THE COMING OF DAWN
The road was rough, apparently little travelled, and our lively passage
over it not greatly conducive to conversation. Besides I hardly knew
what to say. The consciousness of total failure in all my plans, and the
knowledge that I would be received at headquarters in anything but
honor, weighed heavily upon me, yet this depression did not seal my lips
half as much as the personality of the young woman at my side. Pleasant
and free as her manner had been, yet I was clearly made to realize there
was a distinct limit to any familiarity. I could not define the feeling,
but it had taken possession of me, and I knew the slightest overstepping
of the boundaries would result in trouble. We were neither enemies nor
friends; merely acquaintances under a temporary flag of truce. No doubt,
trusting me as an honorable soldier, even though wearing an enemy's
uniform, she was almost glad to have my protection along this lonely
road, but, when the time came to part, she would be equally relieved to
have me go. I was nothing to her; if ever remembered again it would be
merely to laugh over my discomfiture in mistaking her for another. It
hurt my pride to think this, to thus realize her complete indifference.
She was a young woman, and I a young man, and nothing in my nature made
surrender easy. I desired, at least, to leave behind me some different
impression of my own personality. I was not a fool, nor a failure, and I
could not bear to have her conceive me as a mere blundering block-head,
a subject for subsequent laughter. The silence in which she drove
stirred me to revolt. Apparently she felt no overwhelming curiosity as
to whom I was, no special desire to exchange further speech. The
flapping of the loosened curtain was annoying, and I leaned over and
fastened it down securely into place. She merely glanced aside to
observe what I was doing, without even opening her lips.
"This is a miserably gloomy road," I ventured desperately. "I wonder you
dared to travel it alone at night."
"Its very loneliness makes it safe," was the response, rather
indifferently uttered. "Meeting others was the very thing I was most
anxious to avoid."
"Indeed! You are tantalizing; you cannot expect me to be devoid of
curiosity."
"Of course not," turning her face toward me, "neither can you expect me
to gratify it."
"You mean you could not trust me?"
"Rather that you would not believe me, if I did. The reason for this
trip is so simple and commonplace that if I were to confess its purpose
to you, you would suppose I were attempting deceit. Oh, yes, you would,
so I might just as well remain still. Besides it can make no difference
anyway. When we reach Jonesboro this morning you will go back to your
army, and I shall meet friends. There is scarcely one chance in a
thousand we shall ever see each other again. We are the merest
strangers--enemies, indeed, for I am a Rebel clear through. We don't
even know each others' names."
"Do you care to know mine?"
She hesitated, and I thought her eyes dropped.
"I--I hardly know," doubtfully. "Yet you have been very kind, and,
perhaps, sometime I might serve you. Yes, you may tell me."
"Robert Galesworth."
"Of what rank?"
"Lieutenant, Ninth Illinois Cavalry, but detailed for special service."
"Thank you. I--I am rather glad you told me."
"And you," I insisted, determined this confidence should be mutual.
"May I not, in return, be told your name?"
"I am Willifred Gray," she said quietly. "That is all--just Willifred
Gray."
There was something about the manner in which she said this which held
me silent. I should have liked to ask more, a second question trembling
on my lips, but the words would not come. It was altogether new to me,
this fear of offending a woman, so new it almost angered, and yet
something about her positively held me as though in bonds. To this day I
do not know the secret of it, but I sat there silently staring out into
the night.
I could see a little now, becoming aware that dawn was approaching, the
sky shading to a dull gray in the east, and casting a weird light over
the landscape. It was a gloomy scene of desolation, the road a mere
ribbon, overgrown with grass and weeds, a soggy marsh on one side, and a
line of sand-hills on the other, sparsely covered by some stunted
growth. Far away, across the level, my eyes caught a glimmer of water,
locating the river, but in no direction was there any sign of a house,
or curl of smoke. The unproductive land--barren and swampy--sufficiently
accounted for lack of inhabitants, and told why it had been avoided by
the foragers of both armies. Seeking safety the girl had chosen her
course wisely--here was desolation so complete as to mock even at the
ravages of war. The gray in the east changed to pink, delicately tinting
the whole upper sky, objects taking clearer form, a light breeze
rustling the long grass. Tirelessly the pony trotted, his head down, the
lines lying loose. I turned to gaze at my companion, and our eyes met.
Hers were either gray or blue; I could not be certain which, so quickly
were they lowered, and so shadowed by long lashes. And they were merry
eyes, smiling, and deep with secrets no man could hope to solve. Perhaps
she deemed it only fair that I should look at her as she had been
observing me; perhaps it was but the coquetry of the "eternal feminine"
conscious of her own attraction, but she sat there silent, the lashes
shading her eyes, the clear light of the dawn upon her face. I cannot
describe what I saw, only it was a young face, the skin clear and
glowing with health, the nose beautifully moulded, the throat white and
round, the red lips arched like a bow, and a broad forehead shadowed by
dark hair. She had a trooper's hat on, worn jauntily on one side,
crossed sabres in front, and her shoulders were concealed by a gray
cavalry cape. Suddenly she flashed a glance at me, her eyes full
of laughter.
"Well, Mr. Lieutenant Galesworth, have you looked long enough?"
The swift question confused me, but I found answer.
"No; but as long as I dare. You were observing me also."
"Naturally--womanly curiosity is my excuse. Would you like to know what
conclusion I came to?"
"From your eyes it may not prove altogether flattering."
"Oh, my eyes are not to be trusted. I warn you frankly of that at the
very start. All I shall say is you appear better than I had
expected--only, really, you need a shave."
"Better how? In what way?"
"Well, younger for one thing; somehow your statement that you were a
lieutenant made me suspect your age--or possibly it was your voice."
"I am twenty-four."
"And look to be scarcely twenty. How did you ever gain a commission?
Were you in battle?"
The question decidedly hurt my pride, yet I managed to control my
tongue.
"I have met colonels in both armies no older than I," I returned
swiftly. "Of course I have been in battle, wounded for the matter of
that, and three months a prisoner."
"Oh, I did not mean to question your right to the shoulder straps. War
makes men fast; I know that for my home has been in the track of
both armies."
"You live in this neighborhood?"
"Yes, about twenty miles south of where we are now. Shall I tell you
what I am doing here?"
I bowed, eager to learn although I had not been brash enough to inquire.
"You have been wondering all night," carelessly. "If you had asked I
should have refused to answer, but will now reward your remarkable
patience with a full confession. I am going to take quinine back to our
hospitals. I won't tell you where I am going to get it," a bit
defiantly, "although I am not afraid you would try to stop me."
"Certainly not; why should I?"
"There are plenty of Yanks who do; the last messenger was shot by your
raiders, and the whole consignment lost. He was my cousin; that is why I
am trying what I can do--the boys need it so badly. If you are an
honorable soldier you will not interfere with a work of mercy."
"An honorable soldier!" I exclaimed, stung by the words. "Do you
question that?"
"Not until after daylight came, and I noticed how you were clothed,"
and her eyes lost all gleam of humor. "I respect a scout, but despise
a spy."
My cheeks flamed, as I realized what she meant--the tattered gray
jacket, buttoned tightly, and concealing my blue blouse. In swift
disgust I wrenched it open, and flung the garment into the road.
"I had entirely forgotten I had the thing on," I explained hastily.
"Don't condemn until you hear my story. You will listen, will you not?"
She sat silent, looking intently into my face, with merely the slightest
inclination of the head.
"I came into your lines dressed just as I am now, drifting across the
river behind a log. It was my third attempt to get through your pickets,
and this time I succeeded. I found myself in thick brush near a cluster
of tents, and overheard two officers talking. One was a major by the
name of Hardy--do you know him?"
"Yes," a swift little catch in her voice.
"The other was a shorter, heavier-set man, out-ranking Hardy."
"Speaking with short, crisp sentences," she interrupted, "and wearing a
heavy beard?"
"He spoke that way--yes; but as to the beard I could not say owing to
the darkness."
"It must have been General Johnston."
"I thought as much. The two were discussing the getting of despatches
through to Beauregard, and decided no one could succeed but a fellow
they called Billie, some relative or friend of Hardy's. It was all
arranged he should try it, and the major started off to complete
arrangements. An aide, with the despatches, was to meet the messenger at
the 'Three Corners,' where the little log church is, and then accompany
him through the pickets. It was plainly enough my duty to intercept
these if I could, but in order to do so I must pass through two miles of
the Confederate camp, meeting soldiers almost every step of the way.
That was when I stole the jacket, and slipped it on, and never thought
of it again until you spoke."
She was leaning forward now, intensely interested, her lips parted, the
quick breath revealed by the pulsing of her breast.
"And--and you got to the 'Three Corners'?"
"To a point just below. I ran most of the way, and then had to crawl
through the bushes to get around a picket-post, but I believed I was
there in plenty of time. Then you came rattling down the hill, with an
officer riding along beside you, and, of course, I mistook you for
Billie. I jumped your outfit in the hollow."
She flung up her hands in expressive gesture.
"Were you hanging there all that time--even before the lieutenant left?"
"I certainly was; hanging on for dear life too. My limbs are black and
blue. I never saw a pony travel like that little devil."
She burst into an unrestrained ripple of laughter, scarcely able to
speak, as the full humor of the situation appealed to her. No doubt the
expression of my face did its part, but she certainly found it most
amusing. In spite of myself I had to smile in sympathy.
"Oh, that was too good; I shall have to tell the general. Well, I helped
Billie Hardy out that time, didn't I? I reckon you don't see much fun in
it though."
"No, I don't," frankly, "yet I cannot say I am entirely sorry."
"Indeed," sobering instantly because of my earnestness. "I cannot
understand that--the despatches have gone through."
"Without doubt. From a military standpoint I surely regret my failure.
But if I had intercepted Billie I should never have met you."
"Oh!"
"Nor come to know you."
Again the girl laughed, and I noticed the dimple in her cheek, the
gray-blue eyes glancing up at me mockingly.
"Don't flatter yourself that you do," she retorted pleasantly, "for you
might be mistaken altogether."