SELF-SENTENCED
Days, weeks, and months with their changes came and went. Hilland, with
characteristic promptness, carried out his friend's suggestion; and
through his own means and personal efforts, in great measure, recruited
and equipped a regiment of cavalry. He was eager that his friend should
take a command in it; but Graham firmly refused.
"Our relations are too intimate for discipline," he said. "We might be
placed in situations wherein our friendship would embarrass us."
Grace surmised that he had another reason; for, as time passed, she saw
less and less of him. He had promptly obtained a lieutenancy in a
regiment that was being recruited at Washington; and by the time her
husband's regiment reached that city, the more disciplined organization
to which Graham was attached was ordered out on the Virginia picket
line beyond Arlington Heights.
Hilland, with characteristic modesty, would not take the colonelcy of
the regiment that he chiefly had raised; but secured for the place a
fine officer of the regular army, and contented himself with a
captaincy. "Efficiency of the service is what I am aiming at," he said.
"I would much rather rise by merit from the ranks than command a
brigade by favor."
Unlike many men of wealth, he had a noble repugnance to taking any
public advantage of it; and the numerous officers of the time that had
obtained their positions by influence were his detestation.
Graham's predictions in regard to Grace were fulfilled. For long months
she saw her husband almost daily, and, had it not been for the cloud
that hung over the future, it would have been one of the happiest
periods of her life. She saw Hilland engaged in tasks that brought him
a deep and growing satisfaction. She saw her father in his very
element. There were no more days of dulness and weariness for him. The
daily journals teemed with subjects of interest, and with their aid he
planned innumerable campaigns. Military men were coming and going, and
with these young officers the veteran was an oracle. He gave Hilland
much shrewd advice; and even when it was not good, it was listened to
with deference, and so the result was just as agreeable to the major.
What sweeter joy is there for the aged than to sit in the seat of
judgment and counsel, and feel that the world would go awry were it not
for the guidance and aid of their experience! Alas for the poor old
major, and those like him! The world does not grow old as they do. It
only changes and becomes more vast and complicated. What was wisest and
best in their day becomes often as antiquated as the culverin that once
defended castellated ramparts.
Happily the major had as yet no suspicion of this; and when he and
Grace accompanied Hilland and his regiment to Washington, the measure
of his content was full. There he could daily meet other veterans of
the regular service; and in listening to their talk, one might imagine
that McClellan had only to attend their sittings to learn how to subdue
the rebellion within a few months. These veterans were not bitter
partisans. General Robert E. Lee was "Bob Lee" to them; and the other
chiefs of the Confederacy were spoken of by some familiar _sobriquet_,
acquired in many instances when boys at West Point. They would have
fought these old friends and acquaintances to the bitter end, according
to the tactics of the old school; but after the battle, those that
survived would have hobnobbed together over a bottle of wine as
sociably as if they had been companions in arms.
Mrs. Mayburn accompanied the major's party to Washington, for, as she
said, she was "hungry for a sight of her boy." As often as his duties
permitted, Graham rode in from the front to see her. But it began to be
noticed that after these visits he ever sought some perilous duty on
the picket line, or engaged in some dash at the enemy or guerillas in
the vicinity. He could not visit his aunt without seeing Grace, whose
tones were now so gentle when she spoke to him, and so full of her
heart's deep gratitude, that a renewal of his old fierce fever of
unrest was the result. He was already gaining a reputation for extreme
daring, combined with unusual coolness and vigilance; and before the
campaign of '62 opened he had been promoted to a first lieutenancy.
Time passed; the angry torrent of the war broadened and deepened. Men
and measures that had stood out like landmarks were engulfed and
forgotten.
It goes without saying that the friends did their duty in camp and
field. There were no more panics. The great organizer, McClellan, had
made soldiers of the vast army; and had he been retained in the service
as the creator of armies for other men to lead, his labors would have
been invaluable.
At last, to the deep satisfaction of Graham and Hilland, their
regiments were brigaded together, and they frequently met. It was then
near the close of the active operations of '62, and the friends now
ranked as Captain Graham and Major Hilland. Notwithstanding the
reverses suffered by the Union arms, the young men's confidence was
unabated as to the final issue. Hilland had passed through several
severe conflicts, and his name had been mentioned by reason of his
gallantry. Grace began to feel that fate could never be so cruel as to
destroy her very life in his life. She saw that her father exulted more
over her husband's soldierly qualities than in all his wealth; and
although they spent the summer season as usual at the seaside with Mrs.
Mayburn, the hearts of all three were following two regiments through
the forests and fields of Virginia. Half a score of journals were daily
searched for items concerning them, and the arrival of the mails was
the event of the day.
There came a letter in the autumn which filled the heart of Grace with
immeasurable joy and very, very deep sadness. Mrs. Mayburn was stricken
to the heart, and would not be comforted, while the old major swore and
blessed God by turns.
The cause was this. The brigade with which the friends were connected
was sent on a _reconnaissance_, and they felt the enemy strongly before
retiring, which at last they were compelled to do precipitately. It so
happened that Hilland commanded the rear-guard. In an advance he ever
led; on a retreat he was apt to keep well to the rear. In the present
instance the pursuit had been prompt and determined, and he had been
compelled to make more than one repelling charge to prevent the
retiring column from being pressed too hard. His command had thus lost
heavily, and at last overwhelming numbers drove them back at a gallop.
Graham, in the rear of the main column, which had just crossed a small
wooden bridge over a wide ditch or little run through the fields, saw
the headlong retreat of Hilland's men, and he instantly deployed his
company that he might check the close pursuit by a volley. As the Union
troopers neared the bridge it was evidently a race for life and
liberty, for they were outnumbered ten to one. In a few moments they
began to pour over, but Hilland did not lead. They were nearly all
across, but their commander was not among them; and Graham was wild
with anxiety as he sat on his horse at the right of his line waiting to
give the order to fire. Suddenly, in the failing light of the evening,
he saw Hilland with his right arm hanging helpless, spurring a horse
badly blown; while gaining fast upon him were four savage-looking
Confederates, their sabres emitting a steely, deadly sheen, and
uplifted to strike the moment they could reach him.
With the rapidity of light, Graham's eye measured the distance between
his friend and the bridge, and his instantaneous conviction was that
Hilland was doomed, for he could not order a volley without killing him
almost to a certainty. At that supreme crisis, the suggestion passed
through his mind like a lurid flash, "In a few moments Hilland will be
dead, and Grace may yet be mine."
Then, like an avenging demon, the thought confronted him. He saw it in
its true aspect, and in an outburst of self-accusing fury he passed the
death sentence on himself. Snatching out the long, straight sword he
carried, he struck with the spur the noble horse he bestrode, gave him
the rein, and made straight for the deep, wide ditch. There was no time
to go around by the bridge, which was still impeded by the last of the
fugitives.
His men held their breath as they saw his purpose. The feat seemed
impossible; but as his steed cleared the chasm by a magnificent bound,
a loud cheer rang down the line. The next moment Hilland, who had
mentally said farewell to his wife, saw Graham passing him like a
thunderbolt. There was an immediate clash of steel, and then the
foremost pursuer was down, cleft to the jaw. The next shared the same
fate; for Graham, in what he deemed his death struggle, had almost
ceased to be human. His spirit, stung to a fury that it had never known
and would never know again, blazed in his eyes and flashed in the
lightning play of his sword. The two others pursuers reined up their
steeds and sought to attack him on either side. He threw his own horse
back almost upon his haunches, and was on his guard, meaning to strike
home the moment the fence of his opponents permitted. At this instant,
however, there were a dozen shots from the swarming Rebels, that were
almost upon him, and he and his horse were seen to fall to the ground.
Meantime Hilland had instinctively tried to rein in his horse, that he
might return to the help of his friend, although from his wound he
could render no aid. Some of his own men who had crossed the bridge,
and in a sense of safety had regained their wits, saw his purpose, and
dashing back, they formed a body-guard around him, and dragged his
horse swiftly beyond the line of battle.
A yell of anger accompanied by a volley came from Graham's men that he
had left in line, and a dozen Confederate saddles were emptied; but
their return fire was so deadly, and their numbers were so
overwhelming, that the officer next in command ordered retreat at a
gallop. Hilland, in his anguish, would not have left his friend had not
his men grasped his rein and carried him off almost by force. Meanwhile
the darkness set in so rapidly that the pursuit soon slackened and
ceased.
During the remainder of the ride back to their camp, which was reached
late at night, the ardent-natured Hilland was almost demented. He wept,
raved, and swore. He called himself an accursed coward, that he had
left the friend who had saved his life. His broken arm was as nothing
to him, and eventually the regimental surgeon had to administer strong
opiates to quiet him.
When late the next day he awoke, it all came back to him with a dully
heavy ache at heart. Nothing could be done. His mind, now restored to
its balance, recognized the fact. The brigade was under orders to move
to another point, and he was disabled and compelled to take a leave of
absence until fit for duty. The inexorable mechanism of military life
moves on, without the slightest regard for the individual; and Graham's
act was only one of the many heroic deeds of the war, some seen and
more unnoted.