A DREAM
Graham and his friend had bidden each other an early and cordial
good-night, for the entire force under the command of Hilland's colonel
was to resume its march with the dawn. Although no immediate danger was
apprehended, caution had been learned by long experience. The
detachment was comparatively small, and it was far removed from any
support; and while no hints of the presence of the enemy in formidable
numbers had been obtained during the day, what was beyond them could
not be known with any certainty. Therefore the horses had been
carefully rubbed down, and the saddles replaced. In many instances the
bridles also had been put on again, with the bit merely slipped from
the mouth. In all cases they lay or hung within reach of the tired
troopers, who, one after another, were dropping off into the catlike
slumber of a cavalry outpost.
As the fires died down, the shadows in the grove grew deeper and more
obscure, and all was quiet, except when the hours came round for the
relief of pickets and the men who were patrolling the roads. Graham
remembered the evanescent group of Confederates toward whom he had
spurred during the day. He knew that they were in a hostile region, and
that their movements must be already well known to the enemy if strong
in their vicinity. Therefore all his instincts as a soldier were on the
alert. It so happened that he was second in command of his regiment on
this occasion, and he felt the responsibility. He had been his own
groom on their arrival at the grove, and his faithful charger, Mayburn,
now stood saddled and bridled by his side, as he reclined, half dozing,
again thinking deeply, by the low, flickering blaze of his fire. He had
almost wholly lost the gloomy presentiments that had oppressed him at
the beginning of the year. Both he and Hilland had passed through so
many dangers that a sense of security was begotten. Still more potent
had been the influence of his active out-of-door life. His nerves were
braced, while his soldier's routine and the strong excitement of the
campaign had become a preoccupying habit.
Only those who brood in idleness over the misfortunes and
disappointments of life are destroyed by them.
He had not seen Grace for over half a year; and while she was and ever
would be his fair ideal, he could now think of her with the quietude
akin to that of the devout Catholic who worships a saint removed from
him at a heavenly distance. The wisdom of this remoteness became more
and more clear to him; for despite every power that he could put forth
as a man, there was a deeper, stronger manhood within him which
acknowledged this woman as sovereign. He foresaw that his lot would be
one of comparative exile, and he accepted it with a calm and inflexible
resolution.
Hearing a step he started up hastily, and saw Hilland approaching from
the opposite side of his fire.
"Ah, Graham, glad you are not asleep," said his friend, throwing
himself down on the leaves, with his head resting on his hands. "Put a
little wood on the fire, please; I'm chilly in the night air, and the
dews are so confoundedly heavy."
"Why, Hilland, what's the matter?" Graham asked, as he complied. "You
are an ideal cavalryman at a nap, and can sleep soundly with one eye
open. It has seemed to me that you never lost a wink when there was a
chance for it, even under fire."
"Why are you not sleeping?"
"Oh, I have been, after my fashion, dozing and thinking by turns. I
always was an owl, you know. Moreover, I think it behooves us to be on
the alert. We are a good way from support if hard pressed; and the
enemy must be in force somewhere to the west of us."
"I've thought as much myself. My horse is ready, as yours is, and I
left an orderly holding him. I suppose you will laugh at me, but I've
had a cursed dream; and it has shaken me in spite of my reason. After
all, how often our reason fails us at a pinch! I wish it was morning
and we were on the road. I've half a mind to go out with the patrols
and get my blood in circulation. I would were it not that I feel I
should be with my men."
"Where's your colonel?"
"The old war-dog is sleeping like a top. Nothing ever disturbs him,
much less a dream. I say, Graham, I made a good selection in him,
didn't I?"
"Yes, but he'll be promoted soon, and you will be in command. What's
more, I expect to see a star on _your_ shoulder in less than six
months."
"As I feel to-night, I don't care a picayune for stars or anything else
relating to the cursed war. I'd give my fortune to be able to kiss
Grace and tell her I'm well."
"You are morbid, Hilland. You will feel differently to-morrow,
especially if there's a chance for a charge."
"No doubt, no doubt. The shadow of this confounded grove seems as black
as death, and it oppresses me. Why should I, without apparent cause,
have had such a dream?"
"Your supper and fatigue may have been the cause. If you don't mind,
tell me this grisly vision."
"While you laugh at me as an old woman--you, in whom reason ever sits
serene and dispassionate on her throne, except when you get into a
fight."
"My reason's throne is often as rickety as a two-legged stool. No, I
won't laugh at you. There's not a braver man in the service than you.
If you feel as you say, there's some cause for it; and yet so complex
is our organism that both cause and effect may not be worthy of very
grave consideration, as I have hinted."
"Think what you please, this was my dream. I had made my dispositions
for the night, and went to sleep as a matter of course. I had not slept
an hour by my watch--I looked at it afterward--when I seemed to hear
some one moaning and crying, and I thought I started up wide awake, and
I saw the old library at home--the room you know so well. Every article
of furniture was before me more distinctly than I can see any object
now, and on the rug before the open fire Grace was crouching, while she
moaned and wrung her hands and cried as if her heart was breaking. She
was dressed in black--Oh, how white her hands and neck and face
appeared against that mournful black--and, strangest of all, her hair
fell around her snowy white, like a silver veil. I started forward to
clasp her in my arms, and then truly awoke, for there was nothing
before me but my drooping horse, a few red coals of my expiring fire,
and over all the black, black shadow of this accursed grove. Oh, for
sunlight! Oh, for a gale of wind, that I might breathe freely again!"
and the powerful man sprang to his feet and threw open his coat at his
breast.
As he ceased speaking, the silence and darkness of the grove did seem
ominous and oppressive, and Graham's old wretched presentiment of
Christmas morning returned, but he strove with all the ingenuity in his
power to reason his friend out of his morbid mood, as he termed it. He
kindled his fire into a cheerful blaze, and Hilland cowered and
shivered over it; then looking up abruptly, he said, "Graham, you and I
accepted the belief long ago that man was only highly organized matter.
I must admit to you that my mind has often revolted at this belief; and
the thought that Grace was merely of the earth has always seemed to me
sacrilegious. She never was what you would call a religious girl; but
she once had a quiet, simple faith in a God and a hereafter, and she
expected to see her mother again. I fear that our views have troubled
her exceedingly; although with that rare reserve in a woman, she never
interfered with one's strong personal convictions. The shallow woman
tries to set everybody right with the weighty reason, 'Oh, because it
IS so; all good people say it is so.' I fear our views have unsettled
hers also. I wish they had not; indeed I wish I could believe somewhat
as she did.
"Once, only once, she spoke to me with a strange bitterness, but it
revealed the workings of her mind. I, perhaps, was showing a little too
much eagerness in my spirit and preparation for active service, and she
broke out abruptly, 'Oh, yes, you and Alford can rush into scenes of
carnage very complacently. You believe that if the bullet is only sure
enough, your troubles are over forever, as Alford once said. I suppose
you are right, for you learned men have studied into things as we poor
women never can. If it's true, those who love as we do should die
together.' It has often seemed that her very love--nay, that mine--was
an argument against our belief. That a feeling so pure, vivid, and
unselfish, so devoid of mere earthiness--a feeling that apparently
contains within itself the very essence of immortality--can be
instantly blotted out as a flame is extinguished, has become a terrible
thought. Grace Hilland is worthy of an immortal life, and she has all
the capacity for it. It's not her lovely form and face that I love so
much as the lovely something--call it soul, spirit, or what you
choose--that will maintain her charm through all the changes from youth
to feeble and withered age. How can I be sure that the same gentle,
womanly spirit may not exist after the final change we call death, and
that to those worthy of immortal life the boon is not given? Reason is
a grand thing, and I know we once thought we settled this question; but
reason fails me to-night, or else love and the intense longings of the
heart teach a truer and deeper philosophy--
"You are silent, Graham. You think me morbid--that wishes are fathers
of my thoughts. Well, I'm not. I honestly don't know what the truth is.
I only wish to-night that I had the simple belief in a reunion with
Grace which she had with regard to her mother. I fear we have unsettled
her faith; not that we ever urged our views--indeed we have scarcely
ever spoken of them--but there has been before her the ever-present and
silent force of example. It was natural for her to believe that those
were right in whom she most believed; and I'm not sure we are
right--I'm not _sure_. I've not been sure for a long time."
"My dear Warren, you are not well. Exposure to all sorts of weather in
this malarial country is telling on you; and I fear your feelings
to-night are the prelude of a fever. You shall stay and sleep by my
fire, and if I hear the slightest suspicious sound I will waken you.
You need not hesitate, for I intend to watch till morning, whether you
stay or not."
"Well, Graham, I will. I wish to get through this horrible night in the
quickest way possible. But I'll first go and bring my horse here, so
the poor orderly can have a nap."
He soon returned and lay down close to the genial fire, and Graham
threw over him his own blankets.
"What a good, honest friend you are, Graham!--too honest even to say
some hollow words favoring my doubts of my doubt and unbelief. If it
hadn't been for you, I should have been dead long ago. In my blind
confidence, I should have rushed into the war, and probably should have
been knocked on the head at Bull Run. How many happy months I've passed
with Grace since then!--how many since you virtually gave your life for
me last autumn! You made sure that I took a man's, not a fool's, part
in the war. Oh, Grace and I know it all and appreciate it;
and--and--Alford, if I should fall, I commend Grace to your care."
"Hilland, stop, or you will unman me. This accursed grove _is_ haunted,
I half believe; and were I in command I would order 'Boots and Saddles'
to be sounded at once. There, sleep, Warren, and in the morning you
will be your own grand self. Why speak of anything I could do for you
and Grace? How could I serve myself in any surer way? As schoolgirls
say, 'I won't speak to you again.' I'm going to prowl around a little,
and see that all is right;" and he disappeared among the shadowy boles
of the trees.
When he returned from his rounds his friend was sleeping, but uneasily,
with sudden fits and starts.
"He is surely going to have a fever," Graham muttered. "I'd give a
year's pay if we were safe back in camp." He stood before the fire with
folded arms, watching his boyhood's friend, his gigantic shadow
stretching away into the obscurity as unwaveringly as those of the
tree-trunks around him. His lips were compressed. He sought to make his
will as inflexible as his form. He would not think of Grace, of danger
to her and Hilland; and yet, by some horrible necromancy of the hour
and place, the scene in Hilland's dream would rise before him with a
vividness that was overawing. In the sighing of the wind through the
foliage, he seemed to hear the poor wife's moans.
"Oh," he muttered, "would that I could die a thousand deaths to prevent
a scene like that!"
When would the interminable night pass? At last he looked at his watch
and saw that the dawn could not be far distant. How still everything
had become! The men were in their deepest slumber. Even the wind had
died out, and the silence was to his overwrought mind like the hush of
expectancy.
This silence was at last broken by a shot on the road leading to the
west. Other shots followed in quick succession.
Hilland was on his feet instantly. "We're attacked," he shouted, and
was about to spring upon his horse when Graham grasped his hand in both
of his as he said, "In the name of Grace, Hilland, be prudent."
Then both the men were in the saddle, Hilland dashing toward his own
command, and each shouting, "Awake! Mount!"
At the same instant the bugle from headquarters rang through the grove,
giving the well-known order of "Boots and Saddles."
In place of the profound stillness of a moment before, there were a
thousand discordant sounds--the trampling of feet, the jingling of
sabres, the champing of bits by aroused, restless horses that
understood the bugle call as well as the men, hoarse, rapid orders of
officers, above all which in the distance could be heard Hilland's
clarion voice.
Again and again from headquarters the brief, musical strains of the
bugle echoed through the gloom, each one giving to the veterans a
definite command. Within four minutes there was a line of battle on the
western edge of the grove, and a charging column was in the road
leading to the west, down which the patrols were galloping at a
headlong pace. Pickets were rushing in, firing as they came. To the
uninitiated it might have seemed a scene of dire confusion. In fact, it
was one of perfect order and discipline. Even in the darkness each man
knew just what to do and where to go, as he heard the bugle calls and
the stern, brief, supplementary orders of the officers.
Graham found himself on the line of battle at the right of the road,
and the sound that followed close upon the sharp gallop of the patrol
was ominous indeed. It was the rushing, thunderous sound of a heavy
body of cavalry--too heavy, his ear soon foretold him, to promise equal
battle.
The experienced colonel recognized the fact at the same moment, and
would not leave his men in the road to meet the furious onset. Again,
sharp, quick, and decisive as the vocal order had been, the bugle rang
out the command for a change of position. Its strains had not ceased
when the officers were repeating the order all down the column that had
been formed in the road for a charge, and scarcely a moment elapsed
before the western pike was clear, and faced by a line of battle a
little back among the trees. The Union force would now ask nothing
better than that the enemy should charge down that road within
pointblank range.
If the Nationals were veterans they were also dealing with veterans who
were masters of the situation in their overwhelming force and their
knowledge of the comparative insignificance of their opponents, whose
numbers had been quite accurately estimated the day before.
The patrols were already within the Union lines and at their proper
places when the Confederate column emerged into the narrow open space
before the grove. Its advance had subsided into a sharp trot; but,
instead of charging by column or platoon, the enemy deployed to right
and left with incredible swiftness. Men dismounted and formed into line
almost instantly, their gray forms looking phantom-like in the gray
dawn that tinged the east.
The vigilant colonel was as prompt as they, and at the first evidence
of their tactics the bugle resounded, and the line of battle facing the
road which led westward wheeled at a gallop through the open trees and
formed at right angles with the road behind the first line of battle.
Again there was a bugle call. The men in both lines dismounted
instantly, and as their horses were being led to the rear by those
designated for the duty, a Union volley was poured into the Confederate
line that had scarcely formed, causing many a gap. Then the first Union
line retired behind the second, loading as they went, and, with the
ready instinct of old fighters, putting trees between themselves and
the swiftly advancing foe while forming a third line of battle. From
the second Union line a deadly volley blazed in the dim obscurity of
the woods. It had no perceptible effect in checking the impetuous onset
of the enemy, who merely returned the fire as they advanced.
The veteran colonel, with cool alertness, saw that he was far
outnumbered, and that his assailants' tactics were to drive him through
the grove into the open fields, where his command would be speedily
dispersed and captured. His only chance was to run for it and get the
start. Indeed the object of his reconnoissance seemed already
accomplished, for the enemy was found to be in force in that direction.
Therefore, as he galloped to the rear his bugler sounded "Retreat" long
and shrilly.
The dim Union lines under the trees melted away as by magic, and a
moment later there was a rush of horses through the underbrush that
fringed the eastern side of the grove. But some men were shot, some
sabred, and others captured before they could mount and extricate
themselves. The majority, however, of the Union forces were galloping
swiftly away, scattering at first rather than keeping together, in
order to distract the pursuit which for a time was sharp and deadly.
Not a few succumbed; others would turn on their nearest pursuer in
mortal combat, which was soon decided in one way or the other. Graham
more than once wheeled and confronted an isolated foe, and the sword
bearing the name of the gentle Grace Hilland was bloody indeed.
All the while his eye was ranging the field for Hilland, and with his
fleet steed, that could soon have carried him beyond all danger, he
diverged to right and left, as far as their headlong retreat permitted,
in his vain search for his friend.
Suddenly the bugle from the Confederate side sounded a recall. The
enemy halted, fired parting shots, and retired briskly over the field,
gathering up the wounded and the prisoners. The Union forces drew
together on a distant eminence, from which the bugler of the colonel in
command was blowing a lively call to rendezvous.
"Where, Hilland?" cried Graham, dashing up.
The colonel removed a cigar from his mouth and said, "Haven't seen him
since I ordered the retreat. Don't worry. He'll be here soon. Hilland
is sure to come out all right. It's a way he has. 'Twas a rather rapid
change of base, Major Graham. That the enemy should have ceased their
pursuit so abruptly puzzles me. Ah, here comes your colonel, and when
Hilland puts in an appearance we must hold a brief council, although I
suppose there is nothing left for us but to make our way back to camp
and report as speedily as possible. I'd like to come back with a
division, and turn the tables on those fellows. I believe we fought a
divis--"
"Hilland!" shouted Graham, in a voice that drowned the colonel's words,
and echoed far and wide.
There was no answer, and the fugitives were nearly all in.
Graham galloped out beyond the last lagging trooper, and with a cry
that smote the hearts of those that heard it he shouted, "Hilland!" and
strained his eyes in every direction. There was no response--no form in
view that resembled his friend.
At wild speed he returned and rode among Hilland's command. His manner
was so desperate that he drew all eyes upon him, and none seemed able
or willing to answer. At last a man said, "I heard his voice just as we
were breaking from that cursed grove, and I've seen or heard nothing of
him since. I supposed he was on ahead with the colonel;" and that was
all the information that could be obtained.
The men looked very downcast, for Hilland was almost idolized by them.
Graham saw that there was an eager quest of information among
themselves, and he waited with feverish impatience for further light;
but nothing could be elicited from officers or privates beyond the fact
that Hilland had been bravely doing his duty up to the moment when, as
one of the captains said, "It was a scramble, 'each man for himself,
and the devil take the hindmost.'"
As long as there had been a gleam of hope that Hilland had escaped with
the rest, Graham had been almost beside himself in his feverish
impatience.
He now rode to where the two colonels were standing, and the senior
began rapidly, "Major Graham, we sympathize with you deeply. We all,
and indeed the army, have sustained a severe loss in even the temporary
absence of Lieutenant-Colonel Hilland; for I will not believe that
worse has happened than a wound and brief captivity. The enemy has
acted peculiarly. I have fears that they may be flanking us and trying
to intercept us on some parallel road. Therefore I shall order that we
return to camp in the quickest possible time. Good God, Graham! don't
take it so to heart. You've no proof that Hilland is dead. You look
desperate, man. Come, remember that you are a soldier and that Hilland
was one too. We've had to discount such experiences from the start."
"Gentlemen," said Graham, in a low, concentrated voice, and touching
his hat to the two colonels, "I am under the command of you both--one
as my superior officer, the other as leader of the expedition. I ask
permission to return in search of my friend."
"I forbid it," they both cried simultaneously, while the senior officer
continued, "Graham, you are beside yourself. It would be almost suicide
to go back. It would certainly result in your capture, while there is
not one chance in a thousand that you could do Hilland any good."
Graham made no immediate reply, but was studying the ill-omened grove
with his glass. After a moment he said, "I do not think there will be
any further pursuit. The enemy are retiring from the grove. My
explanation of their conduct is this: There is some large decisive
movement in progress, and we were merely brushed out of the way that we
might learn nothing of it. My advice is that we retain this commanding
position, throw out scouts on every side, and I doubt whether we find
anything beyond a small rearguard in ten miles of us within a few
hours."
"Your anxiety for your friend warps your judgment, and it is contrary
to my instructions, which were simply to learn if there was any
considerable force of the enemy in this region. Your explanation of the
enemy's conduct is plausible, and has already occurred to me as a
possibility. If it be the true explanation, all the more reason that we
should return promptly and report what we know and what we surmise. I
shall therefore order 'Retreat' to be sounded at once."
"And I, Major Graham," said his own colonel, "must add, that while you
have my sympathy, I nevertheless order you to your place in the march.
Rather than permit you to carry out your mad project, I would place you
under arrest."
"Gentlemen, I cannot complain of your course, or criticise your
military action. You are in a better condition of mind to judge what is
wise than I; and under ordinary circumstances I would submit without a
word. But the circumstances are extraordinary. Hilland has been my
friend since boyhood. I will not remain in suspense as to his fate;
much less will I leave his wife and friends in suspense. I know that
disobedience of orders in the face of the enemy is one of the gravest
offences, but I must disobey them, be the consequences what they may."
As he wheeled his horse, his colonel cried, "Stop him. He's under
arrest!" But Mayburn, feeling the touch of the spur, sprang into his
fleet gallop, and they might as well have pursued a bird.
They saw this at once, and the colonel in command only growled,
"---this reconnoissance. Here we've lost two of the finest officers in
the brigade, as well as some of our best men. Sound 'Retreat.'"
There was a hesitancy, and a wild impulse among Hilland's men to follow
Graham to the rescue, but it was sternly repressed by their officers,
and the whole command was within a few moments on a sharp trot toward
camp.