I MEET AN EX-SLAVE
In this narrative of adventure it would but waste the reader's time to
indulge in any extended description of military movements. The interest
of my story centres around individuals rather than the great events of
history, and I will touch these but briefly, so as to make the
surrounding conditions sufficiently clear. It was noon the following day
when I reached headquarters with my report, only to find that rumors of
the combined movements of Johnston's and Beauregard's forces had already
penetrated our lines. I could merely add details to the information
previously received. The result was the immediate strengthening of our
position to repel any possible attack. None occurred however, except
desultory skirmishing. Later we learned the reason to be the failure of
Chambers to appear, his march having been retarded by heavy rains.
At the end of this period of waiting our army was well prepared for
action, the troops eager to test the strength of the enemy. Impatient of
delay, and suspecting the probable cause of the Confederate quietness,
we finally took the aggressive, determined to regain our former position
south of the river. An. early morning attack won us the bridge and the
town beyond, while heavy forces rushed the available fords, and after
some severe fighting, obtained foothold on the opposite bank. Hastily
throwing up intrenchments these advance troops succeeded in repulsing
two charges before nightfall. This brought an end to hostilities. During
the hours of darkness reinforcements were hurried across the stream. By
dawn the opposing forces were about evenly mated, and every man in
either line knew a battle was imminent.
In this emergency the need of every soldier was felt, and I was returned
to my regiment for duty. We were the first to trot over the recaptured
bridge, and through the deserted streets of the village. Impelled by a
curiosity which could not be resisted I wheeled my horse and rode up the
gravelled driveway to Judge Moran's door, but to my vigorous knocking
there was no response. The shades were drawn at the windows, the house
silent, and yet I felt convinced the old partisan was within, watching
from some point of vantage. Yet if I believed this, the same silence and
refusal to respond also served to convince me that Miss Hardy was no
longer there. She was a vastly different type, and would exhibit
interest even in the coming of the enemy. Ay! and she would have seen
me, and not for one moment could I be made to believe that she would
treat me with contempt.
I rode back slowly to rejoin the column of horsemen, glancing over my
shoulder at the house, my mind busily occupied with the stirring events
which had transpired there. She had gone with the Confederate troops,
and had probably already been safely returned to her own home. Moran
might have departed also, but more likely he remained to look after his
property. I wondered who was her escort for the long ride--would it be
Captain Le Gaire, sufficiently recovered from his injuries for this
service, yet scarcely capable of active military duty? If so, he was
with her still, a guest at "The Gables," sufficiently an invalid to be
interesting, and to require attention, but with tongue in good repair. I
was glad I had told my story first; the gentleman would experience some
difficulty in changing Miss Willifred's opinion of the affair.
The gray dust cloud hung about us, almost obscuring the files of
plodding troopers; to right and left the flankers showed dark against
the green of the fields, and far in front an occasional carbine barked
as some suspicious scout fired at a skulking figure. Once this would
have been full of interest, but now it was mere routine, the sturdy
veterans of the Ninth riding soberly forward, choked with dust, their
hats drawn low over their eyes, wearied by a long night in the saddle. I
glanced proudly down those ranks of fighting men, glad to be with them
once again, but my thought drifted back to Billie, for this was the road
we had travelled together. It seemed a long while ago, and much might
happen before we should meet again, if ever we did. I might be killed in
battle, or Le Gaire might insist upon an immediate marriage. This last
was what I most feared, for I believed that if this could only be
sufficiently delayed, she would learn to know the man better, and refuse
to be sacrificed. The engagement rather mystified me, for it was clear
enough no blind love on her part was responsible for its existence; at
least she had begun to perceive his shallowness, and resented his
attempt at bullying. I even began to believe that some one else had now
come into her life, whose memory would serve to increase the feeling of
dissatisfaction. Le Gaire was not the kind that wears well--he could not
improve upon acquaintance; and, while I was no connoisseur of women, yet
I could not persuade myself that her nature was patient enough not to
revolt against his pretensions. I was no egotist, no lady-killer, but I
recognized now that I loved this girl, and had read in her eyes the
message of hope. Mine was, at least, a fighting chance, and fighting
was my trade. I liked it better so, finding the lady more alluring
because of the barrier between us, the zest of combat quickening my
desire. Already I began to plan meeting her again, now that the campaign
had turned our faces southward. Back beyond those wooded hills some
freak of fate must lead me right, some swirl of fortune afford me
opportunity. I was of the school of Hope, and Love yielded courage.
I looked back down the long hill, so silent and deserted that gray
morning when we were driving together, but now dark with the solid
masses of marching troops. It was a stirring scene to soldier eyes,
knowing these men were pressing sternly on to battle. They seemed like a
confused, disorganized mob, filling the narrow road, and streaming out
through the fields; yet I could read the meaning of each detached
movement, as cavalry, artillery, infantry, staff and wagon trains, met
and separated, swinging into assigned positions, or making swift detour.
Hoarse voices shouted; bugles pealed; there was the rumble of wheels,
the pounding of hoofs, the tramp of feet, and over all the cloud of
dust, through which the sun shone redly. The intense vividness of the
picture gave me a new memory of war. Suddenly a battery of artillery,
out of sight on the distant crest, opened fire, the shrieking shells
plunging down into the ploughed field at our left, and casting the soft
dirt high in air. Our advance spread wide into skirmish line, the black
dots representing men flitting up the steep side of the hill, white
spirals of smoke evidencing their musket fire. Behind them was a grim
mass of infantry, silent and ominous, swinging forward like a huge
snake. The men of the Ninth straightened up, their eyes glowing, but it
was soon over with--the snake uncoiled, flinging a tail gleaming with
steel over the ridge, and the troopers sank back wearily into
their saddles.
As I turned again to glance over my shoulder I noticed a man riding at
the right of the second file. His face was new to me, and so peculiar
was it that I continued to stare, unable to determine whether the fellow
was white or colored. He was in private's uniform, but carried no arms,
and for head covering, instead of the hat worn by the Ninth, had an
infantry cap perched jauntily on his curly black hair. But his face was
clear, and his cheeks rosy, and he sat straight as an arrow in the
saddle. I drew back my horse and ranged up beside him, inspired by
curiosity. The eyes turned toward me undoubtedly betrayed negro blood.
"I do not remember seeing you before," I said, wiping the dust from my
lips. "Are you a new recruit?"
"I'se Col'nel Cochran's man," he answered, without salute, but with the
accent of education oddly mixed with dialect.
"Oh, I see--what has become of Sam?"
"He done took sick, an' de col'nel wanted a man right away, so he picked
me."
"Did you belong around here?"
"Well, no, not exactly belong round yere, but I'se travelled dese parts
some considerable. I was born down in Louisiana, sah."
"Not so very long ago either," I ventured, feeling a peculiar interest
in the fellow. "Were you a slave?"
His rather thin lips closed over his white teeth, and his fingers
gripped the saddle pommel.
"Yes,"--the word snapped out. "I'se nineteen, sah, an' my mother was a
slave. I reckon my father was white 'nough, but that don't count fo'
much--I'se a nigger just de same. Dat's bad 'nough, let me tell yo', but
it's worse to be yo' own father's nigger."
I had nothing to say to this outburst, feeling that back of it were
facts into which I had no right to probe, and we rode along quietly.
Then he spoke, glancing aside at me:
"Dey won't be no 'portant fightin' long yere, sah, not fo' 'bout ten
miles."
"How do you figure that out?"
"'Cause de lay ob de groun' ain't right, fo' one thing, an' 'cause all
de Confed intrenchments was back yander."
"Yonder--where?"
"In behind de log church at de Three Corners--done know dat country
mighty well."
I turned and faced him, instantly suspicious.
"Now see here; you do know that country, and a bit too well for a man
riding in the ranks. Where did you come from? Were you in the
Confederate service? Let's have this straight."
"Suah," with frankness. "I done tol' de col'nel all how it was. I was
wid my Massa from Louisiana, an' he was a captain, sah! 'Bout two weeks
ago he lef' me down yander on de pike wid orders fo' to stay dere till
he done come back. But it wa'n't no job fo' me, sah, an' so I skipped
out de first night, an' joined up wid de Yanks. I reckon I knows 'bout
whar I belongs in dis yere fightin', an' I ain't nobody's slave
no mor'."
The lad's earnestness impressed me, and beneath his words was evident a
deep smouldering resentment, not so much against slavery as against the
individual who had owned him.
"What is your name, my boy?"
"Charles Le Gaire, sah."