THE NIGHT ATTACK.
As Elizabeth stood at the door of the hospital tent looking after the
Smithhurst, General Pepperell came along, alone, in a brown study, his
brows knit and his face troubled. For though the French ship-of-war,
"Vigilant" had been captured, Louisburg had not, and every day was
adding to the list of soldiers in the hospitals. But when he saw her, he
stopped, and his expression, at first of surprise, changed to anger.
"What does this mean?" he said abruptly. "The ship has sailed. I sent
you word in time."
"Yes," she answered.
"Then what does it mean?" he reiterated, "Why are you here?"
"It means," she returned, resenting the authority of his tone, "that
when New England men are fighting and suffering and dying for their
country, New England women have not learned how to leave them in their
need, and sail away to happy homes. That's what it means, General
Pepperell." As she spoke she saw Archdale behind the General; he had
come up hastily as Pepperell stood there.
"Thought you were in a desperate hurry to be off," said Pepperell dryly.
Elizabeth blushed. She was convicted of changeableness, and she felt
that she had been impatient. "Forgive me," she said. "So I was. But I
did not realize then what I ought to do."
"Um! Where's your father?"
"Just gone out in the dispatch boat to the fleet."
"Does he know of this--this enterprise? Of course, though," he corrected
himself, "since he has not sailed."
"Yes, of course," she said. "He stays with me. But," she added, "I
suppose he expected me to ask you about it first."
"And you knew I wouldn't consent--hey?"
The girl smiled without speaking. "Mr. Royal is over-indulgent," he went
on decidedly.
"Perhaps," answered Elizabeth, "He thinks that a little over-indulgence
in being useful will not be bad for me. You assured both Nancy and me
that we were doing good service, real service, and that you should be
sorry to lose us."
"So you have done, and I shall be sorry to lose you, both personally and
for the cause. Nevertheless, I shall send you home at once. Your father
would never have consented to your staying if he had realized the
danger. I never know where the shells will burst. I'll stop work upon
that schooner that you came in, and send you home again in it. It's
fitting up now as a fire-ship, but it can be made fairly comfortable.
Your safety must be considered."
"Why is my safety of any more importance than the soldiers'? No,
General, you have no right to send me away. I refuse to go. I am not
speaking of military right, understand, but of moral right."
Pepperell gave a low whistle.
"That's it, is it?" he said. "One thing, however; if you stay, you must
submit to my orders. You are under military law."
"I surely will. And now thank you," she returned with a smile so winning
that, although for her own sake Pepperell had been angry, he relented.
"Oh, of course, it's very good in you, my dear," he said. "Don't think I
forget that."
Capt. Archdale had been standing a little apart looking out to sea
during a conversation in which he had no place. Now as he perceived the
General about to move on, he came forward and spoke to Elizabeth. "You
know that you are running a great risk?" he said to her gravely.
"Yes," she answered him, "or at least somewhat of a risk. When did you
come back from your reconnoitering party?"
"The night before last," he said, not pursuing a subject that she did
not wish to discuss with him. Elizabeth heard something hard in his
voice, and saw a new sternness in his face that made her wonder suddenly
if Katie's letter had lacked any kindness that Stephen deserved from her
as he stood in the midst of danger and death. Could she have shown
coquetry, or in any way teased him now?
"Well, good-by for the present, my dear, and Heaven keep you," said the
General, giving her hand a cordial pressure. Archdale bowed, and the two
went on, Pepperell at first full of praises of Elizabeth's courage,
though he regretted her decision. But life and death hung upon his skill
and promptness, and he had little time for thoughts of anything but his
task. Henceforth he only took care that Mr. Royal and his daughter were
as well protected, and as well cared for as circumstances permitted.
Yet, one evening soon afterward, he saw something which for the
moment interested him very much. Elizabeth, with Nancy Foster who was
now more companion than maid, was walking slowly toward her tent. Both
were looking at the gorgeous sunset. Its brilliancy, vying with that
of the deadly fireworks, offered a contrast all the more striking in
its restfulness and happy promise. The two women had grown somewhat
accustomed to the cannonade, and as they went on they seemed to be
talking without noticing it. Just then a figure in captain's uniform
came quickly up the slope toward them, and with a most respectful
salute, stood bare-headed before Elizabeth.
"Edmonson," commented the General even before he caught sight of
his face. "Nobody else has that perfection of manner. Stephen won't
condescend to it. Edmonson is the most graceful fellow I know. And, upon
honor, I believe he is the most graceless. But his theories can't harm
that woman." Yet as Pepperell stood watching the young man's expression
now that it was turned toward him, and understood by his gestures the
eager flow of words that was greeting Elizabeth, he held his breath a
moment with a new perception, muttered a little, and stood staring with
the frown deepening on his face. He wanted to catch her answering look,
but she had turned about in speaking and her back was toward him. In an
impatient movement at this, he changed his own range of vision somewhat,
and all at once caught sight of another face, also bent upon Elizabeth
with eager curiosity to catch her expression. Pepperell turned away
delighted. "After all, he's not too much of a grand seigneur to have
a little human curiosity," he chuckled, watching the new figure. "Yes,
we'll do very well to go on a reconnoitering expedition together, you
and I, Captain Archdale!" And he laughed to himself as he slipped
quietly away, without having been perceived. "More news to write to
pretty Mistress Katie," he commented, still full of amusement. Then
his thoughts went back again to the problem that was growing daily
more perplexing. And as he was again becoming absorbed in it, he was
conscious of an undercurrent of wonder that he could ever have laughed.
The thing next to be done was to make an attack up Island Battery, the
one most serviceable to the enemy, most annoying to themselves. So long
as that belched forth its fires against them, Warren's fleet must remain
outside, and there could be no combined attack upon the city, and
Louisburg was still unconquerable. Any day might bring a French fleet to
its rescue, and then the game was up. Beyond question, Island Battery
must be attacked, but it was a difficult and dangerous attempt, and
Pepperell sat with his head upon his hand, thinking of the men that must
fall even if it were successful. Still, every day now some among the
soldiers were smitten down by disease and the French ships were nearer.
It was only a question of sacrificing a part of his army or the whole of
it. Warren was right to urge the measure, and it must be pressed upon
his Council. But Pepperell felt as if he were being asked to sign a
hundred death-warrants.
It was not quite time for the members of his Council to assemble. He
went to the nearest battery where the firing was hottest, sighted the
direction of the guns, examined the state of the city walls where these
had been played upon by them, cheered the gunners with his praise, even
jested with one of them, and left the men more full of confidence in
him, more desirous than ever to please him, and, if possible, more
resolved to win the day. Not a trace of anxiety in his face or his tones
had betrayed the weight that was upon him. Then he went back to his
tent. The Council had assembled. When he took his place at the head,
he had forgotten the incident that a few minutes before had moved him
to laughter.
Archdale stood motionless. The underbrush hid him from the speakers, and
he was too far off to hear a word. It seemed to him that Elizabeth
wished to shorten the interview, for soon Edmonson with another of his
inimitable bows retired and she passed on. As Stephen caught sight of
her face he saw that it was troubled. "He shall not persecute her," he
said to himself. Nancy had gone on while Edmonson was speaking to her
mistress, and now Elizabeth following was almost at the door of her
temporary home, when a hand was laid heavily upon Archdale's shoulder,
and Vaughan's hearty voice cried;--
"Come on! I'm going to speak to our charming, brave young lady there.
I want to tell her how proud of her courage I am. Come on! he repeated.
Stephen followed. He had not taken her determination in this way. He
thought her unwise and rash, and hated to have her there. And yet he
could not deny that the camp had seemed a different place since she had
entered it.
"You take it that way," he said to Vaughan. "But I think we should be
feeling that she may get hit some of these days, or be down with fever."
"We'll hope not," returned the other cheerfully. "Let us look on the
bright side. She is doing a work of mercy, and we will trust that a
merciful Providence will protect her. We were just talking about you,
Mistress Royal," he continued, striding up to Elizabeth and grasping her
hand warmly. "Stephen, here, says he's always thinking you'll get hit
somehow, or get a fever. I say, look on the bright side of things,
'trust in the Lord,' as old Cromwell used to put it."
"'And keep your powder dry,'" finished Archdale. "It's not safe to quote
things by halves. Decidedly, this staying is not a prudent thing."
"I didn't know that beseiging Louisburg could be called a prudent
thing," she returned. "And so we're all in the same boat."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Vaughan. "You have him there, Mistress Royal. He's
always in the hottest places himself; he likes them best."
"Somebody else likes them, too; somebody else who can capture Royal
Battery with thirteen men," said Elizabeth. "I knew long ago that you
were a genuine war-horse, Colonel Vaughan. Give me credit for my
discernment."
"Yes, yes, I remember," assented the other with the embarrassment of
courage at finding itself commended. "But, really, against such a
cowardly crew as those fellows were, there's no credit at all to be
gained."
She made him a bright reply, and Archdale listened in silence as they
talked. But she noticed his gloomy face, and secretly wondered if it
was anxiety about Edmonson that troubled him, or if possibly, he was
displeased with Katie. But she put away for the second time the latter
suggestion. The girl had never looked prettier or been more affectionate
than when she had said good-by to her and given her the letter for
"poor, brave Stephen," as she had tearfully called him. Archdale could
not help listening to Elizabeth; there seemed to be a witchery about her
whenever she opened her lips. It was probable that Edmonson felt it, he
thought. And he began to wonder how things would all end. Perhaps they
should all be shot and the affair wind up like some old tragedy where
the board is swept clean for the next players. For his part, too much
had gone from his life to make the rest of it of interest. Elizabeth
turned to him.
"Are you busy?" she asked. "I mean are you on duty?"
"No," he answered, wondering what was coming, and noticing that her
tall, slight figure seemed all the more elegant for the simplicity of
her dress. "Can I do anything for you?" he added.
"Yes, thank you," she answered, "You can, if you are willing. I am going
to get some medicine that the doctors have asked me to keep, because it
is very powerful, and they were afraid lest some of the men would be
careless with it. Nancy is bringing the bandages. Here she is now. Thank
you," as the girl put a phial into her hand. "There is extra work to be
done to-day," she went on, turning again to Archdale, "and we are short
of hands. If you don't mind, and will come, we shall be glad of your
help."
Captain Archdale playing at nurse with private soldiers! The young man
did not fancy the idea at all; he would much rather have led a forlorn
hope.
But no forlorn hope offered, and this did. Of course he would do
anything for Mistress Royal, but this was not for her at all. He had
half a mind to excuse himself. As the suggestion came to him, he looked
into the steady eyes that were watching him fathoming his reluctance,
ready for approval or for scorning as the answer might be. His look took
in her whole appearance, and set him wondering if the privates, some of
whom had been even his neighbors and his boyish playfellows, could
offend his dignity more than hers? He began to wonder how her eyes would
change if they looked at him approvingly.
"I will go with pleasure, if you'll put up with an awkward fellow," he
answered. And Colonel Vaughan who was looking on was not aware that he
had hesitated.
Elizabeth's eyes darkened. She smiled and nodded her head slightly, as
if to say, "I knew you would do it." But after this the trace of a smile
lurked for a moment in the corners of her mouth, as if she might have
added: "I know, too, what it has cost you." But she said nothing at all
to Archdale. She bade good-by to Colonel Vaughan who protested that he
wished he was not upon duty, and turned again toward the hospital.
Suddenly Archdale thought that she might have been asking the same thing
of Edmonson when she had been talking with him just before. If she had,
it was very certain that Edmonson had found an engagement immediately.
Upon the whole, Archdale was satisfied to have done what the other would
not do. So that it was just as well he did not know that that other had
not been asked.
Was there ever another woman in the world like this one, he asked
himself late that night, recalling that she had been for hours beside
him, treating him just as if he were a crook to raise a soldier's head,
if she wanted to rearrange his pillow, or a machine to reel off bandages
round that poor Melvin's shattered arm, or to do any other trying
service, and never even imagine that he would like to be thanked or
treated humanely, while every look and word and thought of hers was for
the soldiers. It was so different from what he had always found, and yet
there was the nobleness of self-forgetfulness in the difference. But for
all this vivid memory of those hours, it was imagination rather than
recollection that occupied him most with her when she had left him. For
he was picturing how she would look, and what she would say, when she
read the letter that he had slipped into her hand as she was going away.
He recalled her look of amazement, her beginning:--"Why, it's--" and
then breaking off abruptly, perceiving that only peculiar circumstances
could have made him give her Katie's letter to read, and perhaps
divining the truth. For she had suddenly became very grave and had
replied absently to his good-night, as on her father's she had turned
from the hospital. The young man, wondering how she would receive the
news of Katie's treachery, asked himself what she could find now in
excuse for the girl who had used her faithful friend as the unconscious
messenger of her broken plight? Stephen knew well enough that the old
glamour would come back, but to-night he was full only of indignation
against Katie. To have used Elizabeth as she had done was an added sin.
"I wish Bulchester joy of her," he muttered, then with a sharp breath
recollected that this was only a respite, that he should not always feel
too scornful for pain.
Three nights after this there was a silent and solemn procession down to
the shore. Island Battery was to be attacked. Here was Archdale's
forlorn hope ready for him, if he wanted it now. Every chance of success
depended upon secrecy. The venture was so desperate that the General
could not make up his mind to pick out the men himself, he called for
volunteers. They came forward readily, incited, not only by courage and
the desire to end the siege, but by ambition to be distinguished among
their comrades who stood about them in hushed expectation. Every soldier
off duty and able to crawl to the shore, and some who should not have
attempted it were there. Among this crowd stood two women, scarcely
apart from the others, and yet everywhere that they moved, given place
to with the unobtrusive courtesy that has always marked American men, so
that one woman in a host of them feels herself, should danger come, in
an army of protectors, and otherwise alone. Elizabeth had meant to be
here earlier, and to put herself by the General's side, for her father
had gone with dispatches to the fleet, but her duties had detained her,
and now she was separated from him by nearly a regiment. She stood
silent in an anxiety that did not lessen because she told herself that
it was foolish.
Captain Brooks was to command the expedition, and the number of men
needed to accompany him was fast being made up from the eager
volunteers. In the dimness she recognized Archdale by an unconscious
haughtiness of bearing, and Edmonson's voice, though lowered to suit the
demands of the hour, made her shiver. Yet why? Of course they both were
here; volunteers were stepping out from the ranks of their companies.
But they themselves were not going, neither would they be left here
alone together. Boat after boat with scaling ladders was filled with
soldiers and shoved off, some of them out of sight in the dimness where
the men, lying on their oars, waited for their comrades. In this way
one after another disappeared. Things went on well. Elizabeth began
to be reassured, to be occupied with the scene about her, to remember
the importance of the expedition and how many times it had been
unsuccessfully attempted. She began to think of the attack, of the
result, and of the soldiers, to rejoice in them, to be proud of them,
and to tremble for them, as one who has no individual interest at stake.
It was only at night that the attempt could be made, only in certain
states of the tide, and still at the best time it was a terrible
venture; the work was new for the troops; the walls were high, the enemy
was vigilant. With a sigh she saw another boat shove off to its fate.
The volunteering slackened, either because so many of the men left were
aware that fatigue and illness had undermined their strength, or because
the night had grown lowering and the ominous roar of breakers reached
them from their landing place. Finally a distinct pause came in answer
to the call: "Who next?"--a pause that lasted a minute, and that, had it
lasted another, would have meant discouragement, and perhaps despair.
"I," said a firm voice, and Elizabeth saw Stephen Archdale step into the
boat. A strange feeling came over her for a moment, then a wave of
admiration for his heroism. If he were to die, it would be a soldier's
death. Yet, there would be so many to mourn him. If he went to his death
in this way, how would Katie feel? General Pepperell started forward, as
if to prevent his embarking, then restrained himself. The men responded
rapidly after this example, until the boat needed only one more. Then
there fell upon Elizabeth's ears, a name more frightful to her than the
boom of the surf or the roar of cannon, and Edmonson stepped in and
seated himself opposite Archdale.
"Two captains in one boat!" she heard a soldier remonstrate.
"Nonsense! we're full. Shove off instantly, you laggards. Every minute
tells," said the newcomer in a hoarse undertone.
Elizabeth sprang forward. "No, no," she cried impetuously, forgetting
everything but the terror.
But the calling of the names was going on again, and her voice was
unheard, except by a few who stood near her. Before she could make her
way up to the General, the boat pulled by the vigorous strokes of the
men who had been taunted as laggards, had shot out of sight. "Oh! bring
them back, bring back that last boat," she implored Pepperell in such
distress that he, knowing her a woman not given to idle fears, felt a
sense of impending evil as he answered:
"My dear, I cannot. No boat is sure of meeting it in the dark, and to
call would endanger the expedition."
There was no use in explaining now. She would have occasion enough to do
it sometime, she feared; and then it would be useless. To-night she
could say nothing. All these days she had dreaded what might come, for
it did not seem to her that Captain Archdale took any care at all.
Still, in the camp, out of general action, and surrounded by others,
there had been comparative safety.
Now the hour, the place, and the purpose had met. Through the darkness
Stephen Archdale was going to his doom.