A HOME A HOSPITAL
The sudden night alarm caused by firing on the ridge can be easily
explained. Wearied as were the Confederate general and his men, and
severe as had been the repulse of their first attack, both were
undaunted and, after rest and refreshment, eager to bring the battle to
a more decisive issue, and it was determined to learn long before
morning whether the Federal force was on the ridge or not. During the
last shower a reconnoitring party was sent out stealthily, a few of the
rear-guard captured, from whom it was learned that the Union column had
been on the march for hours.
Mrs. Whately was wakened and helped her disabled son to dress in haste.
Little did Miss Lou know about the term ALIBI, but she had the
shrewdness to show herself and to appear much alarmed. Opening her
door, she gave a glimpse of herself in night attire with her long hair
hanging over her shoulders, and cried, "Oh, oh, are we attacked?"
"If we are you may have sad reason to wish that you had obeyed me this
morning," replied her cousin sternly. "You no more understand your
folly and danger than a child. Now I'm compelled to look after my
prisoners first," and he rushed away.
"Come in my room, Louise," said her aunt. "Whatever happens, it is best
that we should be together." The girl was so agitated, fearing that in
some way her adventures might be discovered, that she had no occasion
to feign alarm. Mrs. Whately sought only to soothe and quiet, also to
extenuate her son's words. "I don't suppose we truly realize yet, as
Madison does, what war means," she concluded.
Mr. Baron soon sent up word that there was no special occasion for
further fears, and that the ladies might sleep, if they could, until
morning.
But there was no more sleep for Mad Whately. As soon as he reached the
spot where the prisoners had been kept he asked sharply, "Where is that
Yankee officer and Perkins?"
The man then on duty answered, "The sergeant I relieved said that you
took 'im away, sir, and that the man named Perkins followed you."
"There's been treachery here," cried Whately in a rage. "Bring that
sergeant here."
The weary man was half dragged in his sleep to the officer and there
thoroughly awakened by a volley of oaths. He stolidly told his story,
concluding, "I cud a sworn it was you, and the overseer followed less'n
three minutes after you left."
"'I left'--curse you--don't say that again. You've been fooled or was
asleep and neglected your duty."
"Well, then, sir," was the dogged reply, "find that overseer who was a
watchin' the Yank like a cat. Ast 'im; ast my men ef I wasn't awake en
ef I didn't s'lute you soon ez you come. There's the overseer's lantern
burnin' yet jis whar he left it."
At this moment Perkins came staggering toward the fire, with both hands
to his head as if trying to hold it together. His clothes were muddy,
his face was ghastly and he stared at Whately as if the officer was
also a part of a horrid dream.
Whately seized him roughly by the arm and said sternly, "Speak, man.
What does all this mean? Where's the Yank?"
"For God's sake, quit," cried Perkins. "I'm nigh dead now. You've got
me in anuff trouble for one night."
"Trouble--you! What's your trouble to mine? I'm responsible for these
prisoners. Now where's that Yank? Quick, or you WILL have trouble."
"I ain't seen 'im since yer took 'im away--YOU. I ain't one of your
understrappers. Ez I wuz follerin' yer some one knocked me down from
behind and nigh onto killed me. I jes gittin' my senses back."
Although so enraged, Whately knew that as a soldier he must curb his
passion, report the facts immediately and see what could be done. His
superior officer was called, all the parties questioned closely, the
garden and Aun' Jinkey's cabin searched, but no new facts discovered.
The old negress was savagely threatened, but she only replied, "I
dunno, I dunno not'n. Wat got inter you ter tink an ole tottery,
skeered ooman lak me gwine out in de dark en knock Marse Perkins on de
haid?"
"Where's your grandson, Chunk?" Whately demanded fiercely.
"He des light out wid de Yankees dis eb'nin'."
The conclusion guessed at was that Scoville had been rescued by his own
men, who were known to be daring scouts. In the darkness and confusion
after the battle, it was thought they had mingled with the
Confederates, learned the situation of their leader and the general
appearance of Whately with his disabled arm. Arrayed in the Southern
uniform, of which scouts always had a supply, and favored by the sleepy
condition of the guard, one of the scouts had played the trick which
Whately rued so bitterly. Others, on the watch, had struck down Perkins
and carried Scoville off in safety. No other theory they could hit upon
explained so well what was known. The tricked sergeant was placed under
arrest, and Whately, who had gone to sleep with such high and mighty
notions of his prowess and friendly league with fate, found himself in
partial disgrace and in the depths of mortification. He kept guard over
his prisoners in person the remainder of the night and again had
opportunity to repent at leisure. He mentally cursed himself as a fool,
for now he remembered his mother's words. If he had shown leniency to
Scoville, and brought him into the house, he might have kept the
prisoner and won the goodwill of his cousin. Now, she would probably
hear the humiliating facts and be less inclined either to fear or favor
him. It was well that no suspicion on his part or that of others had
fallen on her, for she was not one who could face coolly a severe
cross-questioning.
Perkins skulked off to his house, assuaged his aching head with cold
water and his wounded spirit with whiskey. As he tried to think the
matter over a vague suspicion of the truth began to enter his confused
brain. The little slipper with which he had been hit over the eyes in
the morning now became a broad hint. He knew well, however, that it
would be dangerous to make any charges, or even suggestions, unless he
had ample proof.
When all became quiet again Miss Lou, in spite of deep anxieties, was
overcome by extreme weariness and slept until, in a dream, she heard
Scoville moaning and sighing in the extremity of physical pain.
Starting up, she saw it was broad day. She passed her hand confusedly
over her brow and tried to recall what had occurred, to understand the
sounds which had suggested her dream. Then in a flash, the strange
swirl of events in which she was involved presented itself and she knew
she had wakened to other experiences beyond even her imagination. The
groans of wounded men brought pitiful tears to her eyes and steadied
her nerves by banishing the thought of self. Whatever might befall her,
so much worse was the fate of others that already she was passing into
the solemnity of spirit inspired by the presence of mortal pain and
death. She drew the curtains of her window and then shrank back,
shuddering and sobbing, for, scattered over the lawn, men and horses
lay stark and motionless. More pitiful still, here and there a wounded
horse was struggling feebly. The spring morning, dewy, bright,
fragrant, made these evidences of strife tenfold more ghastly. There
could not be a more terrible indictment of war than nature's peaceful
loveliness.
By the time she was dressed she was joined by Mrs. Whately, who looked
serious indeed. Before they could descend to the lower hall, Madison,
haggard and gloomy of aspect, intercepted them. Looking at his cousin's
red eyes and pale face, he asked abruptly, "What's the matter?"
"Do you think I am accustomed to these sights and sounds?" she answered.
"Oh," he said, in a tone which seemed to her heartless, "it's an old
story to me. Mother, I must speak alone with you a moment."
She turned back with him to her room, meantime saying, "Louise, I do
not think you had better go down without me."
The girl tremblingly returned to her apartment, fearing that now she
might be forced to confront her own actions. But she was conscious of a
sort of passive courage. Mad Whately's anger, or that of others, was a
little thing compared to the truth that men were dead and dying all
about her.
"Mother," said her son, "I had cursed luck last night. I wish I had
slept on the rain-soaked ground near my prisoners," and he told her
what had happened.
"Oh, Madison!" sighed Mrs. Whately, "I wish this experience would teach
you to be more guided by me. Louise cared nothing for this Yankee,
except in a sort of grateful, friendly way. Through him, you could have
done so much to disarm--"
"Oh, well, mother, the milk is spilled. If possible, let the whole
affair be kept from her knowledge."
"Yes, I suppose that will be the best way. If she hears about it, we
must try to explain by the usages of war. Now, Madison, you are cool.
Let experience be your teacher, for you MUST face the truth. You must
either give her up--"
"I'll never give her up."
"Then, as Major Brockton said, you must win her like a Southern
gentleman. Her spirit is as high as yours. You can't continue to speak
to her as you did last night and this morning. Try to realize the
facts. In the seclusion of her bringing up, Louise has learned nothing
of the conventionalities of society which might incline her toward a
good match on general principles. So far from this, the many
old-fashioned romances she has read have made her feel that she must
and WILL have her romance. If you can make Louise feel that you love
her so well as to become her gallant suitor, circumstances may soon
give you great advantages. She may be cold and indifferent for a time,
but like all passionate high-strung natures, present impulses against
may turn just as strongly for you. At least, you have not to contend
with that most fatal of all attitudes--indifference. A great change in
you will be a flattering tribute to her power to which no girl would be
indifferent. I must tell you now once for all that I will not again
assist in any high-handed measures against Louise. Not only the
futility of such action, but my own dignity and sense of right, forbid
it. I did not understand her at first. Now that I do, I am all the more
eager to call her daughter; but I wish her to feel toward me as she
should in such a relation. Yesterday, when I apologized and told her
that I meant to treat her with kindness and fairness, she kissed me
like the warm-hearted girl she is. I will help you win her as a man
should win his wife; I will not be dragged into any more false
positions which can end only in humiliation. I will be your tireless
ally in the only way you can succeed, but in no other."
"Very well, mother, I agree," said Whately, whose nature it was to
react from one extreme to another.
"Ah, now I have hope. How is your arm?"
"It pains horribly."
Mrs. Whately went to Miss Lou's room and said, "Forgive me for keeping
you waiting. Madison is almost beside himself with pain in his arm, and
I will be detained a little longer."
In her immense relief that she was not charged with all she dreaded,
Miss Lou had leisure from her fears to feel commiseration for her
cousin. When at last he appeared she said kindly, "I am sorry you are
suffering so much."
"If I thought you really cared I wouldn't mind the pain," he replied.
"Cousin Lou, I owe an apology, several, I reckon, but I've been so
distracted between conflicting feelings, duties and pain, that I
scarcely know what I say."
"You little know me if you think I'm weighing WORDS at this time," she
replied. "Come, let us forget the past, shake hands and remember that
we are simply cousins."
He took her hand instantly, but said, "You ask what is impossible.
Suppose you had said, 'Just remember your arm is well from this
moment,' would it be well? I cannot help my feelings toward you and
don't wish to."
"Very well, then," she sighed, "I cannot help mine either. I don't wish
to talk on that subject any more."
"Then I must plead by actions. Well, I must go now."
Mrs. Whately was much pleased, for her son was adopting just the course
she desired. She added nothing and accompanied Louise downstairs.
The amputating table had been removed and the halls cleansed, but the
unmistakable odor of the hospital pervaded the house. Every apartment
on the first floor except the dining-room was filled with the wounded.
Some were flushed and feverish by reason of their injuries, others,
pallid from loss of blood and ebbing vital forces.
The Confederate general, with his staff, had already made a hasty
breakfast and departed; through the open door came the mellow sound of
bugles and the songs of birds, but within were irrepressible sighs and
groans. Mrs. Whately entered the spacious parlor on the floor of which
Confederate officers lay as close as space for attendance upon them
permitted. The young girl paused on the threshold and looked around
with a pitying, tearful face. A white-haired colonel was almost at her
feet. As he looked up and recognized her expression, a pleased smile
illumined his wan, drawn face. "Don't be frightened, my child," he said
gently.
The swift glance of her secured attention took in his condition. His
right arm was gone and he appeared ghastly from loss of blood. In her
deep emotion she dropped on her knees beside him, took his cold hand
and kissed it as she said, "Please let me help you and others get well."
The old man was strongly touched by her unexpected action, and he
faltered, "Well, my child, you make us all feel that our Southern girls
are worth fighting for and, if need be, dying for. Yes, you can help
us, some of us, in our dying perhaps, as well as in our mending. My
battles are over. You can help best by caring for younger, stronger
men."
"Such men will not begrudge you anything, sir."
"Bravo!" cried half a dozen voices, and an officer near added, "Miss
Baron speaks as well and true as you fought, Colonel."
She looked hastily around. Seeing many friendly smiles and looks of
honest goodwill and admiration she rose confusedly, saying, "I must go
to work at once."
"I think, Louise," said Mrs. Whately, joining her in the hall, "we can
accomplish most if we work much together and under the directions of
the surgeons. It is evident from the numbers of the wounded that time,
strength, food--everything will have to be used to the best advantage.
I'm glad that we both got some sleep last night. Now, I insist. Before
you do a thing you must have a cup of hot coffee and some nourishing
food yourself. The best impulses in the world are not equal to the
tasks before us. Indeed, we shall fail these poor men in their sore
need if we do not keep our strength. The worst is yet to come. As far
as you can, control your feelings, for emotion wears faster than work.
Let's first go to the kitchen."
Zany followed from the dining-room with her hands full of dishes. She
gave Miss Lou a swift, significant glance, and that was all. Even she
was sobered by the scenes witnessed that morning and the thought of
Chunk's indefinite absence. Aun' Suke sat dozing in a corner,
absolutely worn out, and other negroes from the quarters had been
pressed into the service. Mrs. Baron was superintending their efforts
to supply soup and such articles of diet as the surgeons had ordered.
"Ole miss" now shone to advantage and had the executive ability of a
general. In cool, sharp, decisive tones she gave her orders, which were
obeyed promptly by assistants awed into forgetfulness of everything
else except the great, solemn emergency. All differences had
disappeared between the two ladies, and they began consulting at once
how best to meet the prolonged demands now clearly foreseen.
"The confusion and conflicting requirements are just awful," said Mrs.
Baron. "As soon as possible, we must bring about some system and order.
One of the first things to do is to get as many provisions and
delicacies as possible under lock and key, especially the coffee and
sugar. They are going to give out anyway, before long."
Miss Lou stole away and ran to Aun' Jinkey's cabin. Soldiers had taken
possession of it and were cooking and eating their breakfasts. Some
recognized the girl politely as she stood at the door, while others
continued their occupation in stolid indifference. Aun' Jinkey rose
tottering from a corner and came to the doorstep. "You see how 'tis,
honey," she said. "Dey des gwine on ez ef I ain' yere. I a hun'erd
yeahs ol'er dan I wuz w'en you want sump'n ter hap'n."
"Take courage, mammy," Miss Lou whispered. "Chunk's safe. Have YOU had
any breakfast?"
"I can't eat, honey, w'en ev'yting des a whirlin'."
The girl darted away and in a few moments returned with a cup of
coffee. Entering the cabin, she said, "Fair play, gentlemen. This is my
old mammy's cabin and this her place here in the corner by the hearth.
Will you do me the favor of being kind to her and letting her remain
undisturbed? Then you can use her fireplace all you please."
The Southern soldiers, understanding so well the relation between the
girl and the old woman, agreed with many good-natured protestations,
offering to share with Aun' Jinkey their rude breakfast.
By the time the girl had returned to the house, she found that Zany and
others had prepared a second breakfast in the dining-room for the
family and such of the officers whose wounds were so slight as to
permit their presence at the table. Miss Lou was placed between her
cousin and a young, dark-eyed officer who was introduced as Captain
Maynard. He also carried his left arm in a sling.
Mrs. Whately sat in Mr. Baron's place, since he, after a night's
vigils, had retired to obtain a little sleep. "Louise," said the lady,
"you will have to begin being useful at once. You have a disabled man
on either side of you for whom you must prepare food."
"Miss Baron," said Captain Maynard gallantly, "I am already more than
reconciled to my wound. Anything that you prepare for me will be
ambrosia."
Whately frowned as he heard these words and saw the immediate
impression made by his cousin upon his brother officer; but a warning
glance from his mother led him to vie in compliments. Before very long
Maynard remarked sotto voce, "If you aid in healing the wounds made by
the Yanks, Miss Baron, who will heal the wounds YOU make?"
"I shall not make any, sir. Such thoughts, even in jest, wound me at
this time. Please excuse me, I've had all the breakfast I wish, and I
cannot rest till I am doing something for those who are suffering so
much."
He rose instantly and drew back her chair. In sitting down again, he
encountered Whately's eyes, and recognized the jealousy and anger
already excited.