A BELLIGERENT GERMAN
A young officer, whose red face was rendered extremely conspicuous
by the blue of his uniform, led the rush of his soldiers as they came
tumbling gallantly into the hall.
“Up there, men!” he cried, catching instant sight of me, and pointing.
“Get that Johnny with the girl.”
As they sprang eagerly forward over the dead bodies littering the floor
at the foot of the stairs, Brennan scrambled unsteadily to his feet, and
halted them with imperious gesture.
“Leave him alone!” he commanded. “That is the commander of the
Confederate detachment who came to our aid. The guerillas have fled down
the hallway, and are most of them outside by now. Wayne,” he turned and
glanced up at us, his face instantly darkening at the tableau, “kindly
assist the ladies to descend; we must get them out of this shambles.”
He lifted them one by one and with ceremonious politeness across the
ghastly pile of dead and wounded men.
“Escort them to the library,” he suggested, as I hesitated. “That room
will probably be found clear.”
I was somewhat surprised that Brennan should not have come personally to
the aid of his wife, but as he ignored her presence utterly, I at once
offered her my arm, and silently led the way to the room designated,
the others following as best they might. The apartment was unoccupied,
exhibiting no signs of the late struggle, and I found comfortable
resting places for all. Miss Minor was yet sobbing softly, her face
hidden upon her mother's shoulder, and I felt constrained to speak with
her.
“I shall go at once” I said kindly, “to ascertain all I can regarding
Lieutenant Caton, and will bring you word.”
She thanked me with a glance of her dark eyes clouded with tears, but
as I turned hastily away to execute this errand, Mrs. Brennan laid
restraining hand upon my arm.
“Captain Wayne,” she said with much seriousness, “you are very
unselfish, but you must not go until your own wounds have been attended
to; they may be far more serious than you apprehend.”
“My wounds?” I almost laughed at the gravity of her face, for although
exhausted, I was unconscious of any injury. “They must be trivial
indeed, for I was not even aware I had any.”
“But you have!” she insisted, her eyes full upon me. “Your hair is
fairly clotted with blood, while your shoulder is torn and bruised until
it is horrible to look upon.”
As I gazed at her, surprised by the anxiety she so openly displayed, I
chanced to behold myself reflected within a large mirror directly across
the room. One glance was sufficient to convince me her words were fully
justified. My remains of uniform literally clung to me in rags, my bare
shoulder looked a contused mass of battered flesh, my hair was matted,
and my face blackened by powder stains and streaked with blood.
“I certainly do appear disreputable enough,” I admitted; “but I can
assure you it is nothing sufficiently serious to require immediate
attention. Indeed a little water is probably all I need. Besides, why
should I care--was it not all received for your sake?”
I spoke the pronoun so strongly she could not well ignore my obvious
meaning, nor did she endeavor to escape the inference. Her face, yet
white from the strain of the past few hours, became rosy in an instant,
and her eyes fell.
“I know,” she answered softly. “Perhaps that may be why I am so
exceedingly anxious your injuries should be attended to.”
As I stepped without, and closed the door behind me, I was at once
startled by the rapid firing of shots from the rear of the house, and
the next moment I encountered the young, red-faced officer hurrying
along the hallway at the head of a squad of Federal cavalrymen.
Recognizing me in the gloom of the passage he paused suddenly.
“I owe you a belated apology, Captain,” he exclaimed cordially, “for
having mistaken you for one of those miscreants, but really your
appearance was not flattering.”
“Having viewed myself since within a mirror,” I replied, “I am prepared
to acknowledge the mistake a most natural one. However, I am grateful to
be out of the scrape, and can scarcely find fault with my rescuers. Five
minutes more would have witnessed the end.”
“We rode hard,” he said, “and were in saddle within fifteen minutes
after the arrival of your courier. You evidently made a hard fight of
it; the house bears testimony to a terrible struggle. We are rejoicing
to learn that Lieutenant Caton was merely stunned; we believed him dead
at first, and he is far too fine a fellow to go in that way.”
“He is truly living, then?” I exclaimed, greatly relieved. “Miss Minor,
to whom he is engaged, is sorrowing over his possible fate in the
library yonder. Could not two of your men assist him to her? She would
do more to hasten his recovery than any one.”
“Certainly,” was the instant response. “Haines, you and McDonald get the
officer out of the front room; carry him in there where the ladies are,
and then rejoin us.”
His face darkened as the men designated departed on their errand.
“I really require all the force I possess,” he said doubtfully. “It
seems impossible to dislodge those rascals back yonder. What we need is
a field howitzer.”
“I have been wondering at the firing; pretty lively, isn't it? Have some
of those fellows made a stand?”
“Yes; quite a crowd of them have succeeded in barricading themselves in
the kitchen, and it is so arranged as to prove an exceedingly awkward
place to attack. We have had three men hit already, in spite of every
precaution, and I am seeking now to discover some means of forcing
their position from the hall. Their leader appears to be a bullet-headed
Dutchman about as easy to manage as a mule.”
The words aroused me to a possibility.
“A Dutchman, you say? and in the kitchen? Have you had sight of the
fellow?”
“Merely a glimpse, and that over a rifle-barrel. He has a round, dull
face, with a big flat nose.”
“That idiot is my sergeant, Lieutenant, and supposes he is still
fighting guerillas.”
The Lieutenant looked at me in surprise, then burst into a peal of
laughter. “Well, if that is true,” he cried, “I most sincerely hope you
will call him off before he succeeds in cleaning out our entire troop.”
I started down the hallway toward the point of firing. There was a sharp
jog in the wall leading to the kitchen door, and as I approached it some
soldiers stationed there warned me to be careful.
“They're perfect devils to shoot, sir,” said one respectfully, “an' the
Dutchman fetches his man every time.”
“Oh, it will be all right, boys,” I replied confidently. “He'll know
me.”
Before me as I stepped forth was a double door of oak, the upper half
partially open.
“Sergeant,” I cried, “come out; the fight is all over.”
For answer a bullet whizzed past me, chugging into the wall at my back,
and I skipped around the corner with a celerity of movement which caused
the fellows watching me to grin with delight.
“Find me a white cloth of some kind,” I demanded as soon as I reached
cover, and now thoroughly angered. “We shall see if that wooden-headed
old fool knows the meaning of a flag of truce.”
They succeeded in securing me a torn pillow-slip from somewhere, and
sheltering my body as best I might behind the wall angle I waved
it violently in full view of the kitchen door. For a few moments it
remained apparently unnoted, and then Ebers's round, placid countenance
looked suspiciously through the slight aperture.
“Did you give op?” he questioned anxiously.
“Give up nothing,” I retorted, my temper thoroughly exhausted. “Come out
of that! You are firing on your own friends.”
He put his fat fingers to his nose and wiggled them derisively.
“Dot is too thin,” he said meaningly. “You dink me von ol' fool, but I
show you. By Chiminy, I want no friends--you shoot me der ear off, and
I fights mit you good and blenty. Der is dings to eat in der bantry, and
you be damned.”
He drew back, leaving merely the black muzzle of his gun projecting
across the top of the lower door.
“Ebers,” I called out at the top of my voice, “unless you obey my orders
I'LL have you strung up by your own men. Open that door!”
The fat, puzzled face peered once more cautiously over the menacing
gun-barrel.
“Is dot you, Captain?”
“Yes, come out; the fight is all over.”
“No, vos it?” and he flung open the lower half of the door. “Veil, I vos
not sorry. Have ve vipped dem already?”
“Yes, it's all done with. Take your men out of there, and go into camp
somewhere in the yard. Seek out our wounded and attend to them as soon
as possible. Are your men hungry?”
“Veil, maybe dey vos not quite full, but dere is a ham in der bantry dot
vould pe bretty good mit der stomach.”
“Take it along with you; only hurry up, and attend at once to what I
have told you.”
I watched closely until they had all passed out, and then turned to the
highly amused Federal lieutenant.
“You surely have a character in that fellow,” he said good-humoredly,
“and I can bear witness he is a fighter when the time comes.”
I left them, remembering then my own need. By using the back stairway
I avoided unpleasant contact with the traces of conflict yet visible at
the front of the house, and finally discovered a bathroom which
afforded facilities for cleansing my flesh wounds and making my general
appearance more presentable. I found I could do little to improve the
condition of my clothing, but after making such changes for the better
as were possible, soaking the clotted blood from out my hair, and
washing the powder stains from my face, I felt I should no longer prove
an object of aversion even to the critical eyes of the women, who would
fully realize the cause for my torn and begrimed uniform.
A glance from the window told me the Federal cavalrymen were bearing out
the dead and depositing them beyond view of the house in the deserted
negro cabins. Ebers and one or two of my own men were standing near,
carefully scanning the uncovered faces as they were borne past, while
scraps of conversation overheard brought the information that the long
dining-room where I had passed the night on guard had been converted
into a temporary hospital.
Irresolute as to my next action, I passed out into the upper hall. It
was deserted and strangely silent, seemingly far removed from all those
terrible scenes so lately enacted in the rooms beneath. My head by this
time throbbed with pain; I desired to be alone, to think, to map out my
future course before proceeding down the stairs to meet the others. With
this in view I sank down in complete weariness upon a convenient settee.
I could hear the sound of muffled voices below, while an occasional
order was spoken loud enough to reach me; but I was utterly alone, and
my thoughts wandered, as though the strain of the past few hours had
completely wrecked all my mental faculties. It was Edith Brennan--Edith
Brennan--who remained constantly before me, and wherever my eyes
wandered they beheld the same fail-face, which tantalized me by its
presence and mocked me in every resolve I sought to form. There was no
safety for me--and none for her, as I now verily believed--save in my
immediate departure. We could be together no longer without my unlocking
sealed lips and giving utterance to words she could not listen to, words
she must never hear. I was yet struggling to force this decision into
action when complete fatigue overcame me. My heavy head sank back upon
the arm of the settee, and deep sleep closed my eyes.