A DELICATE SITUATION
The wounded and those who watched them in the old house learned a little
of the race through the darkness. The change of the field of combat, the
struggle for Spottsylvania and the wheel-about of the Southern army
would leave them in the path of the North, and they must retreat toward
Richmond.
The start next morning was through a torn and rent Wilderness, amid
smoke and vapours, with wounded in the wagons, making a solemn train
that wound its way through the forest, escorted on either flank by
troopers, commanded by Talbot, slightly wounded in the shoulder. The
Secretary had gone again to look on at the battle.
It was thus that Lucia Catherwood found herself on the way, of her own
free will, to that Richmond from which she had recently escaped with so
much trouble. There was no reason, real or conventional, why she should
not go, as the precious pass from the Secretary removed all danger; and
there in Richmond was Miss Grayson, the nearest of her blood. Helen
removed the last misgiving.
"You will go with us? We need you," she said.
"Yes," replied Lucia simply; "I shall go to Richmond. I have a relative
there with whom I can stay until the end of the war."
Helen was contented with this. It was not a time to ask questions. Then
they rode together. Mrs. Markham was with them, quiet and keen-eyed.
Much of the battle's spell had gone from her, and she observed
everything, most of all Lucia Catherwood. She had noticed how the girl's
eyes dwelled upon Prescott, the singular compound of strength and
tenderness in her face, a character at once womanly and bold, and the
astute Mrs. Markham began to wonder where these two had met before; but
she said nothing to any one.
Prescott was in a wagon with Harley. Fate seemed to have linked for
awhile these two who did not particularly care for each other. Both were
conscious, and Prescott was sitting up, refreshed by the air upon his
face, a heavy and noxious atmosphere though it was. So much of his
strength had returned that he felt bitter regret at being unable to take
part in the great movement which, he had gathered, was going on, and it
was this feeling which united him and Harley for the time in a common
bond of sympathy; but the latter presently spoke of something else:
"That was a beautiful girl who replaced your bandage this morning,
Prescott. Upon my honour, she is one of the finest women I ever saw, and
she is going with us, I hear. Do you know anything about her?"
Prescott did not altogether like Harley's tone, but he knew it was
foolish to resent it and he replied:
"She is Miss Lucia Catherwood, a relative of Miss Charlotte Grayson, who
lives in Richmond, and whom I presume she is going there to join. I have
seen Miss Catherwood once or twice in Richmond."
Then he relapsed into silence, and Harley was unable to draw from him
any more information; but Prescott, watching Lucia, saw how strong and
helpful she was, doing all she could for those who were not her own. A
woman with all a woman's emotions and sympathies, controlled by a mind
and body stronger than those of most women, she was yet of the earth,
real and substantial, ready to take what it contained of joy or sorrow.
This was one of her qualities that most strongly attracted Prescott, who
did not like the shadowy or unreal. Whilst he was on the earth he wished
to be of it, and he preferred the sure and strong mind to the misty and
dreamy.
He wished that she would come again to the wagon in which he rode, but
now she seemed to avoid him--to be impelled, as it were, by a sense of
shyness or a fear that she might be thought unfeminine. Thus he found
scant opportunity during the day to talk to her or even to see her, as
she remained nearly all the time in the rear of the column with Helen
Harley.
Harley's vagrant fancy was caught. He was impressed by Lucia's tall
beauty, her silence, her self-possession, and the mystery of her
presence. He wished to discover more about her, who she was, whence she
came, and believing Prescott to be his proper source of information, he
asked him many questions, not noticing the impatient or taciturn
demeanour of his comrade until Robert at last exclaimed with a touch of
anger:
"Harley, if you wish to know so much about Miss Catherwood, you had
better ask her these questions, and if she wishes she will answer them."
"I knew that before," replied Harley coolly; "and I tell you again,
Prescott, she's a fine girl--none finer in Richmond."
Prescott turned his back in so far as a wounded man in that narrow space
could turn, and Harley presently relapsed into silence.
They were yet in the Wilderness, moving among scrub pines, oaks and
cedars, over ground moist with rain and dark with the shadow of the
forest. It was Talbot's wish to keep in the rear of the Southern army
until the way was clear and then turn toward Richmond. But this was not
done with ease, as the Southern army was a shifting quantity, adapting
its movements to those of the North; and Talbot often was compelled to
send scouts abroad, lest he march with his convoy of wounded directly
into the Northern ranks. Once as he rode by the side of Prescott's wagon
he remarked:
"Confound such a place as this Wilderness; I don't think any region ever
better deserved its name. I'll thank the Lord when I get out of it and
see daylight again."
They were then in a dense forest, where the undergrowth was so thick
that they broke a way through it with difficulty. The trees hung down
mournful boughs dripping with recent rain; the wheels of the wagons and
the feet of the horses made a drumming sound in the soft earth; the
forest fire still showed, distant and dim, and a thin mist of ashes came
on the wind at intervals; now and then they heard the low roll of a
cannon, so far away that it seemed but an echo.
Thomas Talbot was usually a cheerful man who shut one eye to grief and
opened the other to joy; but he was full of vigilance to-day and thought
only of duty. Riding at the head of his column, alert for danger, he was
troubled by the uncertainties of the way. It seemed to him that the two
armies were revolving like spokes around a hub, and he never knew which
he was going to encounter, for chance might bring him into the arc of
either. He looked long at the gloomy forest, gazed at the dim fire which
marked the latest battlefield, and became convinced that it was his only
policy to push on and take the risk, though he listened intently for
distant cannon shots and bore away from them.
They stopped about the middle of the afternoon to rest the horses and
serve men and women with scanty food. Prescott felt so strong that he
climbed out of the wagon and stood for a moment beside it. His head was
dizzy at first, but presently it became steady, and he walked to Lucia
Catherwood, who was standing alone by a great oak tree, gazing at the
forest.
She did not notice him until she heard his step in the soft earth close
behind her, when she started in surprise and alarm, exclaiming upon the
risk he took and cautioning against exertion.
"My head is hard," he said, "and it will stand more blows than the one I
received in the battle. Really I feel well enough to walk out here and I
want to speak to you."
She was silent, awaiting his words. A shaft of sunshine pierced an
opening in the foliage and fell directly upon her. Golden gleams
appeared here and there in her hair and the colour in her cheeks
deepened. Often Prescott had thought how strong she was; now he thought
how very womanly she was.
"You are going with the wounded to Richmond?" he said.
"Yes," she replied. "I am going back to Miss Grayson's, to the house and
the city from which you helped me with so much trouble and danger to
escape."
"I am easier in my conscience because I did so," he said. "But Miss
Catherwood, do you not fear for yourself? Are you not venturing into
danger again?"
She smiled once more and replied in a slightly humourous tone:
"No; there is no danger. I went as one unwelcome before; I go as a guest
now. You see, I am rising in the Confederacy. One of your powerful men,
Mr. Sefton, has been very kind to me."
"What has he done for you?" asked Prescott, with a sudden jealous
twinge.
"He has given me this pass, which will take me in or out of Richmond as
I wish."
She showed the pass, and as Prescott looked at it he felt the colour
rise in his face. Could the heart of the Secretary have followed the
course of his own?
"I am here now, I may say, almost by chance," she continued. "After I
left you I reached the main body of the Northern army in safety, and I
intended to go at once to Washington, where I have relatives, though
none so near and dear as Miss Grayson--you see I am really of the South,
in part at least--but there was a long delay about a pass, the way of
going and other such things, and while I was waiting General Grant began
his great forward movement. There was nothing left for me to do then but
to cling to the army--and--and I thought I might be of some use there.
Women may not be needed on a battlefield, but they are afterward."
"I, most of all men, ought to know that," said Prescott, earnestly.
"Don't I know that you, unaided, brought me to that house? Were it not
for you I should probably have died alone in the Wilderness."
"I owed you something, Captain Prescott, and I have tried to repay a
little," she said.
"You owe me nothing; the debt is all mine."
"Captain Prescott, I hope you do not think I have been unwomanly," she
said.
"Unwomanly? Why should I think it?"
"Because I went to Richmond alone, though I did so really because I had
nowhere else to go. You believe me a spy, and you think for that reason
I was trying to escape from Richmond!"
She stopped and looked at Prescott, and when she met his answering gaze
the flush in her cheeks deepened.
"Ah, I was right; you do think me a spy!" she exclaimed with passionate
earnestness, "and God knows I might have been one! Some such thought was
in my mind when I went to Miss Grayson's in Richmond. That day in the
President's office, when the people were at the reception I was sorely
tempted, but I turned away. I went into that room with the full
intention of being a spy. I admit it. Morally, I suppose that I was one
until that moment, but when the opportunity came I could not do it. The
temptation would come again, I knew, and it was one reason why I wished
to leave Richmond, though my first attempt was made because I feared
you--I did not know you then. I do not like the name of spy and I do not
want to be one. But there were others, and far stronger reasons. A
powerful man knew of my presence in that office on that day; he could
have proved me guilty even though innocent, and he could have involved
with my punishment the destruction of others. There was Miss
Grayson--how could I bring ruin upon her head! And--and----"
She stopped and the brilliant colour suffused her face.
"You used the word 'others,'" said Prescott. "You mean that so long as
you were in Richmond my ruin was possible because I helped you?"
She did not reply, but the vivid colour remained in her face.
"It is nothing to me," said Prescott, "whether you were or were not a
spy, or whether you were tempted to be one. My conscience does not
reproach me because I helped you, but I think that it would give me
grievous hurt had I not done so. I am not fitted to be the judge of
anybody, Miss Catherwood, least of all of you. It would never occur to
me to think you unwomanly."
"You see that I value your good opinion, Captain Prescott," she said,
smiling slightly.
"It is the only thing that makes my opinion of any worth."
Talbot approached at that moment. Prescott introduced him with the
courtesy of the time, not qualified at all by their present
circumstances, and he regarded Talbot's look of wonder and admiration
with a secret pleasure. What would Talbot say, he thought, if he were to
tell him that this was the girl for whom he had searched Miss Grayson's
house?
"Prescott," said Talbot, "a bruised head has put you here and a
scratched arm keeps me in the same fix, but this is almost our old crowd
and Richmond again--Miss Harley and her brother, Mrs. Markham, you and
myself. We ought to meet Winthrop, Raymond and General Wood."
"We may," added Prescott, "as they are all somewhere with the army;
Raymond is probably printing an issue of his paper in the rear of it--he
certainly has news--and as General Wood is usually everywhere we are not
likely to miss him."
"I think it just as probable that we shall meet a troop of Yankee
cavalry," said Talbot. "I don't know what they would want with a convoy
of wounded Confederates, but I'm detailed to take you to safety and I'd
like to do it."
He paused and looked at Lucia. Something in her manner gave him a
passing idea that she was not of his people.
"Still there is not much danger of that," he continued. "The Yankees are
poor horsemen--not to be compared with ours, are they, Miss Catherwood?"
She met his gaze directly and smiled.
"I think the Yankee cavalry is very good," she said. "You may call me a
Yankee, too, Captain Talbot. I am not traveling in disguise."
Talbot stroked his mustache, of which he was proud, and laughed.
"I thought so," he said; "and I can't say I'm sorry. I suppose I ought
to hate all the Yankees, but really it will add to the spice of life to
have with us a Yankee lady who is not afraid to speak her mind. Besides,
if things go badly with us we can relieve our minds by attacking you."
Talbot was philosophical as well as amiable, and Prescott saw at once
that he and Lucia would be good friends, which was a comfort, as it was
in the power of the commander of the convoy to have made her life
unpleasant.
Talbot stayed only a minute or two, then rode on to the head of the
column, and when he was gone Lucia said:
"Captain Prescott, you must go back to your wagon; it is not wise for
you to stay on your feet so long--at least, not yet."
He obeyed her reluctantly, and in a few moments the convoy moved on
through the deep woods to the note of an occasional and distant cannon
shot and a faint hum as of great armies moving. An hour later they heard
a swift gallop and the figure of Wood at the head of a hundred horsemen
appeared.
The mountaineer seemed to embrace the whole column in one comprehensive
look that was a smile of pleasure when it passed over the face of Helen
Harley, a glance of curiosity when it lingered on Lucia Catherwood, and
inquiry when it reached Talbot, who quickly explained his mission. All
surrounded Wood, eager for news.
"We're going to meet down here somewhere near a place they call
Spottsylvania," said the General succinctly. "It won't be many days--two
or three, I guess--and it will be as rough a meeting as that behind us
was. If I were you, Talbot, I'd keep straight on to the south."
Then the General turned with his troopers to go. It was not a time when
he could afford to tarry; but before starting he took Helen Harley's
hand in his with a grace worthy of better training:
"I'll bring you news of the coming battle, Miss Harley."
She thanked him with her eyes, and in a moment he was gone, he and his
troopers swallowed up by the black forest. The convoy resumed its way
through the Wilderness, passing on at a pace that was of necessity slow
owing to the wounded in the wagons and the rough and tangled nature of
the country, which lost nothing of its wild and somber character. The
dwarf cedars and oaks and pines still stretched away to the horizon.
Night began to come down in the east and there the Wilderness heaved up
in a black mass against the sullen sky. The low note of a cannon shot
came now and then like the faint rumble of dying thunder.
Lucia walked alone near the rear of the column. She had grown weary of
the wagons and her strong young frame craved exercise. She was seldom
afraid or awed, but now the sun sinking over the terrible Wilderness and
the smoke of battle around chilled her. The long column of the hurt,
winding its way so lonely and silent through the illimitable forest,
seemed like a wreck cast up from the battles, and her soul was full of
sympathy. In a nature of unusual strength her emotions were of like
quality, and though once she had been animated by a deep and passionate
anger against that South with which she now marched, at this moment she
found it all gone--slipped away while she was not noticing. She loved
her own cause none the less, but no longer hated the enemy. She had
received the sympathy and the friendship of a woman toward whom she had
once felt a sensation akin to dislike. She did not forget how she had
stood in the fringe of the crowd that day in Richmond and had envied
Helen Harley when, in her glowing beauty, she received the tribute of
the multitude. Now the two women were drawn together. Something that had
been between them was gone, and in her heart Lucia knew what it was; but
she rejoiced in a companionship and a friendship of her own sex when she
was among those who were not of her cause.
It was impossible to resist sharing the feelings of the column: when it
was in dread lest some wandering echo might be the tread of Northern
horsemen, she, too, was in dread. She wanted this particular column to
escape, but when she looked toward another part of the Wilderness, saw
the dim light and heard the far rumble of another cannon shot, she felt
a secret glow of pride. Grant was still coming, always coming, and he
would come to the end. The result was no longer in doubt; it was now
merely a matter of time and patience.
The sun sank behind the Wilderness; the night came down, heavy, black
and impenetrable; slow thunder told of rain, and Talbot halted the
convoy in the densest part of the forest, where the shelter would be
best--for he was not sure of his way and farther marching in the dark
might take him into the enemy's camp. All day they had not passed a
single house nor met a single dweller in the Wilderness; if they had
been near any woodcutter's hut it was hidden in a ravine and they did
not see it. If a woodcutter himself saw them he remained in his covert
in the thicket and they passed on, unspoken.
Talbot thought it best to camp where they were for the night, and he
drew up the wagons in a circle, in the centre of which were built fires
that burned with a smoky flame. All hovered around the blaze, as they
felt lonely in this vast Wilderness and were glad when the beds of coal
began to form and glow red in the darkness. Even the wounded in the
wagons turned their eyes that way and drew cheer from the ruddy glow.
A rumour arose presently, and grew. It said that a Yankee woman was
among them, traveling with them. Some one added that she bore a pass
from the powerful Mr. Sefton and was going to Richmond, but why he did
not know. Then they looked about among the women and decided that it
could be none save Lucia; but if there was any feeling of hostility
toward her it soon disappeared. Other women were with the column, but
none so strong, none so helpful as she. Always she knew what to do and
when to do it. She never grew tired nor lost her good humour; her touch
had healing in it, and the wounded grew better at the sight of her face.
"If all the Yankees are like her, I wish I had a few more with this
column," murmured Talbot under his breath.
Lucia began to feel the change in the atmosphere about her. The coldness
vanished. She looked upon the faces that welcomed her, and being a woman
she felt warmth at her heart, but said nothing.
Prescott crawled again from his wagon and said to her as she passed:
"Why do you avoid me, Miss Catherwood?"
A gleam of humour appeared in her eye.
"You are getting well too fast. I do not think you will need any more
attention," she replied.
He regarded her with an unmoved countenance.
"Miss Catherwood," he said, "I feel myself growing very much worse. It
is a sudden attack and a bad one."
But she passed on, disbelieving, and left him rueful.
The night went by without event, and then another day and another night,
and still they hovered in the rear of their army, uncertain which way to
go, tangled up in the Wilderness and fearing at any moment a raid of the
Northern cavalry. They yet saw the dim fire in the forest, and no hour
was without its distant cannon shot.
On the second day the two editors, Raymond and Winthrop, joined them.
"I've been trying to print a paper," said Raymond ruefully, "but they
wouldn't stay in one place long enough for me to get my press going.
This morning a Yankee cannon shot smashed the press and I suppose I
might as well go back to Richmond. But I can't, with so much coming on.
They'll be in battle before another day."
Raymond spoke in solemn tones (even he was awed and oppressed by what he
had seen) and Winthrop nodded assent.
"They are converging upon the same point," said Winthrop, "and they are
sure to meet inside of twenty-four hours."
When Lucia awoke the next morning the distant guns were sounding in her
ears and a light flame burned under the horizon in the north. Day had
just come, hot and close, and the sun showed the colour of copper
through the veil of clouds hanging at the tops of the trees.
"It's begun," she heard Talbot say briefly, but she did not need his
words to tell her that the armies were joined again in deadly strife in
the Wilderness.
They ate breakfast in silence, all watching the glowing light in the
north and listening to the thunder of the guns. Prescott, strong after
his night's rest and sleep, came from the wagon and announced that he
would not ride as an invalid any more; he intended to do his share of
the work, and Talbot did not contradict him; it was a time when a man
who could serve should be permitted to do it.
Talbot said they would remain in the camp for the present and await the
fortunes of the battle; it was not worth while to continue a retreat
when none knew in which direction the right path lay. But the men as
they listened were seized with a fever of impatience. The flame of the
cannon and the thunder of the battle had a singular attraction for them.
They wished to be there and they cursed their fate because they were
here. The wounded lamented their wounds and the well were sad because
they were detailed for such duty; the new battle was going on without
them, and the result would be decided while they waited there in the
Wilderness with their hands folded. How they missed the Secretary with
his news!
The morning went slowly on. The sun rose high, but it still shone with a
coppery hue through the floating clouds, and a thick blanket of damp
heat enclosed the convoy. The air seemed to tremble with the sound from
the distant battle; it came in waves, and save for it the forest was
silent; no birds sang in the trees, nothing moved in the grass. There
was only the rumble of guns, coming wave upon wave. Thus hour after hour
passed, and the fever of impatience still held the souls of those in
this column. But the black Wilderness would tell no tale; it gave back
the sound of conflict and nothing more. They watched the growing smoke
and flame, the forest bursting into fresh fires, and knew only that the
battle was fierce and desperate, as before.
Prescott's strength was returning rapidly, and he expected in another
day or two to return to the army. The spirit was strong within him to
make the trial now, but Talbot would not hear of it, saying that his
wound was not healed sufficiently. On the morning of that second day he
stood beside Lucia, somewhat withdrawn from the others, and for awhile
they watched the distant battle. It was the first time in twenty-four
hours that he had been able to speak to her. She had not seemed exactly
to avoid him, but she was never in his path. Now he wished to hold her
there with talk.
"I fear that you will be lonely in Richmond," he said at random.
"I shall have Miss Grayson," she replied, "and the panorama of the war
will pass before me; I shall not have time for loneliness."
"Poor Richmond! It is desolate now."
"Its condition may become worse," she said meaningly.
He understood the look in her eyes and replied:
"You mean that Grant will come?"
"Yes!" she exclaimed, pointing toward the flame of the battle. "Can't
you see? Don't you know, Captain Prescott, that Grant will never turn
back? It is but three days since he fought a battle as great as
Gettysburg, and now he is fighting another. The man has come, and the
time for the South is at hand."
"But what a price--what a price!" said Prescott.
"Yes," she replied quickly; "but it is the South, not the North, that
demands payment."
Then she stopped, and brilliant colour flushed into her face.
"Forgive me for saying such things at such a time," she said. "I do not
hate anybody in the South, and I am now with Southern people. Credit it
to my bad taste."
But Prescott would not have it so. It was he who had spoken, he said,
and she had the right to reply. Then he asked her indirectly of herself,
and she answered willingly. Hers had been a lonely life, and she had
been forced to develop self-reliance, though perhaps it had taken her
further than she intended. She seemed still to fear that he would think
her too masculine, a bit unwomanly; but her loneliness, the lack of love
in her life, made a new appeal to Prescott. He admired her as she stood
there in her splendid young beauty and strength--a woman with a mind to
match her beauty--and wondered how his fleeting fancy could ever have
been drawn to any other. She was going to that hostile Richmond, where
she had been in such danger, and she would be alone there save for one
weak woman, watched and suspected like herself. He felt a sudden
overwhelming desire to protect her, to defend her, to be a wall between
her and all danger.
Far off on the northern horizon the battle flamed and rumbled, and a
faint reflection of its lurid glow fell on the forest where they stood.
It may be that its reflection fell on Prescott's ardent mind and
hastened him on.
"Lucia," he exclaimed, "you are going back to Richmond, where you will
be suspected, perhaps insulted! Give me the right to protect you from
everybody!"
"Give you the right!" she exclaimed, in surprise; but as she looked at
him the brilliant colour dyed her face and neck.
"Yes, Lucia," he said, "the greatest and holiest of all rights! Do you
not see that I love you? Be my wife! Give me the right as your husband
to stand between you and all danger!"
Still she looked at him, and as she gazed the colour left her face,
leaving it very pale, while her eyes showed a dazzling hue.
The forgotten battle flamed and thundered on the horizon.
"No," she replied, "I cannot give you such a promise."
"Lucia! You do not mean that! I know you do not. You must care for me a
little. One reason why you fled from Richmond was to save me!"
"Yes, I do care for you--a little. But do you care for me enough--ah! do
not interrupt me! Think of the time, the circumstances! One may say
things now which he might not mean in a cooler moment. You wish to
protect me--does a man marry a woman merely to protect her? I have
always been able to protect myself."
There was a flash of pride in her tone and her tall figure grew taller.
Prescott flushed a little and dropped his eyes for a moment.
"I have been unfortunate in my words, but, believe me, Lucia, I do not
mean it in that way. It is love, not protection, that I offer. I believe
that I loved you from the first--from the time I was pursuing you as a
spy; and I pursue you now, though for myself."
She shook her head sadly, though she smiled upon him. She was his enemy,
she said--she was of the North and he of the South--what would he say to
his friends in Richmond, and how could he compromise himself by such a
marriage? Moreover, it was a time of war, and one must not think of
love. He grew more passionate in his declaration as he saw that which he
wished slipping from him, and she, though still refusing him, let him
talk, because he said the things that she loved best to hear. All the
while the forgotten battle flamed and thundered on the northern horizon.
Its result and progress alike were of no concern to them; both North and
South had floated off in the distance.
Talbot came that way as they talked, and seeing the look on their faces,
started and turned back. They never saw him. Lucia remained fixed in her
resolve and only shook her head at Prescott's pleading.
"But at least," said Prescott, "that 'no' is not to apply forever. I
shall refuse to despair."
She smiled somewhat sadly without reply, and there was no opportunity to
say more, as others drew near, among them Mrs. Markham, wary and
keen-eyed as ever. She marked well the countenances of these two, but
reserved her observations for future use.
The battle reclaimed attention, silhouetted as it was in a great flaming
cloud against a twilight sky, and its low rumble was an unbroken note.
When night fell a messenger came with terrible news. Grant had broken
through at last! The thin lines of the Confederates could not stand this
steady, heavy hammering day after day. They must retreat through the
Wilderness and draw fresh breath to fight again. Sadly the convoy took
its way to the south, and in three hours it was enveloped by the
remnants of a broken brigade, retreating in the fear of hot pursuit by
both cavalry and infantry. The commander of the brigade, by virtue of
his rank, became commander of the whole, and Talbot, longing for action,
fell back to the rear, resolved to watch for the enemy.
Talbot hated to exercise authority, preferring to act alone; and now he
became a picket, keen-eyed, alert, while his friends went into camp
ahead on the bank of a narrow but deep river. Presently he heard shots
and knew that the skirmishers of the enemy were advancing, though he
wondered why they should show such pernicious activity on so black a
night. They were in battle with some other retreating Southern
force--probably a regiment, he thought--and if they wanted to fight he
could not help it.