"Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,
And welcome home again discarded faith."
--SHAKESPEARE.
My past life had rushed tumultuously upon me. Oh! the misery of it would
have slain me there, a rebel picket, but that balance was made by its
all coming.
I must turn my back upon my comrades, but I should go to my father. The
Southern cause must be forsaken, but I should recover my country.
At roll-call in Company H, no voice would henceforth respond to my name
distorted. My comrades would curse my memory. It must be my duty to
battle against friends by whose sides I had faced danger and death. The
glory of the Confederate victories would now bring me pain and not joy.
Oh! the deepness of the woe!
But, on the other hand, I should recover my life and make it complete. I
must atone for the unconscious guilt of a past gorgeous yet criminal--a
past which I had striven to sow with the seeds of a barbarous future. I
should be with the Doctor; I should be myself, and always myself, for I
knew that my mind should nevermore suffer a repetition of the mysterious
affliction which had changed me. My malady had departed forever; and
with this knowledge there had come upon the glimmering emotions of
repressed passion the almost overpowering consciousness that there was a
woman in the world.
I sought the low ground bordering the river. My companions had gone; I
would go. There was none to stop me; none to know my going. I wept and
laughed. I had no fear. Nothing was present--all was past and future. I
was strong and well. With my healing had come a revolution of another
kind--a physical change which I felt would make of me a different
creature from the poor moody rebel in rags, or even the groping Yankee
spy of the day and of the year before.
How I loved and pitied the men of Company H! They were devoted and true.
No matter what should befall them, they would continue to be true and
loyal to their instincts of duty. Misfortune, even the blackest
disaster, seems before them; but I know them for courage and for
fortitude to be the equals, at least, of any who may conquer them. Their
soldierly honour will be maintained even when they go down in defeat, as
they must; never will shame lay its touch upon their ways, no matter
what their destiny. I honour them, more now since I know the might of
their enemies; I love them; I am proud of their high deeds, but I am
done with them. In my heart alone can I do them reverence. My hand must
be against them, as it has been for them.
Rätions? Rãtions! The Federals say _rãtions_! Why did I not follow that
clew?
* * * * *
Poor old Willis! ... he refused to strike! ...
* * * * *
I went up the sloping edge of the river's brink, seeking a place to
cross. My mind was wondrously alert. At my right the dawn was lighting
the sky. Behind me and at my left, I could hear the well-known sounds of
a moving army--an army which had been my pride and now must be my enemy.
How often had I followed the red flag! How I had raised my voice in the
tumult of the charge--mingling no dissentient note in the mighty concert
of the fierce old rebel yell!
What will they think of me? I know full well what they will think, and
the knowledge makes my heart ache and almost cease to beat. They will
say--some of them--that Jones has gone to the Yankees; not at once will
they say that, but in a week or two when hope of my return has been
abandoned--and a few will say that Jones has lost his mind and has
wandered off. The first--the unkind--will be right, and they will be
wrong. The others--the generous--will be utterly wrong. I have not lost
my mind; I have found it, and found it "for good." The report of my
desertion will come to Adjutant Haskell and to Dr. Frost, perhaps. Will
they tell? I hope not. Will they suspect the truth? I wish it, but I
cannot hope it.
Let Berwick Jones be dead and buried and forgotten; let Jones Berwick
live from this night as he never lived. The Doctor says men live
forever. I believe it. If man can live through the worse than death
which I have passed through alive, he is eternal. I shall never die. On
through the ages! That bright star--almost the only one left in the
graying sky--has but the age of an infant. I saw it born!
I found a shallow place in the river and crossed. The sun was up; I kept
it on my right. What should I do and say when I should reach our men?
Our men! how odd the thought sounded! I must get to them quickly. The
rebels were moving. The whole of two corps of infantry were seeking to
fall upon our rear. I must hasten, or there would be a third Bull Run.
But what can I say? How can I make them believe? How can I avoid being
captured, and brought before the officers as a rebel? I will call for
Dr. Khayme to bear out my words. I will appeal to General Morell and to
General Grover. But all this will take time. The loss of a day, half a
day, an hour, means defeat. Meade's army ought to be falling back now.
To retreat at once may save it--to delay means terrible disaster.
I hasten on, thinking always what I shall say, what I shall do, to make
the generals believe. Oh! if I can but cause a speedy retreat of the
army, a safe retreat from the toils laid for its destruction, I shall be
happy. I will even say that my service as a Confederate was a small
price to pay ... what had the Doctor said? He had said that my infirmity
was a power! He had said that he could imagine cases in which my
peculiar affliction would give great opportunity for serving the
country. What a mind that man has! He is to be feared. I wonder if he
has had active part in what has befallen me.
I keep a straight north course over hill and hollow, through wood and
field, crossing narrow roads that lead nowhere. Farmhouses and fields
and groves and streams and roads I pass in haste, knowing or feeling
that I shall find no help here. Here I shun nothing; here I seek
nothing--beyond this region are the people I want. What can I say? what
can I prove? This is the question that troubles me. If I say that I am a
Union soldier, I must tell the whole truth, and that I cannot do;
besides, it would not be believed. If I say I am a deserter, my
declarations as to Lee's movement will not be taken without suspicion.
What shall I do? If I could but get a horse; if I could but get Federal
clothing; I might hope to find a horse, but to get a blue uniform seems
impossible. I must go as I am, and as I can. If I could but find Dr.
Khayme! But I know not how to find him. If he is yet with the army, he
is somewhere in its rear. Is he yet with the army? Is he yet alive? And
Lydia? My God, what might have happened to her in so many long months!
Yet, I have trust. I shall find the Doctor, and I shall find Lydia, but
I cannot go at once to them; I must lose no time; to seek the Doctor
might be ruin. I must go as fast as possible to the general
headquarters.
To the southeast I hear the boom of a distant gun--and another. I hurry
on. What do they mean by fighting down there?
I keep looking out for a horse, but I see none--none in the fields or
roads or pastures or lots. This war-stricken land is bare. No smoke
rises from the farmhouses. The fields are untilled; the roads are
untravelled. There are no horses in such a land.
I reach a wide public road running east and west, Hoof-prints cover the
road--hoof-prints going west; our cavalry; I almost shout and weep for
joy. The cavalry will certainly detect Lee's movement. That is, if they
go far enough west.
Again the dull booming of cannon in the far southeast. What does it
mean? It means, I know it, I feel certain of it, it means that Lee is
preventing Meade's retreat by deceiving him. Those guns are only
to deceive.
On the wide public road I turn eastward--straight down the road. Other
cavalry may be coming or going.
The road turns sharply toward the northeast. I cease to follow it. I go
straight eastward, hoping to shorten the way and find the road beyond
the hill. What is that I see through the trees? It looks like a man. It
is a man, and in blue uniform. From mere habit I cock my rifle and hold
it at the ready. I cannot see that he is armed. I go straight to him. He
is lying on the ground, with his back toward me. He hears me. He rises
to his feet. He is unarmed. He is greatly astonished, but is silent.
"What are you doing here?"
"I surrender," he says.
"Very well, then," I say; "guide me at once to the nearest body of your
men."