peace. Perhaps she could still go home
to-night! There were many wagons standing idle down by Willoughby Run;
perhaps one could be spared to take her. If she could only go home and
see her mother she would ask for nothing more in the world. Perhaps
Henry had come back. If Henry were wounded like these men, her mother
could not take care of him and Bertha, too. She _must_ go home. Then
Emmeline gave a great cry. Deliverance had come! She sprang to the
window and began to call to some one outside. Private Christy, who was
on his knees near the window, turned and looked out quickly.
"They are Union soldiers!" cried Emmeline. "We have won! They will take
me home! Here I am! Here I am!" She waved her arms as she called.
Private Christy looked down at the company of blue-coated soldiers. He
saw what Emmeline did not see: that their progress was directed and
hastened by soldiers in gray who carried muskets.
"They are prisoners, Emmyline."
"Prisoners!" cried Emmeline.
"Yes, sissy."
"Didn't we win?"
"Not exactly, Emmyline."
"What will they do with them?"
"They'll take 'em down to that woods and guard 'em."
Leaning suddenly out of the window, Emmeline began to scream. Among
the prisoners was a slender soldier to whom she called.
"There is my brother! Henry, Henry, dear, dear Henry! Here I am, Henry,
here I am!"
"Be quiet, sissy!" commanded Private Christy.
Emmeline stepped across a soldier on the floor, and then across
another. In frantic excitement she sought the door.
Private Christy caught and held her. "Where are you going, Emmyline?"
he asked.
"I'm going to my brother."
"You don't know if it was your brother. It was too dark to see."
"It was my brother! I'm going to find him!"
"No, Emmyline."
"What will they do to him?"
"Nothing."
"I haven't seen him for months and months. He is my only brother. He
had a bandage round his head. Oh, please, please let me go!"
"No," said Private Christy. "Come, Emmyline, I need you."
Emmeline went back to her work, and her tears dropped on the face of
the soldier by whom she knelt.
"It's too bad, sissy," said he weakly. "I wish I could help you."
Emmeline gulped back her tears. It was Henry; of that she was certain.
Where had they taken him? Was he lying wounded, bleeding, alone? But
Emmeline had mercifully no time for speculation. She continued to help
with the bandaging and to run up and down the stairs.
About the house confusion thickened. Troops returned, powder-blackened,
exhausted, famished. Many of the soldiers bound up their own wounds, or
let their comrades perform that service for them. From the dark fields
rose again the aroma of boiling coffee and frying bacon. The troops
in the fields near at hand seemed to have moved closer together, but
Emmeline did not understand the significance of the maneuver. Every few
minutes she went to the window and strained her eyes into the dusk.
Even in the brightening moonlight her gaze could not penetrate into the
woodland where the prisoners had vanished.
Presently, when she turned from the window with a sob, Private Christy
was looking down upon her. "Emmyline," said he, in his pleasant drawl,
"how about them biscuit?"
"I could bake some!" answered Emmeline, suddenly realizing that perhaps
hunger was one of the causes of her own misery.
"Biscuits, boys!" cried one pale soldier to another. "She's going to
bake biscuits!"
Feeble cheers answered.
"You won't go out of the kitchen, will you, sissy?"
"No," Emmeline promised, and went wearily down the stairs.
The joy with which her first batch of biscuits was received roused her
once more. There were many who could not eat, and who called only for
water. As the time passed, those cries grew louder and more frequent.
Presently, lantern in hand, a doctor entered and made his way from
patient to patient. His clothes had dark stains upon them, and in the
dim light he looked white and worn; he moved quickly from one patient
to the next, as if other work awaited him. Several quiet forms he
turned over, and those were presently taken away.
Emmeline baked her biscuits and spread them with apple butter from her
grandmother's crocks, and carried them from room to room. There were
by this time dark stains also on her striped dress. Private Christy,
saying a word here, changing a position there, moved about the house
like a great gray ghost.
A little later, when Private Christy found his assistant asleep by
the kitchen table, he took her last pans from the oven and sat down
opposite her. The night was quiet, and again there came to the ear of
the listener the strange, half-defined suggestion of men marching.
Private Christy ate quickly; once he interrupted his feast to go
upstairs in answer to a groan. His return woke Emmeline, who lifted
her head from the table and looked at him sleepily from blinking,
dark-rimmed eyes.
"We've got 'em all fixed up pretty comfortable," said Private Christy
softly, as if he and Emmeline had succeeded in some common task. "Now,
Emmyline, it's time for you to go to bed."
"Is the battle over?" asked Emmeline.
"No, sissy."
Emmeline's mouth quivered. "Do men like to fight?" she asked, blinking
drowsily.
"Like to fight?" repeated Private Christy. "Like to fight, Emmyline?
Like layin' up there with arms and legs ruined? Like livin' their days
without half a body? Of course they don't like it!"
"Will there be more wounds to-morrow?" asked Emmeline stupidly.
"Where there's fighting, there's wounds."
"Will it last after to-morrow?"
"God help us, no!" said Private Christy.