A LOST REGIMENT
IT was a bright, sunshiny day in early spring. Birds were sweetly
singing in the trees lining the road I was travelling, the grass on
either side was softly green, and beautified by countless wild-flowers
blooming in great variety of coloring. Nothing seemed to speak of war,
although I was amid the very heart of its desolation, save the deserted
houses I was continually passing, and the fenceless, untilled fields. I
must have shown my late illness greatly, for the few I met, as I tramped
slowly onward, mostly soldiers, gazed at me curiously, as if they
mistook me for the ghost of some dead comrade; and I doubt not my pale
face, yet bearing the deep imprint of pain, with the long untrimmed hair
framing it, and the blood-stained, ragged uniform, the same I wore that
fierce day of battle, rendered me an object of wonder.
All through those long, weary winter weeks I had been hovering between
life and death in an obscure hospital at Richmond. How I first came
there I know not, but when at length I struggled back to recollection
and life, there I found myself, and there I remained, slowly
convalescing, a prisoner to weakness, until finally discharged but two
days before. During those months little that related to the progress of
the war reached me. My nurses were black-robed nuns, kind-hearted and
tender of touch, but feeling slight interest in affairs of the world
without. I saw no old-time familiar faces, while the few wounded about
me were fully as ignorant of passing events as myself. The moment the
door was opened to permit of my passing forth into the world again, I
sought eagerly to discover the present station of my old comrades in
arms, yet could learn only that the cavalry brigade with which I had
formerly served was in camp somewhere near Appomattox Court House. On
foot and moneyless, I set off alone, my sole anxiety to be once more
with friends; and now, at the beginning of the second day, I was already
beyond Petersburg, and sturdily pushing westward.
A battery of light artillery was parked in a field upon my right, but so
far away from the road that I hesitated to travel that distance simply
to ask a question which it was extremely doubtful if they would be able
to answer. Instead I pushed on grimly, and as the road swerved slightly
to the left, passing through a grove of handsome trees, I came suddenly
opposite a large house of imposing aspect. A group of Confederate
officers stood in converse beside the gate leading into the open
driveway, and as I paused a moment, gazing at them and wondering whom
I had better address,--for I recognized none of the faces fronting
me,--one among the group turned suddenly, and took a hurried step in my
direction, as though despatched upon an errand of importance. He was a
tall, slender man, wearing a long gray moustache, and I no sooner viewed
his face than I recognized him as having been one of those officers
present in General Lee's tent the day I was sent out with despatches. He
glanced at me curiously, yet with no sign of recognition, but before he
could pass I accosted him.
“Colonel Maitland,” I said, “you doubtless remember me. I am seeking my
old command; would you kindly inform me where it may be found?”
He stopped instantly at sound of my voice, and stared at me in odd
bewilderment; but my words had already reached the ears of the others,
and before he had found an answer another voice spoke sternly: “What is
all this? Who are you, sir? What masquerade puts you into that parody of
a captain's uniform?”
I turned and looked into the flushed, indignant face of General Lee.
“It is no masquerade, sir,” I answered, instantly removing my hat; “it
is the rightful uniform of my rank, greatly as I regret its present
condition.”
He gazed at me keenly, evidently doubtful as to his best course of
action, and I heard an officer behind him laugh.
“Where are you from?”
“I was discharged from St. Mary's Hospital in Richmond day before
yesterday, and am now seeking to rejoin my regiment.”
I almost imagined I was looked upon as a soldier crazed by his
sufferings; I heard a whisper, “Out of his head,” yet as I gazed
earnestly into those stern gray eyes which fronted me, they suddenly
grew moist.
“Surely,” he said gravely, “I have seen your face before. To what
regiment were you attached?”
“The ----th Virginia Cavalry.”
The buzzing of voices about me instantly ceased, and General Lee took a
step nearer.
“The ----th Virginia? You were a captain? Surely this is not Philip
Wayne?”
So deeply surprised was his tone, so uncertain his recognition, I
scarcely knew what to answer. Had I lost my very identity? was this all
a dream?
“I am Captain Wayne, Troop D, ----th Virginia.”
He grasped my hand warmly between both his own, and his kindly face lit
up instantly with a rare smile.
“Captain Wayne, I cannot tell you how greatly I rejoice at your safe
return. We certainly owe you an apology for this poor reception, but you
were reported as killed in action many months ago. I doubt not Colonel
Maitland truly believed he looked upon a ghost when you first accosted
him.”
For the moment I was unable to speak, so deeply did his words affect me.
“I fear, Captain Wayne,” he continued gravely, yet retaining my hand
within his own, “that I must bring you sad news.”
“Sad news?” Instantly there came to me the thought of my widowed mother.
“Not from home, I trust, sir?”
“No,” with great tenderness, “your mother, I believe, remains well;
yet the words I must speak are nevertheless sad ones, and must prove a
severe shock to you. There is no ----th Virginia.”
“No ----th Virginia?” I echoed, scarce able to comprehend his meaning,
“no ----th Virginia? I beg you to explain, sir; surely”--and I looked
about me upon the various uniforms of the service present--“the war has
not yet ceased--we have not surrendered?”
“No, my boy,” and the old hero reverently bared his gray head in the
sunlight, “but the ----th Virginia gave itself to the South that day in
the Shenandoah.”
I must have grown very white, for a young aide sprang hastily forward
and passed his arm about me. Yet I scarcely realized the action, for my
whole thought was with the dead.
“Do you mean they are all gone?” I questioned, tremblingly, hardly able
to grasp the full dread import of such ghastly tidings. “Surely, General
Lee, some among them must have come back.”
“So few,” he responded soberly, his hat still retained in his hand, “so
very few that we could only scatter them in other commands. But you
have not yet fully recovered your strength. You must not remain longer
standing here. Major Holmes, will you kindly conduct Captain Wayne to
my headquarters, and see that he is furnished with a uniform suitable to
his rank. For the present he will serve as extra aide upon my personal
staff.”
I turned away, the Major leading me as if I had been a child. I walked
as a man stunned by some sudden, unexpected blow. Speech was impossible,
for all sensation seemed dead within me, save the one vivid memory of
those loved comrades who had perished on the field. I could not realize,
even dimly, in that awful hour, that of all those gallant fellows who
had ridden so often at my side not enough remained alive to retain the
old regimental name and number. The officer with me, himself a tried,
true soldier, comprehended something of the agitation which swayed me,
and respecting my silence, made no attempt to break my sorrowful reverie
by speech. At the door of the room assigned me for present quarters,
he left me with a warm, sympathetic pressure of the hand, and feeling
utterly worn out, disheartened to a degree I had never before known, I
flung myself face downward upon the cot and burst into tears.
With true soldierly kindness they left me to conquer my own sorrow and
depression, and when I finally joined the mess upon the following
day, clad now in fit uniform, I had regained no small measure of
self-restraint, and with it came likewise renewal of the military
spirit. My welcome proved extremely cordial, and the conversation of
the others present soon placed in my possession whatever of incident had
occurred since that disastrous day of battle in the valley. It was not
much, other than a variety of desultory skirmishing, together with
the steady closing in upon our lines of the overwhelming masses of the
enemy, but I noted that the officers of the staff no longer hesitated
to voice frankly the prevailing sentiment that the vast and unequal
struggle was now rapidly drawing to its close. No attempt was made to
conceal our weakness, nor to disguise the fact that we were making a
last desperate stand. It was evident to all that nothing now remained
but to fold our tattered battle-flags with honor.
Directly opposite me, at the long and rather scantily furnished
mess-table, was seated a captain of infantry, quite foreign in
appearance,--a tall, slender man, wearing a light-colored moustache and
goatee. His name, as I gathered from the conversation, was Carlson, and
I was considerably surprised at the fixedness with which his eyes were
fastened upon me during the earlier part of the meal. Thinking we
might have met somewhere before, I ransacked my memory in vain for any
recollection which would serve to account for his evident interest in
me. Finally, not a little annoyed by the persistency of his stare, I
ventured to ask, as pleasantly as possible:
“Captain Carlson, do I remind you of some one, since you regard me so
intently?”
The man instantly flushed all over his fair face at this direct inquiry.
“It vas not dat” (he almost stammered in sudden confusion, speaking
quite brokenly), “bot, sair, it haf come to me dat you vos an insulter
of womens, an' had refuse to fight mit mens. I know not; it seems not
so.”
I was upon my feet in an instant, scarcely crediting my own ears, yet on
fire with indignation.
“I know not what you may mean,” I said, white with anger. “But I hold
you personally accountable for those words, and you shall discover that
I will fight 'mit mens.'”
He pushed his chair hastily back, his face fairly crimson, and began to
stammer an explanation; but Maitland interfered.
“What does all this mean, Carlson?” he exclaimed sternly. “Sit down,
Wayne--there is some strange mistake here.”
I resumed my chair, wondering if they had all gone crazy, yet resolved
upon taking instant action if some satisfactory explanation were not at
once forthcoming.
“Come, Carlson, what do you mean by addressing such language to Captain
Wayne?”
“Veil,” said the Swede, so agitated by the excitement about him he could
scarcely find English in which to express himself intelligibly, “it vos
dis vay. I vould not insult Captain Vayne; oh, no, bot it vos told to
me, an' I vould haf him to know how it all vos. It vos two months ago I
go mit de flag of truce into de Federal lines at Minersville. You know
dat time? I vos vaitin' for answer ven a Yankee rides oop, an' looks me
all ofer like I vos a hog. 'Veil,' I say, plain like, 'vot you vant?' He
say, 'I heard der vos Reb officer come in der lines, an' I rides down to
see if he vos der hound vot I vanted to horsevip.' 'Veil,' I say, for
it made me much mad, 'maybe you like to horsevip me?' 'No,' he says,
laughing, 'it vos a damn pup in der ----th Virginia Cavalry, named
Vayne, I am after,' I say, 'Vot has he done?' He says, 'He insult a
voman, an' vould not fight mit me.'”
He looked about him anxiously to see if we comprehended his words.
“And what did you say?” from a dozen eager voices.
The Swede gazed at them in manifest astonishment.
“I say I knowed netting about der voman, but if he say dat an officer
of der ----th Virginia Cavalry vould not fight mit him he vos a damned
liar. I vould have hit him, but I vos under der flag of truce.”
I reached my hand out to him across the table.
“I thank you, Captain Carlson,” I said, “for both your message and your
answer. What did this man look like?”
“He vos a pig vellow, mit a black moustache and gray eyes.”
“Do you know him?” questioned Maitland.
“His name is Brennan,” I answered slowly, “a major in the Federal
service. We have already met twice in rough and tumble contests, but the
next time it will be with steel.”
“There is a woman, then?”
“It seems from Captain Carlson's report he has seen fit to connect one
with our difficulty.”
There was a pause, as if they waited for me to add some further
explanation, but I could not--her name should never be idly discussed
about a mess-table through any word of mine.
“Gentlemen,” said Maitland at last, gravely, “this is evidently a
personal matter with which we have no direct concern. Captain Wayne's
reputation is not one to be questioned, either as regards his chivalry
toward women or his bravery in arms. I pledge you his early meeting with
this major.”
They drank the toast standing, and I read in each face before me a
frank, soldierly confidence and comradeship which caused my heart to
glow.