[Illustration: 9111]
INTER so {103}far had brought them much suffering and privation.
To Ralph it was peculiarly dreary. With the prospect of a period of
inactivity, it was strange that so little provision was made to protect
them from the cold, raw winds that were so frequent. Many of the
soldiers put up rude huts, made from the fine timber which grew
so plentiful in that region, and those who were independent and
enterprising enough to build for themselves, often fashioned a very
snug, cozy little house. The rough stone fireplace, put together with
Virginia mud, was never wanting. What though it was neither symmetrical
nor artistic? The warmth and cheer compensated for the absence of both
these features.
In some of these huts--they surely deserved a better title--the men
threw themselves down at night on the ground, which was covered with
blankets, rubber coats, and any material the jovial occupants could find
to keep out the dampness. Some, more pretentious, constructed bunks or
boxes round the sides, which were as comfortable as a spring bed would
be at home. It was quite common to find home-made chairs, benches and
tables, round which they gathered when off duty, and told stories or
discussed the situation. The walls were papered with illustrations cut
from newspapers, which added to the charms of the dwelling.
{104}
[Illustration: 0112]
But the greater number shivered under canvas tents, feeling keenly the
light snows and rains, followed by days of thaw and sunshine, which were
so frequent. To add to the dreariness of their surroundings, the funeral
dirge was often heard, as the dead were carried out from hospital, who
had succumbed to that apparently {105}simple disease, the measles, but
which leaves its victim feeble, exhausted, and unable to rally.
To a new recruit, or to one who is full of sensibility, as Ralph was,
these sights were particularly depressing.
[Illustration: 0113]
A snowstorm during the day had been succeeded by a windy, cold night.
Ralph had been writing to his mother, and while he took care to
make every word as cheerful as he could, and never to mention his
discomforts, vet the mother heart between the lines, and knew her boy
was homesick, pining for her, as she, alas! was longing for the loving
caress and the sound of his voice.
As he pushed back the stool which had answered for a writing desk, the
wind gave a sudden whirl and lifted the canvas, sending a shower of
sleet over him which made him shiver.
“The winter here is full as cold and disagreeable as up North!” he said.
“I thought this was a land of perpetual sunshine and flowers!”
He {106}peered out at the sentry, who hugged his great coat closer, as
he paced to and fro. He fancied he saw in the gloom a man and horse, and
heard the sharp challenge--
“Halt! Who goes there?”
The horseman drew up, and replied promptly--
“A messenger from General Shields, with dispatches for Colonel Hopkins.
I must deliver them at once.”
[Illustration: 0114]
The sentinel called--“Sergeant of the guard--post number five--a message
from headquarters!”
The words were passed along the line of guards, until it reached the
sergeant, who came instantly.
He carried the papers to his colonel, who read them hastily, and signed
each one, handing them back to the orderly, who rode swiftly away.
Ralph was by this time outside his tent, unmindful of the sleet
{107}which tore his flesh like sharp-pointed arrows. He longed to
know what those dispatches signified, but his curiosity had to remain
unsatisfied, and he went back to his tent to try to sleep, as well as he
could, for the biting wind that forced its way into every crevice.
[Illustration: 0115]
He seated himself on the side of his bed, and tried to think. He
wondered when General McClellan was going to take Richmond. The cry “All
Quiet on the Potomac” was heard continually, and weary men and weeping
women all over the land were longing for the dawn of peace which should
bring back to them fathers, husbands and sons. But ah, that peace was
far distant. The boy reasoned that he had no right to criticise the men
who held trusted positions in the army. But surely the boys in camp
and field were doing all they could, under orders, to hasten the end of
these troublous times. Would the conflict ever cease?
Perplexed {108}and worn out in trying to solve the problem agitating so
many of the most patriotic and the most far-seeing, all over the land,
Ralph at last fell asleep, to be roused by the reveille. He sprang
up, sure that he must be dreaming, for he had just been sleeping but a
moment--a mere “cat nap,” and this couldn't be a summons to leave his
comfortable bed. He had neither time nor right to object, however; his
sole duty was to obey orders, and he hastened to dress. Outside, the
soldiers were hurrying about, most of those who were called on glad of
any break in the monotony of their first winter in camp.
“Breakfast at two, march at half-past,” was the captain's peremptory
order.
“What an unearthly hour,” was Ralph's comment. “Where, are we bound? And
why march at night?”
“Can't say,” a comrade ventured, “unless it's so we won't have to march
by day!”
They were not long in suspense.
A portion of their regiment was ordered to assist a force of Ohio and
Indiana men under Colonel Dunning, in routing a body of Confederates who
were posted near Romney, Va., at a point called Blue Gap.
The wind had died away, the stars were out, and the moon shone
brilliantly. The cutting sleet had turned to snow, and the soft carpet
lay white and pure, muffling the sound of their footsteps. It was a
weird sight--that mass of men tramping along with steady steps,
while their shadows falling on the ground danced and flickered in the
moonbeams with startling vividness.
Blue Gap was a natural opening between hills, and was well defended by
howitzers and rifle pits. As they approached the Gap, Ralph's keen
eye detected a dozen men piling up limbs, straw, and other inflammable
material, against the bridge that spanned a stream running through the
Gap.
“Captain,” he said, “some of those fellows have left the lines, and are
fixing things nice to burn that bridge.”
“We'll block that game, instanter. We need that bridge more than they
do.”
A {109}dash was made for the bridge, led by the captain, who opened fire
upon them, and thus ended that attempt. On the hills the entrenchments
were held manfully, but the Confederates had scarce time to pour forth
their fire, before the two Ohio regiments dashed upon them, and captured
two pieces of artillery. The surprise was so complete and the attack so
overwhelming, that defense was vain.
The hills were swarming with Federals, fighting hand to hand, and
forcing their opponents back. The houses on the other shore were filled
with sharpshooters, whose constant firing harassed the Federals, and
brought down a soldier at nearly every shot.
A score of men sprang into a large boat lying at the bank, and with a
storm of bullets hissing and rattling about them, they crossed to the
shore where the sharpshooters were hidden. Death menaced them, but with
a huzza that would have put life into a stone, they rowed fast, and
sprang out of the boat. Dashing up the hill, to the houses which the
enemy had used for vantage ground, they found them vacated.
“They didn't wait to make our acquaintance,” Ralph said.
“No, but those sharpshooters introduced themselves to us in fine style.
Why, a man went down at nearly every shot.”
Bill said not a word, but leaned heavily over the side of the boat. No
one paid him attention, for their hearts were filled with a longing for
revenge.
“Boys, we have missed the rebs ensconced in these houses, but we can
prevent their using them again. We will burn them to the ground, and
take good care that not a timber stands, after we have done with them.
They have picked off some of our best men, and we won't leave a roof to
shelter them.”
A dozen pairs of willing hands were at work in an instant gathering wood
and brush, which they piled around the dwellings. With faces grimy and
soiled, these resolute men touched the pile with a match, while they
stood ready to shoot the first man who dared to show himself to protest,
and soon the flames leaped upward, crackling, sputtering and curling
round doors no and {110}windows, licking up every object within reach,
till naught but the charred and blackened timbers stood to mark the spot
where the sharpshooters had dealt their deadly work.
The skirmish was brief. It was an easy victory, and no loss had been
sustained by the Federals, save those who were shot in the boats. But
the Confederate loss was greater. Forty soldiers were lying dead in the
grass and weeds, and as many more were carried back to camp, prisoners.
Even while the houses were being consumed, Ralph went back to assist
those who had received the bullets of the sharpshooters. Some had fallen
overboard, and sunk in the stream. Others were lying as they had fallen,
their cold hands still grasping their weapons, which they would never
use again. One poor fellow was kneeling in the bottom of the boat, his
finger on the trigger of his musket, and his staring eyes fixed on the
shore. Ralph shuddered. Could he ever become inured to these dreadful
sights?
Bill Elliott was leaning over the side of the boat, in a half-stupor. The
wound in his head had opened afresh, and the red stream was running down
his face, staining its ghastly whiteness crimson. His arm hung useless
by his side, shattered by a bullet. Opening his eyes at the sound of
Ralph's voice, he whispered faintly: “I thought you'd come arter me.
They've fixed me this time, sure,” and he relapsed into unconsciousness.
A litter was soon hurried together, and Old Bill was placed in hospital.
[Illustration: 0118]