REQUIESCAT IN PACE.
Shut out from them the bitter word,
And serpent hiss of scorning,
Nor let the storms of yesterday
Disturb their quiet morning;
Breathe over them forgetfulness
Of all save deeds of kindness,
And save to tears of pitying eyes,
Press down their lids in blindness.—WHITTIER.
The next day was devoted to a solemn duty. The dead were buried where
they had fallen on the battle-field.
All except Alberta and Vittorio.
Our soldiers felt that they must find a grave in consecrated ground in
which to place the poor woman, and also that they must lay beside her
the husband for whom she so vainly died.
So after they had given Christian burial to the heroic dead, they placed
the remains of the Free Sword and his wife in an army hearse and
conveyed them to a little, old, deserted country churchyard, some three
miles distant on the road to W., where the chaplain of the regiment read
over them the funeral service, and where they were finally laid side by
side in their resting-place—not unwept.
The tears of Elfie, who attended the funeral, fell like rain. And even
Wing, who was charged with the business of the burial, was said to have
dimmed the smart gold lace of his adjutant’s uniform with drops of
sorrow.
The wounded were tenderly laid in ambulances, and sent on to W. under an
escort of one company of cavalry.
As Elfie evinced the utmost impatience to return home, and as Colonel
Rosenthal was anxious to be rid of all incumbrances, so that he might
immediately go after Monck, he next morning sent Miss Fielding under a
guard of honor, commanded by Adjutant Wing, to the Point of Rocks, from
which she was to take the evening train to Washington.
It was while waiting at a Union farm-house near the station, that Elfie
learned the final ending of the picnic party. The old farmer informed
her that after the guerrillas fled, leaving the excursionists on the
hill, they—the excursionists—went down to look for their boat, with the
intention of returning to the city by the same way in which they had
come.
But on reaching the foot of the hill and the side of the canal, they
found that their boat had been robbed of all its movable effects, and
then scuttled and sunk.
The unfortunate creatures had nothing to do but to return to the top of
the hill and lay down to sleep as well as they could in the open air.
The next morning, cold, hungry, and cruelly stiff and sore in all their
limbs, they set out to walk to the Point of Rocks, to wait for the train
to Washington.
But such a starved and wretched set of ragamuffins they looked, that the
conductor of the train, when it came, distrusted them, and refused to
take them on until they had told and proved their story.
Such was the account of the picnic party given by the old farmer to
Elfie.
“But there was one of their number who was hurt—a young man—a little man
with light hair and blue eyes. Do you know anything about him?” inquired
Elfie.
“Oh, yes,” answered the old farmer, quickly. “Oh, yes he was very badly
hurt, indeed. They brought him here on an old door, two men supporting
him in front, and two behind. And they put him on the train, and took
him on to the city with them.”
“Do you—do you—think that he was dangerously hurt?” breathlessly
inquired Elfie.
“Well, Miss, I should think he was. His skull was fractured.”
“Oh, Heaven of Heavens! I hope not—I earnestly hope not! Did you—did you
hear anything of him afterwards?” said Elfie, clasping her hands
tightly, as if she were rather entreating a favorable answer than asking
for a true one.
“No, Miss, I never heard a breath of him afterwards. Was he a relation
or friend of yours?”
“Oh, no—only an acquaintance of a few weeks. But I _would_ like to know
his fate.”
“Well, then, Miss, seeing that he is not a relation of yours, nor
likewise a very intimate friend, I might as well be frank with you. I
don’t think he could have got over that hurt. You see he was very badly
hurt. His skull was fractured. And he had laid all night without a
doctor’s assistance. And he was quite insensible when he was brought
here next morning. You wouldn’t have known he was alive if you hadn’t
put your ear down close to his mouth; so faint and low was his
breathing. And then, you see, there was that long journey back to
Washington. All enough to kill him. Everything against him. And he such
a little bit of a fellow. And so I don’t think it possible he could have
got over it,” said the farmer.
“Oh, Mim! dear Mim! it was all for my sake! And if you really are killed
I shall break my heart! I know I shall!” cried Elfie, wringing her hands
and weeping.
“Miss Fielding,” said Adjutant Wing, “there is good hope to believe that
the young man is not killed. While I was a prisoner in Monck’s camp I
got hold of a morning paper in which the return of the picnic party was
chronicled, and young Mim mentioned as ‘seriously’ injured. ‘Seriously,’
mind; not _dangerously_. And newspaper paragraphs seldom or never
_understate_ a thing.”
“That is very true, Adjutant, and very hopeful,” said Elfie, wiping her
eyes; “very hopeful; but I wish I was assured of his safety.”
“You will be so, I trust, in a very few hours. The train will be here at
six, and you will be in Washington before ten,” said Wing.
The old farmer’s hospitable wife was busy preparing as good an evening
meal as her limited means allowed her to get up for her guests.
When it was ready she invited them, to a table covered with tea, milk
and butter, home-made bread, ham and eggs; and broiled chicken, honey
and preserves.
Elfie and Wing did much honor to this meal; and by the time it was ended
the train of cars was heard thundering onward towards the station.
Elfie took leave of her kind host and hostess, thanking them earnestly
for their hospitality.
Wing placed the young lady in a comfortable seat in the best car; and
the train started again on its way to Washington.
And soon after Adjutant Wing called his men together and set out to join
his regiment.