freedom to all women, and exacted scrupulous respect for such freedom at
the hands of all men, the intercourse between gentlemen volunteers and
the young women who had come to visit them in camp was even less
restrained than that of a drawing-room, in which all are guests of a
common host, and all are guaranteed, as it were, by that host's
sponsorship of invitation.
In all their dealings with the volunteers, the women of Virginia brought
common sense to bear in a positively astonishing degree, reinforcing it
with abounding good-will and perfect confidence in the manhood of men as
their sufficient shield against misinterpretation. And they were
entirely right in this. For "battle, murder, and sudden death," would
very certainly have been the part of any man in those ranks who should
have failed in due respect to this generosity of mind on the part of
womanhood. The dignity of womanhood was never so safe as when women thus
confidently left its guardianship to the instinctive chivalry of men.
For a time after the halt, Baillie Pegram was too busy to inquire
whether or not any friends of his own were among the throng. For
something had happened to Baillie Pegram over there in the Valley of the
Shenandoah two or three days before. The gun to whose detachment he
belonged as a cannonier had been detached and sent to an exposed
position on the Martinsburg road. The sergeant in command of it had been
killed by a bullet, and the two corporals--the gunner and the chief of
caisson--had been carried to the rear on litters, with bullets in their
bodies. There was absolutely nobody in command of the gun, but Baillie
Pegram was serving as number one at the piece--that is to say, as the
cannonier handling the sponge and rammer. Seeing the badly weakened
gun-crew disposed to falter for lack of anybody to command them, and
seeing, too, the necessity of continuing the fire, Baillie assumed an
authority which did not belong to him in any way.
"Stand to the gun, men!" he cried. "If any man flunks till this job is
done, I'll brain him with my rammer-head, orders or no orders."
A moment later the faltering of number three called upon him for the
execution of his threat, and he instantly did what he had said he
would do, felling the man to the grass, stunned for the time by a quick
blow with the iron-bound rammer-head. Then he called upon number five to
take the recreant's place, and that gun continued its work until the hot
little action was over.
[Illustration: "'_If any man flunks--I'll brain him_'"]
A slouchy-looking personage had been standing by all the while. At the
end of it all he demanded Baillie Pegram's name and rank, and the name
of his battery. That evening Baillie Pegram's captain sent for him, and
said:
"I am going to make you my sergeant-major. I have General Jackson's
request to recognise your good conduct under his eye to-day. Even
without his suggestion I should wish to have you with me as my staff
sergeant. I have kept that post open until now, in order that I might
choose the best man for it."
It should be explained that the rank of sergeant-major is the very
highest non-commissioned rank known to military life. Ordinarily, the
sergeant-major is a regimental non-commissioned officer. But following
the French system, the Confederate regulations allowed every battery of
field-artillery a sergeant-major, if its captain so desired. He
outranked all other non-commissioned officers, and usually exercised a
lieutenant's command in battle--always if any commissioned officer were
absent or disabled.
Thus it came about that Sergeant-Major Baillie Pegram was too busy on
that morning to look up acquaintances among the spectators gathered
there. He had orders to execute, and details of many kinds to look
after, including the making out of that morning report which every
company in the service must daily render, and upon which the commanding
general must rely for information as to the exact number of fighting men
he has available for duty.
Baillie had just completed this task, when some one brought him news
that a lady in a carriage near by wished to speak with him. Having
nothing now to do, he responded to the call, and found Agatha Ronald
awaiting him. She sat in her carriage alone. In her lap was a
work-basket, fully equipped for that mending which these women always
came prepared to do when soldiers were passing by. Baillie had no
mending to be done, but Agatha bade him remove his jacket and deliver it
into her charge.
"We've heard what happened in the Valley the other day," she said, "and
it is not seemly for a sergeant-major to be on duty without the insignia
of his rank. Red is the artillery colour, I believe, and your marks are
three chevrons, with three arches connecting them, are they not?
Fortunately, I brought a roll of red braid. So let me have your coat,
please, and I'll readjust your costume to your rank."
Agatha spoke glibly, but it was under manifest constraint. She forced
and feigned a lightness of mood which she did not feel, and her manner
deceived Baillie Pegram completely, as it was meant to do.
"What a fool I am," he thought, "to expect anything else. She was
embarrassed when I last saw her, and worried, but that was all on
account of her aunts. She is her own mistress to-day, and--well, it is
better so. There'll be a fight to-morrow, and that's fortunate."
At that point the girl interrupted his meditations by saying, in her
assumed tone of lightness, which he so greatly misinterpreted:
"I know there is war between your house and mine, but I'm going to give
aid and comfort to the enemy, if it comforts you to have your chevrons
properly sewed on."
"There can surely be no war between me and thee," he answered, with
earnestness in his tone. "At any rate, I do not make war upon a woman,
and least of all--"
"You must not misunderstand, Mr. Pegram," the girl broke in, looking at
him earnestly out of her great brown eyes. "I esteem you highly, and I
am sorry there is trouble between your house and mine. But I am not
disloyal to the memory of my father. You must never think that. It is
only that you are a gentleman who has been kind to me, and a soldier
whom I honour. But the war endures between your house and mine."
Had she slapped him in the face with her open palm, she could not have
hurt his pride more deeply. He snatched his jacket from her hand. Only
one sleeve was finished, and the needle still hung from it by a thread.
"I'll wear it so," he said. "I, at any rate, have no house. I am the
last of my race, and let me say to you now--for I shall never see you
again of my own free will--that the war between our houses will
completely end when I receive my discharge from life."
Then a new thought struck him.
"It is not for Baillie Pegram, the master of Warlock, that you have done
this," touching the braided sleeve, "but for Baillie Pegram, the soldier
on his way to battle. Let it be so."
Stung by his own words, and controlled by an impulse akin to that which
had seized him at the gun two days before, he reached out and plucked
from her headgear the red feather that she wore there, saying:
"Here! fasten that in my hat. I've a mind to wear it in battle
to-morrow. Then I'll send it back to you."
What demon of the perverse had prompted him to this action, he did not
know, but the girl in her turn seemed subject to its will. Instead of
resenting what he had done, she took the feather and with some quickly
plied stitches fastened it securely to his already soiled and worn
slouch hat. Then handing it back to him, she said:
"Good-bye. God grant that when the feather comes back to me, it be not
stained to a deeper red than now."
At that moment the bugle blew. Baillie touched his hat, bowed low, and
said:
"At least you are a courteous enemy."
"And a generous one?" she asked.
But he did not answer the implied question.
* * * * *
When he had gone, Agatha bent low over her work-basket, as if in search
of something that she could not find. If two little tear-drops slipped
from between her eyelids, nobody caught sight of them.
Presently another bugle blew, and as Baillie Pegram's battery took up
the march, the guns and men of Captain Skinner took its place. But this
time there was no mingling of the men with the spectators. Captain
Skinner was too rigid a disciplinarian to permit that, and he knew his
ruffians too well. The moment the battery halted, the sergeant of the
guard posted his sentries, and the men remained within the battery
lines.
Seeing this, Agatha tripped from her carriage, and, work-basket in hand,
started to enter the battery. She was instantly halted by a sentry,
whose appearance did not tempt her to dispute his authority. She
therefore simply said to him, "Call your sergeant of the guard, please."
To the sergeant, when he came, she said, "Will you please report to
Captain Skinner that Miss Agatha Ronald, of Willoughby, asks leave to
enter the battery lines, in order to do such mending for the men as may
be needed?"
But it was not necessary for the sergeant to deliver his message, for
Captain Skinner, way-worn and dusty, at that moment presented himself,
and greeted the visitor.
"It is very gracious of you," he said, "but, my dear young lady, my men
do not belong to that class with which alone you are acquainted. You had
better not visit my camp."
"Your men are soldiers, sir," she said, "and their needs may be quite as
great as those of any others. We are not living in drawing-rooms just
now. I crave your permission to enter the battery."
The captain touched his hat again, signed to the sentry to let the young
woman pass, and then, turning to the sergeant of the guard, said:
"Post ten extra sentinels among the guns, with orders to arrest
instantly any man who utters an oath or in any other way offends this
young lady's ears. See to it yourself that this order is obeyed to the
letter."
IX
_THE BIRTH OF WOMANHOOD_
The captain's stern commands were not needed, and the extra sentinels
had no work to do in restraining the men from offensive speech and
conduct. They courteously saluted as Agatha passed them by, and when
they learned what her kindly mission was, they hurriedly brought armfuls
of saddle-blankets and arranged them as a cushion for her on the top of
a limber-chest. Perched up there, she called for their torn garments,
and nimbly plied her needle and her scissors for the space of half an
hour before observing the sentry who had been posted nearest to her. His
slouch hat, indeed, was drawn down over his eyes in such fashion that
but little of his face could be seen. But looking up at last in search
of further work to do, she recognised the form of Marshall Pollard.
Instantly a deep flush overspread her face, and, dismounting from the
limber-chest, she approached and addressed him. He presented arms and
said to her in French, so that those about them might not understand:
"Pardon me, mademoiselle, but it is forbidden to speak to a sentinel on
duty." With that he recovered arms and resumed the monotonous pacing of
his beat.
As the girl hurried out of the battery, flushed and agitated, she again
encountered Captain Skinner.
"Has anybody been rude to you, Miss Ronald?" he asked, quickly.
"No, Captain Skinner, I have only praise for your men. They have been
courteous in the extreme. I predict that they will acquit themselves
right gallantly in to-morrow's battle."
"O, they're fighters, and will give a good account of themselves if this
muddled railroad management lets us get to Manassas before the fighting
is over."
With thanks to Agatha for her kindness, Captain Skinner bowed low in
farewell.
Springing into her carriage she gave the command, "Home," and drove away
without waiting to see the remainder of the Army of the Shenandoah as
it moved, partly by train, and partly on march, toward the scene of the
coming battle.
During the homeward ride the girl laughed and chatted with her
companions with more than her usual vivacity, quite as if this had been
the gladdest of all her gala-days. But the gaiety was forced, and the
laughter had a nervous note in it which would have betrayed its impulse
to her companions had they been of closely observant habit of mind.
But when she reached home Agatha excused herself to her friends, and
shut herself in her room. Throwing off her hat, but making no other
change in her costume, she stretched herself upon the polished floor,
after a habit she had indulged since childhood whenever her spirit was
perturbed. For an hour she lay there upon the hard ash boards, with her
hands clasped under her head, thinking, thinking, thinking.
"God knows," she thought, "I have tried to do my duty, and it is
bitterly hard for a woman. In loyalty to my dead father's memory, I have
insulted and wounded the only man I could ever have loved, and sent him
away from me in anger and wretchedness. And even in doing that--even in
being cruel to him and to myself, I have fallen short of my duty as
Agatha Ronald. I have weakly yielded something at least of that proud
attitude which it is my duty to my family traditions to maintain. I have
recognised the state of war, but I have parleyed with the enemy. And
Baillie Pegram is at this hour wearing a plume plucked from my hat and
fastened into his by my own hands. God forgive me if I have been
disloyal! But is it disloyalty?"
With that question echoing in her mind she sat up, staring at the wall,
as if trying there to read her answer.
"Is it my duty to cherish a feud that is meaningless to me--to hate a
man who has done no wrong to me or mine, simply because there was a
quarrel between our ancestors before either of us was born? I do not
know! I do not know! But I must be true to my family, true to my race,
true to the traditions in which I have been bred. I have fallen short of
that in this case. I must not err again. I must never again forget, even
for a moment, that Baillie Pegram is my hereditary enemy."
Then she caught herself thinking and almost wishing that a Federal
bullet might end her perplexity--that Baillie Pegram might never live to
see her again. "I wonder," she thought, "if that is what Christ meant
when he said that one who hates his neighbour is a murderer in his
heart. It is all a blind riddle to me. Here have I been brought up a
Christian, taught from my infancy that hatred is murder, and taught at
the same time that it is my highest duty, as a Ronald, to go on hating
all the Pegrams on earth because my father and Baillie Pegram's
grandfather quarrelled over something that I know absolutely nothing
about!"
Presently the girl's mind reverted to the second meeting of that
eventful day,--her encounter with Marshall Pollard. She wondered why he
had enlisted in company with such men as those who constituted Captain
Skinner's battery, for even thus early those men had become known as the
worst gang of desperadoes imaginable,--a band that must be kept day and
night under a discipline as rigid and as watchful as that of any State
prison, lest they lapse into crimes of violence. She wondered if this
meant that the peculiarly gentle-souled Marshall Pollard was trying to
"throw himself away," as she had heard that men disappointed in love
sometimes do,--that he wished to degrade himself by low associations.
"And I am the cause of it all," she mourned. For she knew that Marshall
Pollard had loved her with the love of an honest man, and that his life
had been darkened, to say the least, by her inability to respond to his
devotion. In this case she should have had the consolation of knowing
that she had been guilty of no wilful, no conscious wrong, but, in her
present mood, she was disposed to flagellate her soul for an imagined
offence.
"He came to me," she reflected, "loving me from the first. Little idiot
that I was, I did not understand. I liked him as a girl may like a
boy,--for I was only a girl then,--and I did not dream that the
affection he manifested toward me meant more than that sort of thing on
his part. Those things which ought to have revealed to me his state of
mind meant nothing more to me then than do the little gallantries and
deferences which all men pay to all women. How bitterly he reproached me
at the last for having deceived him and led him on with encouragements
which I at least had not intended as such. Are all women born
coquettes? Is it our cruel instinct to trifle with the souls of men, as
little children love to torture their pets? Have we women no principles,
no earnestness, no consciences--except afterward, when remorse awakens
us? Are we blind, that we do not see, and deaf that we do not hear? Or
is it our nature to be cruel, especially to those who love us and offer
us the best that there is in their strong natures?
"I remember how we stood out there in the grounds, under the jessamine
arbour, as the sun went down; and how at last, when I had made him
understand, he plucked a sprig of the beautiful, golden flowers from the
bunch that I held in my hand, and how I bade him beware, for that the
jessamine is poisonous, and how he replied, 'Not more poisonous than it
is to love a coquette.'
"I remember that he gave me no chance to answer, no opportunity to
protest again my innocence of such intent as he had imputed to me in his
passionate speech, but turned his back and stalked away, with that
stride which I saw again to-day, as he paced his beat. That was two
years ago--and to-day I have seen him again in such company as he would
never have sought but for me,--the willing companion of ruffians, the
associate of desperadoes, the messmate of thieves!"
Agatha was on her feet now, and nervously laying aside one after another
of the little fripperies with which she had decorated her person that
day. She found herself presently half-unconsciously searching for the
gown that she must wear at dinner, though her never-failing maid had
laid it out long before her home-coming, that it might be in readiness
for her need.
A sudden thought came into the suffering girl's mind.
"These two men, whose lives are hurt by their love for me, will suffer
far less than I shall. They are soldiers as strong to endure as they are
strong to dare. They have occupation for all their waking hours. They
will be upon the march, in battle, or otherwise actively employed all
the time. In remembering more strenuous things they will forget their
sorrows and throw aside their griefs as they cast away everything when
they go into battle that may in any wise hinder their activity or
embarrass their freedom. I must sit still here at Willoughby, and think,
and think, and think."
Then like a lightning flash another thought came into her mind, and she
spoke it aloud:
"Why should I be idler than they are? Why should I sit here brooding
while they are toiling and fighting for Virginia? I am no more afraid of
death or of danger than they are, and while women may not fight, there
are other ways in which a woman of courage may render quite as good a
service. I'll do it. I'll take the risks. I'll endure the hardships.
I'll render my country a _service that shall count_."
With that she rang for her maid and bade her prepare a cold plunge bath.
When she descended to dinner, an hour later, Agatha no longer chattered
frivolously, as she had done in the carriage, by way of concealing her
emotions, but bore herself seriously, as became her in view of the
prospect of battle on the morrow.
In that hour of agonising thought, Agatha Ronald had ceased to be a
girl, and had become an earnest, resolute woman, strong to do, strong to
endure, and, if need be, strong to dare. Life had taken on a new meaning
in her eyes.
X
_IN ACTION_
It was midnight when the battery to which Baillie was attached reached
Manassas Junction. The men were weary and half-starved after three days
of fighting and marching, and the horses, worn out with dragging the
guns and caissons over well-nigh impassable roads, were famishing for
water. But an effort to secure water and forage for them failed, and so
did an effort to secure water and rations for the men.
For on the eve of the first great battle of the war the Southern army
was in a state of semi-starvation which grew worse with every hour that
brought fresh relays of troops but no new supplies of food. Already had
begun that course of extraordinary mismanagement in the supply
departments at Richmond which throughout the war kept the Army of
Northern Virginia constantly half-starving or wholly starving, even
when, as at Manassas, it lay in the midst of a land of abounding plenty.
All the efforts of the generals commanding in the field to remedy this
state of things by drawing upon the granaries and smoke-houses round
about them for supplies that were in danger of presently falling into
the enemy's hands, were thwarted by the stupid obstinacy of a
crack-brained commissary-general. It was his inexplicable policy, while
the army lay at Manassas with an unused railroad reaching into the rich
fields to the west, to forbid the purchase of food and forage there
except by his own direct agents, who were required to send it all to
Richmond, whence it was transported back again, in such meagre
quantities as an already overtaxed single track railroad could manage to
carry.
Red-tape was choking the army to death from the very beginning, and it
continued to do so to the end, in spite of all remonstrances.
Even in the matter of water the men at Manassas were restricted to a few
pints a day to each man for all uses, simply because the commanding
general was not allowed the simple means of procuring a more adequate
supply.
This, however, is not the place in which to set forth in detail those
facts of perverse stupidity which have been fully stated in official
reports, in General Beauregard's memoirs, and in other authoritative
works. Such matters are mentioned herein only so far as they affected
the events that go to make up the present story.
When the Army of the Shenandoah began to add its numbers to that already
gathered at Manassas, a way out was found, so far at least as water was
concerned, by sending the regiments and batteries, as fast as they came,
to positions near Bull Run, some miles in front, where water at least
was to be had. Baillie's command, worn out as it was, and suffering from
hunger, was hurried through the camp and forced to march some weary
miles farther before taking even that small measure of rest and sleep
that the rapidly waning night allowed. It was nearly morning when the
men and horses were permitted to drink together out of the muddy stream
which was presently to mark the fighting-line between two armies in
fierce battle for the mastery.
It was nearly sunrise when a cannon-shot broke the stillness of a
peculiarly brilliant Sunday morning and summoned all the weary men to
their posts. A little later the battery with which we are concerned
received its orders and was moved into position on the line. Its
complement of commissioned officers being short, Sergeant-Major Baillie
Pegram had command of the two guns which constituted the left section,
and had a lieutenant's work to do.
Troops were being hurried hither and thither in what seemed to Baillie's
inexperienced eyes a hopeless confusion. But as he watched, he saw order
grow out of the chaos,--a manifestation of the fact that there was one
mind in control, and that every movement, however meaningless it might
seem, was part and parcel of a concerted plan, and was intended to have
its bearing upon the result.
In the meanwhile the occasional report of a rifle had grown into a
continuous rattle of musketry on the farther side of the stream, where
the skirmishers were hotly at work, their firing being punctuated now
and then by the deeper exclamation of a cannon. But the work of the day
had not yet begun in earnest. The main line was not yet engaged, and
would not be until the skirmishers should slowly fall back upon it from
their position beyond the stream.
To men in line of battle this is the most trying of all war's
experiences. Then it is that every man questions himself closely as to
his ability to endure the strain. Nerves are stretched to a tension that
threatens collapse. Speech is difficult even to the bravest men, and the
longing to plunge into the fray and be actively engaged is well-nigh
irresistible.