REINFORCEMENTS FOR EARLY
“Come Wayne, wake up, man! Captain, I say, you must turn out of this.”
I opened my eyes with a struggle and looked up. The golden glow of
sunlight along the white wall told me the day must be already well
advanced, and I saw the lieutenant of my troop, Colgate, bending over
me, attired in service uniform.
“What is it, Jack?”
“We have been ordered north on forced march to join Early, and the
command has already started. I have delayed calling you until the final
moment, but knew you would never forgive being left behind.”
Before he had finished I was upon the floor, dressing with that rapidity
acquired by years of practice, my mind thoroughly aroused to the thought
of active service once more.
“Was it the news I brought in yesterday, Colgate, which has stirred this
up?” I questioned, hastily dipping into a basin of water.
“I imagine it must have been, sir,” replied the Lieutenant, leaning back
comfortably upon a cracker-box, which formed our solitary chair. “Things
have been on the move ever since, and it certainly resembles an advance
of some importance. Staff officers at it all night long, McDaniels
division off at daylight, while we go out ahead of Slayton's troops.
Reede was in beastly good humor when he brought the orders; that usually
means a fight.”
“Any artillery?”
“Sloan's and Rocke's batteries are with us; did not learn who went out
with McDaniel's. Longstreet has crossed the White Briar.”
“Yes, I know,” I said, drawing on the last of my equipments, and quickly
glancing about to assure myself I had overlooked nothing likely to be of
value. “All ready, Jack, and now for another 'dance of death.'”
Our regiment was drawn up in the square of the little town, and as
we came forth into the glorious sunlight, the stentorian voice of the
Colonel called them into column of fours. Staff officers, gray with dust
from their all-night service, were riding madly along the curb, while
at the rear of our men, just debouching from one of the side streets,
appeared the solid front of a division of infantry. We had barely
time to swing into the saddles of the two horses awaiting us, and ride
swiftly to the head of our command, when the short, stern orders rolled
along the motionless line of troopers, and the long, silent column swung
out to the northward, the feet of the horses raising a thick cloud of
red dust which fairly enveloped us in its choking folds.
With the ardor of young manhood I looked forward to the coming battle,
when I knew the mighty armies of North and South would once again
contest for the fertile Shenandoah. It was to be American pitted against
American, a struggle ever worthy of the gods. Slowly I rode back down
the files of my men, marking their alignment and accoutrements with
practised eye, smiling grimly as I noted their eager faces, war-worn and
bronzed by exposure, yet reanimated by hope of active service. Boys half
of them appeared to be, yet I knew them as fire-tested veterans of many
hard-fought fields, lads who would die without a murmur beneath their
beloved Southern flag, as undaunted in hour of peril as were the Old
Guard at Waterloo. In spite of frayed and ragged uniforms, tarnished,
battered facings, dingy, flapping hats, they looked stanch and true,
soldiers every inch of them, and I marked with the jealous pride of
command their evenly closed ranks and upright carriage. How like some
giant machine they moved--horses and men--in trained and disciplined
power!
As I watched them thus, I thought again of those many other faces who
once rode as these men did now, but who had died for duty even as these
also might yet be called upon to die. One hundred and three strong, gay
in bright new uniforms, with unstained banner kissing the breeze above
our proud young heads, we rode hopefully forth from Charlottesville
scarce three years before, untried, undisciplined, unknown, to place
our lives willingly upon the sacred altar of our native State. What
speechless years of horror those had been; what history we had written
with our naked steel; what scenes of suffering and death lay along that
bloody path we travelled! To-day, down the same red road, our eyes still
set grimly to the northward, our flag a torn and ragged remnant, barely
forty men wore the “D” between the crossed sabres on their slouched
brown hats, in spite of all recruiting. The cheer in my heart was for
the living; the tear in my eye was for the dead.
“Colgate,” I said gravely, as I ranged up beside him at the rear of
the troop, “the men look exceedingly well, and do not appear to have
suffered greatly because of short rations.”
“Oh, the lads are always in fine fettle when they expect a fight,” he
answered, his own eyes dancing as he swept them over that straight
line of backs in his front. “They'll scrap the better for being a bit
hungry,--it makes them savage. Beats all, Captain, what foolish notions
some of those people on the other side have of us Southerners. They
seem to think we are entirely different from themselves; yet I reckon
it would puzzle any recruiting officer up yonder to show a finer lot
of fighting men than those fellows ahead there. 'Food for powder?' Why,
there isn't a lad among them unfit for command.”
In spite of the indignation in his tone, his voice had the lazy,
Southern drawl, and somehow, as he spoke, I thought of my fair prisoner
in the mountains, and of how disdainfully she treated me on the occasion
of our first meeting. I sincerely hoped her conception of the Southerner
had received partial revision since.
“Well, yes,” I answered thoughtfully. “Doubtless those who have never
visited the South, and who form their conception of us from Northern
newspapers and abolition orators, get hold of our worst characteristics,
and judge accordingly. I sometimes feel that the whole trouble between
the sections is merely such a misunderstanding on a large scale, and
that had we only intermingled more freely, many of our differences would
have disappeared. In this we are fully as wrong as those of the other
side--narrowness of thought and life has been the secret force behind
this war. Partisans upon both sides have ignored the fact that we are
all of one blood and one history. But in this respect the tendency of
the conflict has been to broaden out the actual participants, and teach
them mutual respect. I imagine women are at present more apt to retain
this prejudice, women whose loved ones are in arms against us.”
“I was thinking about a woman when I spoke,” he explained gravely. “She
was certainly a beauty, and nursed me in the hospital at Baltimore.
Oh, you needn't smile; she was married,--her husband was on Sheridan's
staff; I saw him once, a big fellow with a black moustache. Of course
we all looked alike lying there in those cots, and she very naturally
supposed I was one of their wounded, until after the fever left me, and
I became able to converse a bit, and then you ought to have seen the
expression in her eyes when I confessed the truth. Actually she cried
out, 'You a Rebel?' and gazed at me as if I had been some dangerous wild
animal. Truly I believe she nearly looked upon herself as a traitress
because she had nursed me and saved my life. Yet she was wonderfully
tender-hearted and kind. You see she wasn't a regular army nurse, and
I was probably the first Confederate soldier she had ever come in close
contact with.”
“Did you become friends?”
“Most certainly; at least in a way, for she undertook my conversion.
Frankly, if it hadn't been for that inconvenient husband in the path, I
am not so certain you wouldn't have lost a lieutenant. The fact that the
lady was already Mrs. Brennan alone saved me.”
“Mrs. Brennan!” Although the disclosure was not altogether unexpected, I
could not help echoing the name.
“Certainly,” in sudden surprise, and glancing aside at my face. “Can it
be possible that you know her? Not more than twenty, I should say, with
great clear, honest eyes, and a perfect wealth of hair that appears
auburn in the sun.”
“I had the privilege of meeting her once or twice briefly while in
Sheridan's lines,” I answered hurriedly “and have reason to indorse all
you say regarding the lady, especially as to her dislike of everything
clad in gray uniform. But the men appear to be straggling somewhat,
Lieutenant; perhaps it would be as well to brace them up a bit.”
I rode slowly forward to my own position at the head of the troop,
wondering at the strange coincidence which had placed Edith Brennan's
name upon Colgate's lips. Her memory had been brought back to me with
renewed freshness by his chance words, and so strongly did it haunt
me as to be almost a visible presence. As I swung my horse into our
accustomed position I was too deeply buried in reflection to be clearly
conscious of much that was occurring about me. Suddenly, however, I
became aware that some one, nearly obscured by the enveloping cloud
of dust, was riding without the column, in an independence of military
discipline not to be permitted. In the state of mind I was then in this
discovery strangely irritated me.
“Sergeant,” I questioned sharply, of the raw-boned trooper at the end of
the first platoon, “what fellow is that riding out yonder?”
“It's ther pesky little cuss as come in with ye yesterday, sir,” he
returned with a grin. “He's confiscated a muel somewhar an' says he's a
goin' back hum 'long o' we uns.”
Curious to learn how Jed had emerged from his arduous adventures, I
spurred my horse alongside of him.
The little man, bending forward dubiously, as if fearful of accident,
was riding bareback on a gaunt, long-legged mule, which, judging from
all outward appearances, must have been some discarded asset of the
quartermaster's department. The animal was evidently a complete wreck,
and drooped along, dragging one foot heavily after the other as if every
move were liable to be the last, his head hanging dejectedly, while
his long ears flopped solemnly over the half-closed eyes at each
step. Altogether the two composed so melancholy a picture it was with
difficulty I suppressed my strong inclination to laugh.
“Going home, Jed?” I asked, as he glanced up and saw me.
“Jist as durn quick as I kin git thar,” he returned emphatically. “By
gum, Cap, I ain't bin 'way from Mariar long as this afore in twelve
year. Reckon she thinks I've skedaddled fer good this time, an' 'ill
be a takin' up with some other male critter lest I git back thar mighty
sudden. Women's odd, Cap, durn nigh as ornary 'bout some things as a
muel.”
“I have never enjoyed much experience with them,” I said, “but I
confess to knowing something about mules. Now that seems to be rather an
extraordinary specimen you are riding.”
He eyed his mount critically.
“Burned if ever I thought I'd git astraddle o' any four-legged critter
agin,” he said, rubbing himself as if in sudden and painful recollection
of the past. “But I sorter picked up this yere muel down et ther corral,
an' he 's tew durn wore out a totin' things fer you uns ter ever move
offen a walk. I sorter reckon it's a heap easier a sittin' yere than ter
take it afut all ther way ter ther mountings.”
“He certainly has the appearance of being perfectly safe, but you know a
mule is always full of tricks.”
“Oh, this en ain't,” confidently. “Why, he 's so durn wore out a yankin'
things 'round thet he 's bin plum asleep all ther way out yere. Say,
Cap, be it true thet a muel will wake up an' git a move on itself if ye
blow in his ear?”
“Who told you that?”
“The feller down et ther quartermaster's corral. He said as how thet wus
ther way ther niggers got 'em ter go 'long whin they got tew durn lazy.
Blamed if I don't b'lieve I'll try it jist fer onst, fer I 'd like durn
well ter git ahead out o' this pesky dust.”
I had never before seen such an experiment tried, but a slight knowledge
of the nature of the animal involved induced me to rein back my horse,
and to that precaution I have no doubt I owe my life. Jed blew only
once; he lacked opportunity to do more, for a shock of electricity could
never have more quickly aroused that mule. His long ears were erected
with a snap, his short, spike tail shot out straight, while his heels
cut the air in furious semicircles, as he backed viciously. I heard a
yell from Jed, saw him clasp his arms lovingly about the animal's neck,
caught a confused glimpse of the wildly cavorting figure amid the red
dust cloud, and then, rear on, and lashing out crazily, that juggernaut
of a mule struck the unsuspecting advancing column of troopers, and
plunged half through their close-set ranks before they even realized
what had happened. Horses plunged wildly to escape; here and there a man
went down in the crush; oaths, blows, shouts of anger rang out, while
beneath the dense dust cloud frightened horses and startled riders
struggled fiercely to escape. For the moment it was pandemonium in
earnest, and I could only trace the disastrous passage of Bungay by the
shouts of angry men and the sharp cries of injured horses.
“Captain Wayne, what does all this mean, sir? What is the cause of the
disorder in your troop?”
It was the Major's voice, stern, indignant, commanding. I dashed the
tears of laughter from my eyes, and strove to face him decorously.
“A mule, sir, which has taken a fit of kicking. I will straighten them
out in a moment.”
I wheeled, and peered into the rolling, surging mass of dust, out of
which there arose such a hubbub of sounds as to make the noise of battle
tame by comparison.
“Catch the brute by the bridle, two of you,” I roared stoutly. “Craig,
Whortley, what are you hanging back for? Go in there! Take hold of the
devil from in front; there is no danger at that end.”
The stern words of command, the return of discipline, seemed to steady
that seething, fighting mass in an instant; there was a squeal, a curse,
a slight settling down of the dust cloud, and two red-faced, perspiring
troopers emerged from the jam, dragging the yet reluctant mule by main
strength behind them. As they cleared the line of the column, Bungay
rolled off the animal's back, and, in his eagerness, came down on all
fours.
“Well,” I said sarcastically, “what do you think of your mule now?”
“By Jinks, Cap,” and his face lit up with intense admiration as he
surveyed the animal, “durned if I don't take him hum. Gee! whut a scrap
Mariar an' thet muel kin have!”
The Major pushed through the curious line of troopers and faced him
angrily.
“What do you mean by running your dod-gasted old mule into this column?”
he thundered. “Who are you, anyhow? Blamed if the little fool hasn't
done more damage than a Yankee battery.”
Jed faced him ruefully.
“I didn't go ter dew it, mister,” he explained. “Ther muel wus jist
pinted ther wrong way. I never knowed ther mean ol' cuss wint back'ards
like thet.”
The wrath on the Major's face caused me to interfere. In a few words I
made everything clear, and substantial justice was attained by an order
for Jed to move on with his animated battering ram. He disappeared
dolefully in the dust cloud, the mule, once more asleep, trailing lazily
behind him. The troop, slightly disfigured, closed up their broken
ranks, and the weary march was resumed.
It was long after dark the second day when, thoroughly wearied, we
turned into an old tobacco field and made camp for the night. To right
and left of our position glowed the cheery fires, telling where Early's
command bivouacked in line of battle. From the low range of hills in
front of where we rested one could look across an intervening valley,
and see far off to the northward the dim flames which marked the
position of the enemy. Down in the mysterious darkness between, divided
only by a swift and narrow stream, were the blue and gray pickets. The
opposing forces were sleeping on their arms, making ready for the death
grip on the morrow.
As I lay there thinking, wondering what might be my fate before another
nightfall, seeing constantly in my half-dreams the fair face of a woman,
which made me more of a coward than I had ever felt myself before, I was
partially aroused by the droning tones of a voice close at hand.
Lifting myself on one elbow I glanced curiously around to see where it
originated, what was occurring. Clustered about a roaring fire of rails
were a dozen troopers, and in the midst of them, occupying the post of
honor upon an empty powder keg, was Bungay, enthusiastically reciting
Scott. I caught a line or two:
“'At once there rose so wild a yell
Within that dark and narrow dell,
As all the fiends from heaven that fell
Had pealed the battle-cry of hell.'”
and then the drowsy god pressed down my heavy eyelids, and I fell
asleep.