The enemy, defeated in two days of battle at Pittsburg Landing, had
sullenly retired to Corinth, whence he had come. For manifest
incompetence Grant, whose beaten army had been saved from destruction
and capture by Buell's soldierly activity and skill, had been relieved
of his command, which nevertheless had not been given to Buell, but to
Halleck, a man of unproved powers, a theorist, sluggish, irresolute.
Foot by foot his troops, always deployed in line-of-battle to resist the
enemy's bickering skirmishers, always entrenching against the columns
that never came, advanced across the thirty miles of forest and swamp
toward an antagonist prepared to vanish at contact, like a ghost at
cock-crow. It was a campaign of "excursions and alarums," of
reconnoissances and counter-marches, of cross-purposes and countermanded
orders. For weeks the solemn farce held attention, luring distinguished
civilians from fields of political ambition to see what they safely
could of the horrors of war. Among these was our friend the Governor. At
the headquarters of the army and in the camps of the troops from his
State he was a familiar figure, attended by the several members of his
personal staff, showily horsed, faultlessly betailored and bravely
silk-hatted. Things of charm they were, rich in suggestions of peaceful
lands beyond a sea of strife. The bedraggled soldier looked up from his
trench as they passed, leaned upon his spade and audibly damned them to
signify his sense of their ornamental irrelevance to the austerities of
his trade.
"I think, Governor," said General Masterson one day, going into informal
session atop of his horse and throwing one leg across the pommel of his
saddle, his favorite posture--"I think I would not ride any farther in
that direction if I were you. We've nothing out there but a line of
skirmishers. That, I presume, is why I was directed to put these siege
guns here: if the skirmishers are driven in the enemy will die of
dejection at being unable to haul them away--they're a trifle heavy."
There is reason to fear that the unstrained quality of this military
humor dropped not as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath
the civilian's silk hat. Anyhow he abated none of his dignity in
recognition.
"I understand," he said, gravely, "that some of my men are out there--a
company of the Tenth, commanded by Captain Armisted. I should like to
meet him if you do not mind."
"He is worth meeting. But there's a bad bit of jungle out there, and I
should advise that you leave your horse and"--with a look at the
Governor's retinue--"your other impedimenta."
The Governor went forward alone and on foot. In a half-hour he had
pushed through a tangled undergrowth covering a boggy soil and entered
upon firm and more open ground. Here he found a half-company of infantry
lounging behind a line of stacked rifles. The men wore their
accoutrements--their belts, cartridge-boxes, haversacks and canteens.
Some lying at full length on the dry leaves were fast asleep: others in
small groups gossiped idly of this and that; a few played at cards; none
was far from the line of stacked arms. To the civilian's eye the scene
was one of carelessness, confusion, indifference; a soldier would have
observed expectancy and readiness.
At a little distance apart an officer in fatigue uniform, armed, sat on
a fallen tree noting the approach of the visitor, to whom a sergeant,
rising from one of the groups, now came forward.
"I wish to see Captain Armisted," said the Governor.
The sergeant eyed him narrowly, saying nothing, pointed to the officer,
and taking a rifle from one of the stacks, accompanied him.
"This man wants to see you, sir," said the sergeant, saluting. The
officer rose.
It would have been a sharp eye that would have recognized him. His hair,
which but a few months before had been brown, was streaked with gray.
His face, tanned by exposure, was seamed as with age. A long livid scar
across the forehead marked the stroke of a sabre; one cheek was drawn
and puckered by the work of a bullet. Only a woman of the loyal North
would have thought the man handsome.
"Armisted--Captain," said the Governor, extending his hand, "do you not
know me?"
"I know you, sir, and I salute you--as the Governor of my State."
Lifting his right hand to the level of his eyes he threw it outward and
downward. In the code of military etiquette there is no provision for
shaking hands. That of the civilian was withdrawn. If he felt either
surprise or chagrin his face did not betray it.
"It is the hand that signed your commission," he said.
"And it is the hand--"
The sentence remains unfinished. The sharp report of a rifle came from
the front, followed by another and another. A bullet hissed through the
forest and struck a tree near by. The men sprang from the ground and
even before the captain's high, clear voice was done intoning the
command "At-ten-tion!" had fallen into line in rear of the stacked arms.
Again--and now through the din of a crackling fusillade--sounded the
strong, deliberate sing-song of authority: "Take... arms!" followed by
the rattle of unlocking bayonets.
Bullets from the unseen enemy were now flying thick and fast, though
mostly well spent and emitting the humming sound which signified
interference by twigs and rotation in the plane of flight. Two or three
of the men in the line were already struck and down. A few wounded men
came limping awkwardly out of the undergrowth from the skirmish line in
front; most of them did not pause, but held their way with white faces
and set teeth to the rear.
Suddenly there was a deep, jarring report in front, followed by the
startling rush of a shell, which passing overhead exploded in the edge
of a thicket, setting afire the fallen leaves. Penetrating the din--
seeming to float above it like the melody of a soaring bird--rang the
slow, aspirated monotones of the captain's several commands, without
emphasis, without accent, musical and restful as an evensong under the
harvest moon. Familiar with this tranquilizing chant in moments of
imminent peril, these raw soldiers of less than a year's training
yielded themselves to the spell, executing its mandates with the
composure and precision of veterans. Even the distinguished civilian
behind his tree, hesitating between pride and terror, was accessible to
its charm and suasion. He was conscious of a fortified resolution and
ran away only when the skirmishers, under orders to rally on the
reserve, came out of the woods like hunted hares and formed on the left
of the stiff little line, breathing hard and thankful for the boon of
breath.