THE BLOOD-RED SKY
Days and weeks of intense excitement followed the terrific Union
reverses which at one time threatened the loss of the national capital;
and the North began to put forth the power of which it was only half
conscious, like a giant taken unawares; for to all, except men of
Hilland's hopeful confidence, it soon became evident that the opponent
was a giant also. It is not my purpose to dwell upon this, however,
except as it influenced the actors of my story.
Hilland, having given up his plans, was contentedly carrying out the
line of action suggested by his friend. By all the means within his
power he was furthering the Union cause, and learned from experience
how much more he could accomplish as a business man than by shouldering
a musket, or misleading a regiment in his ignorance. He made frequent
trips to New York, and occasionally went to Washington. Graham often
accompanied him, and also came and went on affairs of his own.
Ostensibly he was acting as correspondent for the journal to which he
had written when abroad. In reality, he was studying the great drama
with an interest that was not wholly patriotic or scientific. He had
found an antidote. The war, dreaded so unspeakably by many, was a boon
to him; and the fierce excitement of the hour a counter-irritant to the
pain at heart which he believed had become his life-long heritage.
He had feared the sorrowful reproaches of his aunt, as he gave himself
almost wholly up to its influences, and became an actor in the great
struggle. In this he was agreeably mistaken, for the spirited old lady,
while averse to politics as such, had become scarcely less belligerent
than the major since the fall of Sumter. She cheerfully let him come
and go at his will; and in his loving gratitude it must be admitted
that his letters to her were more frequent and interesting than those
to the journal whose badge was his passport to all parts of our lines.
He spent every hour he could with her, also; and she saw with pleasure
that his activity did him good. Grace thought he found few
opportunities to pass an evening with them. She was exceedingly
grateful--first, that he had interpreted her so nobly, but chiefly
because it was his influence and reasoning that had led her husband
into his present large, useful, happy action; and she could not help
showing it.
Graham's position of correspondent gave him far better opportunities
for observation than he could have had in any arm of the service. Of
late he was following the command of General Patterson, believing from
his sanguinary vaporing that in his army would be seen the first real
work of the war.[Footnote: Patterson wrote to the Secretary of War:
"You have the means; place them at my disposal, and shoot me if I do
not use them to advantage."] He soon became convinced, however, that
the veteran of the Mexican War, like the renowned King of France, would
march his "twenty thousand men" up the hill only to march them down
again. Hearing that McDowell proposed to move against the enemy at
Manassas, he hastily repaired to Washington, hoping to find a general
that dared to come within cannon-range of the foe.
A sultry day late in the month of July was drawing to a close. Hilland
and his wife, with Mrs. Mayburn, were seated under the apple-tree, at
which point the walk intersected with the main one leading to the
street. The young man, with a heavy frown, was reading from an "extra"
a lurid outline of General McDowell's overwhelming defeat and the mad
panic that ensued. Grace was listening with deep solicitude, her work
lying idle in her lap. It had been a long, hard day for her. Of late
her father had been deeply excited, and now was sleeping from sheer
reaction. Mrs. Mayburn, looking as grim as fate, sat bolt upright and
knitted furiously. One felt instinctively that in no emergency of life
could she give way to a panic.
"Well," cried Hilland, springing to his feet and dashing the paper to
the ground with something like an oath, "one battle has been fought in
America at which I thank the immortal gods I was not present. Why did
not McDowell drive a flock of sheep against the enemy, and furnish his
division commanders with shepherds' crooks? Oh, the burning, indelible
disgrace of it all! And yet--and the possibility of it makes me feel
that I would destroy myself had it happened--I might have run like the
blackest sheep of them all. I once read up a little on the subject of
panics; and there's a mysterious, awful contagion about them impossible
to comprehend. These men were Americans; they had been fighting
bravely; what the devil got into them that they had to destroy
themselves and everything in an insane rush for life?"
"Oh, Warren, see the sky!" cried his wife, the deep solicitude of her
expression giving place to a look of awe.
They all turned to the west, and saw a sunset that from the excitable
condition of their minds seemed to reflect the scenes recently enacted,
and to portend those in prospect now for years to come. Lines of light
and broken columns of cloud had ranged themselves across the western
arch of the sky, and almost from the horizon to the zenith they were
blood-red. So deep, uniform, and ensanguined was the crimson, that the
sense of beauty was subordinated to the thought of the national tragedy
reflected in the heavens. Hilland's face grew stern as he looked, and
Grace hid hers on his breast.
After a moment, he said, lightly, "What superstitious fools we are!
It's all an accidental effect of light and cloud."
A cry from Mrs. Mayburn caused them to turn hastily, and they saw her
rushing down the path to the street entrance. Two men were helping some
one from a carriage. As their obscuring forms stood aside, Graham was
seen balancing himself on crutches.
Hilland placed his wife hastily but tenderly on the seat, and was at
the gateway in almost a single bound.
"You had better let us carry you," Grace heard one of the men say in
gruff kindness.
"Nonsense!" was the hearty reply. "I have not retreated thus far so
masterfully only to give my aunt the hysterics at last."
"Alford," said his aunt, sternly, "if it's wise for you to be carried,
be carried. Any man here is as liable to hysterics as I am."
"Graham, what does this mean?" cried his friend, in deep excitement.
"You look as if half cut to pieces."
"It's chiefly my clothes; I am a fitter subject for a tailor than for a
surgeon. Come, good people, there is no occasion for melodrama. With
aunty's care I shall soon be as sound as ever. Very well, carry me,
then. Perhaps I ought not to use my arm yet;" for Hilland, taking in
his friend's disabled condition more fully, was about to lift him in
his arms without permission or apology. It ended in his making what is
termed a "chair" with one of the men, and Graham was borne speedily up
the path.
Grace stood at the intersection with hands clasped in the deepest
anxiety; but Graham smiled reassuringly, as he said, "Isn't this an
heroic style of returning from the wars? Not quite like Walter Scott's
knights; but we've fallen on prosaic times. Don't look so worried. I
assure you I'm not seriously hurt."
"Mrs. Mayburn," said Hilland, excitedly, "let us take him to our
cottage. We can all take better care of him there."
"Oh, do! please do!" echoed Grace. "You are alone; and Warren and I
could do so much--"
"No," said the old lady quietly and decisively; for the moment the
proposition was broached Graham's eyes had sought hers in imperative
warning. "You both can help me as far as it is needful."
Grace detected the glance and noted the result, but Hilland began
impetuously: "Oh, come, dear Mrs. Mayburn, I insist upon it. Graham is
making light of it; but I'm sure he'll need more care than you
realize--"
"Hilland, I know the friendship that prompts your wish," interrupted
Graham, "but my aunt is right. I shall do better in my own room. I need
rest more than anything else. You and your wife can do all you wish for
me. Indeed, I shall visit you to-morrow and fight the battle over again
with the major. Please take me to my room at once," he added in a low
tone. "I'm awfully tired."
"Come, Mr. Hilland," said Mrs. Mayburn, in a tone almost authoritative;
and she led the way decisively.
Hilland yielded, and in a few moments Graham was in his own room, and
after taking a little stimulant, explained.
"My horse was shot and fell on me. I am more bruised, scratched and
used up, than hurt;" and so it proved, though his escape had evidently
been almost miraculous. One leg and foot had been badly crushed. There
were two flesh wounds in his arm; and several bullets had cut his
clothing, in some places drawing blood. All over his clothes, from head
to foot, were traces of Virginia soil; and he had the general
appearance of a man who had passed through a desperate melee.
"I tried to repair damages in Washington," he said, "but the confusion
was so dire I had to choose between a hospital and home; and as I had
some symptoms of fever last night, I determined to push on till under
the wing of my good old aunty and your fraternal care. Indeed, I think
I was half delirious when I took the train last evening; but it was
only from fatigue, lack of sleep, and perhaps loss of blood. Now,
please leave me to aunty's care to-night, and I will tell you all about
it to-morrow."
Hilland was accordingly constrained to yield to his friend's wishes. He
brought the best surgeon in town, however, and gave directions that,
after he had dressed Graham's wounds, he should spend the night in Mrs.
Mayburn's parlor, and report to him if there was any change for the
worse. Fortunately, there was no occasion for his solicitude. Graham
slept with scarcely a break till late the next morning; and his pulse
became so quiet that when he waked with a good appetite the physician
pronounced all danger passed.
In the evening he was bent on visiting the major. He knew they were all
eager for his story, and, calculating upon the veteran's influence in
restraining Hilland from hasty action, he resolved that his old and
invalid friend should hear it with the first. From the character of
Hilland he knew the danger to be apprehended was that he would throw
himself into the struggle in some way that would paralyze, or at the
least curtail, his efficiency. Both his aunt and the physician, who
underrated the recuperative power of Graham's fine physical condition,
urged quiet until the following day; but he assured them he would
suffer more from restlessness than from a moderate degree of effort. He
also explained to his aunt that he wished to talk with Hilland, and, if
possible, in the presence of his wife and the major.
"Then they must come here," said the old lady, resolutely.
With this compromise he had to be content; and Hilland, who had been
coming and going, readily agreed to fetch the major.