Cease firing

S JL Al.

THE LONG ROLL. The first of two books dealing

with the war between the States. With Illustrations

in color by N C. WYETH.
CEASE FIRING. The second of two books dealing

with the war between the States. With Illustrations

in color by N. C. WYETH.
LEWIS RAND. With Illustrations in color by F. C.

YOHN.

AUDREY. With Illustrations in color by F. C. YOHN.

PRISONERS OF HOPE. With Frontispiece.

TO HAVE AND TO HOLD. With 8 Illustrations by

HOWARD PYLE, E. B. THOMPSON, A. W. BETTS, and

EMLEN MCDONNELL.

THE GODDESS OF REASON. A Drama.

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK

/ 0 I

CEASE FIRING

THE ROAD TO VIDALIA

CEASE FIRING

BY MARY JOHNSTON

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
BY N. C. WYETH

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

BOSTON AND NEW YORK :: THE

RIVERSIDE PRESS CAMBRIDGE

1912

COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY MARY JOHNSTON
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published November iqi2

tfje Memory of

JOHN WILLIAM JOHNSTON
MAJOR OF ARTILLERY, C. S. A.

AND OF

JOSEPH EGGLESTON JOHNSTON
GENERAL, C. S. A.

9447*77

CONTENTS

I. THE ROAD TO VIDALIA I

II. CAPE JESSAMINE . . .11

III. VICKSBURG . . . 24

IV. CHICKASAW BAYOU .... 36
V. FORT PEMBERTON 46

VI. THE RIVER ... 58

VII. PORT GIBSON 69

VIII. IN VIRGINIA 81

IX. THE STONEWALL ... '95

X. THE BULLETIN 108

XL PRISON X .... .115

XII. THE SIEGE 128

XIII. ACROSS THE POTOMAC . . .141

XIV. THE CAVE .... 156
XV. GETTYSBURG ... . .166

XVI. BACK HOME 178

XVII. BREAD CAST ON WATER . . . . . 191

XVIII. THREE OAKS 204

XIX. THE COLONEL OF THE SIXTY-FIFTH . .215

XX. CHICKAMAUGA 225

XXI. MISSIONARY RIDGE ... . 240

XXII. DALTON . ... . • .253

viii CONTENTS

XXIII. THE ROAD TO RESACA .... 265

XXIV. THE GUNS 279

XXV. THE WILDERNESS ..... 287

XXVI. THE BLOODY ANGLE .... 298

XXVII. RICHMOND . . ; '"'. . ' . . . 306

XXVIII. COLD HARBOUR ... . . 314

XXIX. LITTLE PUMPKIN-VINE CREEK . . .321

XXX. KENNESAW 329

XXXI. THUNDER RUN 340

XXXII. HUNTER'S RAID 347

XXXIII. BACK HOME 354

XXXIV. THE ROAD TO WASHINGTON ... 364
XXXV. THE CRATER 372

XXXVI. THE VALLEY .382

XXXVII. CEDAR CREEK 392

XXXVIII. THE ARMY OF TENNESSEE ... 405

XXXIX. COLUMBIA 416

XL. THE ROAD TO WINNSBORO' . . . 427

XLI. THE BEGINNING OF THE END . . . 440

XLII. APRIL, 1865 45°

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE ROAD TO VIDALIA (page 3) ... Frontispiece

SHARPSHOOTERS 128

THE BLOODY ANGLE 302

THE SCOUT 392

From drawings by N. C. Wyeth

r-p.

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CHAPTER I

THE ROAD TO VIDALIA

river ran several thousand miles, from a land of snow
and fir trees and brief summers to a land of long, long

A summers, cane and orange. The river was wide. It dealt
in loops and a tortuous course, and for the most part it was yellow
and turbid and strong of current. There were sandbars in the
river, there were jewelled islands ; there were parallel swamps,
lakes, and bayous. From the border of these, and out of the water,
rose tall trees, starred over, in their season, with satiny cups or
disks, flowers of their own or vast flowering vines, networks of lan
guid bloom. The Spanish moss, too, swayed from the trees, and
about their knees shivered the canebrakes. Of a remarkable person
ality throughout, in its last thousand miles the river grew unique.
Now it ran between bluffs of coloured clay, and now it flowed above
the level of the surrounding country. You did not go down to the
river: you went up to the river, the river caged like a tiger behind
the levees. Time of flood was the tiger's time. Down went the levee
— widened in an instant the ragged crevasse — out came the
beast! —

December, along the stretch of the Mississippi under considera
tion, was of a weather nearly like a Virginian late autumn. In the
river towns and in the plantation gardens roses yet bloomed. In the
fields the cotton should have been gathered, carried — all the silver
stuff — in wagons, or in baskets on the heads of negroes, to the gin-
houses. This December it was not so. It was the December of 1862.
Life, as it used to be, had disintegrated. Life, as it was, left the fields
un tended and the harvest ungathered. Why pick cotton when there
was nowhere to send it ? The fields stayed white.

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The stately, leisurely steamers, the swan-like white packets, were
gone from the river; gone were the barges, the flatboats and freight
boats; gone were the ferries. No more at night did there come
looming — from up the stream, from down the stream — the giant
shapes, friendly, myriad-lighted. No more did swung torches reveal
the long wharves, while the deep whistle blew, and the smokestack
sent out sparks, and the negro roustabouts sang as they made her
fast. No more did the planter come aboard, and the planter's
daughter; no more was there music of stringed instruments, nor the
aroma of the fine cigar, nor sweet drawling voices. The planter was
at the front; and the planter's daughter had too much upon her
hands to leave the plantation, even if there had been a place to go to.
As it happened there was none.

Farragut, dressed in blue, ruled the river upward from the Gulf
and New Orleans to Baton Rouge. Porter, dressed in blue,
ruled it downward from Cairo to Grand Lake. Their steam
frigates, corvettes, and sloops-of-war, their ironclads, tinclads,
gunboats, and rams flew the Stars and Stripes. Between Grand
Lake and Baton Rouge the river was Confederate, unconquered
yet, beneath the Stars and Bars. They flew from land and water
defences at Vicksburg, from the batteries up the Yazoo, from
Natchez and the works on the Red River, and the entrenchments
at Port Hudson. They flew from the few, few remaining grey
craft of war, from the transports, the cotton-clads, the Vicksburg,
the De Soto, the gunboat Grand Duke, the ram Webb. Tawny
and strong ran the Mississippi, by the Stars and Stripes, by the
Stars and Bars.

It had rained and rained. All the swamps were up, the bayous
overflowing. The tiger, too, was out; now here, now there. That
other tiger, War, was abroad, and he aided in breaking levees. On
the Mississippi side, on the Louisiana side, bottom lands were brim
ming. Cottonwood, red gum, china trees, cypress and pine stood up,
drenched and dismal, from amber sheets and eddies, specked with
foam. The clouds hung dark and low. There was a small, chill,
mournful wind. The roads, trampled and scored by eighteen months
of war, were little, if any, better than no roads.

A detachment of grey infantry and a section of artillery, coming
up on the Louisiana side from the Red River with intent to cross at

THE ROAD TO VIDALIA 3

Vidalia and proceed from Natchez to Vicksburg, found them so.
In part the detail was from a regiment of A. P. Hill's, transferred
the preceding month from Fredericksburg in Virginia to Vicksburg
in Mississippi, sent immediately from Vicksburg toward Red River,
it being rumoured that Farragut meant a great attack there, and
almost immediately summoned back, Secret Service having deter
mined that Grant at Oxford meant a descent upon Vicksburg. The
detachment was making a forced march and making it through a
Slough of Despond. The no-roads were bottomless; the two guns
mired and mired; the straining horses could do little, however good
their will. Infantry had to help, put a shoulder to wheel and caisson.
Infantry was too tired to say much, but what it said was heartfelt,
— " Got the right name for these States when they called them Gulf
States! If we could only telegraph to China they might pull that
gun out on that side ! " — " O God ! for the Valley Pike ! " — " Don't
say things like that! Homesickness would be the last straw. If
anybody's homesick, don't, for the Lord's sake, let on! ... Get
up, Patsy! Get up, Pansy! Get up, Sorrel!" . . . " Look-a-here,
Artillery ! If it 's just the same to you, we wish you 'd call that horse
something else! You see it kind of brings a picture up. . . . This
identical minute 'Old Jack's' riding Little Sorrel up and down
before Burnside at Fredericksburg, and we're not there to see! . . .
Oh, it ain't your fault! You can't help being Mississippi and Louisi
ana and bringing us down to help ! You are all right and you fight
like hell, and you 've got your own quality, and we like you first-rate!
If we were n't Army of Northern Virginia, we surely would choose
to be Army of Tennessee and the Southwest — so there 's no need
for you to get wrathy! . . . Only we would be obliged to you if
you'd change the name of that horse!"

The clouds broke in a bitter downpour. "Ooooh-h! Country 's
turned over and river 's on top ! Get up, Patsy ! Get up, Pansy I Get
up — This ain't a mud-hole, it 's a bayou! God knows, if I lived in
this country I'd tear all that long, waving, black moss out of the
trees! It gives me the horrors." — "Get on, men! get on/" —
"Captain, we can't!"

Pioneers came back. "It's a bayou — but there's a corduroy
bridge, not more than a foot under water."

Infantry crossed, the two guns crossed. Beyond the arm of the

4 CEASE FIRING

bayou the earth was mere quaking morass. The men cut canes,
armfuls and armfuls of canes, threw the bundles down, and made
some sort of roadbed. Over it came those patient, famished, piteous
soldiers, the horses, and behind them, heavily, heavily through the
thickened mire, guns and caissons. Gun and wheel and caisson were
all plastered with mud, not an inch of bright metal showing. The
horses, too, were all masked and splashed. The men were in no better
case, wet through, covered from head to foot with mud and mire,
the worn, worn uniforms worsened yet by thorn and briar from the
tangled forest. The water dripped from the rifles, stock and barrel,
the water dripped from the furled and covered colours. The men's
shoes were very bad; only a few had overcoats. The clouds were
leaden, the rain streamed, the comfortless day was drawing down.
The detachment came into a narrow, somewhat firmer road set on
either hand with tall cypresses and water oaks, from every limb of
which hung the grey moss, long, cre'pe-like, swaying in the chill and
fretting wind. "For the Lord's sake," said Virginia in Louisiana,
"sing something!"
A man in the colour guard started "Roll, Jordan, roll" —

" I want to get to Heaven when I die, —
To hear Jordan roll!"

The line protested. "Don't sing about a river! There's river
enough in ours now ! — That darkey, back there, said the levees
were breaking."

"Moses went up to de mountain top —

Land of Canaan, Canaan Land,
Moses went up to de mountain top — "

"Don't sing that either! We're nine hundred miles from the
Blue Ridge and Canaan Land. . . . Sech a fool to sing about
mountains and home!"

"Well," said Colour Guard, "that was what I was thinking about.
If anybody knows a cheerful hymn, I '11 be glad if he '11 line it out — "

"Don't sing a hymn," said the men. "Sing something gay.
Edward Gary, you sing something."

"All right," said Edward. "What do you want?"

"Anything that'll light a fire in the rain! Sing us something
funny. Sing us a story."

"There was a ram of Derby,"

THE ROAD TO VIDALIA 5

sang Edward —

"As I have heard it said,
That was the fattest ram, sir,
That ever had a head — "

The cypress wood ended. They came out into vast cotton-fields
where the drowning bolls, great melancholy snowflakes, clung to the
bushes, idle as weeds, careless of famine in mill-towns oversea. The
water stood between the rows, rows that ran endlessly, cut from
sight at last by a whirling and formless grey vapour.

"The fleece that grew on that ram, sir,

It grew so mighty high,
The eagles built their nest in it,

For I heard the young ones cry.
And if you don't believe me,

Or think I tell a lie,
Why, just look down to Derby

And see as well as I!"

The land was as flat as Holland, but the rank forest, the growth
about the wandering arms of bayous breathed of another clime. The
rain came down as in the rainy season, the wind was mounting, the
wings of the dusk flapping nearer.

"Get on, men, get on! We're miles from Vidalia."

"The horns that grew on that ram, sir,

They grew up to the moon,
A man went up in December
And did n't come down till June!

"Look out, Artillery! There's water under those logs!"

The horses and the first gun got across the rotting logs roofing
black water, infantry helping, tugging, pushing, beating down the
cane.

" Shades of night, where are we anyhow? Cane rattling and the
moss waving and water bubbling — is it just another damned bayou
or the river? . . . And all the flat ground and the strange trees . . .
My head is turning round."

"It's Bayou Jessamine," volunteered an artilleryman. He spoke
in a drawling voice. "We aren't far from the river, or the river
is n't far from us, for I think the river's out. It appears to me that
you Virginians grumble a lot. There is n't anything the matter with
this country. It's as good a country as God's got. Barksdale's men
and the Washington Artillery are always writing back that Virginia

6 CEASE FIRING

can't hold a candle to it ... Whoa, there, Whitefoot! Whoa,
Dick!"

The second gun had come upon the raft of logs. A log slipped,
a wheel went down, gun and caisson tilted — artillery and infantry
surged to the aid of the endangered piece. A second log slipped,
the wheel beneath the caisson went down, the loaded metal chest
jerked forward, striking forehead and shoulder of one of the aid
ing infantrymen. The blow was heavy and stretched the soldier
senseless, half in the black water, half across the treacherous logs.
Amid ejaculations, oaths, shouted orders, guns and caisson were
righted, the horses urged forward, the piece drawn clear of the
bayou. Down came the rain as though the floodgates of heaven
were opened; nearer and nearer flapped the dusk. . . .

Edward Gary, coming to himself, thought, on the crest of a low
wave of consciousness, of Greenwood in Virginia and of the shepherds
and shepherdesses in the drawing-room paper. He seemed to see his
grandfather's portrait, and he thought that the young man in the
picture had put out a hand and drawn him from the bayou. Then he
sank into the trough of the sea and all again was black. The next
wave was higher. He saw with distinctness that he was in a firelit
cabin, and that an old negro was battling with a door which the
wind would not let shut. The hollow caught him again, but proved a
momentary prison. He opened his eyes fully and presently spoke to
the two soldiers who hugged the fire before which he was lying.

"You two fellows in a cloud of steam, did we lose the gun ?"

The two turned, gratified and congratulatory. "No, no, we did
n't lose it ! Glad you 've waked up, Edward ! Caisson struck you,
knocked you into the bayou, y ' know! Fished you out and brought
you on till we came to this cabin. Company had to march away.
Could n't wait — dark coming and the Mississippi gnawing holes
out of the land like a rat out of a cheese ! The boys have been
gone twenty minutes. Powerful glad you've come back to us!
We'd have missed you like sixty! Captain says he hopes you can
march!"

Edward sat up, then lay down again upon the pallet. "I've got a
singing head," he said dreamily. "What's involved in my staying
here?"

His comrades laughed, they were so glad to hear him talking.

THE ROAD TO VIDALIA 7

"Told Kirk you couldn't march yet awhile! You got an awful
blow. Only, we can't stay with you — that's involved! Captain's
bent on making Vidalia. Orders are to bring you on if you can
march, and if you can't to double-quick it ourselves and catch
up ! Says Grant 's going to invest Vicksburg and he can't spare even
Kirk and me. You're to come on as quick as you can, and rejoin
wherever we are. Says nobody ever had a better headpiece than
you, and that you'll walk in somewhere that is n't at the end of the
procession!"

The night descended. Edward lay half asleep upon the pallet,
in the light of the pine knots with which the negro fed the fire. The
rushing in his head was going, the nausea passing, the warmth was
sweet, bed was sweet, rest, rest, rest was sweet! The old negro went
to and fro, or sat upon a bench beside the glowing hearth.

After his kind he communed with himself half aloud, a slow stream
of comment and interrogation. Before long he took from some mys
terious press a little corn meal and a small piece of bacon. The meal
he stirred with water and made into thin pones, which he baked upon
a rusty piece of tin laid on a bed of coals. Then he found a broken
knife and cut a few rashers of bacon and fried them in an ancient
skillet. The cabin filled with a savoury odor! Edward turned on the
pallet. "Uncle, are you cooking for two?"

The meal, his first that day, restored him to himself. By now it
took much to kill or permanently disable a Confederate soldier. Life
forever out of doors, the sky for roof, the earth for bed, spare and
simple diet, body trained and exercised, senses cleared and nerves
braced by danger grown the element in which he moved and had his
being, hope rising clear from much reason for despair, ideality intact
in the midst of grimmest realities, a mind made up, cognizant of
great issues and the need of men — the Confederate soldier had no
intention of dying before his time. Nowadays it took a bullet through
heart or head to give a man his quietus. The toppling caisson and the
bayou had failed to give Edward Gary his.

The young white man and the old negro shared scrupulously be
tween them the not over-great amount of corn bread and bacon. The
negro placed Edward's portion before him on a wooden stool and took
his own to the bench beside the hearth. The wind blew, the rain
dashed against the hut, the flames leaped from resinous pine knot to
pine knot. ..—

8 CEASE FIRING

Supper finished, talk began. "How far from the river are we?"

"Ef you'll tell 'Rasmus, sah, 'Rasmus '11 tell you! En rights hit
oughter be two miles, but I's got er kind ob notion dat de ribber's
done crope nigher."

Edward listened to the wind and rain. "What's to hinder it from
coming nigher yet ?"

"Nothin', sah."

The young man got up, somewhat unsteadily, from the pallet, and
with his hand against the wall moved to the door, opened it, and
looked out. He shivered, then laughed. "Noah must have seen
something like it when he looked out of the Ark!" He closed the
door with difficulty.

Behind him, the negro continued to speak. "Leastways, dar's
only de Cape Jessamine levee."

"Cape Jessamine ?"

"DeGaillard place, sah."

With a stick he drew lines in the ashes. "Bayou heah. Ribber
heah. De Cun'l in between — only right now he way from home
fightin' de Yankees — he en' Marse Louis. De Gaillard place —
Cape Jessamine. Hope dat levee won't break!"

Edward came back to the fire. "Do you belong to the place ?"

"No, sah, I'se free. OF marster freed me. But I goes dar mos'
every day en' takes advice en' draws my rations. No, sah, I don'
'zactly belong, butdey're my white folks. De Gaillards 's de finest
kind dar is. Dar ain't no finer."

Old man and young man, dark-skinned and light, African and
Aryan, the two rested by the fire. The negro sat, half doubled, his
hands between his knees, his eyes upon the floor by the door. Now
he was silent, now he muttered and murmured. The glare from the
pine knots beat upon his grey pate, upon his shirt, open over his
chest, and upon his gnarled and knotted hands. Over against him
half reclined the other, very torn and muddy, unshaven, gaunt, and
hollow-eyed, yet, indescribably, carrying his rags as though they
were purple, showing through fatigue, deprivation, and injury
something tireless, uninjured, and undeprived. He kept now a some
what languid silence, idle in the warmth, his thoughts away from
the Mississippi and the night of storm. With the first light he
would quit the cabin and press on after his company. He thought

THE ROAD TO VIDALIA 9

of the armies of the Far South, of the Army of Tennessee, the
Army of the Trans-Mississippi, and he thought of the fighting in
Virginia, of the Army of Northern Virginia, the army he had quitted
but a few weeks before. He, too, that afternoon, had felt homesick
for it, lying there behind the hills to the south of Fredericksburg,
waiting for Burnside to cross the Rappahannock ! . . . The soldier
must go where he is sent! He thought of his own people, of his
father, of Fauquier Gary, of Greenwood, and his sisters there. He
should find at Vicksburg a letter from Judith. From the thought of
Judith he moved to that of Richard Cleave. . . . Presently, with
an impatient sigh, he shook himself free. Better think, to-night, of
something else than tragedies and mysteries! He thought of roses
and old songs, and deep forests and sunny childhood spaces. He put
attention to sleep, diffused his mind and hovered in mere warmth,
odors, and hues of memory and imagination. He set faint silver
bells to ringing, then, amid slow alternating waves of red and purple,
a master violin to playing. Lulled, lulled in the firelight, his eyelids
drooped. He drew sleeper's breath.

" De water's comin' under de doahl De water's comin' under de doahl ' '

The violin played the strain for a moment, then it appeared that
a string broke. Edward sat up. "What's the matter ? — Ha, the
levee broke, did it?"

"Hit ain't de river, hit am de bayou! De bayou's comin' out, en'
ef you don' min', sah, we's obleeged ter move!"

Edward rose, stretching himself. "Move where ?"

"Ter Cape Jessamine, sah. Bayou can't git dat far, en' dey sho'
ain't gwine let de river come out ef dey kin help hit!"

The floor was ankle deep in yellow water. Suddenly the door blew
open. There entered streaming rain and a hiss of wind. The negro,
gathering into a bundle his meagre wardrobe and bedding, shook his
head and made haste. Edward took his rifle and ragged hat. The
water deepened and put the fire out. The two men emerged from the
cabin into a widening lake, seething and eddying between the dark
trees. Behind them the hut tilted a little upon its rude foundation.
The negro looked back. "Liked dat house, en' now hit's er-gwine,
too! Bayou never come out lak dat befo' dishyer war!"

Out of the knee-deep water at last, they struck into something
that to the feet felt like a road. On either hand towering cypresses

io CEASE FIRING

made the intense night intenser. It was intense, and yet out of the
bosom of the clouds, athwart the slant rain, came at times effects of
light. One saw and one did not see; there was a sense of dim revela
tions, cloudy purposes of earth, air, and water, given and then with
drawn before they could be read. But there was one thing heard
plainly, and that was the voice of the Mississippi River.

They were going toward it, Edward found. Once, in the transient
and mysterious lightening of the atmosphere, he thought that he saw
it gleaming before them. The impression was lost, but it returned.
He saw that they were at the base of a tongue of land, set with
gigantic trees, running out into the gleaming that was the river.
The two were now upon slightly rising ground, and they had the
sweep of the night before them.

"Fo' Gawd!" said the negro; "look at de torches on de levee!
River's mekkin' dem wuhk fer dey livin' to-night at Cape Jessa
mine!"

CHAPTER II

CAPE JESSAMINE

THE two came from beneath the dripping trees out upon the
cleared bank of the Mississippi, and into a glare of pine
torches. The rain had lessened, the fitful wind beat the
flames sideways, but failed to conquer them. There was, too, a tar
barrel burning. The light was strong and red enough, a pulsing heart
of light shading at its edges into smoky bronze and copper, then, a
little further, lost in the wild night. The river curved like a scimitar,
and the glare showed the turbulent edge of it and the swirling cross
current that was setting a tooth into the Cape Jessamine levee.

'Rasmus spoke. " Dis was always de danger place. Many er time
I've seen de Cun'l ride down heah, en' stand er-lookin'!"

There seemed as many as a hundred negroes. They swarmed
about the imperilled point; they went to it in two converging lines.
Each man was bent under a load of something. He swung it from his
shoulder, straightened himself, and hurried, right or left, back to
shadowy heaps from which he lifted another load. " Dey sho' gwine
need de sand bags dishyer night!" said 'Rasmus.

In the leaping and hovering light the negroes looked gigantic.
Coal black, bending, lifting, rushing forward, set about with night
and the snarl of the tiger, they had the seeming of genii from an
Eastern tale. Their voices came chantingly, or, after a silence, in a
sudden shout. Their shadows moved with them on the ground.
Edward glanced around for the directing white man. "Dar ain't
none," said 'Rasmus. "De haid oberseer when he heah dat New
Orleans been taken he up en' say dey need mo' soldiers than dey do
oberseers, en' he went ter Baton Rouge! En' de second oberseer dat
come up en' tek he place, en' is er good man, las' week he broke he
hip. En' dar wuz two-three others er-driftin' erroun, doin' what dey
wuz toF ter do, en' dey gone too. When hit wants ter, de river kin
pull 'em in en' drown 'em en' tek 'em erway, but dishyer war's

12 CEASE FIRING

de wust yet ! Yaas, sah, dishyer war 's er master han' at eatin' men !
No, sah, dar ain't no white man, but dar's a white woman — "

Then Edward looked and saw Desiree Gaillard. She was standing
high, beneath her heaped logs, behind her the night. She had
clasped around her throat a soldier's cloak. The wind raised it, blew
it outward, the crimson lining gleaming in the torchlight. All the
red light beat upon her, upon the blowing hair, upon the deep eyes
and parted lips, the outstretched arm and pointing hand, the dress of
some bronze and clinging stuff, the bent knee, the foot resting upon
a log end higher than its fellows. The out-flung and lifted cloak had
the seeming of the floating drapery in some great canvas, billowing
mantle of heroine, saint, or genius.

"Saintly," however, was certainly not the word, and Desiree
would not have called herself heroine or genius. She was simply
fearless and intent, and since, to keep the negroes in courage and
energy, it was needful to keep them in good spirits, she was, also, to
night, cheerful, humorous, abounding in praise. Her voice rang out,
deep and sweet. " Good man, Mingo ! Mingo 's carrying two to every
body else's one! Lawrence is doing well, though! So is Hannah's
Tom! —

'Levee! levee! lock your hands hard!
Levee, levee! keep the river from my home! — '

Par id, Francois! Christopher, Harper, Sambo, Haiti, Mingo
Second, make a line! Big Corinth, throw them the sacks! Work
hard — work hard! You shall have rest to-morrow, and at night a
feast! Look at Mingo, how he works! He is n't going to let the river
cover Cape Jessamine! When the Colonel comes home he is going
to say, ' Good boy, Mingo ! ' To-morrow night all the banjos play
ing, and good things to eat, and the house-servants down at the
quarters, and a dance like Christmas! — Mingo, Mingo, put ten
sacks just there — '

When she saw the soldier beside her her eyes opened wide in a
moment's query, after which she accepted him as an item of the
storm and the night. All the land was in storm, and the stream of
events rapid. From every quarter and from distant forests the wind
blew the leaves. Sometimes one knew the tree from which they
came, sometimes not. On presumption, though, if the leaf were
grey, the tree was a proper tree, humble, perhaps, in its region and

CAPE JESSAMINE 13

clime, but sound at heart and of a right grain. When Private Edward
Cary, gaunt, ragged, muddy, unshaven, asked what he could do, she
considered him gravely, then gave him Mingo Second and thirty
men, with whom he set to strengthening a place of danger not so
imminent. From where he worked he heard at intervals her clear
voice, now insouciant, now thrilling. There came a moment of
leisure. He turned and saw her where she stood, her knee bent, her
hand and arm outstretched against the river, the horseman's cloak
blown backward and upward into a canopy, the red light over all,
strong and clear upon her face and throat and bronze-sheathed body
— saw her and loved her.

The December night, already well advanced, grew old. Always
the river attacked, always the land opposed. The yellow current
sucked and dragged, but the dyke held and the dyke grew stronger.
The rain ceased; far up in the sky, through a small, small rift peered
a star. The wind died into a whisper. By three o'clock there came a
feeling that the crisis had passed. 'Rasmus, working well with Ed
ward's detachment, gave it voice. "Cape Jessamine's done stood
heah sence de flood, en' I specs dat's two hundred yeahs! Yaas,
Lawd! En' when Gabriel blow he trump, Cape Jessamine gwine
up en' say, 'Heah I is, sah! '"

And at that moment there came running through the fields a
wild-eyed negro, panic in his outstretched hands. "De levee by de
backwoods — de levee by de backwoods — de levee what nobody
eber thinks ob, hit's so safe! De ribber done swing ergin hit — de
ribber done gouge er hole big ez de debbil! De yerth's er-tumblin'
in, en' de ribber 's comin' out -

Through the last half-hour of the night, up a broad avenue be
tween water oaks, Edward found himself hurrying with Desiree.
Before them raced the negroes, some upon the road, others streaming
through the bordering fields. Desiree ran like a huntress of Diana's.
Her soldier's cloak, blown by the wind, impeded her flight. She
unclasped it as she ran, and Edward took it from her.

"Will the house go?" he asked. "How great is the danger?"

She shook her head. "I don't think we are in danger of our lives.
I don't think the water can get to the house. It is not as though the
levee had broken where we were working. What would happen then
doesn't stand contemplating. This other is but an arm of the river

14 CEASE FIRING

- not deep nor strong. I think that the house quarters are safe and
the stables. But we must get the women and children and the old
men from the lower quarter. And the cattle in the fields — " She
ran faster.

In the pallor of the dawn the house of Cape Jessamine rose'before
them. Winged, with columns and verandahs, it loomed in the grey
light above leisurely climbing wide lawns and bosky garden. At the
house gates, — iron scroll and tracery between brick pillars, antique,
graceful, — they were met by the younger, less responsible of the
house servants.

"O my Lawd! O Lawd Jesus! O my Lawd, Missy! de ribber 's out!
O my Lawd, my sins! What we gwine ter do ?"

"We 're going to stand a siege," said Desiree. "Have they
brought Mr. Marcus in ?"

"No'm. Dey waitin' fer you ter tell dem — "

She pushed the cluster aside and ran on up the broad path, Ed
ward following. They mounted the steps, passed between the pillars,
entered, and sped through a wide panelled hall and came out upon
another verandah commanding a grassy space between house and
offices. At a little distance, upon the same level, straggling away
beneath pecan and pine and moss-draped oak, could be seen the
house quarter.

The negroes came crowding, men and women, big and little. "De
ribber, Missy! De ribber, Missy! I don' climb er tree en' see hit! I
see hit er-comin' en' er-eatin' up de cotton en' de cane ! O my Lawd,
hit er comin' lak er thief in de night-time ! O my Lawd, hit er comin''
laker ha'nt!"

Desiree stood on the verandah steps and issued her orders..
"Mingo, you take four men and go to the overseer's house. Tell
Mr. Marcus that I say he's not to trust to the water not coming
high in his house. Tell him I order him to come to the big house.
Take him up on his mattress and bring him. Hurry, now, hurry!
Mingo Second, Lawrence, Adolph, Creed, Lot, — six more of you!
Try what you can do for the cattle in the lower fields! Try hard! If
you bring them in, you shall have everything double to-night! —
Haiti, Sambo, Hannah's Tom, all of you men on this side, — yes,
you too, soldier, if you will! — we'll go now and bring the women
and children and old men from the lower quarter!"

CAPE JESSAMINE 15

They were brought in — brought the last part of the distance
through the knee-deep flood. When they got to the rising ground and
the house quarter the water was close behind them. Yellow now in
the strengthening light, beneath a tempestuous morning sky, it
washed and sucked and drew against the just-out-of -reach demesne.

When the crippled overseer had been laid in a wing of the house,
and the lower-quarter people had been disposed of in the house
quarter and the innumerable out-buildings, when the cattle Mingo
Second brought in had been stalled and penned, when with great
iron keys Desiree had opened smokehouse and storehouse and given
out rations, when fires had been kindled on cabin hearths, and old
Daddy Martin had taken his banjo, and the house servants had
regained equanimity and importance, and "Missy" had lavishly
praised everybody, even the piccaninnies who had n't cried — the
plantation, so suddenly curtailed, settled under a stormy yellow sun
rise into a not unpleasurable excitement and holiday feeling — much
like that of an important funeral.

Desiree stood at last alone but for Edward, and for two or three
house servants, hovering in the doorway. She had again about her
the scarlet-lined cloak; her throat, face, and head were drawn
superbly against the lighted east.

She pushed back her wind-blown hair and laughed. "It might
have been worse ! — which is my habitual philosophy ! We will have
fair weather now, and the water will go down."

"I am strange to this country," said Edward. "How can I find
the road to Vidalia?"

He stood illumined by the morning glow, his rifle beside him where
he had leaned it against the pillar. Now and again, through the past
hours, his voice had been in her ear. In the first hearing it, in the
moil and anxiety, she had at once the knowledge that this chance
soldier possessed breeding. In this time and region the "private"
before the "soldier" had the slightest of qualificatory value. Uni
versity and professional men, wealthy planters, sons of command
ing generals — all sorts and conditions were private soldiers. This
one was, it appeared from his voice, of her own condition. But
though she had noted his voice, by torchlight or by daybreak she
had scarce looked at him. Now she did so; each looked into the
other's eyes.

1 6 CEASE FIRING

"Vidalia? The road to Vidalia is covered. You must wait until
the water goes down."
/'How long will that be?"

"Three days, perhaps. . . . You gave me good help. Permit me
now to regard you as my guest."

"You are all goodness. If you will give yourself no concern — I

am Edward Gary, private in the th Virginia Infantry, lately

transferred South. An accident, yesterday evening, left me behind
my company on the road to Vidalia. I must follow as soon as it is at
all possible."

"It is not so yet. My father is with General Beauregard. My
brother is at Grenada with General Van Dorn. I am Desiree Gail-
lard. We Louisianians know what soldiers are the Virginia troops.
Cape Jessamine gives you welcome and says, 'Be at home for these
three days.'"

She turned and spoke. The old butler came forward. "Etienne,
this gentleman is our guest. Show him to the panelled room, and tell
Simon he is to wait upon him." She spoke again to Edward. "Break
fast will be sent to you there. And then you must sleep. — No,
there is nothing we can do. The danger to the main levee has passed
for this time, I am sure. — Yes, there is still food. We can only fold
our hands and wait. I am used to that if you are not. Refresh your
self and sleep. Supper is at seven, and I hope that you will take it
with me."

The panelled room, with a lightwood fire crackling upon the
hearth, with jalousied windows just brushed against from without
by a superb magnolia, with a cricket chirping, with a great soft white
bed — ah, the panelled room was a place in which to sleep! The
weary soldier from Virginia slept like the dead. The day passed, the
afternoon was drawing toward evening, before he began to dream.
First he dreamed of battle; of A. P. Hill in his red battle-shirt, and
of an order from "Old Jack" which nobody could read, but which
everybody knew must be immediately obeyed. In the midst of the
whole division trying to decipher it, it suddenly became perfectly
plain, and the Light Division marched to carry it out, — only he
himself was suddenly back home at Greenwood and Mammy was
singing to him

"The buzzards and the butterflies."

CAPE JESSAMINE 17

He turned upon his side and drifted to the University, and then
turned again and dreamed of a poem which it seemed he was writ
ing, — a great poem, — a string of sonnets, like Petrarch or Surrey
or Philip Sidney. The sonnets were all about Love. ... He woke
fully and his mind filled at once with the red torchlight, the wild
river beyond the levee, and the face and form of Desiree Gaillard.

The door gently opened and Simon entered the panelled room,
behind him two boys bearing great pitchers of heated water. The
lightwood fire was burning brightly; through the jalousies stole the
slant rays of the sinking sun; the magnolia, pushed by the evening
wind, tapped against the window frame. Simon had across his
extended arm divers articles of wearing apparel. These he laid with
solemnity upon a couch by the fire, and then, having dismissed the
boys and observed that Edward was awake, he bowed and hoped
that the guest had slept well.

" Heavenly well," said Edward dreamily. "Hot water, soap, and
towels."

"I hab tek de liberty, sah," said Simon, "ob extractin' yo' uniform
from de room while you slep'. De mud whar we could clean off, we
hab cleaned off, en' we hab pressed de uniform, but de sempstress
she say 'scuse her fer not mendin' de tohn places better. She say
dat uniform sut'n'y seen hard service."

"She's a woman of discernment," said Edward. "The tatters are
not what troubles me. No end of knights and poets have appeared
in tatters. But I do feel a touch when it comes to the shoes. There 's
nothing of the grand manner in your toes being out. And had it
ever occurred to you, Simon, before this war, how valuable is a
shoestring?" He sat up in bed. "At this moment I would give all
the silken waistcoats I used to have for two real shoestrings. —
What, may I ask, could you do for the shoes ?"

"King Hiram de cobbler, sah, he hab de shoes in han'. He shake
he haid, but he say he gwine do all he kin. De sempstress, too, she
say she gwine do her natchul bes'. But Miss Desiree, she say dat
perhaps you will give Marse Louis, what am at Grenada wif Gineral
Van Dorn, de pleasure ob sarvin' you? She say de Mississippi River
all 'roun' Cape Jessamine fer three days, en' nobody gwine come
heah less'n dey come in gunboats, en' you kin wear yo' uniform
away de third day — " Simon, stepping backward, indicated with a

1 8 CEASE FIRING

gesture the apparel spread upon the sofa. "You en' Marse Louis,
sah, am erbout ob er height en' make. Miss Desiree toP me so, en'
den I see fer myself. Marse Louis's evening clothes, sah, en' some
ob his linen, en' a ruffled shu't, en' er pair ob his pumps dat ar
mighty ol', but yet better than yo' shoes. — Dat am de bell-cord ober
dar, sah, en' ef yo' please, ring when you ready fer me ter shave
you."

Downstairs the last roses of the west tossed a glow into the Cape
Jessamine drawing-room. It suffused the high, bare, distinguished
place, lay in carmine pools upon the floor, glorified the bowls of
late flowers and made splendid the silken, heavy, old-gold skirt of
Desiree Gaillard. There was a low fire burning on the hearth. She
sat beside it, in an old gilt French chair, her hands resting upon the
arms. Folding doors between room and hall were opened. Desiree
could see the spacious, finely built stairs from the gallery landing
down; thus she had fair benefit of Edward Gary's entrance. The
candles had been lighted before he came. Those in the hall sconces
gave a beautiful, mellow light. Desiree had made no effort to explain
to herself why all the candles were lighted, and why she was wearing
that one of her year-before-last Mardigras dresses which she liked
the best. She rarely troubled to explain her actions, to herself or to
another. All her movements were characterized by a certain im
perial sureness, harmony. If she merely wished — the Southern
armies being held in passionate regard by all Southern women —
to do a ragged Virginia private honour; if she wished, delicately,
fleetingly, half-ironically to play-act a little in the mist of flood and
war; if she wished, or out of caprice or in dead earnest, to make a
fairy oasis — why, she wished it! Whatever had been her motive,
she possibly felt, in the moment of Edward Gary's appearance on
the stair, that gown and lights were justified.

He was a man eminently good to look at. Louis Gaillard, it ap
peared, knew how to dress; at any rate, the apparel that Edward
wore to-night became him so well that it was at once forgotten. He
was clean-shaven, and Simon had much shortened the sunburnt hair.

Down the stair and across hall and drawing-room he came to her
side. "Did you ever get through the thorny wood and the briar
hedge in the fairy story? That's what, without any doubt, I have
done!"

CAPE JESSAMINE 19

Desiree smiled, and the room seemed to fill with soft rose and
golden lights. "/ don't call it a thorny wood and a briar hedge. I
always see a moat with a draw-bridge that you have to catch just at
the right moment, or not at all — "

At table they talked of this or that — which is to say that they
talked of War. War had gripped their land so closely and so long;
War had harried their every field; War had marked their every
door — all their world, when it talked of this and that, talked only
of some expression on some one of War's many faces. It might be
wildly gay, the talk, or simple and sad, or brief and grave, with
tragic brows, or bitterer than myrrh, or curiously humorous, or
sardonic, or angry, or ironic, or infinitely touching, or with flashing
eyes, or with a hand that wiped the drop away; but always the
usual, customary talk into which folk fell was merely War. So
Desiree and Edward talked War while they ate the delicate, frugal
supper.

But when it was eaten, and he followed her back into the drawing-
room, they sat on either side the hearth, the leaping red and topaz
flame between them lighting each face, and little by little forgot to
talk of this and that.

It appeared that save for the servants she had had few to talk
to for a long, long while. There was a relief, a childlike outpouring
of thought and fancy caged for months. It was like the awakened
princess, eager with her dreams of a hundred years. They were
dreams of a distinction, now noble, now quaint, and always some
what strange. He learned a little of her outward life — of her ances
try, half French, half English; of her mother's death long ago; of her
father, studious, courteous, silent, leaving her to go her own way,
telling her that he, not she, was the rapier in action, the reincarnated,
old adventurousness of his line. He learned that she idolized her
brother; that, save for a year once in France and six weeks each
winter in New Orleans, she rarely left Cape Jessamine. He gathered
that here she reigned more absolute than her father, that she loved
her life, the servants, and the great plantation. It was as large almost
as a principality, yet even principalities had neighbours up and
down the river! He gathered that there had been visiting enough,
comings and goings, before the war. Other principalities had prob
ably come a- wooing — he hoped with passion to no purpose! He

20 CEASE FIRING

also was of the old, Southern life; he knew it all, and how her days
had gone; she was only further South than his sisters in Virginia.
He knew, too, how the last eighteen months had gone; he knew how
they went with the women at home.

They sat by the jewelled fire and talked and talked — of all things
but this and that. War, like a spent thunder-cloud, drifted from
their minds. They did not continuously talk; there were silences
when they looked into the exquisite flame, or, with quiet, wide eyes,
each at the other. They were young, but their inner type was
ancient of days; they sat quiet, subtle, poised, not unlike a Leonardo
canvas. Before ten o'clock she rose and said good night and they
parted. In the panelled room Gary opened the window and stood
gazing out. There was a great round moon whitening a garden, and
tall, strange trees. He saw an opaline land of the heart, an immemo
rial, passion-pale Paradise, and around it all the watery barrier of
the flood . . . Desiree, in her own room, walked up and down, up
and down, then knelt before her fire and smiled to find that she
was crying.

The next morning, although he was up early, he did not see her
until eleven o'clock. Then he came upon her as she quitted the wing
in which had been laid the crippled overseer. All around was an
old, formal garden, the day grey pearl, a few coloured leaves falling.
The two sat upon the step of a summer-house, and at first they
talked of the recession of the water and the plantation round which
had kept her through the morning. Then, answering her smiling
questions, he told her of his home and family, lightly and readily,
meaning that she should know how to place him. After this the note
of last evening came back, and with its thrilling sound the two fell
silent, sitting in the Southern sunshine, gazing past the garden upon
the lessening crescent of the flood.

Late in the afternoon, as he sat in a dream before an excellent old
collection of books, the door opened and she appeared on the thresh
old, about her the cloak of the other night. He rose, laying down
an unopened book.

"I am going," she said, "to walk down the avenue to look at the
levee."

They walked beneath the slant rays, through the deepening
shade. Before them was the great river; turn the head and they saw,

CAPE JESSAMINE 21

beyond the rising ground and the house gleaming from the trees, the
encroaching backwater, the two horns of that sickle all but touching
the main levee. When they came upon this, out of the long avenue,
the cypresses behind them were black against the lit west, unearthly
still and dark against the gold. The river, too, was gold, a red gold,
deep and very wide and swift.

They stood upon the levee, and even his unaccustomed eye saw
that the danger and strain of the other night was much lessened,
but that always there was danger. — "The price of safety hereabouts
is vigilance."

"Yes. To keep up the levees. Now and then, before the War, we
heard of catastrophes — though they were mostly down the river.
Then, up and down, everything would be strengthened. But now —
neglect because we cannot help it, and tremor in the night-time!
Below Baton Rouge the Yankees have broken the levees. Oh, the
distress, the loss! If Port Hudson falls and they come up the river,
or Vicksburg and they come down it, Cape Jessamine will be as
others." She drew her cloak close for a moment, then loosened it,
held her head high and laughed. "But we shall win, and it will not
happen! ... If we walk to the bend yonder, we shall see far, far! —
and it is lovely."

At the bend was a bench beneath a live-oak. The two sat down
and looked forth upon vast levels and shining loops of the river.
From the boughs above hung Spanish moss, long and dark, like cob
webs of all time, like mouldered banners of some contest long since
fought out. The air was an amethyst profound.

For some minutes she kept the talk upon this and that, then
with resolution he made it die away. They sat in a silence that soon
grew speech indeed. Before them the golden river grew pale, the
vast plain, here overflowed, there seamed with huge, shaggy forests,
gathered shadow; above day at its latest breath shone out a silver
planet.

Desiree shivered. "It is mournful, it is mournful," she said, "at
Cape Jessamine."

"Is it so ? Then let me breathe mournfulness until I die."

"The water is going down. Mingo says it is going down fast."

"Yes. I could find it in my heart to wish it might never go
down."

22 CEASE FIRING

"It will. I am not old, but I see how what — what has been pleas
ant, dwindles, lessens — The road to Vidalia lies over there."

" Yes. In the shadow, while the light stays here."

Silence fell again, save for a bird's deep cry in some canebrake.
Presently she rose and set her face toward the house. They hardly
spoke, all the way back, beneath the cypresses.

In a little while came night and candlelight. He found her in the
dress of the evening before, by the jewelled flame, ruby and amber.
They went into the next room, where there were tall candles upon the
table, and ate of the delicate, frugal fare. There was some murmured
dreamy talk. They soon rose and returned to the drawing-room.
There was a chess-table, and she proposed a game, but they played
languidly, moving the pieces slowly. Once their hands touched.
She drew back; he lifted his eyes, then lowered them. It is probable
that they did not know which won.

Again at ten, she said good night. Standing within the door he
watched her slowly mount the stair — a form all wrapped in gold, a
haunting face. At the turn of the stair there came a pause. She half
turned, some parting courtesy upon her lips. It died there, for his
upward look caught hers. Her face changed to meet the change in his,
her body bent as his strained toward her; so they stayed while the
clock ticked a quarter-minute. She was the first to recover herself.
She uttered a low sound, half cry, half singing note, straightened
herself and fled.

The next morning again solitude and the drift of leaves in the
garden walks. He did not see her until the middle of the day, and
then she was somewhat stately in her courtesy, dreamy and brief
of speech.

"Would he excuse her at dinner ? There was a woman ill at the
quarter — "

"I asked you to let me give you no trouble. Only the day is flying
and to-morrow morning I must be gone."

"The water is not down yet!"

" Yes, it is, or all but so. I have been to see. I must go, you know
that — go at dawn."

"I will be in the garden at four."

But in the garden, she said it was sad with the cold, dank paths
and the fading roses. They came up upon the portico and passed

CAPE JESSAMINE 23

through a long window into the drawing-room. She moved to the
hearth and sat in her great, gilt chair, staring into a deep bed of
coals above which, many-hued, played the flames. There was in the
room a closed piano. "No; she did not use it. Her mother had."
He opened it, sat down and sang to her. He sang old love-songs, old
and passionate, and he sang as though the piano were a lute and he a
minstrel knight, sang like Rudel to the Lady of Tripoli.

When he made an end and rose, she was no longer by the fire.
She had moved to the end of the room, opened the long window, and
was out in the sunset light. He found her leaning against a pillar,
her eyes upon the narrow, ragged, and gleaming ribbon into which
had shrunk the flood at Cape Jessamine.

For a moment there was silence, then he spoke. "Nice customs
curtsy to great kings," he said, "and great love knows no wrong
times and mistaken hours. Absence and the chance of war are on
their way. I dare hold my tongue no longer. Moreover, you, too, —
I believe that you, too, know what this is that has come upon us!
The two halves of the whole real world must in some fashion know
each other — I love you, Desiree Gaillard — loved you when I saw
you first, there on the river bank —

He put out his hands. Hers came to them, unhesitatingly. She
uttered the same sound, half cry, half singing note, with which she
had turned upon the stair the night before. In a moment they had
embraced.

CHAPTER III

VICKSBURG

SEVERAL days later, having crossed at Vidalia and passed
through Natchez, he came to Vicksburg. "The th Vir
ginia?"

" Camped, I think, in a vacant lot near the Court-House. Fine
regiment!"

"Yes, fine regiment. Why is the town so dressed up? I have
not heard so many bands since General Lee reviewed us on the
Opequon."

"Similar occasion! The President and General Johnston are here.
They came from Jackson yesterday. This morning they inspect the
defences, and this afternoon there will be a review."

" Give me all the news. I have been in another world."

"Grant and Sherman are preparing to swoop. The first is at
Oxford with fifty thousand men, the second has left Memphis. He
has thirty-five thousand, and the Gunboat Squadron. We're in
for it I reckon! But the town's taking it like a birthday party. —
When I was a boy my father and mother always gave me a birthday
party, and always every boy in town but me was there! Can't skip
this one, however! — They say Forrest is doing mighty good work
east of Memphis, and there came a rumour just now that Van Dorn
had something in hand. — You're welcome!"

The fair-sized town, built up from the riverside and over a shady,
blossomy plateau, lay in pale sunshine. The devious river, yellow,
turbid, looping through the land, washed the base of bluff and hill.
Gone was the old clanging, riverside life, the coming and going of
the packets, laughter and shouting of levee and wharf, big ware
houses looking benignantly on, manoeuvres of wagons and mules
and darkies; gone were the cotton bales and cotton bales and cotton
bales rolling down the steep ways into the boats; gone the singing
and singing and casual sound of the banjo ! There was riverside life
now, but it partook of the nature of War, not of Peace. It was the

VICKSBURG 25

life of river batteries, and of the few, few craft of war swinging at
anchor in the yellow flood. Edward Gary, climbing from the water
side, saw to right and left the little city's girdle of field-works, the
long rifle-pits, the redoubts and redans and lunettes. All the hill
sides were trenched, and he saw camp-fires. He knew that not more
than five thousand men were here, the remainder of the Army of the
West being entrenched at Grenada, behind the Yallabusha. Above
him, from the highest ground of all, sprang the white cupola of
the Court-House. Around were fair, comfortable houses, large, old,
tree-embowered residences. The place was one of refinement of
living, of boundless hospitality. Two years ago it had been wealthy,
a centre of commerce.

Edward came into a wider street. Here were people, and, in the
distance, a band played "Hail to the Chief." Every house that
could procure or manufacture a flag had hung one out, and there were
garlands of cedar and the most graceful bamboo vine. In the cool,
high, December sunlight everything and everybody wore a holiday
air, an air of high and confident spirits. Especially did enthusiasm
dwell in woman's eye and upon her lip. There were women and child
ren enough at doors and gateways and on the irregular warm brick
pavement. There were old men, too, and negro servants, and a good
sprinkling of convalescent soldiers, on crutches or with arms in
slings, or merely white and thin from fever. But young men or men
in their prime lacked, save when some company swung by, tattered
and torn, bronzed and bright-eyed. Then the children and the old
men cheered and the negroes laughed and clapped, and the women
waved their handkerchiefs, threw their kisses, cried, "God bless
you!" East and west and north and south, distant and near, from
the works preparing for inspection, called the bugles.

Edward, moving without haste up the street, came upon a throng
of children stationed before what was evidently a schoolroom. A
boy had a small flag — the three broad stripes, the wreath of stars.
He held it solemnly, with a thin, exalted face and shining eyes.
The girl beside him had a bouquet of autumn flowers. Upon the
doorstep stood the teacher, a young woman in black.

The group pressed together a little so that the soldier looking for
his regiment might pass. As with a smile he made his way, his hand
now on this small shoulder, now on that, the teacher spoke.

a6 CEASE FIRING

"It's a great day, soldier! They must all remember it, must n't
they ? "

"Yes, yes! "said Edward. He paused beside her, gazing about
him. "I am of the Virginia troops. We passed through Vicksburg
a fortnight ago, but it was at night. — Well ! the place wears its
garland bravely, but I hope the siege will not come."

"If it does," said the young woman, "we shall stand it. We stood
the bombardment last summer."

The boy nearest her put in a voice. "Ho! that was n't anything!
That was just fun ! There was n't more 'n a dozen killed and one
lady."

"An' the house next ours burned up!" piped a little girl. "An' a
shell made a hole in the street before my grandma's door as big as —
big as — big as — big as the moon! "

All the children began to talk. "It was awful — "

"Ho! it was n't awful. I liked it."

"We got up in the middle of the night an' it was as light as day!
An' the ground shook so it made your ears ring, an' everybody had
to shout so's they 'd be heard — "

"An' it was n't just one night! It was a whole lot of nights an'
days. Old Porter an' old Farragut — "

"An' Miss Lily used to give us holiday — "

"Huh! She would n't give it less'n the noise got so loud she had to
scream to make us hear! When we could honest-Injun say, 'Miss
Lily, we can't hear you! ' then she'd give it — "

"We had a whole lot of holiday. An' then old Porter an' old
Farragut went away — "

The boy who held the banner had not spoken. Now he waved it
once, looking with his brilliant eyes up and out, beyond the river.
"The damn- Yankees went away, and if the damn- Yankees come
any more, they can go away over again — "

"Gordon! don't use injurious epithets!" said Miss Lily, very
gently.

Edward laughed and said good day. Farther on, keeping step for
a moment with a venerable old gentleman, he asked, "What, sir,
are all those small excavations in the hillsides, there, beyond the
houses — "

"They are refuges, sir, for the women and children and sick and

VICKSBURG 27

helpless. We made them when Farragut came up the river and
Porter came down it and poured shot and shell in upon us every few
days for a month or two ! If signs may be trusted, it is apparent, sir,
that we shall find use for them again."

"I am afraid it is. I am not sure that it is correct to try to hold
the place."

The old gentleman struck his cane against the ground. "I am no
strategist, sir, and I do not know a great deal about abstract cor
rectness! But I am not a giver-up, and I would eat mule and live in
a rat-hole for the balance of my existence before I would give up
Vicksburg! Yes, sir! If I were a two-year-old, and expected to live
as long as Methuselah, those would be my sentiments! Damn the
outrageousness of their presence on the Mississippi River, sir ! Our
women are heroic, sir. They, too, will eat mule and live in rat-holes
for as long a time as may be necessary! — No, sir; the President
may be trusted to see that the town must be held!"

"Will General Johnston see it so ?"

The old gentleman wiped his forehead with a snowy handkerchief.
"Why should n't he see it so? He's a good general. General Pem-
berton sees it so. Why should n't General Johnston see it so ?"

Edward smiled. " Evidently you see it so, sir. — Yes; I know
that except for Port Hudson, it 's the only defensible place between
Memphis and New Orleans! We won't cross swords. Only our
forces are n't exactly as large as were Xerxes'!"

"Xerxes! Xerxes, sir, was an effete Oriental! — I gather from
your accent, sir, that you are from Virginia. I don't know how it
may be with Virginia, — though we have heard good reports, — but
our people, sir, — our people are determined!"

"Oh," said the other, with a happy laugh. "I like your people

mighty well, sir! Do you happen to know where the th Virginia

is camped?"

The old gentleman waved his hand toward another and still
broader street. Gary, passing into it, found more banners, more
garlands, more people, and in addition carriages and civic digni
taries. In front of him, before a dignified, pillared residence, was an
open place with soldiers drawn up. He gathered that this was the
vacant lot for which he was searching, but nearer approach failed
to reveal the th Virginia. A lieutenant stood beneath a tree,

28 CEASE FIRING

pondering his forming company. Edward saluted, begged for in
formation.

" th Virginia? Ordered off at dawn to Grenada. Something's

up over that way. Grant making a flourish from Oxford, I reckon.
Or maybe it's Van Dorn. Do you belong to the th Virginia? "

The major came up. "Are you looking for the th Virginia?

Yes? Then may I ask if you are Edward Gary? Yes? Then I pro
mised Captain Carrington to look out for you. He was worried —
he said that you must have been hurt worse than he thought — "

"I was not badly hurt, but a levee broke and flooded that region,
and I could not get by."

"I am glad to see you. It's not only Carrington — I Ve heard
a deal about you from a brother of mine, in your class at the
University, Oliver Hebert."

" Oh, are you Robert?"

"Yes. Oliver's in Tennessee with Cleburne. I hope you'll dine
with me to-day? Good ! Now to your affair. The regiment 's going
on to-morrow to Grenada with the President and General Johnston.
You 'd best march with us. We 're waiting now for the President —
detachment 's to act as escort. He '11 be out presently. He slept
here last night."

The company, whose first line had opened to include Edward,
moved nearer the pillared house. Orderlies held horses before the
door, aides came and went. Down the street sounded music and
cheering. An officer rode before the waiting escort.

"Attention!"

"That's Old Joe they're cheering," said the private next Edward.
"Glad Seven Pines could n't kill him! They say he's got a record
for wounds — Seminole War — Mexican War — little scrimmage
we're engaged in now! — always in front, however. I was at Seven
Pines. Were you ?"

"Yes."

"Awful fight! — only we've had so many awful fights since —
There he is ! — General Johnston I General Johnston 1 General
Johnston!"

Johnston appeared, spare, of medium height, with grizzled hair,
mustache and imperial, riding a beautiful chestnut mare. But re
cently recovered from the desperate wound of Seven Pines, recently

VICKSBURG 29

appointed to the command of the Department of the West, the
bronze of the field had hardly yet ousted the pallor of illness. He
rode very firmly, sitting straight and soldierly, a slight, indomitable
figure, instinct with intellectual strength. He lifted his hat to the
cheering lines and smiled — a very sweet, affectionate smile. It
gave winsomeness to his quiet face. He was mingled Scotch and
English, — somewhat stubborn, very able.

Beside him rode General Pemberton, commanding the forces at
Vicksburg and Grenada. The two were speaking; Edward caught
Johnston's quick, virile voice. "I believed that, apart from any
right of secession, the revolution begun was justified by the maxims
so often repeated by Americans, that free government is founded on
the consent of the governed, and that every community strong enough
to establish and maintain its independence has a right to assert it.
My father fought Great Britain in defence of that principle. Patrick
Henry was my mother's uncle. Having been educated in such opin
ions, I naturally returned to the State of which I was a native, joined
my kith and kin, the people among whom I was born, and fought -
and fight — in their defence."

He reached the broad steps and dismounted. As he did so, the
door of the house opened and the President, a number of men behind
him, came out upon the portico. Tall and lean as an Indian, clear-
cut,' distinguished, theorist and idealist, patriot undoubtedly, able
undoubtedly, Jefferson Davis breathed the morning air. Mississippi
was his State; Beauvoir, his home, was down the country. He looked
like an eagle from his eyrie.

Johnston having mounted the steps, the two met. "Ah, General,
I wish that / were in the field with this good town to defend!"

" Your Excellency slept well, I trust — after the people would let

you sleep?"

"I slept. General Pemberton, good morning -- What are your

arrangements?"

"In a very few moments, if your Excellency pleases, we will start.
The line of works is extensive."

"Haynes Bluff to Warrenton," said Johnston. "About fifteen

"It is not expected," said Pemberton, "that his Excellency shall
visit the more distant works."

30 CEASE FIRING

Mr. Davis, about to descend the steps, drew a little back. Be
tween his brows were two fine, parallel lines. " You think, General
Johnston, that the lines are too extensive ?"

" Under the circumstances — yes, your Excellency."
"Then what is in your mind ? Pray, speak out !"
"I think, sir, that one strong work should be constructed above
the town, at the bend in the river. It should be made very strong.
I would provision it to the best of our ability, and I would put there
a garrison, say of three thousand. The remainder of General Pem-
berton's forces I would keep in the field, adding to them — "
"Yes? Pray, be frank, sir."

"It is my custom, your Excellency. I hesitated because I have
already so strongly made this representation that I cannot conceive
. . . Adding to them the Army of the Trans-Mississippi."
"I cannot consent to rob Peter, sir, to pay Paul."
"I conceive, sir, that it is neither Peter nor Paul that is in ques
tion, but the success of our arms. The enemy's forces are uniting
to invade. Equally ours should unite to repel. General Holmes and
his army are doing little in Arkansas. Here they might do much. —
If we had the strong works and garrison I speak of — "

"You would abandon all the batteries up and down the river?"
"A giant properly posted will guard the Mississippi better than
will your long line of dwarfs."

"Pray, sir, do not say my line of batteries. They are not mine."
"I will say, then, your Excellency, General Pemberton's."
"You, sir, and not General Pemberton, are in command of the
Department of the West."

"So, when it is convenient, it is said. I have, then, sir, authority
to concentrate batteries and a certain proportion of troops at the
bend of the river?"

"We will take, sir, your ideas under consideration."
The President moved to the steps, the others following. The line
was still between Mr. Davis's brows. All mounted, wheeled their
horses, moved into the street. The aides came after, the escort closed
in behind. With jingle and tramp and music, to salutes and cheer
ing, the party bent on inspection of the Vicksburg defences moved
toward its object.
The words upon the portico had not of course floated to the ears

VICKSBURG 31

of the soldiers below. But the Confederate soldier was as far re
moved from an automaton as it is conceivable for a soldier to be.
Indeed, his initiative in gathering knowledge of all things and
moods governing the Board of War was at times as inconvenient as
it was marked. His intuition worked by grapevine.

"What," asked the soldier nearest Edward, "made the quarrel ?"

"Old occasions, I believe. Now each is as poison to the
other."

The inspection of water batteries and field-works was over, the
review of the afternoon over. Amid cheering crowds the President
left Vicksburg for Grenada, with him General Johnston and General
Pemberton. The regiment which had given Edward Gary hospitality
made a night march.

In the cold December dawn they came to a stream where, on the
opposite bank, a cavalry detail could be made out watering its
horses. There was a bridge. Infantry crossed and fraternized.

"What's the news ? We had a big day in Vicksburg yesterday!
The President and Old Joe — "

"Have you heard about the raid ?"

"What raid?"

"Boys, they have n't heard! — Oh, I see our captain over there
telling it to your colonel."

"That 'sail right! We '11 get it from the colonel. But you fellows
might as well tell — seeing that you're dying to do it! What
raid?"

" Van Dorn's raid — our raid ! Raid on Holly Springs ! Raid round
Grant! Yaaaih! Yaaiih! Yaaaaihl"

A tall and strong trooper, with a high forehead, deep eyes, and a
flowing black beard, began to speak in a voice so deep and sonorous
that it boomed like a bell across the water. "Van Dorn 's a jewel.
Van Dorn loves danger as he might love a woman with a temper.
When she's smiling she's so white-angry, then he loves her best.
Van Dorn rides a black thoroughbred and rides her hard. Van
Dorn, with his long yellow hair — "

"Listen to Llewellen chanting like the final bard! — Well, he is
handsome, — Van Dorn!"

"He ain't tall, but he 's pretty. Go on, Llewellen!"

"Van Dorn riding like an Indian — "

32 CEASE FIRING

"He did fine in the Comanche War. Did you ever hear about the
arrow?"

"Van Dorn and two thousand of us — two thousand horse!"

" Dead night and all of them fast asleep ! "

"Holly Springs — Grant's depot of supplies — three months'
stores for sixty thousand men — "

"Burnt all his supplies — cut his lines of communication — cap
tured the garrison ! — Hurrah!"

"Ulysses S. Grant's campaign's deranged — "

"Reckon Vicksburg's safe for this time! Reckon he'll have to
trot Sherman back to Memphis — "

"Reckon he'll have to clear out of Mississippi himself!"

"Light as hell in the dead night and all of them scampering!
Hurrah! Van Dorn and two thousand horse — "

" ' Now, men,' says Van Dorn /I want Glory with a capital letter,
and I reckon we 're most of us built the same way! Well, Glory
Hallelujah is growing round Grant's army like tiger lilies round a
beehive — ' "

"Van Dorn and two thousand horse — took 'em like a thunder
clap ! Burned three months' supplies for sixty thousand men — cut
their lines —

"Toled danger away from Vicksburg — "

" Van Dorn and— "

Fall in! Fall in I

That evening the infantry regiment bivouacked within sight of
Grenada. The next morning, early, it swung out toward the Yalla-
busha. Passing a line of ragged sentries it presently came to a region
of ragged, huge fields with cotton all ungathered, ragged, luxuriant
forest growth, ragged, gully-seamed, low hills. From behind one of
these floated the strains of "Dixie" played by ragged Confederate
bands. The regiment climbed a few yards and from a copse of yellow
pine looked down and out upon a ragged plain, an almost tentless
encampment, and upon a grand review of the Army of the West.

Halt! In placet Rest!

The regiment, leaning on its muskets, watched through a veil of
saplings. Officers and men were vividly interested and comment
was free, though carried on in low tones. Not far below waved the
colours marking the reviewing-stand. The music of the massed

VICKSBURG 33

bands came from the right, while in front a cluster of well-mounted
men was moving down the great field from division to division. A
little in advance rode two figures. "The President and General
Johnston," said the colonel and the major and the captains. "Old
Joe and the President," remarked the men.

The day was bright and still and just pleasantly cold. A few white
clouds sailed slowly from west to east, the sky between of the clearest
azure. A deep line of trees, here bare or partly bare, here evergreen,
marked the course of the Yallabusha. The horizon sank away in
purple mist. The sun came down and glinted brightly on sixteen
thousand bayonets, and all the flags glowed and moved like living
things. The trumpets brayed, the drums beat; there stood out
the lieutenant-general, Pemberton, the major-generals, Loring and
Dabney Maury and Earl Van Dorn, the latter laurel-crowned from
as brilliant a raid as the War had seen. Back to the colours flutter
ing beneath a live-oak came the reviewing party. Brigade by brig
ade, infantry, cavalry, and artillery, the army passed in review.

Past the President of the Confederacy went an array of men that,
in certain respects, could only be matched in the whole earth by the
other armies of that Confederacy. They were of a piece with the
Army of Tennessee now operating near Chattanooga, and Jwith
the Army of Northern Virginia now watching Burnside across the
Rappahannock, and with other grey forces scattered over the vast
terrain of the War.

It emerged at once how spare they were and young and ragged.
There were men from well-nigh every Southern State; from Georgia,
Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Missouri, Texas, Kentucky, the
Carolinas; — but whether they came from lands of cotton and cane,
or lands of apple and wheat, they were alike lean and bronzed and
ragged and young. Men in their prime were there, and men past
their prime; there did not lack grey-beards. Despite this, the im
pression was overwhelmingly one of youth. Oh, the young, young
men, and lean as Indians in winter! Brigade by brigade, — infan
try, cavalry, artillery, — with smoke-stained, shot-riddled colours,
with bright, used muskets, with the guns, with the war-horses, with
the bands playing "Dixie," they went by Mr. Davis and General
Johnston beneath the live-oak.

Toward noon the regiment from Vicksburg found its chance to

34 CEASE FIRING

report, and a little later Edward Gary rejoined his command. The
command was glad to see him; not all his comrades understood him,
but they liked him exceedingly. That night, the first lieutenant,
with whom at the University, he had read George Sand and the
dramas of M. Victor Hugo, found him seated under a yellow pine
with a pine stump for table, and a pine torch for lamp, slowly cover
ing with strong, restrained handwriting, several sheets of bluish
Confederate paper.

The lieutenant threw himself down upon the pine needles. " Writ
ing home?"

"No. Not to-night."

Two letters lay addressed in their envelopes. The lieutenant,
weary and absent-minded, took them up, fingering them without
thinking. Edward drew the letter he was writing into the shadow,
guarded it with his arm, and, smiling, held out the other hand.

Colonel Henry Gaillard,

Louisiana Cavalry,

Mobile,

Alabama.

Captain Louis Gaillard,

Louisiana,

Barton's Brigade —

read the lieutenant. He dropped the letters. "I am sure I beg your
pardon, Gary! I did n't in the least think what I was doing!"

"There's no harm done, Morton." He repossessed himself of the
letters, struck the torch at another angle, and turned from the forest
table. "Morton, I'm going in for promotion."

The lieutenant laid down his pipe. "Well, if you go in for it, I'll
back you to get it, but I thought you said — "

"I did."

"What do you want it for? Vain-glory ? "

Edward locked his hands behind his head. "No; not for vain
glory — though it 's remarkable how brothers and fathers and kins
folk generally like the clang of 'Colonel' or 'Brigadier '! After the
Merrimac and Monitor I wouldn't take promotion, but I did

VICKSBURG 35

get a furlough. . . . Morton, I 'm going in for furloughs and a

lieutenant-colonelcy. Back me up, will you ?"

"Oh, we'll all do that!" quoth Morton. "You might have

entered as captain and been anything most by now — "
"I did n't care to bother. But now I think I will."
"All right!" said Morton. "I gather that presently there will be

chances thick as blackberries."

CHAPTER IV

CHICKASAW BAYOU

FOR ages and ages, water, ceaselessly streaming, ceaselessly
seeping, through and over the calcareous silt, had furrowed the
region until now there was a medley and labyrinth of narrow
ravines and knife-blade ridges. Where the low grounds opened out
it was apparently only that they might accommodate bayous, or
some extension of a bayou, called by courtesy a lake. Along these the
cane was thick, and backward from the cane rose trees and trees and
trees, all draped with Spanish moss. It had been a rainy winter, a
winter of broken banks and slow, flooding waters. Sloughs strayed
through the forest; there was black mire around cypress and magnolia
and oak. The growth in the ravines was dense, that upon the ridges
only less so. From Vicksburg, northward for several miles, great
clearings had recently been made. Here, from the Upper Batteries
above the town to Haynes Bluff on the Yazoo, stretched grey field-
works, connected by rifle-pits.

Chickasaw Bayou, sullen and swollen, curved away from the
scarped hills and the strip of forest. On the other side of Chickasaw,
and of that width of it known as McNutt's Lake, there was shaking
ground — level enough, but sodden, duskily overgrown, and diffi
cult. This stretched to the Yazoo.

Down the Mississippi from Memphis came Sherman with thirty
thousand blue infantry. They came in transports, in four flotillas,
and in front went Porter's Gunboat Squadron. Grant had planned
the campaign. With the forces which had been occupying south
western Tennessee, he himself was at Oxford. He would operate by
land, overwhelming or holding in check Pemberton's eighteen thou
sand at Grenada. In the mean time Sherman, descending the Mis
sissippi to the mouth of the Yazoo, some miles above Vicksburg and
its river batteries, should ascend that stream, flowing as it did not
far to the northward of the doomed town ; — ascend the Yazoo,
disembark the thirty thousand, and with a sudden push take Vicks-

CHICK AS AW BAYOU 37

burg in the rear. It was known that there were but five thousand
troops in the place.

The plan was a good plan, but Van Dorn disarranged it. Grant,
his base of supplies at Holly Springs captured and all his stores de
stroyed, was compelled to fall back toward Memphis. He sent an
order to Sherman, countermanding the river expedition, but Sher
man had started and was well down the vast yellow stream, the
gunboats going ahead.

On the twenty-third of December these entered the Yazoo, to be
followed, three days later, by four flotillas. There ensued several
days of Federal reconnoitring. The Yazoo, not so tortuous as the
great stream into which it flowed, was yet tortuous enough, and in
places out of banks, while the woods and swamps on either side were
confusing, wild, and dark. Necessary as it may have been, the pro
cedure militated against taking a city by surprise. The grey had
notice of the gunboats, and of the trail of flotillas.

Pemberton acted with promptness and judgment. Grant was not
so far away that the forces at Grenada could be utterly weakened,
but the brigades of Barton, Vaughn, and Gregg were detached at
once for Vicksburg. There, on the line from the sandbar north of the
town to Haynes Bluff, they joined the provisional division of Stephen
D. Lee. The position was strong. The grey held the ridges crowned
by field-works and rifle-pits. Before them spread the dark, marsh-
ridden bottom land, crept through, slow and deep, by Chickasaw
Bayou. They had greatly the advantage of position, but there were,
on the strip between the Yazoo and the Walnut Hills, four men in
blue to one in grey. At the last moment, in answer to a representa
tion from General Martin Luther Smith, commanding the defences
at Vicksburg, an additional regiment was despatched from Grenada.
It chanced to be the th Virginia Infantry.

The night was cold, very dark, and pouring rain. Vicksburg had
been reached at dusk. There seemed no soldiers here. " Everybody 's
out toward McNutt's Lake. Reckon you're wanted there, too!"

The th Virginia found at last the man to report to, upon the

heels of which event, without having tasted supper or experienced
warmth, it discovered itself on the road to Chickasaw Bayou. "On
the road" is merely a figure of speech. The regiment concluded
that some time in the Bronze Age there might have been a road,

3 8 CEASE FIRING

but that since then it had been washed away. This was the Mud
Age.

In the pitchy dark, the chill, arrowy rain, the men stumbled
along. Except for an occasional order, an occasional exclamation,
impatient groan, long-drawn sigh, there was silence. They had
some miles to go. To keep step was out of the question.

Edward Gary, closing his file, moved with a practised, light steadi
ness. His body was very supple, fine, with long clean lines. From
head to heel he was in order, like a Greek runner. Spare and worn
and tired like all the rest, he kept at all times a certain lift and poise
as though there were wings upon his cap.

He was not like Richard Cleave. He had little innate feeling for
War, intuitive understanding of all its phases. Being with all his
people plunged deep, deep within it, he played his part there bravely
enough. He served his native land, and her need and woe dwelt
with him as it dwelt with all his world, both men and women. Much
of him, perforce, was busy with the vast and mournful stage. But
he found himself not truly at home with the war-drums and the
wailing, with smell of blood and smoke, weight of shot-riddled ban
ners, trampled faces. He was born for beauty and her worship, for
spacious order and large harmony, and for months now there had
been war and agony and smell of blood and sight of pale, twisted
faces — for long months only that. And then somehow, accidentally
it seemed, he had rubbed the lamp. Only ten days ago — oh, light
and warmth and harmony! Oh, the strange and sweet in combina
tion ! Oh, serene spaces for the mind ! Oh, golden piping and beck
oning to emotions not stern! Oh, the deepest, oldest wine! Oh, by
the oddest, simplest chance, sudden as a wind from Heaven, intim
acy warm and fragrant with the Only-Dreamed-Of, the Never-
Found-Before! Oh, in a word, the love of Desiree Gaillard!

He was marching through the dark night, the mire, the cold, the
wet. Certain centres of consciousness, no doubt, knew them all, —
knew hunger, cold, weariness. But the overman, the Lover, moved
through rose-scented dusk, through intricate, sweet thoughts, in
some imaged Vale of Cashmere. Only not at all, not at all could he
banish anxiety as to the Beloved's well-being.

About him, in the night, was the tramp, tramp of other weary
feet, the dim sight and sound of other weary bodies, cold, wet, thinly

CHICKASAW BAYOU 39

clad. Most of these men in the darkness thought, perhaps, of beings
far away from these labyrinthine ridges and hollows. Many a soldier
warmed his heart by the fires of home, dreamed as he marched of
lover, wife, or child. But the thoughts were shot with pain and the
dreams were bitter sweet. No man in a Southern army could take
comfort in the thought that whatever of want and strain and boding
might obtain where he moved, ragged, through the darkness, all was
well at home — comfort there, warmth and food there, ease of heart
there! Many knew that at home there was immediate suffering;
others, that while the board was spread to-night, yet the dark sail of
privation grew larger and larger. All knew that there was little, little
ease of heart. Marching through the rainy night they carried with
them, heavier than musket and haversack, the ache of all at home, as,
upon this night, all at home felt cold and gaunt with the marching,
marching armies. Yet the South at home managed to keep a high
head and a ready smile, and the South in the field managed a jest,
a laugh, a song. At home and in the field vast need and stress lifted

the man, lifted the woman, lifted the child. Some one in the th

Virginia, moving out to Chickasaw Bayou, began to sing jerkily —

"Old Dan Tucker!
You too late to get your supper — "

The regiment climbed another of the innumerable mole-hills, all
stumps of recently felled trees, and between, tenacious and horrible
mud. The far side was worse than the near, and the bottom land,
when finally they slipped and slid and wavered down upon it, proved
mere quagmire. Here they found, deeply mired, two sections of
artillery, bound as they were bound and struggling with the night.
Gun wheels were sunken above the axle-tree; it seemed a mud burial,
a question of never getting out. One heard straining gun teams,
chattering negro drivers. There were torches, saffron blurs of light,
hissed against by the rain, moving up and down like dejected will-
o'-the-wisps.

Infantry came up. "Halfway to China, are n't you ? Want us to
lend a hand?"

"Thank you, boys! William, tell those mules to pull harder."
" What are you doing with mules ? Has it come to mule artillery? "
"Well, it's coming to so many things! — We're Army of Ten
nessee — Stevenson's division — come down to help hold the

40 CEASE FIRING

Mississippi River. Right big eel, is n't it ? Rushed through — two
sections, Anderson's battery — from Jackson. Horses yet on the
road. Impressed mules. — Lieutenant Norgrove, tell those darkies
there's a watermelon field in front of them and 'paterollers' behind!
— Pull there! pull!"

The howitzer came slowly up from halfway to China, the Napoleon
followed, infantry encouraging. "You've trained your mules
quick! That gun came from the Tredegar, did n't it ? Artillery 's a
mighty no-account arm, but you sort of somehow grow fond of it — "

"Are n't you all Virginia ?"

"Yes; th Virginia. Are n't you all — "

"Of course we are! Botetourt. Anderson's battery. — What's
the matter, Flecker?"

"Firing ahead, sir, and those negroes are getting ready to stamp
ede—"

There broke and increased a wild night-time sputter of minies.
Panic took the chance medley of negroes. They sprang from the
horses, paid no heed to appeal or threat, twisted themselves from
clutching hands, and vanished into darkness. Artillery, infantry
helping, got the guns on somehow. Amid a zip — zip — zip of
minies both arms came to a grey breastwork where Stephen D. Lee
was walking up and down behind a battery already placed.

The dull light and rattle of skirmishes in the night died away.
With it died, too, the rain. The dawn came spectrally, with a mist
over McNutt's Lake. One of Sherman's division commanders had
received orders to bridge this water during the night. Over the
mournful, water-logged land the pontoons were brought from the
Yazoo. Standing in the chill water, under the sweep of rain the blue
engineers and their men worked courageously away, but when dawn
came the pale light discovered the fact that they had not bridged the
lake at all, but merely a dim, Briareus arm of the bayou, wandering
off into the forest. They took up the pontoons, moved down the
shore to the widening of the water, and tried again. But now the
water was too wide. There were not boats enough, and while they
were making a raft, the wood across McNutt's filled with men, grey
as the dawn. Tawny-red broke the flames from the sharpshooters'
rifles. A well-placed Confederate battery began, too, to talk, and
the lake was not bridged.

CHICKASAW BAYOU 41

Barton's brigade had come down to occupy the wood. When the
bridge builders were driven away, it fell back to the high ground
crested with slight works, seamed with rifle-pits, where were Vaughn
and Gregg and Stephen D. Lee. Across the bayou the blue began to
mass. There was a strip of corduroy road, a meagre bridge spanning
the main bayou, then a narrow encumbered front, muck and mire
and cypress stumps, and all the felled trees thrown into a grey abatis.
The blue had as many divisions as the grey had brigades, but the
grey position was very strong. On came the dull, December day, —
raw, cold, with a lowering sky.

The blue, assaulting force, the blue reserves, the division com
manders, drew shoulders together, brows together, and looked
across and upward doubtfully enough at the bluffs they were ex
pected to take. Wade the bayou, break through the cane, cross that
narrow front of brush and morass, attack at the apex of a triangle
whose base and sides were held by an unknown number of desperate
Rebels defending Vicksburg, a place that had got the name for ob
stinacy! — the blue troops and their generals, however hard they
tried, could not at all visualize success. All the prospect, — the
opposite height and the small grey batteries, the turbid, winding
waters and the woods so strange to Northern eyes, — all was
hostile, lowering. Indiana, Ohio, Illinois, Iowa drew uneasy breath,
it was so sinister a place!

An officer came from Sherman to the senior division commander.
"General Sherman says, sir, that you will order the assault."

"It 's a bad place -

"Yes. He says we will lose five thousand men before we take
Vicksburg and that we might as well lose them here as anywhere."

"All right. We'll lose them all right. Tell him I'll give the
signal."

A grey rifle-pit, dug along the face of the hill, had received since
dawn the attention of blue sharpshooters stationed in a distant row
of moss-draped trees. The bottom of the long trench was all slippery
mud, the sides were mud, the out-thrown, heaped earth atop was
mud. Rest a rifle barrel upon it and the metal sank as into water.
The screen of scrub along the forward rim was drenched, broken,
insufficient. Through it the men in the pit looked out on a sodden
world. They saw a shoulder of the hill where, in the early light, the

4* CEASE FIRING

caisson of an isolated gun had been exploded by a Federal shell.
Horses and men lay beside it, mangled. Farther away yet, and
earlier yet, they had seen a reconnoitring party enter a finger of
land crooking toward the Federal lines, and beyond the cover of the
grey guns. The blue, too, had seen, and thrusting forward a regi
ment cut off the grey party. The bulk of the latter hewed its way
through, back to the shelter of the grey Parrotts, but there were
officers and men left wounded in the wood. — The day was gloomy,
gloomy! The smoke from Stephen Lee's guns and from the answer
ing Federal batteries hung clogged and indiffusible, dark and hard.

"Somebody's going to get hurt this day/' said the men in the
rifle-pits. "There ain't any joke about this place."

"Do you know I think they're going to charge us? Just as brave
as they are foolish!"

"I don't think much of Sherman's capacities as a general. Grant's
the better man."

"They're getting ready. — Well, I always did hate waste, what
ever colour it was dressed in!"

"My God! Even their bugles don't sound cheerful! —

Chickasaw — Chickasatw Bayou

The death of you — the death of you ! "

Edward Gary, loading his rifle, had the cartridge knocked from
between his fingers by the swaying against him of the man on the
right. He moved, and the corpse slid softly down upon the miry
bottom of the pit.

The man on the left began to talk, a slow, quiet discourse not
at all interfering with eye or hand. "Western troops, I reckon!
They've always the best sharpshooters. — Is he dead? I'm sorry.
I liked Abner. He had an application in for furlough. Wife ill after
the baby was born, and the doctor writing that there might be a
chance to save her mind if she could see Abner. Told me last night
he was sure he'd get the furlough. — Can you see for those damned
bushes ? There's a perfectly hellish fuss down there."

"The guns echo so. Here they come! And God knows I am sorry
for them — for Abner here and Abner there! Martin, I hate War."

"It ain't exactly Christian, and it's so damned avoidable. —
The baby died, and I reckon his wife — and she was a sweet, pretty
girl — '11 go to the Asylum at Williamsburg — "

CHICKASAW BAYOU 43

"Here they come! — Here they come! — Here they come! " . . .
Fire!

... At last the dreadful repulse was over. Shattered, disorgan
ized, in sullen and horrible confusion, Sherman's brigades, the four
that had charged, sank downward and back, a torn and beaten blue
wave, into the dark forest beyond the bayou, the bayou whence
they had come. In the water, in the mire and marsh and swamp,
beside the sloughs in the forest, through the wild tangle of the abatis,
over the narrow cleared ground, at the foot of the bluffs they had
tried to storm, lay thick the dead and wounded. They did not
number Sherman's "five thousand," but then neither was Vicksburg
taken. The blue had charged without order, all formation broken,
forced together in a narrow space, and they had rolled, a broken
flood, back upon the dark bayou. As the rain had fallen in fhe night
time, so now fell the grey shot and shell, and they were beaten down
like wheat beneath hail. The chill air was filled with whistling. The
pall of the smoke added itself to the pall of the clouds. It was like
fighting under a great and dingy tent with the stark cypress trees
for tent poles. By the closing-down of day the desperately defeated
had rolled back toward the Yazoo. Their dead and dying strewed
the tent floor.

If there was relief and exultation on the heights it found no stren
uous voice. The dreariness of the day and place, the streaming
wet and sighing wind somehow forbade. The grey loss was slight
enough — two hundred men, perhaps, in killed and wounded.
Some lay within or below the rude works, some upon the hillside and
the low ground where there had been a countercharge, some down
by the abatis, fallen before the pursuit was recalled. It had been idle
really to pursue. Sherman had thirty thousand, and the gunboats.
A detachment or two streamed down, over the fatal and difficult
ground, dislodging from a momentary shelter some fragment of the
blue wave, cutting off and taking prisoner. Occasional thunder came
from a battery, or a crack of rifles shook the clinging gloom. But
the atmosphere deadened the sound, and the rain came down again
fine and cold, and though the grey soldiers had reason for cheer and
tried their best, it was but a makeshift glee. They had known hot
joy in battle and would know it again, but it did not haunt the fight
of Chickasaw Bayou.

44 CEASE FIRING

There were yet the wounded that the reconnoitring party had left
behind in the twilight wood. Volunteers were called for to bring
them in. The wood crooked toward the enemy's lines, might at
any moment be overflowed by the blue. Edward was among those
who stood forward. The lieutenant of the other night beside the
Yallabusha raised his brows. "Don't volunteer too often," he said.
"There's no promotion in a trench with a hundred others! Fur
loughs can be too long."

In the dusk the platoon went zigzagging down into the wood by
the bayou. It went through the zone of Federal wounded. "Oh, you
people! take us up; take us out of this! OGod — O God — 0 God!
Water!" To the last cry neither grey nor blue in this war failed to
answer when they could. Despite all need for haste and caution
there were halts now, canteen or cup held to thirsty lips, here or
there a man helped nearer to muddy pool or stream. " Take us up —
take us out of this/"

The grey shook their heads. "Can't do that, Yanks. We would
if we could, but we're sent to get our own. Reckon your side '11 be
sending a flag of truce directly and gather you up. Oh, yes, they
will ! We would if we could. You charged like hell and fought first-
rate!"

"Silence, men! Get on!"

It was dusk enough in the wood which they finally reached. The
bayou went through it crookedly, and from the other side of the
water came the hum of Sherman's troubled, recriminatory thou
sands. They were so close that orders might be heard and the tread
of the sentries. The men in grey broke rank, moved, two and two,
cautiously through the cane looking for the wounded. The cane
grew thick, and for all it was so sodden wet might be trusted here or
there for a crackling sound. The trees grew up straight from black
mud. They were immensely tall and from their branches hung
yards and yards of moss, like tatters of old sails or like shrivelled
banners in a cathedral roof. Large birds sat, too, upon the higher
limbs, watching. Beneath lay killed and wounded, a score or so of
forms half sunk in the universal swamp. The searchers left the dead,
but where there was life in a figure they laid hold of it, head and feet,
and bore it, swiftly and silently as might be, out of the wood, back
to the rising, protected ground.

CHICKASAW BAYOU 45

Edward and the man with him found an officer lying between
huge knees of cypress. The cane walled him in, a hand and arm
hung languid in the dark water. Kneeling, Edward felt the heart.
"He's far and far away, but there's a chance, perhaps. Take the
feet."

Half an hour later, by a great camp-fire behind a battery, sur
geons and helpers took these wounded from the hands of the men
who had gone after them.

Stephen D. Lee and General Seth Barton were standing by.
"Thank God," said the former, "for a small field hospital! After
Sharpsburg — ugh!"

A major of Wither's brigade walked slowly between the rows.

"It was the th Louisiana cut off in the wood. There 's an officer

or two missing — "

"This is an officer, sir," said Edward. "He was living when we
lifted him— "

General Barton came across. "He is not living now. A handsome
man! . . . He lies there so stately. ... A captain."

Edward held out his hand — in it an envelope. "This fell from his
coat, sir. The bullet went through it — " The movement brought
hand and letter into the ruddy light. Involuntarily he uttered an
exclamation. "It is addressed to me!"

The major rose from his knees. "Quite dead. . . . And you
would have called him Fortune's favorite. It is Louis Gaillard
from down the river — Cape Jessamine."

CHAPTER V

FORT PEMBERTON

VAN DORN'S raid and the battle of Chickasaw Bayou made
of naught the December '62 — ^January '63 push against
Vicksburg. Grant fell back to Memphis. McClernand,
Sherman's superior, withdrew the thirty thousand column from
before the Walnut Hills, to the Yazoo and down it, into the Missis
sippi and up that vast and turbid stream. His forces reunited, Grant,
a stubborn, good soldier, studied in his quiet fashion, a cigar between
his teeth, the map of the region. His instinct was always to strike out
straight before him. The river, for all its windings, was the directest
road tc Vicksburg. Late in January he brought a great army down
the Mississippi and landed it on the Louisiana side, some miles
above the town that must be taken. Here, too, above the line of
danger from the grey river batteries, he anchored his ships-of-
war.

During the past summer the Federal General Williams had con
ceived the project of canalling the tongue of land opposite Vicks
burg, the almost islanded sliver of Louisiana soil. Cut through this
thumblike projection, fill your great ditch from the river, let your
fleet enter at Tuscumbia Bend, and hey, presto ! emerge again upon
the bosom of the Mississippi below Vicksburg, the grey river batter
ies sweetly ignored; in a word all the grey defences of the Mississippi
above Grand Gulf circumvented! The canal seemed worth digging,
and so, in the summer, the blue had digged. But the summer was
dry and the river low; it refused to enter the prepared by-path, and
after a series of disappointments the digging had been discontinued.
Now the season was wet, and the river brimming. With a large
force of engineers and sappers, Grant began again upon the canal.
But now there was too much moisture as before there had been too
little. The water was so high that it ran into a hundred paths beside
the one which the blue were digging. It turned the flat Louisiana
shore into lake and quagmire. Impossible to trench with the semi-

FORT PEMBERTON 47

liquid stuff flowing in as fast as it was thrown out! — impossible to
keep an army encamped in a morass! Again there was a with
drawal.

From higher ground and reaches of the river far above Vicksburg,
Grant, the cigar between his teeth, parallel lines showing across his
forehead, studied flank movements. . . . The Yazoo again ! —
though it seemed a stream of ill omen. Not that Grant thought of
omens. He was not superstitious. A plain, straightforward, not over-
imaginative, introspective, or sophisticated person, he did not so
much plan great campaigns as take, unswervingly, the next common-
sense step. His merit was that, in the all-pervading fog of war, it was
usually upon firm ground that he set his step. Not always, but usu
ally. The Yazoo. ... It flowed southward from the Tennessee
line. There it was called the Coldwater. Farther down, in north
ern Mississippi it became the Tallahatchie, into which flowed the
Yallabusha. Lower yet it was named the Yazoo, and so flowed into
the Mississippi. Throughout its course it drained a vast, flat, egg-
shaped lowland, overshot by innumerable lesser streams, lakes, and
bayous, rising into ridge and bluff at the southern end of the egg.
Named the Valley of the Yazoo, it was reported to be enormously
fertile and a storehouse from which Vicksburg and all the exagger
ated grey armies in Tennessee and Mississippi were fed. Moreover,
at Yazoo City, where the three-named stream became finally the
Yazoo, there existed, said Secret Service, a big Confederate navy
yard where gunboats were rapidly hatching. To get into that valley
from the northern end, come down those rivers, surprise Yazoo City
and spoil the nest of gunboats, then on like a swooping hawk and take
Vicksburg in the rear! . . . Grant put out his hand for another
cigar. But the Valley of the Yazoo was said to be in effect roadless,
and though the Yazoo from Yazoo City downwards was navigable,
the Tallahatchie and the Coldwater were not. Then came in Ad
miral Porter with a well-considered plan, though an audacious one
and ticklishly dependent upon a thousand circumstances.

Some distance below Memphis there was a point where the Miss
issippi and the Coldwater came within calling distance of each
other. Between was only the Yazoo Pass — and Yazoo Pass was a
bayou which anciently had connected the two. Anciently, not now;
for years before a levee had been built, shutting off bayou from river,

48 CEASE FIRING

and preventing untoward floods in the upper Yazoo Valley. Assemble
a fleet over against Yazoo Pass, cut the levee, and so lift the water
in the Coldwater and the Tallahatchie, then proceed down those
streams with the vessel s-of- war and as many transports as needed,
take Yazoo City, enter the Yazoo, and so on triumphantly! Grant
chewed the end of his cigar, then nodded acquiescence.

On the third of February, after much time spent in digging, they
laid and exploded a mine. The levee broke in rout and ruin. Like a
tiger from the jungle out leaped the Mississippi, roaring down to the
bayou. Yazoo Pass became a furious yellow torrent, here spume
and eddy, here torn arms of trees, an abatis in motion. The Cold-
water received the flood and bore it on to the Tallahatchie. But so
angry were the churning waters by the gate in the levee that days
passed before the ironclads DeKalb and Chillicothe, the rams Fulton
and Lioness, the tinclads Forest Rose, Marmora, Rattler, Romeo,
Petrel, and Signal, and all the transports in the rear could attempt
that new-made passage. At last they did enter the Yazoo Pass and
made slow way to the Coldwater, only presently to find that the
grey troops had felled the tall, tall trees on either bank and thrown
them into the stream. There, arms interlocked, they made for miles
an effective barrier, removed only after slow days and days of effort.
The stream wound like a tortured serpent. There presented them
selves strange currents, pits, and shoals. The bed was unknown,
save that it possessed a huge variety of snag, bar, and obstacle. The
flood was narrow, and the thick overhanging forest obscured and
fretted. Every turn presented a fresh difficulty. The fleet made
three miles a day. Behind it crept, crept the transports, forty-five
hundred men under Generals Ross and Quinby. There was much
sickness and the fret, fret of utter delay. It was late February before
the expedition entered the Coldwater, early March before it ap
proached the Tallahatchie. Here it encountered afresh felled trees
like endless bundles of jackstraws, thrown vigorously, crossed under
water at every imaginable angle. A little later the blue scouts
brought news of Fort Pemberton.

The Southern spring was at hand, a mist of young leaf and bloom,
a sound of birds, a sapphire sky, a vapour, a warmth, a rhythm.
Edward Gary loved it, and said that he did so, lying after supper, on
the^bank of the Tallahatchie, under the cotton-bale rampart of the

FORT PEMBERTON 49

cotton-bale fort that was to keep the enemy out of the Yazoo. The
rest of the mess agreed — lovely spring, lovely evening! They lit
corn-cob pipes and clay pipes and fig-stem pipes, and stretched
themselves on a meagre bit of dry earth, beside a clump of Spanish
bayonet. The sun dipped behind the woods across the river, leaving
air and water an exquisite coral. There were seven men — five pri
vates, a corporal, and a sergeant-major. All were tall and all were
lean and none was over thirty. One bore an old Huguenot name
and the forbear of one was a Highland chief. The others were mainly
of English stock, names of Devon, Surrey, and Sussex. Two were
university men, sons of great planters, born into a sunny and settled
world that after their majority overclouded. Three had less of that
kind of fortune and had left for the war a lawyer's office, a tobacco
warehouse, and an experiment in mining. The sergeant-major was
of the yeoman type, a quiet man with little book learning and a name
in the regiment for courage and resource. The seventh man, very
young, a grown-up-anyhow bit of mortality, who until he came to
handle steel had worked in iron, stood next, perhaps, to Edward Gary
in the affections of the mess. Dreadful as was this war, it had as a
by-product the lessening of caste. Men came together and worked
together as men, not as conventions.

"Yes, it is lovely," said the warehouse man. "I used to think a
deal about beauty."

"Woman's beauty?"

"No. Just plain beauty. Cloud or sea or face or anywhere you
found it. At the end of every furrow, as Jim might say."

Jim, who was the sergeant, shook out rings of smoke. "It ain't
only at the end of the furrow. I've seen it in the middle."

The worker in iron stretched his thin body, hands under his young
head. "I like fall better 'n spring. Late fall when it's all red and
still, and at night there are shooting stars. Spring makes me
sad."

"What are you doing with sadness?" asked Edward. "You had
as well talk of Jack-o '-Lantern being sad! — I like all seasons, each
with its proper magnificence! Look at that pine, black as wrath — "

"Look at the pink water about the old Star of the West —

1 The charmed water burnt alway
A still and awful red.'"

50 CEASE FIRING

"I hated to see the Star sunken. After all her fighting — Sumter
and all—"

"Well, we've put her where she'll fight again! It's a kind of Val
halla ending to lie there across Grant's path."

"You can see a bit of spar. And the rosy water all around — rosy
as hope. Do you hear that bird over there in the swamp? Boom —
boom — boom! Mournful as a whip-poor-will. . . . Heavens! if I
could hear the whip-poor-wills in Virginia! — Have you got any
tobacco?"

The soldier from the lawyer's office sat up. " Grand Rounds ?
No. It 's the General by himself! Heard him say once he had a taste
for sunsets."

Loring, one-armed since Mexico, impatiently brave, with a gift
for phrases, an air, and a bearing, came down the threadlike path
through the palmetto scrub. With three guns and fifteen hundred
men he held this absurd structure called Fort Pemberton, and from
hour to hour glanced up the Tallahatchie with an experienced and
careless eye. If he expected anything more than a play flotilla of
cock-boats, his demeanour did not show it. In practice, however, he
kept a very good drill and outlook, his pieces trained, his earthworks
stout as they might be in the water-soaked bottom lands, and he had
with discretion sunk the Star of the West where she lay, cross chan
nel, above the fort. He was very well liked by his soldiers.

The seven on the river bank rose and saluted. He made the an
swering gesture, then after a moment of gazing up the Tallahatchie
walked over to a great piece of driftwood and seated himself, draw
ing his cloak about him with his one hand.

" I want to study that water a bit. Go on with your pipes, men.
— I thought I smelled coffee."

"It was made of sweet potato, sir," said the sergeant-major re
gretfully, "and I'm afraid we did n't leave a drop. We're mighty
sorry, sir."

"Well," said Loring amicably, "I don't really like sweet potato
coffee, though I 'd drink brimstone coffee if there were no other kind
of coffee around. That 's one of the things I never could understand
about General Jackson — he never drinks coffee. The time we could
all have sold our souls for coffee was that damned Bath and
Romney trip . . . Ugh!" He gazed a moment longer on the rosy,

FORT PEMBERTON 51

narrow stream and the violet woods across, then turned his eyes.

"You're th Virginia? There isn't one of you a Gary by

chance?"

"I am Edward Gary, sir."

1 c Come across, "said Loring ; and when he came gave him a knotted
arm of the driftwood. "I heard from Fauquier Gary not long ago,
and he said you were down this way and to look out for you. He said
he did n't know whether you were a survival or a prophecy, but that
anyhow your family idolized you. He said that from all he had read
and observed War had an especial spite against your kind — which,
perhaps," said Loring, "is not a thing to tell you."

Edward laughed. "As to War, sir, the feeling is reciprocal. He's
of those personalities who do not improve on acquaintance. — Dear
Fauquier! The family idolizes him now, if you like!"

" Yes, he 's of the finest. I knew him in Mexico. Gallant as they
make them! — He has lost an arm."

"Yes — at Sharpsburg."

"It's no little loss," said Loring. "By the way — you knew
Maury Stafford?"

"Yes."

"The word 'Sharpsburg' brought him up. He was taken prisoner
there — unfortunate fellow! There has been no exchange ?"

"I have heard of none. They will not exchange."

"Infernal tactics!"

"It 's all infernal. I have grown to see no sense in this war. North
and South, we surely might have been wiser."

"That may be," said Loring. "But we are in it now and must
act according to tradition. — Maury Stafford! — He was with me
during that wretched, abortive, freezing, and starving Romney
expedition. I was very fond of him. It aches me to think of him in
prison."

Edward sighed. "Yes, I am sorry, too."

" Was he not," asked Loring, " was he not engaged to your sister? "

"No."

"Indeed ? I thought some one told me so. ... He has a fine
nature."

"In many ways — yes."

"Well, we may be talking of the dead. No one seems to have

52 CEASE FIRING

heard. It's like a tomb — prison! North and South, they die like
flies. . . . Damn it all, such is war!"

"Yes, sir. ... I beg your pardon, but isn't there something
moving on the river — very far up, beyond that line of purple ? "

Loring whipped out his field-glass, looked, and rose from the
driftwood. "Gunboats!" A bugle blew from the earth-and-cotton-
bale fort, drums began to roll. " Get to your places, men ! If Grant
thinks I am going to let him get by here, he's just mistaken, that's
all!"

With three guns and fifteen hundred men and cotton-bale walls
and the sunken Star of the West, Loring made good his words —
though it was not Grant in front of him, but Grant's lieutenants.
Two ironclads, two rams, seven tinclads crept up that night, anchor
ing above the sunken Star. Behind them came slowly on the trans
ports with the forty-five hundred infantry. Dawn broke, and the
gunboats, feeling their way, found the Star. Vexation and delay!
They undertook to blow her up, and while they sank torpedoes the
transports nosed along the river bank trying to find firm landing in a
bottom country flooded alike by the spring rains and the far-away
broken levee. They could not find it, and on board there was rest
lessness and complaining. The Star of the West was hard to raise.
She clung fast, fought stanchly still for the Stars and Bars. . . . The
third day the Chillicothe and DeKalb got by, steamed down to the
fort, and began a raking fire. The rams, too, and several of the tin
clads came wriggling through the clearance in the channel. There
followed a three days' bombardment of the crazy fort, all hastily
heaped earth and cotton bales, rude trenches, rough platforms for
the guns, all squat in the marshy land, wreathed with cannon smoke,
musket smoke, topped by the red square with the blue and starry
cross! Behind the screen of the gunboats the transports sought con
tinuously for some terra firma where the troops might land. They
could not find it. All was swamp, overflowing waters, half-submerged
trees. Above waved Spanish moss, swung vines spangled with sweet-
smelling, satiny yellow bloom.

The smoke from the river, the smoke from Loring's three guns and
fifteen hundred muskets met and blended, and, spreading, roofed
out the cerulean, tender sky. Looking up, his men saw Loring,
mature, imposing, standing high on the cotton-bale parapet, his

FORT PEMBERTON 53

empty sleeve pinned to his coat, gesturing with the remaining arm,
about him the grey battle breath, above him the flag.

"Give them blizzards, boys! Give them blizzards!" roared
Loring.

The most daring of the transports put a party ashore. But what
to do? They struck out toward the fort and plunged waist deep into
a mocking slough of the forest. Out of this they crossed a bank like
mud turtles, and came into the wide overflow of a bayou. Beyond
was a tangle of cane and vine, and here they began to feel the bullets
of hidden grey sharpshooters. Beyond the cane was a cypress swamp,
impossible twisted roots, knees, and hummocks; between, deep
threads of water and bottomless black mire. Miserable and useless
fight with an earth like this ! The party turned, got back — torn,
bemired, panting with fatigue — to the transports, ranged behind
the gunboats and the cloud of smoke and the thunder of the iron
men. Night came down, the smoke parted, stars shone out.

Dawn came, and the battle renewed itself. Red flashes tore the
mist on the Tallahatchie and the roaring sound made the birds flee
the woodland. The gunboats worked hard, all unsupported by the
blue infantry. The officers of the last stamped upon the transports'
decks. So near and yet so far! After weeks of tortoise crawling!
Try again! Boats were lowered, filled, sent up bayous, along creeks
spiralling like unwound thread, or brought alongside some bit of
bank with an air of firmness. Vain! The bit of bank gave and gave
under the cautious foot; the bayou spilled out upon plains of black
mire in which you sank to the middle; the creeks corkscrewed away
from Fort Pemberton. ... In the afternoon the Chillicothe got a
shell through her sides. The day went down in thunder and sulphur
ous cloud, the fleet belching broadsides, Fort Pemberton loudly
replying, Loring on the ramparts shouting, "Give them blizzards,
boys! Give them blizzards!"

In the morning the Rattler turned and went back to the Cold-
water, Yazoo Pass, and the Mississippi, in her cabin Watson Smith
commanding the expedition, ill for days and now like to die. His
second took command and the third day's struggle began. But the
Chillicothe again was roughly handled, and certain of the tinclads
were in trouble. A ram, too, had lost her smokestack and carried a
ragged hole just above her water line. And the infantry could not

54 CEASE FIRING

land, — gave up the attempt. All day the boats on the Tallahatchie
and the courtesy fort crouched on her eastern bank roared and
tugged. "Yaaih! Yaaaii! Yaaihh!" rose the grey shouting through
the rolling smoke. Loring, slightly wounded, came out of a crazy
tent at the back of the enclosure, crossed the encumbered space,
and mounted again the cotton bales. The men cheered him loud and
long. "Old Blizzard! Old Blizzard! Yes, sir! Yes, sir! We 're going
to give them snow, rain, hail, and sleet!"

The day weltered by, the rays of the sunset struck through
powder-stained air. Then came silence, and a thinning of smoke,
and at last the stars. On the DeKalb was held a council of war. The
Chillicothe badly hurt, the commander of the expedition ill, sent
back upon the Rattler, Quinby's men not yet up, Ross's quite unable
to land, sickness, tedium, dissatisfaction, Heaven knew what going
on in the Mississippi while they had been lost for endless weeks in a
no- thoroughfare of half earth, half water, overhung by miasmas!
The boats alone could not reduce this fort, and infantry that could
not land was no better than infantry in the moon ! Go back without
anything gained ? Well, the knowledge was gained that Vicksburg
could n't be taken this way — and the guns had probably blown out
of existence some scores of rebels ! That much was gained. Sick and
sore, the talk pulled this way and that, but in the end it was deter
mined to put back. In the stillness before the dawn gunboats and
rams and tinclads weighed anchor and steamed away, slowly, slowly
up the difficult reaches of the Tallahatchie and Coldwater, back to
Yazoo Pass and so out into the Mississippi. Behind them trailed the
transports. At the mouth of Yazoo Pass they met with a scouting
party and learned of a second expedition.

Porter, fertile in expedients, was conducting this in person. With
five Eads gunboats he was winding southward by way of innumer
able joined streams, — Steele's Bayou, Black Bayou, Deer Creek,
Rolling Fork, finally the Sunflower which empties into the Yazoo, — •
while accompanying him on the land crept and mired from swamp
to swamp troops of Sherman's. Infantry and Eads flotilla, they
reached at last Rolling Fork, but here they met grey troops and a
determined check. Infantry proved as helpless in the swamps of the
Sunflower as infantry had proved in the swamps of the Tallahatchie.
Moreover detached grey parties took to felling trees and crossing

FORT PEMBERTON 55

them in the stream behind the gunboats. Porter saw himself becom
ing the eel in the bottle, penned in grey toils. Nothing for it but
to turn, figuratively to back out — the region being one of all the
witches!

The Tallahatchie expedition, the Sunflower expedition, returned
to the Father of Waters. Here, on the western bank, they found
Grant, cigar in mouth, lines across brow, studying the map between
Vicksburg and Port Hudson. Upon the grey side Loring waited at
Fort Pemberton until his scouts brought news of the clearance of
the Yazoo Valley, but he waited with only half his force, the other
moiety being withdrawn to Vicksburg.

Edward Gary, marching with these troops, marched into Vicks
burg on an April day, — Vicksburg indomitable; Vicksburg with a
wretchedly inadequate number of picks and spades extending her
lines of breastworks, forming salients, mounting batteries, digging
trenches, incidentally excavating refuges — alias "rat-holes" —
for her non-combatant citizens; Vicksburg extremely busy, with an
air of gaiety not altogether forced! Life, nowadays, had always and
everywhere a deep organ bass, but that was no reason the cymbals
and castanets should not come in if they could.

That afternoon, in an encampment just below the town, he came
into possession of an accumulation of mail, home letters, letters from
comrades in various commands, other letters. It was a time of rest
after arduous marching. All around him, on the warm spring earth,
lay the men of his company. They, too, had letters and long-delayed
newspapers. They read the letters first, mused over them a little,
with faces wistful or happy or tragically anxious as the case might
be, then turned with avidity to the papers, old though they were.
A little man with a big, oratorical voice had got a Richmond Ex
aminer of a none-too-recent date. Sitting cross-legged on a huge
magnolia stump he read aloud to a ring of listeners, rolling out the
items like a big bass drum.

"News from the Mississippi — "

"That's us!"

"'As we go to press it is reported that Grant has met at Fort
Pemberton a worse repulse than did Sherman at Chickasaw Bayou,
the gallant Loring and his devoted band inflicting upon the invaders
a signal defeat. Thousands were slain — '"

56 CEASE FIRING

"Hm! Old Blizzard's gallant all right, and we're devoted all
right, and they're invaders all right, and we certainly made them
clear out of the Yazoo Valley, but somehow I did n't see those thou
sands slain! Newspapers always do exaggerate."

"That's true. Nature and education both. North and South —
especially North. That New York paper, for instance, that we got
from the picket at Chickasaw — "

"The one that said we tortured prisoners?1',

"No. The one that said we mutilated the dead. They're all
Ananiases. Go on, Borrow."

"'Farragut has succeeded in running the batteries at Fort Hud
son. The mouth of the Red River — '"

"We know all that. What 're they doing in Virginia ?"

"Marse Robert and Stonewall seem to be holding south bank of
Rappahannock. Fighting Joe Hooker on the other side's got some
thing up his sleeve. He and ' the finest army on the planet ' look like
moving. The paper says Sedgwick 's tried a crossing below Freder-
icksburg, but that General Lee 's watching Ely and Germanna fords.
Here's an account of Kelly's Ford and the death of Pelham — "

"Read that," said the men.

Edward left them reading, listening, and making murmured com
ment. At a little distance rose a copse overrun with yellow jessamine.
Entering this, he sat down at the foot of a cedar and, laying by the
home letters and the letters from comrades, opened one written on
thin, greyish paper, in a hand slender yet bold: —

My Heart, —

I am glad that it was you who found him. 0 Louis, Louis,
Louis ! ... I am not going to write about him. ... I loved him,
and he loved me. . . . Oh, we give, we give in this war!

I hear from my father, broken-hearted for his son, tender and
loving as ever to his daughter. I hear, too, from your father — a
letter to keep forever, praising you to me so nobly! And Judith Gary
has written. I shall love her well, — oh, well !

Where are you this stormy night ? I sit before the fire, in the gilt
chair, and the magnolia strikes against the window pane, and I hear,
far off, the thunder and shouting, and if I could I would stay the
bullets with my hands.

FORT PEMBERTON 57

The enemy is cutting the levees on this side, up and down the
river. If they cut a certain one, it will be to our disaster at Cape
Jessamine. The negroes grow frightened, and now every day they
leave. I did not mean to tell you all this. It is nothing.

Where are you this night of rainy wind? I look into the fire which
is low at this hour, and I see ranged cannon, and banners that rise
and fall. And may the morning — and may the morning bring me
a letter! Thine, all thine,

DESIREE GAILLARD.

A week later, having been granted the furlough for which he
asked, he found himself below Natchez, bargaining with two black
ferrymen to take him across the river.

CHAPTER VI

THE RIVER

THE two men were strong, magnificently formed negroes, one
middle-aged, one young. "It ain't easy, marster," said the
first. " River 's on er rampage. Jes' er-look how she 's swirlin'
an' spittin' an' sayin' things! An' erbout every day now dar's er
crevasse! Yankees make them befo' breakfast. When dishyer river
tuhns sideways an' shakes down de land a boat ain' so safe as ef
't was er mountain-top."

"Dat's so!" said the other. "Hit's wuth twenty-five dollars,
Confederate money."

Edward produced and held between thumb and forefinger one
gold dollar.

"Git the oars, Daniel !" said the elder negro. "Yes, sah,we cer
tainly will git you ercross an' down the river the best we kin!"

Out pushed the boat into the yellow, sullen river. It was running
swift and rough. Edward sat with his chin in his hand, his eyes upon
the farther shore, bathed in a golden, shimmering, spring-time light.
It was slow rowing across this stream, and the shore far off.

The negroes began to sing.

"I'se gwine tell you ob de comin' ob de Saviour!

Far' you well! Far' you well!
Dar's er better day er comin',

Far' you well! Far' you well!
When my Lord speaks ter his Father,

Far 'you well! Far' you well!
Says, 'Father, I'm tired of bearin','

Far' you well! Far' you well!
'Tired of bearin' fer pore sinners/

Far' you well! Far' you well! — "

The Louisiana shore came softly nearer. It was a jewelled and
spangled April shore, that sent out sweet breath from flowers with
out number. Viewed at a little distance it seemed a magic green
curtain, rarely embroidered; but when it came nearer its beauty was
seen to be shot with the sinister, the ghostly, even, vaguely, with the

THE RIVER 59

terrible. Hereabouts rose a great forest through which deep bayous
crept to join the river, into which, too, the river ran an inlet or so like
a Titan's finger. The boat with the two negroes and the soldier
turned its head downstream, following the loops of the river and the
scalloped shore. To-day, indeed, there seemed no proper shore. The
shore had turned amphibian. White cypress, red cypress, magnolia,
live-oak, in and out between them sucked the dark water. Vines
and the wild festoons of the grey moss mirrored themselves within
it; herons kept watch by rotting logs over dusk pools swept by the
yellow jessamine; the water moccasin slipped beneath perfumed
thickets, under a slow, tinted rain of petals. At intervals there
opened vast vistas, an endless and mournful world of tall cypress
trunks propping a roof that was jealous of the sun. In the river itself
were islets, magically fair, Titania bowers, a loveliness of unfolding
leaf, delicate and dreamlike enough to make the tears spring. It was
past the middle of the day; heat and golden haze in the sun, coolness
and cathedral gloom where the enormous woodland threw its shadow.

Now the negroes were silent and now they were talkative, passing
abruptly from one mood to the other. Everything in their range of
speech was dwelt upon with an equal volubility, interest, and em
phasis. A ruined eagle's nest, a plunging fish-hawk, the slow-sailing
buzzards, difficulties with the current, the last duel between gun
boats, the latest dash of a Confederate ram, the breaking levees, a
protuberance on a bar of black slime and mud which, on the whole,
they held to be a log, until with a sudden dull gleaming it slid into
the water and proved to be a turtle — all things received an equal
dole of laughter with flashing teeth, of amiable, vivid, childlike
discussion. Sometimes they appealed to the white man, and he,
friendly minded, at home with them, gave in a word the informa
tion or settled with two the dispute. " That 's so ! that 's so ! " each
agreed. "I done see hit that-er-way, too! That's right, sir! Quar
relling is powerful foolish — jes' as foolish as gittin' drunk!"

Any swiftness of work was, in these parts, for the river alone. The
boat moved slowly enough, here caught by an eddy, here travelling
among snags and bars, doubling with the river, following the wave
line of the water-logged shore. The sun's rays began to fall slant
ingly. Through the illimitable forest, down between the cypress
trunks, came flights of golden arrows.

60 CEASE FIRING

" We are not far from Cape Jessamine ? "

"No, marster. Not very far."

Silence fell again. They turned a horn of land, all delicate, flower
ing shrubs, and ran beneath a towering, verdurous bank that rained
down odours. It laid, too, upon the river, a dark, far-reaching
shadow.

The younger negro spoke with suddenness. "I belongs to Cape
Jessamine."

Edward turned. " Do you ? — Why were you up the river and
on the other side ?"

"Hit ain't safe any mo' at Cape Jessamine. But I ain't no runa
way, sah. Miss Desiree done toP us to go." He felt in his shirt, took
out a piece of bandanna, and unwrapped from it a piece of paper
which he held out to Edward. "Bar's my pass, all right, sah! She
done tol' us to go, an' she say she don' know that she'll ever call us
back. She say she mighty fond of us, too, but all things er-comin'
down an' er-changin' an' er-changin'! Hit ain't never any more
gwine be lak hit was."

"How many have gone ?"

"Mos' everybody, sah. Yankees come an' tek de cattle an* de
meal, an' dar wa'n't much to eat. An' ef er man or er yaller gal step
in er rain puddle dey wuz took with er shakm'-fit, cryin' out dat
de river was er-comin'! She say we better go. De Fusilier place —
way back an' crosst the bayou where de river could n't never git —
she done sont de women an' chillen dar, an' Madam Fusilier she say
she tek care ob dem des ez long ez dar 's anything in de smokehouse
an' de meal ain' stolen — "

"The overseer — did he get well ?"

"No, sah. He hurt he hip, an' ole Brer Fever come er-long an' he
died."

"Then who is at Cape Jessamine with — ?"

"Dar's her mammy, sah, who would n't go. An' 'Rasmus an*
Mingo an' Simon. . . . Plantation beg Miss Desiree to come away,
too, but she say 'No,' we go, but she's got er responsibility — an'
she doubt ef de river come anyway. Yes, sah. She say she got her
post, but dat hit 's all right for us to go, de meal givin' out an' all.
An' she say she certain'y is fond of us, every one, an' she come
down de great house porch steps an' shake hands all round — " He

THE RIVER 61

took the slip of paper and wrapped it carefully in the bandanna.
"When de war's over I'se gwine right back."

Edward spoke to the older man. "How real is the danger ?"

"Of the river coverin' Cape Jessamine, sah? Well, they've cut a
powerful heap of levees. It's lak this." He rested on his oars and
demonstrated with his hands. "Cape Jessamine's got water mos'
all around it anyhow. It comes suckin' in back here, suckin' and
underminin'. The Mississippi 's er powerful, big sapper an' miner —
the biggest kind of er one! It might be workin' in the cellar like under
Cape Jessamine this very minute. And then ergain it might not.
Ain' nobody kin really tell. Though nowadays it's surely lucky to
expect the worst. Yes, sah, the Mississippi's er bigger sapper an'
miner than any they 've got in the army!" \

They went on, by the dense woodland, beneath the low sun. A
cypress swamp ran back for miles. In this hour the vast, knotted
knees, dimly seen, innumerable, covering all the earth, appeared like
sleeping herds of an ancient monster. The wash of the water was
like the breathing of such a host. All the country here was very low,
and over it there began to be drawn a purple veil. It was as still as a
dream. The boat passed between two islets covered with a white
flower, and came into sight of a point of land.

"Cape Jessamine!" said the young negro.

It lay painfully fair, an emerald breadth with groups of trees,
seen through the veil like a fading dream which the mind tries to
hold, and tries in vain, it is so fair! There was magic in the atmos
phere; to look down the river was to look upon a vision. Edward
looked, bent forward, his eyes steady and wide.

"Row fast!" he said in his friendly voice. "I want to go back
now."

They rowed fast, by monstrous white cypresses, under boughs
hung with motionless banners of moss, by fallen trees, decaying
logs, grotesquely twisted roots. The boat kept in the shadow, but
the light was on Cape Jessamine. Presently they could see the
lofty pillars of the house, half veiled in foliage, half bare to the sink
ing sun. They were now not half a mile away. The distance less
ened. . . .

They were skirting a muddy shore, rowing amid a wild disorder of
stumps that rose clear from the water, of dead and fallen trees, dead

62 CEASE FIRING

and far-flung vines. There came to the boat a slight rising and fall
ing motion.

"What's dat ?" said the young negro.

His fellow turned and stared. "Lak er swell from er steamer,
only there ain't any steamer on the Mississippi these days — "

"O my Lawd, what dat sound ?"

The boat rocked violently. "Oh, Destruction, not there!" cried
Edward Gary.

Cape Jessamine went down, down. They saw and heard; it was
before their eyes; the bending pillars, the crashing walls, the trees
that fell, the earth that vanished, the churned and horrible water.
. . . They saw the work of the river, the sapper who worked with a
million hands. . . . Shrieking, the negroes drove the boat head into
the muddy shore, leaped up and caught at the overhanging boughs.
Their frail craft was stayed, resting behind a breakwater of dead
limbs. "O God-er-moughty! O God-er-moughty ! " wailed the
young negro.

Edward stood like marble. It had been there celestially fair —
his port and haven and the wealth it held. It was gone — gone like
a mirage. The red sun sank and left the wild world a wide waste. . . .
The darkness, which, in this latitude, followed at once, was unwel
come only because it closed the door on search, hopeless and im
possible as would search have been in that cauldron of earth and
water. The inner darkness was heavier than that which came up
from the east. Through it all the long night throbbed like a dark
star, now despair, now hope against hope.

They fastened the boat with a rope to a great projecting piece of
Spanish bayonet. For a while, despite the sheltered spot into which
they had driven, it rose and fell as though it were at sea, but this
passed with the passing hours. At last the excited negroes fell quiet,
at last they lay asleep, head pillowed on arms. As best he might
Gary wore out the darkness.

It was not yet dawn when he roused the negroes. The boat lay
quiet now; the river was over its disturbance of the evening be
fore. Since its origin deep in past ages the river had pulled down
too many shores, swallowed too many strips of land to be long con
cerned over its latest work. Yellow and deep and terrible, on it
ran, remorseless and unremembering. The boat on the edge of the

THE RIVER 63

sWamp, in the circle of projecting root and snag, lay quiet. Above
and around it hung lifeless from the boughs the grey moss. Bough
and moss, there was made a vast tracery through which showed the
primrose sky, cold, quiet, infinitely withdrawn. Looking down
the stream, all that was missed was Cape Jessamine. The yellow
water rolled over that.

"There was a bayou a mile or two back," said Edward. "The one
on which stood 'Rasmus's house. It ran north and south and the
road went across it. Can we get to that bayou ?"

"Yes, sah. Hit's haid am' far from here. But we'd have to leave
de boat."

"It is fastened and hidden. You will find it again."

The elder negro looked doubtful. "We's poor men, marster.
Ain't anybody to look after us now — "

"I ain' er-carin' how poor I is," broke in the younger. "I'se
gwine. Ef dey got warnin' dey might hab took to de bayou, crosst
hit, an' went on to de [Fusilier place. But hit don' look ter me lak
de river give any warnin'. "

"That's what we've got to see," said Edward. He touched the
shoulder of the elder black. "You're a good man, like Daniel here!
Leave the boat and come on."

In the deep wood, among the cypresses, the light was faint enough.
The three crept over the purple brown hummocks, the roots like
stiffened serpents. Now and again they plunged into water or black
mire. Edward moved in silence, and though the negroes talked,
their voices were subdued to the place. It was slow, slow going,
walking among traps. An hour passed. The cypresses fell away and
cane and flowering vines topped by giant magnolias took their place.

"Haid of bayou," said Daniel.

They found an old dugout half full of water, bailed it out, and
began to pole down the narrow, winding water, that ran two miles in
the wood behind the lost Cape Jessamine.

"If she had even an hour — " said Edward.

"Miss Desiree des' er-sa'nter er-long," said Daniel, "but what she
wan' ter do, hit gets done lak er bolt ob lightnin' runnin' down de
sky! Dar' ain' any tellin'. Ef she saw hit er-comin' she sholy mek
'em move — "

On either hand the perfumed walls came close. Far overhead the

64 CEASE FIRING

trees mingled their leaves and through the lace roof the early light
came stilly down. The water was clear brown. Each turn brought
a vista, faintly lit, tapering into mist, through which showed like
smoked pearl mere shapes of trees. They went on and on, to a low
and liquid sound. A white crane stood to watch them, ghostly in
its place. Isolation brooded; all was as still as the border of the
world.

Turning with the turning water they found another reach with
pearl grey trees. A boat came toward them out of the mist, a dug
out like their own, with a figure, standing, poling. In the greyness
and the distance it was not immediately to be made out; then, as
the boat came nearer, they saw that it was a woman, and another
minute told her name.

The young negro broke into a happy babbling. "Miss Desiree
ainj gwine let de river drown her! — no, nurr her mammy, nurr
Mingo, nurr Simon, nurr 'Rasmus ! She got mo' sence dan de river.
'Ho!' she say, 'you ol' river! You can tek my house, but you can't
tek me! I des walk out lak de terrapin an' leave you de shell!'"

She came out of the mist into the morning light, into the emerald
and gold. She rowed bareheaded, standing straight, slender, and
fine as Artemis. The elder negro dipped the oar strongly, the dis
tance lessened with swiftness. When she saw Edward, she gave the
singing cry he knew as though he had known it always. . . .

'Rasmus's cabin, it seemed, had been rebuilt. Here were mammy
and 'Rasmus himself and Mingo and Simon, and a little bag of meal
and a little, little coffee. Everybody had breakfast while the birds
sang and the trees waved, and the honey bees were busy with all the
flowers of the Southern spring. Later, there was held a council be
tween General Gary and General Gaillard, sitting gravely opposite
each other, he on a cypress stump and she on a fallen pine. The
Fusilier place ? Yes, the servants had best go there. Mammy, at
any rate, must go. She was old and feeble, a little childish — and
Madam Fusilier was a true saint who gave herself to the servants.
Five miles down the road lived an old man who had a mule and a
cart. Desiree had an idea that they had not been taken. The Fusilier
place was fourteen miles away. They might get mammy there before
night.

"And you?"

THE RIVER 65

"I will take her there, of course."

"Madam Fusilier will insist upon caring for you, too."

"Undoubtedly. But I do not wish to stay at the Fusilier place.
It is in the back country. News never comes there. You could not
hear even the firing on the river. It is a cloister, and she is old and
always on her knees. I would beat against the cage until I died or
beat it down."

"Desiree, would you come with me? We could marry at Natchez,
and the women are not leaving Vicksburg. . . . Oh, I cannot tell if
I am giving you good counsel!"

"It is a counsel of happiness."

"And of danger— "

"I will take the danger. . . . Oh, that is so much better than the
Fusilier place!"

Two days later they left the friendly boatmen on the Mississippi
side. An old family carriage which they overtook, creeping along the
spring-time road, in it a lady, her little girl, and a maid, gave them a
long lift upon the way. At the last they came into Natchez in an
ambulance sent up from Port Hudson, in friendly company with a
soldier with a bandaged leg and a soldier with a bandaged head and
arm. In Natchez they were married.

Three days passed and they entered Vicksburg. His furlough
would expire the next morning. She knew people in this town, old
friends of her mother's, she said. She and Edward found the house
and all was well. Her mother's friends kissed her, laughed and cried
and kissed her again, and then they shook hands warmly with her
husband, and then they gave the two a cool high room behind a
cascade of roses, and sent them cake and sangaree.

As the evening fell, they sat together by the window, in the fair
stillness, and relief of a place all their own.

"The town is full of rumours," he said. "There is news of a bom
bardment of Charleston, and we have had a success in Tennessee,
a great raid of Forrest's. Longstreet is being attacked south of the
James. The armies on the Rappahannock appear to be making
ready—"

"And here?"

"There is a feeling that we are on the eve of events. Grant is
starting some movement, but what it is has not yet developed.

66 CEASE FIRING

There will be fighting presently — " He put out his hand and drew
within the room a bough of the Seven Sisters rose. "Look, how they
are shaded! Pale pink, rose, crimson."

He had letters from home which he presently took up from the
table, opened, and read aloud. They were sprinkled with gracious
references to his happiness and messages of love for Desiree at Cape
Jessamine.

"Oh, Cape Jessamine — oh, Cape Jessamine!"

"This is from Molly. 'Will you be able to see her before the war
is over ? They say it will be over this summer. ' "

"Molly is the little one? And I am here! We see each other,
though the war is not over. Oh, there is no cup that has not the pearl
dropped in — "

"If you think this rose light comes only from the roses — "

The dusk deepened to night, the night of the sixteenth of April,
1863. A perfumed wind blew through the town, the stars shone, the
place lay deep in sleep, only the sentries walking their beat. From
river battery to river battery, patrolling the Mississippi, went
pickets in rowboats. They dipped their oars softly, looking up and
down and across the stream. Toward the middle of the night they
drew together in a cluster, and now they looked upstream. Then
they separated and went in different directions, rowing no longer
with slow strokes, but with all their strength of arm. The most
made for the nearest shore battery, but others shot across to the
small settlement of De Soto on the Louisiana bank. That which they
did here was to fire a number of frame buildings near the water's
edge. Up soared the red pillars, illuminating the river. Across the
water a signal shot boomed from the upper batteries. Up and
down the bugles were heard. Lights sprung out, the wind filled
with sound. Down the Mississippi, into the glare thrown by the
burning houses came at full speed Porter's ironclads, meaning this
time to get by. The Benton, Lafayette, and Tuscumbia, the gun
boats Carondelet, Pittsburg, Louisville, Mound City, the ram Gen
eral Price, the transports Forest Queen and Silver Wave and Henry
Clay — one by one they showed in the night that was now red.
The transports were protected by bulwarks of cotton bales, by coal
barges lashed to their sides. From the smokestacks of all rushed
black clouds with sparks of fire. Go ahead I Go ahead /

THE RIVER 67

Vicksburg, that was to dispute the ownership of the Mississippi,
had with which to do it twenty-eight guns. She was hardly a
Gibraltar — Vicksburg; hardly ironclad and invulnerable, hardly
fitted with ordnance sufficient for her purpose. The twenty-eight
guns upon the bluffs above the river might be greatly served, they
might work tirelessly and overtime, but it remained that they were
but twenty-eight. Now in the midnight of the sixteenth of April,
they opened mouth. At once the blue ironclads answered.

The excited town came out of doors. On the whole it was better
to see the shells than to hear them where you sat in dark rooms. The
women had a horror of being caught within falling walls, beneath a
roof that was on fire; they, too, preferred to meet death and terror in
the open. Not that they believed that death was coming to many
to-night, or that they could have been called terrified. Vicksburg
was growing used to bombardments. The women gathered the
children and came out into the streets and gardens. There had been
that evening a party and a dance. The signal gun boomed hard
upon its close; young girls and matrons had reached home, but had
not yet undressed. They came out of doors again in their filmy ball
gowns, with flowers in their hair. As the guns opened mouth, as
the blue shells rose into the night, each a swift, brilliant horror, the
caves were suggested, but the women of Vicksburg did not like the
caves and only meant to use them when the rain was furious. Not
all came out of doors. The young wife of a major-general was afraid
of the night air for her baby, and stayed quietly by its cradle, and
others kept by the bedridden. Vicksburg, no more than any other
Southern town, lacked its sick and wounded.

The signal shot had awakened Desiree and Edward. Before he
was dressed there came the sound of the beaten drum in the streets
below.

" The long roll ! " he said. " I must hurry. The regiment is camped
by the river."

He bent over her, took her in his arms. " Good-bye, love! good
bye, love!"

"Good-bye, love; good-bye, good-bye!"

He was gone. With a sob in her throat she fell back, lay for a
moment outstretched on the bed, face down, her hands locked above
Jher head. The house shook, a light came in the window, there were

68 CEASE FIRING

hurried voices through the house and in the garden below. She rose
and dressed, braiding her long hair with flying fingers, her eyes
upon the red light in the sky. When she had done she looked around
her once, then went out, closing the door behind her, and ran down
into the garden.

CHAPTER VII

PORT GIBSON

THE twenty-eight guns sent out continuously shot and shell
against the blue ironclads, the gunboats, the transports.
The blue returned the fire with fervency. Not before had
the shores rocked to such sound, the heavens been filled with such a
display. The firing was furious, the long shriek and explosion of
crossing shells, bluff and river screaming like demons. All the sky
was lit. The massed smoke hung huge and copper red, while high
and low sprang the intense brightness of the exploding bomb. The
grey guns set on fire several transports. These burned fiercely, the
coal barges, the cotton bales that made their shields betraying them
now, burning high and burning hard. The village of De Soto was
aflame. The Mississippi River showed as light as day, a strange red
daylight, stuffed with infernal sound. Through it steadily, steadily,
the blue fleet pushed down the river, running the gauntlet of the
batteries. All the boats were struck, most were injured. A transport
was burning to the water's edge, coal barges were scattered and
sunk. Firing as it went, each ironclad a moving broadside, the fleet
kept its way. The twenty-eight did mightily, the gunners, powder-
grimed automata, the servers of ammunition, the officers, the
sharpshooters along the shore — all strove with desperation. Up
and down and across, the night roared and flamed like a Vulcan fur
nace. The town shook, and the bluffs of the river; the Mississippi
might have borne to the sea a memory of thunders. Less a sunken
transport, less one burning low, less scattered and lost small craft,
the fleet — scarred and injured though it was — the fleet passed ! It
ran the gauntlet, and at dawn there was a reason the less for holding
Vicksburg.

Two nights later other ironclads got by. Grant had now a fleet at
New Carthage, on the Louisiana shore, halfway between Vicksburg
and Grand Gulf. He proceeded to use it and the transports that had
passed. The sky over the grey darkened rapidly; there came a feel-

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ing of oppression, of sultry waiting, of a storm gathering afar, but
moving. Sherman again threatened to approach by the Yazoo, but
that was not felt to be the head of the storm. From La Grange, in
Tennessee, southward, Grierson was ruining railroads and burning
depots of supplies, but that was but a raid to be avenged by a raid.
In the cloud down the river was forging the true lightning, the breath
of destruction and the iron hail. Vicksburg held its breath and
looked sideways at small noises, then recovered itself, smiled, and
talked of sieges in history successfully stood by small towns. On the
twenty-ninth, Porter's squadron opened fire on the Confederate
batteries at Grand Gulf, and that night, under a fierce bombard
ment, ironclads, gunboats, and transports ran this defence also of
the Mississippi. At dawn there was another reason the less for
confining few troops in small places.

On the thirtieth of April, Grant began to ferry his army across
from the Louisiana shore. Brigade by brigade, he landed it at
Bruinsburg, nine miles below Grand Gulf, sixty below Vicksburg.
At Grand Gulf was Bowen with five thousand grey soldiers with
which to delay Grant's northward march. Between Bruinsburg
and Grand Gulf ran Bayou Pierre, wide and at this season much
swollen, but with an available bridge at Port Gibson. Bowen's
three brigades took the road to the last-named place, and Bowen
telegraphed to Pemberton at Vicksburg for reinforcements. Pem-
berton sent Tracy's Alabama brigade of Stevenson's division, and
with it Anderson's Battery, Botetourt Artillery. The th Vir
ginia, figuring in this story, marched also.

They broke camp at dusk. "Night march! "quoth th Virginia.

" Double time! Old Jack must have come down from Virginia!"

The colonel heard. "Old Jack and Marse Robert are looking after
Fighting Joe Hooker to-day. I saw the telegram. They're moving
toward the Wilderness."

"Well, we wish we were, too," said the men. "Though the Miss
issippi is mighty important, we know!"

There existed a road, of course, only it had not been in condition
for a year. No roads were kept up nowadays, though occasionally
some engineer corps momentarily bettered matters in some selected
place in order that troops might pass. Troops had gone up and
down this road, and the feet of men and horses, the wheels of wagons

PORT GIBSON 71

and gun-carriages had added force to neglect, making the road very
bad, indeed. It was narrow and bad, even for Southern roads in
wartime. To the aid of neglect and the usage of hoof and wheel had
come the obliterating rains. Bayous, too, had no hesitation in fling
ing an arm across. It was a season when firm ground changed into
marsh and marsh into lake and ordinary fords grew too deep for
fording. Miles of the miserable road ran through forest — no open,
park-like wood whereon one might travel on turf at the sides of the
way, but a far Southern forest, impenetrable, violent, resenting the
road, giving it not an inch on either hand, making raids and forays
of its own. Where it could it flung poisoned creepers, shot out arms
in thorn-mail, laid its own dead across that narrow track. It could
also blot out the light, keep off the air.

At midnight the Big Black River was reached. Oh, the reinforce
ments for Bowen were tired and worn! The night was inky, damp,

and hot. The th Virginia, closing Tracy's column, must wait

and wait for its turn at the crossing. There was a long, old-type
ferryboat, and many men and horses swam the stream, but it took
time, time to get the whole brigade across! Broken and decaying
wood was gathered and a tall fire made. Burning at the water's
edge, it murkily crimsoned landing and stream, the crowded boat
slow passing from shore to shore, and the swimming, mounted men.
Above it, on the north side, the waiting regiments threw themselves
down on the steaming earth, in the rank and wild growth. The

• th Virginia, far back on the road, had a fire of its own. Behind

it yet were the guns accompanying Tracy.

As the fire flamed up Artillery drew near, drawn by the genial
glow. " May we ? Thank you ! If you fellows are as wet as we are,
you are wet, indeed. That last bayou was a holy terror!"

" In our opinion this entire night 's a holy terror. Have n't we met
you before? Are n't you the Botetourt Artillery?"

"Yes. We've met a lot of people in this war, some that we liked
and some that we did n't! You look right likable. Where —

"Going out to Chickasaw Bayou. Pitch black night like this,
only it was raining and cold. Your mules could n't pull —

"Oh, now we remember!" said Artillery. "You're the th

Virginia that helped us all it could! Glad to meet you again. Glad
to meet anything Virginian."

72 CEASE FIRING

"You've been out of Virginia a long time?"

" Out of it a weary year. Tennessee, Cumberland Gap, Kentucky,
and so forth. We sing 'most everything in this army, but the Bote-
tourt Artillery can't sing 'Carry me back to Old Virginny'! It
chokes up. — What's your county?"

Company by company, regiment by regiment, Tracy's brigade
got over the Big Black. Foot by foot the troops in the rear came
nearer the stream; minute by minute the dragging night went by.
Half seated, half lying on the fallen trunk of a gum, Edward Gary
watched the snail-like crossing. When one dead tree burned down,
they fired another. There was light enough, a red pulsing in the
darkness through which the troops moved down the sloping bank
to the ferryboat. The bank was all scored and trampled, and crested
by palmetto scrub and tall trees draped with vines. The men stum
bled as they went, they were so stiff with fatigue. Their feet were
sore and torn. There was delay enough. Each man as he passed
out of the shadow down to the boat had his moment of red light, a
transitory centre of the stage.

Gary watched them broodingly, his elbow on the log, his hand
covering his mouth. "A bronze frieze of the Destined. Leaves of
the life tree and a high wind and frost at hand." An old man stood
his moment in the light, the hollows in his cheeks plain, plain the
thin and whitened hair beneath a torn boy's cap. He passed. The
barrel of his musket gleamed for an instant, then sank like a star
below the verge. A young man took his place, gaunt, with deep
circles about his eyes. The hand on the musket stock was long and
thin and white. "Fever," thought Edward. "Disease, that walks
with War." The fever-stricken passed, and another took his place.
This was a boy, certainly not more than fifteen, and his eyes were
dancing. He had had something to eat, Edward thought, perhaps
even a mouthful of whiskey, he carried himself with such an impish
glee. "Is it such fun? Iwonder — I wonder! You represent, I think,
the past of the human species. Step aside, honourable young sav
age, and let the mind of the world grow beyond fifteen!"

On and down went the column, young, old, and in between.
Two years earlier a good observer, watching it, would have been
able fairly to ascribe to each unit his place in life before the
drum beat. "A farmer — another — a great landowner, a planter

PORT GIBSON 73

— surely a blacksmith — a clerk — a town-bred man, perhaps
a banker — another farmer — a professional man — a student —
Dick from the plough — " and so on. Now it was different. You
could have divided the columns, perhaps, into educated men and
uneducated men, rough men and refined men, as you could have
divided it into young men and old men, tall men and men not so tall.
But the old stamp had greatly worn away, and the new had had two
years in which to bite deep. It was a column of Confederate soldiers,
poorly clad and shod, and, to-night, hungry and very tired. Soldier
by soldier, squad, company, regiment, on they stumbled through
prickly and matted growth down to the water of the Big Black and
the one boat. The night wore on. One and two and three o'clock

went by before the last of the th Virginia was over. Edward,

standing in the end of the boat, marked the Botetourt Artillery move
forward and down to the stream. There was a moment when the
guns were drawn sharply against the pallor of the morning sky.
There came into his mind an awakening at dawn on the battle-field
of Frayser's Farm, and the pale pink heaven behind the guns. But,
indeed, he had seen them often, drawn against the sky at daybreak.
There was growing in this war, as in all wars, a sense of endless re
petition. The gamut was not extensive, the spectrum held but few
colours. Over and over and over again sounded the notes, old as the
ages, monotonous as the desert wind. War was still war, and all
music was military. Edward and his comrades touched the southern
shore of the Big Black, and the boat went back for the Botetourt
Artillery.

The reinforcements for Bowen made no stop for breakfast for men
or for horses, but pushed on toward Grand Gulf. The day was
warm, the forest heavily scented, the air languid. All the bourgeon
ing and blossoming, the running sap, the upward and outward flow,
was only for the world of root and stem, leaf and bud. The very
riot and life therein seemed to draw and drain the strength from the
veins of men. It was as though there were not life enough for both
worlds, and the vegetable world was forcing itself uppermost. All day
Tracy's column moved forward in a forced march. The men went
hungry and without sleep ; all day they broke with a dull impatience
thorn and briar and impeding cane, or forded waist-deep and muddy
bayous, or sought in swamps for the lost road. They were now in a

74 CEASE FIRING

region of ridge and ravine, waves of land and the trough between,
and all covered with a difficult scrub and a maze of vines.

A courier from Grand Gulf met the head of the column. " General
Bowen says, sir, you'll have to cross Bayou Pierre at Port Gibson.
The bridge is there. Yes, sir, make a detour — yonder 's the road."

"That turkey track?"

"Yes, sir. General Bowen says he surely will be obliged if you'll
come right on."

Sundown and Bayou Pierre were reached together. At the mouth
of the bridge at Port Gibson waited an aide on horseback.

"General Tracy?"

"Yes, sir."

"General, we're in line of battle across the Bruinsburg road,
several miles from here! McClernand's corps is in front of us and
he's got at least four divisions. General Bowen says he knows your
men are tired and he 's sorry, but you must move right out. They '11
attack at dawn at latest. We are n't but five thousand."

The reinforcements from Vicksburg moved out. At ten o'clock
they got into line of battle — a hot, still, dark night, and the soft
blurred stars swimming before the men's eyes. When the order was
given, the troops dropped down where they stood, lay on their arms,
and slept like the dead.

At two in the morning of the first of May the pickets began firing.
Up rose the reinforcements. They looked for breakfast, but break
fast was scant indeed, a stopgap of the slightest description. Pre
sently came the order, "Move to the left and support General
Green."

Missouri formed Bowen's left, and Missouri fought bravely at
Port Gibson. It had to face treble its numbers, artillery and infan
try. It faced them so stubbornly that for a time it bade fair to
outface them. On that hot May day, on that steaming Southern
battle-field, occurred strong fighting, grey and blue at grips, Victory
shouting now here, now there, Defeat uncertain yet into which
colour finally to let fly the deadly arrow. The battle smoke settled
heavily. The bright colours, the singing-birds fled the trees and
bushes, the perfume of flowers was smothered and vanished.

Artillery on both sides became heavily engaged. The th Vir
ginia, during one of those sudden and mysterious lulls coming sud-

PORT GIBSON 75

denly in battle as in other commotions of the elements, found itself,
after hard fighting, with nothing to do but to watch that corner of
the fight immediately before it. The corner was but a small, smoke-
shrouded one. Only general officers, aides, and couriers ever really

saw a battle-field. The th Virginia gazed with feverish interest

on what it could see and guessed that which it could not. It could
guess well enough that for the grey the struggle was growing des
perate.

All this field was up and down, low ridge and shallow ravine. The

th Virginia held a ridge. Over against it was a blue battery, and

beyond the battery there might be divined a gathering mass of in
fantry. The th Virginia looked to its cartridge boxes. " Wish we

had some guns! There won't be much of this left — What's that?
Praise the Lord! " At a gallop, out of the smoke to the right, came a
section of a grey battery, the guns leaping and thundering. Red-
nostrilled, with blood-shot eyes up strained the horses. At the ridge-
top, with an iron clang, all stopped. At once the gunners, grey
wraiths in grey smoke, were busy; busy also at once the shapes
upon the opposite ridge, blue wraiths in grey smoke. There was
shouting, gesturing, then the flare and shriek of crossing shells.

The th Virginia, still in possession of its spare moment, watched

with an interest intense and critical. " Hello !" it said. "That's the
homesick battery! That's the Botetourt Artillery!"

Out of the haze in front, above the opposing crest, came a glint of
bayonets, the blue infantry, coveting the grey ridge, moving for
ward under artillery support. The th Virginia handled its

rifles. Ready — take aim — fire! The blue failed to acquire the

coveted ridge. The th Virginia, at rest once again in its corner

of the field, looked sideways to see what the homesick battery was
doing. There was a silence; then, " Give them a cheer, men ! " said the
colonel. "They're dying fast, and it always was a brave county!"

The shells from the many blue cannon came many and fast. It
was necessary to clear the ridge of that grey section which stood in
the way of a general advance. The gunners fell, the gunners fell,
the officers, the horses. Dim in the universal cloud, from the left, a
force was seen approaching. "Grey, I think," said the lieutenant
commanding this section of the Botetourt Artillery. "J. J. Smith,
climb up on the roof of that cabin, and sec what you can see!"

76 CEASE FIRING

J. J. Smith climbed. "Lieutenant Norgrove! Lieutenant Nor-
grove! they're damn- Yankees — "

Out of the smoke came a yellow light and a volley of lead. Gunner
Number 8, J. J. Smith, fell from the roof of the cabin, desperately
wounded. " Double canister!" shouted Norgrove.

An orderly came up the back side of the ridge. The th Vir
ginia was needed to cover a break in the line to the right. Off per
force went the regiment, with one backward look at the homesick
battery, left without infantry support. An aide dashed up, rose in his
stirrups, and shouted, "Move your guns to the ridge in your rear!"
He was gone; Botetourt looked and shook its head. The horses were
all killed. "Put your hands to them, men!" ordered Norgrove —
and they tried. But the scrub was thick, the ground rough ; there
burst a frightful fire, shell and musketry, and on came the blue wave
hurrahing. "All right! We can't!" shouted Norgrove. "Load!
This hill 's Botetourt County — Take aim! — and we don't propose
to emigrate! Fire!"

The blue guns threw death. Deep, many-atomed, resistless, up
roared the blue wave. It struck and went over Botetourt County,
and, taking the two guns, turned them on the Botetourt men. There
were few Botetourt men now, Botetourt was become again the
wilderness. Norgrove jerked the trail from a gun, a man in blue
calling on him all the time to surrender. He made at the man, who
lifted his rifle and fired. Norgrove fell, mortally wounded, fell by the
side of J. J. Smith. He put his arms about the gunner, "Come on!
Come on! " he cried. . . . The wave swept over Botetourt County,
the dead and the dying.

The th Virginia, fighting strongly in another quarter of the

field, came in mid-afternoon to a stand between charges. All knew
now that the day was going against them. The smoke hung thick, a
dark velvet in the air, torn in places by the lightning from the guns.
Grey and blue — all was dimly seen. The flags looked small and dis
tant, mere riddled and blood-stained rags. The voice of War was
deep and loud. The th Virginia, looking up from a hollow be
tween the hills, saw two grey guns, stolid in the midst of wreck and
ruin. The plateau around had a nightmare look, it was so weighted
and cumbered with destruction. There was an exploded caisson, a
wreck of gun-carriages. Not a horse had been spared. The agony of

PORT GIBSON 77

them was ghastly, sunk in the scrub, up and down and on the crest
of the ridge. ... A few grey gunners yet served the grey guns.

A captain, young, with a strong face and good brown eyes, stood
out, higher than the rest, careless of the keening minies, the stream of
shells. "A habit is a habit, men ! This battery's got a habit of being
steadfast! Keep it up — keep it up!"

"Captain Johnston — Captain Johnston! They've killed Lieu
tenant Douthatt — "

" Lay him in the scrub and fight on. How many rounds, Peters?—
Two ? — All right! You can do a good deal with two rounds — "

"It's the rest of the homesick battery," said the th Virginia,

" Botetourt A rtillery I Botetourt A rtillery I "

There rushed a blue, an overpowering, a tidal wave — out of the
smoke and din, bearing with it its own smoke and din, overmaster-
ingly strong, McClernand's general advance. At the same moment,
on the left, struck McPherson. When the roar that followed the
impact died, the blue had won the field of Port Gibson; the grey had
lost.

At sunset, Bowen's retreating regiments re-crossed Bayou Pierre.
The exhaustion of the troops was extreme. There was no food; the
men sank down and slept, in the whispering Southern night, in the
remote light of other worlds. At dawn began the slow falling-back
upon Vicksburg.

Lieutenant-General Pemberton telegraphed the situation to
General Johnston in Tennessee, adding, "I should have large
reinforcements."

In Tennessee, Rosecrans lay menacingly before Bragg. Johnston
telegraphed to Pemberton, "Reinforcements cannot be sent from
here without giving up Tennessee. Unite all your forces to meet
Grant. Success will give you back what you abandoned to win it."

Pemberton, personally a brave and good man, looked out south
and east from Vicksburg over the sparsely settled, tangled country.
He looked west, indeed; but it was too late now to gather to him the
Army of the Trans-Mississippi. His mind agreed that perhaps it
should have been done in December . . . The troops in Vicksburg
and north of Vicksburg, the troops at Jackson, the troops falling
back from Grand Gulf — leaving out the garrison at Port Hudson,
one might count, perhaps, thirty thousand effectives. Unite all

78 CEASE FIRING

these, but not at Vicksburg . . . move out from Vicksburg, ma
noeuvre here and manoeuvre there, and at last take Grant some
where at disadvantage. . . . General Johnston's plan as against
the President's. . . . Leave Vicksburg defenceless, to be taken by
some detached force, by Sherman, by the Federal men-of-war that
could now march up and down the Mississippi. . . . Pemberton
looked out at the batteries that had been built, all the field-works,
all the trenches. Most useless of all considerations moved him, the
consideration of the pity, of the waste of all these. He looked at the
very gallant town ; he thought of the spirit of an old gentleman and
prominent citizen to whom he had talked yesterday. " Before God,"
said Pemberton, "I am not going to give up Vicksburg!"

The third day after Port Gibson the th Virginia came again to

its old camp above the river, just without the town. Here, the next
morning, Edward Gary received an order to report to his colonel.
He found the latter at Headquarters and saluted — the colonel be
ing an old schoolmate and hopelessly in love with his sister Unity.
"Gary," said the colonel, "we're poorer than the Ragged Moun
tains, but apparently we are considered highly presentable, a real
crack command, dandies and so forth! The War Department wants
a word-of-mouth description of Mississippi conditions. In short,
there 's an embassy going to Richmond. The general came down and
asked if my uniform was whole and if I could muster two or three
men in decent apparel. Said I thought I could, and that there was
a patch, but I did n't think it would show. I am going to take you
as my orderly. The train for Jackson leaves at midday."
"Yes, sir. It is ten now. May I have the two hours ?"
"Yes. I'll take you on now. Tell your captain."
Outside he heard the news of the battle of Chancellorsville.
"It was a victory! " said the men, sore from Port Gibson. "A big
victory! We're having them straight along in Virginia."
"It ain't a victory to have Stonewall Jackson wounded."
"Telegram said he'd get well. Old Jack is n't going to leave us.
God! We 'd miss him awful!"

Edward and Desiree had one hour together. They spent it in the
garden, sitting beneath a flowering tree.

"How soon are you coming back ? Oh, how soon are you coming
back?"

PORT GIBSON 79

"As soon as we may. It must be soon, for the fighting will begin
now. Port Gibson was but the opening gun."

"We have been making the cave for this house larger. A
siege. . . ."

"I do not believe that we should pen ourselves up here. Grant
can bring, if needed, a hundred thousand men. He is a dogged,
earnest man. I think that we should concentrate as rapidly as pos
sible and move from behind these walls. The odds are not much
greater than they were in the Valley, or during the Seven Days."

"We have not General Jackson and General Lee."

"No, but the Government should give General Johnston free
hand. He is the third."

"Oh, War! — When will it end and how ? "

"When we have fought to a stand-still. There is a Trojan feel to
it all. . . . How beautiful you are! — fighter of floods, keeper of
home! warrior and sufferer more than I am warrior and sufferer! I
do not know how to say good-bye."

He had in Virginia three days. There was no time nor leave for
Greenwood. His father was upon the Rappahannock, but in Rich
mond he saw Fauquier Gary. He had in Richmond two days.

The town lay in May sunshine, in bloom of the earliest roses.
They mantled the old porches, the iron balconies, while above the
magnolias opened their white chalices. The town breathed gladness
for the victory in the Wilderness, and bitter grief for the many
dead, and bitter grief for Stonewall Jackson. Edward heard in
Richmond the Dead March for Jackson and watched him borne
through the sighing streets. He heard the minute guns, and the toll
ing bells, and the slow, heroic music, and the sobbing of the people.
He saw the coffin, borne by generals, carried into the Capitol, up
ward and between the great white Doric columns, into the Hall of
the Lower House, where it rested before the Speaker's chair. He was
among the thousands who passed before the dead chieftain, lying in
state among lilies and roses, shrouded in the flag of Virginia, in
the starry banner of the Confederate States. All day he heard the
tolling of the bells, the firing of the minute guns.

On the morrow began the return journey to the Mississippi, long
and slow on the creeping, outworn train, over the road that was so
seldom mended. On the train crept, for many hundred miles, until

8o CEASE FIRING

just within the boundaries of Mississippi, at a crowded station, the
passengers heard grave news. Jackson, the capital of the State, was
in Federal hands! — there had been a desperate and disastrous battle
at Baker's Creek, as desperate and more disastrous than Port Gibson !
— there had been a Confederate rout at Big Black Bridge. . . . The

colonel of the th Virginia, and the three or four officers and men

with him, left the train, impressed horses, struck north, and then
west and south. After three days they came upon a grey picket line,
passed, and entered Vicksburg, where they found Pemberton with
something over twenty thousand effectives, — the troops that had
met defeat at Baker's Creek, with others not engaged, — all under
orders from Richmond to hold Vicksburg at all hazards.

On the eighteenth, the Federal forces appeared on the Jackson
and Grapevine road, east of the town. The two following days were
spent by the blue in making their lines of circumvallation. The grey
and the blue lines were about eight hundred yards apart. On the
twenty-second, the ironclads came up the river from Grand Gulf.
When they opened fire on the town and its defences, which they did
almost immediately, the siege of Vicksburg was formally begun.

CHAPTER VIII

IN VIRGINIA

THIRTY guns of the horse artillery moved into position — not
for battle, but for a splendid review. Right and left, emerg
ing from the Virginia forest and the leafy defiles between the
hills, came with earth-shaking tread the cavalry, a great force of
cavalry, Jeb Stuart's splendid brigades ! In the misty, early morning
they moved into line, having come up from Brandy Station to a
plain north of Culpeper Court-House. It was the eighth of June,
something more than a month after Chancellorsville.

Beckham's Horse Artillery, that had been John Pelham's, having
got into position, proceeded to take interest in the forming cavalry.
There was so magnificently much of cavalry; it was so rested, so
recuperated, so victorious, so proud of its past and determined as to
its future, so easy, so fine, so glorious, so stamped, in short, with the
stamp of Jeb Stuart, that to watch it was like watching a high and
gay pageant! The sound of its movement, its jingle and clank, was
delightful; delightful the brave lilt of voices, the neighing of impa
tient horses, delightful the keen bugles! The mist being yet heavy,
there was much of mere looming shapes, sounds out of a fogbank.
The plain was far spread, the review meant to be a noble one. There
was a sense of distant gaiety as of near. The mist hid panoplied war,
and far away bugles rang with an elfin triumph.

A certain company of the horse artillery was beautifully placed on
a small, clear knoll, above it the fine leaves, the drooping, sweet
bloom of a solitary locust. The guns were ranged in order, the horses
in harness, cropping the wet grass where they stood. But it was
early yet and the battery men had not received the order, To your
pieces! They were clustered in groups, watching the gathering
cavalry. Lean and easy and powerful, bronzed and young, they
cheerfully commented upon life in general and the scene below.

"Jeb is n't here yet! He bivouacked last night at Beverly Ford.
Orderly, riding by, heard the banjo."

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"Is this review his notion or Marse Robert's ? "

"I reckon I can answer that. I was at headquarters. Jeb came
out of that lovely little cabin he 's got with a letter in his hand which
he read to Heros von Borcke — "

"Yes?"

"And he said in it that he did n't believe there ever had been in
this sinful world a finer cavalry force, and would n't the greatest
general on earth come over with some of his friends and review the
greatest body of horse — "

"Sounds like him."

"And he gave the letter to Heros von Borcke, who went off with
it. And then I was at headquarters again — "

"You sound like the Old Testament! Well, you were at head
quarters again — ? "

"And Heros von Borcke brought an order from Marse Robert —
Jeb and all of us to come over and be reviewed on the plain north of
Culpeper. Marse Robert said he 'd be there with 'some of his
friends'—"

"Longstreet, I reckon. A. P. Hill's still at Fredericksburg."

"And they say E well's going toward the Valley — "

To right and left there sprang a rustling. The sun strengthened,
the mist began to lift, a number of bugles blared together. Into the
very atmosphere sifted something like golden laughter. A shout
arose — Jeb Stuart ! Jeb Stuart I Jeb Stuart !

Out of the misty forest, borne high, a vivid square in the sea of
pearl, came a large battle-flag. Crimson and blue and thirteen-
starred, forth it paced, held high by the mounted standard bearer.
The horse artillery saluted as it went by, going on to a sentinelled
strip of greensward where stood three ancient and weather-beaten
tents. Here it was planted, and here in the June wind it streamed
outward so that every star might be seen. The mist yet held on the
farther side of the plain, but all the nearer edge was growing light
and sunny. The bugles rang. Jeb Stuart ! Jeb Stuart ! shouted the
plain above Culpeper.

Stuart, followed by his staff, trotted from the forest. He wore his
fighting jacket and his hat with the plume, he was magnificently
mounted, he stroked his wonderful, sunny beard, and he laughed
with his wonderful, sunny, blue eyes. He had more verve than any

IN VIRGINIA 83

leader in that army; he was brave as Ney; the army adored him!
The victory of Chancellorsville was his victory no less than it was
that of Stonewall Jackson and of Robert Lee. All knew it, and the
victory was but five short weeks ago. The glory of the great fight
hung about him like a golden haze, a haze that magnified, and yet
that, perhaps, did not magnify overmuch, for he was a noble cavalry
leader. Suddenly, —

" Old Joe Hooker, won't you come out of the Wilderness ? "

chanted the hosts about him.

He lifted his hat. The horse, that had about his arching neck a
great wreath of syringa and roses, pranced on to the colours and
stopped. Staff drew up, bugles blew, there came a sound of drum
and fife, mist began rapidly to lift. " Oh," breathed Horse Artillery,
getting into place, "most things have a compensatory side!'1

From the misty middle of the plain came with tramp and jingle
another mounted party. One rode ahead on a grey horse. Noble of
form and noble of face, simple and courteous, he came up to the
great flag and grandeur came with him. General Lee! General Lee!
shouted Cavalry, shouted Horse Artillery.

Stuart, who had dismounted, came forward, saluting.

"Ah, General," said Lee. "I am going to review you with much
pleasure, and I have taken you at your word and brought with me
some of my friends."

Stuart beamed upon Longstreet, commander of the First Corps,
and upon several division generals.

"Oh, I have brought more than these ! " said Lee. "Look how the
sun is drinking up the mist!"

As he spoke the sun finished the draught. The rolling plain north
of Culpeper lay bare. All the dewy, green middle waited for the
cavalry evolutions, for the march past, but the farther side, up and
down and over against Jeb Stuart's flag, was already occupied
and not by cavalry. Troops and troops and troops, like a grey wall
pointed with banners! — Horse Artillery, from its place of vantage,
stared, then softly crowed. "Great day in the morning! Marse
Robert has brought the whole First Corps!"

Now here, now there, on the plain, went in brilliant manoeuvres

84 CEASE FIRING

the cavalry. The horse artillery came into line, manoeuvred and
thundered as brilliantly. The massed infantry cheered, the review
ing general stood with a grave light in his eyes. Jeb Stuart shifted his
place like a sunbeam. Oh, the blowing bugles; oh, the red and blue
flag outstreaming; oh, the sunlight and the clear martial sounds and
the high, high hopes on the plain north of Culpeper! June was in the
heart of most; doubly, doubly was it the Confederacy's June, this
month! Great victories in Virginia lay behind it: in the Far South
there had been disasters, but Vicksburg — Vicksburg was heroically
standing the siege. And in front lay, perhaps, the crossing of the
Potomac and the carrying the war into Africa! June, June, June! it
sang in the blood of the grey. Long and horrible had been the war,
and many were the lost, and tears had drenched the land, but now it
was summer and victory would come before the autumn. The
North was tired of spilling blood and treasure; there sounded a
clamour for peace. One or two other great victories, and peace would
descend and the great Confederacy would stand! The march past
raised its eyes to the crimson banner with the thirteen stars, and
June was in every soldier's heart.

The march past was a thing to have seen and to remember. By the
starry banner, by Robert Edward Lee, went the cavalry brigades
of his son, "Roony" Lee, of his nephew, Fitzhugh Lee, of Beverly
Robertson, of W. E. Jones, of Wade Hampton. They lifted their
sabres, the sun made a dazzle of steel. June, June, June ! sang the
bugles, sang the birds in the woods back of the warm-hearted, the
admiring infantry. Past went the horse artillery, the thirty guns,
the proud battery horses, the easy and bronzed cannoneers, the
grave young officers. . . . General Lee! General Lee I shouted
Cavalry, shouted Artillery ! The dust rose from the plain, all grew a
shimmering blur. . . .

It was over, the great cavalry review. The day descended; the
troops drew off toward hidden bivouacs. Lee and Longstreet and
Stuart rode together awhile, under the sunset sky. Staff, behind
them, understood that great things were being spoken of — marches
toward Maryland, perhaps, or a watch on Joe Hooker, or the, of
late, vastly increased efficiency of the enemy's cavalry. Staff had its
own opinion as to this. "They always could fight, and now they've
learned to ride! Pity!"

IN VIRGINIA 85

"I don't call it a pity. I 'd rather meet them equal. Pleasanton 's
all right."

" We've had a beautiful review and we've also made a lot of
noise, to say nothing of a dust cloud like the Seven Days come back.
Double pickets to-night, I should say. We are n't a million miles
from Hooker."

"That's true enough. — Halt! General Lee's going back."

Under a great flush of sunset coral and gold above the trees, Lee
and his cavalry leader parted. The one smiled, the other laughed,
they touched gauntleted hands, and Lee turned grey Traveller.
Longstreet joined him and they rode away, staff falling in behind,
out of the June-time forest, back to the encampment at Culpeper.
A moment and their figures were drowned in the violet evening.
Jeb Stuart, singing, plunged with his staff into the woods. His head
quarters were at Brandy Station.

The starry night found this village filled with troops. They
bivouacked, moreover, all about it, on Fleetwood Hill and toward
St. James Church. There were outposts, too, toward the Rappa-
hannock; a considerable troop tethered its horses on the bank above
Beverly Ford. Others went toward Providence Church and Norman's
Ford, others toward Kelly's. Eight thousand horse bivouacked
beneath the stars. Camp-fire saw camp-fire, and the rustling night
wind and the murmuring streams heard other voices than their own,
heard voices full of cheer.

The horse artillery prepared to spend the night in a grassy field
beside the Beverly Ford road. In front was a piece of thick woods.
The battery horses, tethered in a long line, began to crop the grass.
The guns, each known and loved like an old familiar, were parked.
The men gathered dry wood for their supper fires, fried their bacon,
baked their corn-meal pones, brewed their "coffee" — chiccory,
rye, or sweet potato, as the case might be. There was much low
laughter and crooning, and presently clouds of tobacco smoke.
Beautiful review — beautiful day — rest to-night — march to
morrow — Jeb lovely as ever — going to end this blessed war —
pile on the pine knots so we can read the letters from home ! . . .

Toward midnight, on the farther edge of the wood, a post of the
horse artillery relieved its pickets. The sound of the retiring steps
died away and the fresh sentinels took cognizance of their positions.

86 CEASE FIRING

The positions were some distance apart, between them wood and
uneven ground and the murmurous night. Each picket was a lonely
man, with the knowledge only that if he raised his voice to a shout
he would be heard.

The moon shone brightly. It silvered the Beverly Ford road and
made a frosted wall of the forest left and right, and bathed with the
mildest light the open and undulating country. Somewhere a whip-
poor-will was calling. Whip-poor-will I Whip-poor-will !

Beside the road sprang a giant sycamore. From beneath it Philip
Deaderick, once Richard Cleave, standing picket, watched the
night. He stood straight and still, powerfully knit, his short rifle in
the hollow of his arm. He stood grave and quiet, a wronged but not
unhappy man. The inner life, the only life, had marched on. A gulf
had opened and certain hopes and happinesses had fallen therein,
but his life was larger than those hopes and happinesses. The inner
man had marched on. He had marched even with a quickened step
in this last month. " What did it matter? " reasoned Cleave. " Those
whom I love know, and I am not cut off from service, no, nor from
growth!" Around, above, below the sharpened point of the mo
ment he was aware enough of the larger man. The point might
ache at times, but he knew also impersonal freedom. . . . Things
might be righted some day or they might not be righted. He could
wait. He looked from the shadow of the sycamore out upon the
lovely, moonlit land. Tragedy, death, and sorrow through all the
world, interpretations at grips, broken purposes, misunderstandings,
humanity groping, groping ! He ached for it all — for the woman
sleepless on her pillow, for the prisoner in prison. The spirit
widened; he stood calm under all, quiet, with suspended judg
ment. Whip-poor-will I Whip-poor-will I He looked up and studied
the stars between the silver branches of the sycamore, then dropped
his gaze and leaned slightly forward, for he heard the tread of horses
on the road.

Two horsemen, one in front, the other a little way behind, came
quietly up the silver streak.

"Halt! "said Deaderick.

The two drew rein. "All right!" said the one in advance. "A
friend. Colonel of Gary's Legion, with an orderly."

"Advance, friend, and give the countersign."

IN VIRGINIA 87

" Correct, Imy. Pass!"

The officer, with a motion of his hand to the orderly to stay where
he was, came closer to the picket. " Before I do so," he said, and his
tone was a strange one, " tell me your name."

"Philip Deaderick."

"You are trying to disguise your voice. . . . Richard!"

"Don't, Fauquier! I am Philip Deaderick, gunner in - 's
battery, horse artillery."

"How long?"

"Since Groveton. Don't betray me."

"Who knows ? Does Judith know ?"

"Yes. She and my mother."

The other covered his eyes with his hand, then spoke, much
moved. "Richard, if ever this war gives us time we might reopen
matters. We surely have influence enough — "

"I know, Fauquier. But there is no time now to be given nor stress
to be laid on private matters. Somehow they have sunk away. . . .
Perhaps a day will come, and perhaps it will not come. ... In the
mean time dismissal from the army has not worked. I am back in
the army."

"And are not unhappy ? You do not sound unhappy."

"No. I am not unhappy. Only now and then. ... Be careful,
will you ? If I were known I should be unhappy soon enough!"

"You may trust me." He leaned from the saddle and put his hand
on the other's shoulder. " Richard, you 're a true man. I 've always
honoured you, and I honour you more than ever! Truth will out!
You be sure of that."

"I am at times reasonably sure of it, Fauquier. And if it does not
appear, I am reasonably sure that I can endure the darkness. I told
you that I was not unhappy." He laid an affectionate touch on the
other's hand. " I was sorry enough to hear about the arm, Fauquier."

"Oh," said Gary, "I have learned to use the left. I had rather it
was the arm than the leg, like dear old Ewell! . . . Richard, meet
ing you like this moves me more than I can well let show. I 've got so
much of my mother in me that I 'd like to kiss you, my dear — " He
bent as he spoke and touched with his lips the other's broad, uplifted
brow, which done, with a great handclasp they parted. Gary, turn-

88 CEASE FIRING

ing, called to the orderly who came up. The two rode on toward
Brandy Station, and Deaderick resumed his watch.

Another time passed. The moon rode high, the forest rustled, the
road lay a silver streak. Deaderick, still and straight beneath the
sycamore, presently turned his head and regarded the line of woods
upon his left. He had caught a sound — but it was some distance
away. It had been faint, but it was like a horse being pushed
cautiously through undergrowth. Now there was no more of it.
He stood listening, with narrowed eyes. The bushes a hundred feet
away parted and a man and horse emerged. They stopped a mo
ment and the man rose in his stirrups and looked about him. Then,
with a satisfied nod, he settled to the saddle again and the two came
through the thin growth down to the road.

"Halt!" said Deaderick, cocking his rifle.

The horseman came on. "Halt! or I fire."

The horse was stopped. "Don't waste your bullets on me I" said
the rider coolly. "Save them for the Yankees."

"Dismount before you advance."

"I have the countersign. I am Lieutenant Francis, bearing ari
enquiry from General Lee."

"Dismount before you advance."

The officer dismounted. He was a tall man, wrapped, though the
night was warm, in a grey horseman's cloak. "You are tremend
ously careful to-night! I suppose my horse may follow me? He
does n't stand well."

"Fasten him to the sapling beside you. — Advance and give the
countersign."

The tall man came up, revealing, beneath a grey hat pulled low, a
tanned countenance with long mustaches. "Ivry. I'll tell General
Stuart that you are about the most cautious picket he's got. I
remember having to convince just such another when I was in
Texas in '43 — "

"Did you convince him ?"

"I did. The word is Ivry. Allow me to pass."

"Be so good first as to open your cloak. It is too warm to wear
it so."

"My man, you are on your way to the guardhouse. Messengers
from General Lee are not accustomed — What is that ? "

IN VIRGINIA 89

"Nothing. I was humming a line of an old carol. Do you remem
ber the road to Frederick ? "

Dead silence, then a movement of Marchmont's hand beneath
the cloak. Cleave divined, and was upon him. Not so tall, but more
powerfully built and a master wrestler, the tug of war was a short
one. The pistol, wrenched from the Englishman's grasp, fell to the
ground and was kicked away. The two struggling figures swung
round until Marchmont was nearer the sycamore, Cleave between
him and the horse. Another fierce instant and the Englishman was
thrown — the picket's rifle covered him.

"I regret it," said Cleave, "but it can't be helped. I wish that
some other had been sent in your place." He raised his voice to a
shout. "Picket two! A prisoner. Send guard!" There came back
a faint "All right! Hold on!"

Marchmont sat up and picked the leaves from his clothing.
"Well, I have thought of you more than once, and wished that we
might meet again! Not precisely under such auspices as these, but
under others. I was obliged to you, I remember, that day at Front
Royal."

"It was a personal matter then, in which I might indulge my
own inclination. To-night I regret that it is not a personal
matter."

"Exactly. Well, I bear you no grudge. 'Fortune of war!' At
Front Royal you were a colonel leading a charge — may I ask why I
find you playing sentry ?"

"That is a long story," said Cleave. "I am sorry that I should
be your captor, and it is entirely within your right to deny the
request I am going to make. I am Philip Deaderick, a private
soldier. I ask you to forget that I ever had another name."

"All right, Philip Deaderick, private soldier!" said Marchmont.
"Whatever may be your reasons, I won't blab. I liked you very
well on the road to Frederick, and very well that day at Front
Royal. — To-night was just a cursed fanfaronade. Knew you
must all be hereabouts. Crossed over to see what I could see, got
the word and this damned cloak and hat from a spy, and ambled
at once into the arms of a man who could recognize me ! Absurd !
And here comes the guard."

Guard came up. "What is it, Deaderick ? Deserter ? Spy ?"

90 CEASE FIRING

"It's not a deserter," said Deaderick. "It's somebody in a blue
uniform beneath a grey cloak. I don't think he's an accredited spy
— probably just an officer straying around and by chance hearing
the word and acting on the spur of the moment. You 'd better take
him to the captain back on the road."

Another hour passed and he was relieved. Back with the outpost
he lay down upon the summer earth and tried to sleep. But the
two encounters of the night had set the past to ringing. He could
not still the reverberations. Greenwood ! Greenwood ! — the place
and one within it — and one within it — and one within it! ...
And then Marchmont, and the hopes and ambitions that once
Richard Cleave had known. "A colonel leading a charge" —
and the highest service in sight — and a man's knowledge of his
own ability. . . . Philip Deaderick turned and lay with his face to
the earth, his arm across his eyes. He fought it out, the thousandth
inner battle, then turned again and lay, looking sideways along the
misty night.

In the distance a cock crew. The chill air, the unearthly quiet told
the hour before dawn. The east grew pale, then into it crept faint
streaks of purple. The birds in the woodland began incessantly to
cheep ! cheep I The mist was very heavy. It hid the road/swathedjall
the horizon. Reveille sounded: the bugler, mounted on a hill behind
the guns, looked, in the moody light, like some Brocken spectre.
Far and wide, full at hand, thin and elfin in the distance, rang
other reveilles. They rang through the streets of Brandy Station
and through the surrounding forests, fields, and dales, waking Jeb
Stuart's thousands from their sleep.

Horse Artillery stood up, rubbed its eyes, and made a speedy
toilet. In the shortest possible time the men were cooking break
fast. Cooking breakfast being at no time in the Army of Northern
Virginia a prolonged operation, they were to be found in an equally
short space of time seated about mess-fires eating it. It was yet dank
and chilly dawn, the east reddening but not so very red, the mist
hanging heavy, closing all perspectives. Horse Artillery lifted its tin
cup, filled with steaming mock-coffee, to its lips — Crack I crack I
came the rifle shots from the Beverly Ford woods. Horse Artillery
set down its cup. "What's that ? What are all those pickets firing
that way for ? Good Lord, if there 's going to be a surprise, why

IN VIRGINIA 91

could n't they wait until after breakfast ? Get the horses and limber
up I — All right, Captain — "

Vedettes, driven in,xame galloping up the road. "Blue cavalry!
No end of blue cavalry ! Column crossing, and a whole lot of them
up in the woods! Nobody could see them, the mist was so heavy!
You slow old Artillery, you'd better look out!"

Beckham came up. " Cap tain Hart, draw a piece by hand down
into the road ! Get hitched up there, double-quick ! Into position on
the knoll yonder! — Oh, here comes support!"

The Sixth Virginia Cavalry had been on picket; the Seventh
Virginia Cavalry doing grand guard. Alert and in the saddle, they
had seen and heard. Now from toward Brandy Station up they
raced, like a friendly whirlwind, to the point of danger. A cheer
from the artillery welcomed them, and they shouted in return.
Flournoy and the Sixth dashed down the Beverly Ford road and
deployed in the woods to the right. Marshall and the Seventh fol
lowed and deployed to the left. Artillery limbered up and took to
the high ground near St. James Church. Up galloped Eleventh and
Twelfth Virginia and fell into line behind the guns.

Jeb Stuart, in the saddle on Fleetwood Hill, his blue eyes
upon the Beverly Ford situation, found a breathless aide beside
him.

"General! General! They're crossing below at Kelly's Ford!
Two divisions — [artillery and infantry behind ! They 've got us front
and rear!"

Stuart's eyes danced. He stroked his beard. "All right! All
right! I '11 send Robertson and Hampton— Here's W. F.H. Lee —
Gary, too! This is going to be the dandiest fight!"

A brigadier galloped up. "General, shall we detach regiments to
guard all approaches?"

"Too many approaches, General! We'll keep concentrated and
deliver the blow where the blow is due ! Will you listen to that de
lightful fuss ? — Dabney, you go tell General Hampton to place
a dismounted battalion by Carrico Mills."

The clang and firing in the Beverly Ford woods grew furious —
the Sixth and Seventh fighting with the Eighth New York and the
Eighth Illinois. On pushed the Federal horse, many and bold,
Buford's Regulars, trained, efficient. The forward surge, the back-

92 CEASE FIRING

ward giving, brought all upon the edge of the wood. There was
charge and countercharge, carbine firing, sabring, shouts, scream
of horses, shock and fire, hand-to-hand fighting. Back and upward
roared the surge, up and over the hill where were the guns, the guns
that were trained, but could not be fired, so inextricably was friend
intertwined with foe. The shouting blue laid hold of the guns; the
cannoneers fought hand-to-hand, with pistol muzzle and pistol butt,
dragging at the horses' reins, striking men from the saddle, covering
the guns, wrenching off the blue clutch. Then came like a jubilant
whirlwind the supporting grey, Hampton and Lee.

"Is n't it beautiful ?" asked Jeb Stuart on Fleetwood Hill. "Oh,
ho! They're coming thick from Kelly's Ford!"

"General Robertson reports, sir, that there's artillery and infan
try on his front. The cavalry, in great strength, is sweeping to the
right—"

"Fine! They're all coming to Fleetwood Hill. Go, tell Major
Beckham to send any guns that he can spare."

Beckham sent two of McGregor's. Artillery was in straits of its
own. Charges from the Beverly Ford woods might be repelled, but
now arose the dust and thunder of the advance from Kelly's. Im
possible to stay before St. James Church and become grain between
the upper and nether millstones ! Artillery fell back, first to Pettis's
Hill, then to Fleetwood, and fell back with three pieces disabled.
Before they could get into position, Buford's regiments charged
again. There followed a melee. The cannoneers, too, must deal
with that charge. They had pistols which they used, they had
sponge staff and odd bits of iron. As soon as it was humanly pos
sible, they got a gun into service — then two. The shells broke
and scattered the shouting blue lines.

Through Brandy Station charged regiment after regiment, —
blue, magnificent, shouting, — Gregg and Duffie's divisions up
from Kelly's Ford. A dismounted squadron of Robertson's broke
before them ; they fell upon a supporting battery and took the guns.
On they roared, through Brandy Station, out to Fleetwood Hill.
Jeb Stuart swung his hat. "Now, Cavalry of the Army of Northern
Virginia! Now, Cavalry of the Army of Northern Virginia!"

There followed a great cavalry fight. Squadron dashed against
squadron. All was gleaming and dust and shouting, carbine smoke

IN VIRGINIA 93

and wheeled lightning of sabres. June stood a-tiptoe; the earth
seemed to rock; a hundred brilliant colours went in sparkles before
the eyes, the ears rang. There was a mad excitement in which,
whether time plunged forward like a cataract, or stood still like an
arrested hearkener to the last trump, none in that abandonment
could have told. It was a gay fight, shrieking with excitement, the
horses mad as the riders, the air shaking like castanets. The squad
rons crashed together, the sabres swung, the pistols cracked ! Down
went men and horses, biting the dust, gaiety going out like a blown
candle. Without, air and sunshine and wild animal exultation;
within, pain, smothering, and darkness, darkness. . . . The guns
were taken, the guns were retaken; the grey gave back, the blue
gave back. The battle lines wheeled and charged, wheeled and
charged. There was shock and fire and a mad melee — a staccato
fight, with cymbal and quick drum. And ever in front tossed the
feather of Stuart.

To and fro, through the hot June weather, the battle swung.
Though no one could tell the time, time passed. The blue gave
back — slowly. Slowly the grey pressed them eastward. A train
shrieked into Brandy Station, and grey infantry came tumbling out.
Loud blew Pleasan ton's bugles. "Leave the fight a drawn fight, and
come away!"

With deliberation the blue, yet in battle front, moved eastward
to the fords of the Rappahannock. After them pressed the grey.
An aide, dust from head to foot, rode neck by neck with Stuart.
''General! we are being hard put to it on the left — Buford's
Regulars ! General Lee has a wound. We Ve got a battery, but
the ammunition's out — " The feather of Stuart turned again to
the Beverly Ford road.

W. H. F. Lee's troops, re-forming, charged again, desperately,
brilliantly. Munford, commanding Fitzhugh Lee's brigade, had
been up the river at Wellford's Ford. Now, bringing with him
Breathed's battery, he fell upon the blue flank. Buford gave way;
the grey came on with a yell. Down through the Beverly woods,
past the spot where, at dawn, there had been outpost fighting, down
to the ford again, rolled the blue. The feather of Stuart went by in
pursuit.

Philip Deaderick, resting after a hard fight, leaning against a yet

94 CEASE FIRING

smoking gun, watched with his fellows the retreat of the tide that
had threatened to overwhelm. The tide was finding outlet by all
the fords of the Rappahannock. It was streaming back from all the
region about Brandy Station. It went in spirits, retiring, but hardly
what one might call defeated. It had been, in sooth, all but a drawn
battle — a brilliant cavalry battle, to be likened, on an enormous
scale, to some flashing joust of the Middle Ages.

Deaderick, watching, leaned forward with a sound almost of
satisfaction. Below him passed two men, riding double, blue gal
lopers toward Beverly Ford. The one behind, without cloak or hat,
saw him, waved his arm and shouted, "Au revoir, Lieutenant
McNeil!"

CHAPTER IX

THE STONEWALL

FIVE days before the fight at Brandy Station, Ewell and the
Second Corps, quitting the encampment near Fredericksburg
and marching rapidly, had disappeared in the distance toward
the Valley. Two days after the fight, Hooker, well enough aware
by now that grey plans were hatching, began the withdrawal of the
great army that had rested so long on the northern bank of the Rap-
pahannock. A. P. Hill and the Third Corps, watching operations
from the south bank, waited only for the withdrawal from Falmouth
of the mass of the enemy. When it was gone, Hill and the Third,
moving with expedition, joined Lee and Longstreet at Culpeper
Court-House.

Stuart and his thousands rested from Brandy Station and observed
movements. All day the grey infantry moved by, streaming toward
the Blue Ridge. Cavalry speculated. "Jeb knows, of course, and
the brigadiers I reckon, and I suppose Company Q knows, but I wish
I did! Are we going to Ohio, or Maryland, or Pennsylvania, or just
back to the blessed old Valley? I don't hold with not telling soldiers
things, just because they don't have bars on their collars or stars or
sashes! We've got a right to know — "

"What's in those wagons — the long white ones with six horses? "

"Banged if I know!"

"Boys, / know! Them's pontoons!"

"Pontoons! We're going to cross the Potomac!"

On went the infantry, over country roads, through the forest,
over open fields. There were no fences now in this region, and few,
few standing crops. All day the infantry streamed by, going toward
the Blue Ridge. Before sunset blew the trumpets of Stuart. "Boot
and saddle!" quoth the men. "Now we are going, too!"

Ewell and the Second Corps, far in advance of the First, the Third
and the cavalry, pierced the Blue Ridge at Chester Gap. " Old Dick "
had left a leg at Grove ton, but he himself was here, going ahead of

96 CEASE FIRING

his troops, a graver man than of old, but irascible yet, quaintly
lovable yet and well loved. Behind him he heard the tramp of his
thousands, Jubal Early's division, Edward Johnson's division, the
division of Rodes. They were going back to the Valley, and they
were going to take Winchester, held by Milroy and eight thousand.
The Stonewall Brigade, led now by Walker, was numbered in
Edward Johnson's division. It marched near the head of the column,
and it gazed with an experienced eye upon the wall of the Blue
Ridge. How many times, O Mars, how many times! Up, up the
June heights wound the column, between leafy towers, by running
water, beneath a cloudless sky. The Sixty-fifth Virginia, Colonel
Erskine, broke into song.

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
An' never brought to mind . . .
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne — "

Allan Gold was not marching with the Sixty-fifth. He was half a
day ahead, scouting. Around stretched the rich woods of the western
slope of the Blue Ridge, below lay the wooded valley of the Shenan-
doah. He saw the road to Front Royal, and before him the Massa-
nuttens closed the view. He had been travelling since sun-up, and
now, at noon, he was willing enough to camp awhile. He chose the
bottom of a knife-blade ravine where was a trickle of water beneath
laurels in bloom. The sun came down between leaves of ash and
hickory; the topmost branches just stirred, bees buzzed, birds
sang far and wide. He was quite alone with the earth. First he set
his rifle against a hickory, and then he gathered a very small heap of
twigs and dead leaves, and then he set fire to these. From his haver
sack he took a metal plate, one side of a burst canteen. It made a
small but splendid griddle and he set it on the coals. Then out came
a fragment of bacon and two pieces of hard- tack. He fried the
bacon, then crumbled the hard-tack in the gravy and made " coosh."
Then, with slow enjoyment, he ate the bacon and the coosh. When
the last atom was gone, he lifted the griddle, handling it with a
thick glove of leaves, plunged it in the streamlet, washed it clean,
and restored it, sun-dried, to his haversack. This done, he took out a
small bag of tobacco and his pipe, filled the latter, and with his back
against the hickory began to smoke. He was happy, alone with the

THE STONEWALL 97

earth whom he understood. Long and blond and strong, the grey
of his clothing weatherbeaten until it was like in hue to the russet
last year's leaves on which he lay, he looked a man of an old-time
tale, Siegfried, perhaps, quiet and happy in the deep, deep forest.
When the pipe was empty, he cleaned it and restored it to his
pocket. This done, he routed out the side of the haversack de
voted to apparel, comb, toothbrush, and — when he could get it
— soap, together with other small articles. He had a little New
Testament in which he conscientiously read at least once a week.
Now he took this up. Between its pages lay an unopened letter.
He uttered an exclamation. It had come to him at Fredericksburg,
an hour before marching. He had had no time to read it then, and
he had put it here. Then had come the breaking camp, the going
ahead — he could hardly tell whether he had forgotten it or had
simply taken up the notion that it had been read. He laughed.
"Well, Aunt Sairy, it never happened before!" He opened it now,
settled his shoulders squarely against the hickory, and read —

"DEAR ALLAN: — It's Tom's turn to write, but he says I do it
because his hand's took to shaking so. The doctor says it's just
eagerness — he wants to know all the time and at the right identical
minute what's happening. And even the newspapers don't know
that, though Lord knows they think they do ! But it 's just as bad to
be sick with eagerness as to be sick with anything else. It's sickness
just the same as if it was typhoid or pleurisy. Yes, Allan, I 'm
anxious enough about Tom, — though, of course, I did n't read that
out to him. He's sitting in the sunshine holding the toll-box, and
there ain't anything in it — and there never will be until you all
stop this fool war. The doctor says — Yes, Tom! . . . Allan, you
just straighten this letter out in your own head."

Oh, it straightened out well enough in Allan's head! He let the
hand that held it drop upon the leaves, and he looked up the knife-
blade ravine to where the green rim of the mountain touched the
blue. He saw Thunder Run Mountain, and he heard, over the mur
mur of surrounding trees, the voice of Thunder Run. He saw with
the inner eye the toll-house, the roses and the pansies and the bees.
It was not going well with the toll-house — he knew that. Tom

98 CEASE FIRING

failing, and no toll taken, the county probably paying nothing. . . .
Where was the money with which it could pay? Sairy fighting hard

— he saw her slight, bent old figure — fighting hard now with this
end, now with that, to make them meet. He knew they would never
meet now, not while this war lasted. It was one of the bitter by
products — that never meeting. There was nothing to send — he
himself had had no pay this long while. Pay, in the Southern
armies, was a vanishing quantity.

The wood blurred before Allan's eyes. He sighed and took up the
letter again.

"The school-house is most fallen down. They told me so, and
I went up the Run one evening and looked at it. It's so. It
looked like a yearning ghost. Christianna tried to teach the children
awhile this spring, but Christianna never was no bookworm. An'
then she had to do the spring ploughing, for Mrs. Maydew went
down into the Valley to nurse the smallpox soldiers. Mrs. Cleave
went, too, from Three Oaks. I have n't got much of a garden this
year, but the potatoes and sparrowgrass look fine. The wrens have
built again in the porch. They're company for Tom, now that
there's so little other company. He's named the one Adam and
the other Eve — Lord knows they're wiser than some Adams and
Eves I know ! — Tom 's calling ! —

"It was n't anything. He thought it was a wagon coming up the
road. If this war don't stop soon, some of us won't be here to see it
stop. And now he says if he just had a little something sweet to eat

— and there ain't no sugar nor nothing in the house!

"Lord sake, Allan, I didn't mean to write like this! I know
you've got your end to bear. Tom is n't really so sick, and I 'm jest
as right as ever I was! The sun's shining and the birds are singing,
and the yellow cat 's stretching himself, and the gourd vine's got a
lot of flowers, and I bet you 'd like to hear Thunder Run this minute !
Steve Dagg's still here and limping — when he thinks anybody's
looking. Rest of the time he uses both feet. He's making up to
Christianna Maydew — "

Allan's hand closed on the paper. "Steve Dagg making up to
Christianna Maydew ! Why — damn him — " He was not a swear-

THE STONEWALL 99

ing man, but he swore now, rising from the ground to do so. He
did not pause to analyze his feeling. A cool-blooded, quiet-natured
man, he found himself suddenly wild with wrath. He with the bal
ance of the Sixty-fifth had fully recognized Steve Dagg as the blot
on their 'scutcheon — but personally, the blot had until now only
amused and disgusted him. Quite suddenly he found the earth too
small for both Allan Gold and Stephen Dagg.

Standing in the deep and narrow ravine and looking upward he
had a vision. He saw Thunder Run Mountain, and high on the
comb of it, the log house of the Maydews. He saw the ragged
mountain garden sloping down, and the ragged mountain field. All
about was a kind of violet mist. It parted and he saw Christianna
standing in the doorway.

Allan Gold sat down upon a stone beside the brook. He leaned
forward, his clasped hands hanging below his knees. The clear, dark
water gave him back his face and form. He sat so, very still, for
some minutes, then he drew a long, long breath. "I have been," he
said, "all kinds of a fool."

Sairy's letter offered but a few more words. He read them through,
folded the paper thoughtfully and carefully, and laid it between the
leaves of the Testament. Then he stood up, carefully extinguished
with his foot the fire of leaves and twigs, took his rifle, and turned his
face toward the Shenandoah.

Thirty-six hours later found him waiting, a little east of
Front Royal, for the column. It appeared, winding through the
woods, Ewell riding at the head, with him Jubal Early and J. B.
Gordon. Allan stood out from the ferny margin of the wood and
saluted.

" Hello ! " said Old Dick. " It 's the best scout in the service ! "

Allan gave his information. "General, I've been talking to an
old farmer and his wife, refugeeing from the Millwood section.
They believed there was a considerable Yankee force at Berry-
ville. So I went on for a few miles, and got three small boys and
sent them into Berryville on a report that there was a circus in
town. They got the news all right and came back with it. Mc-
Rennolds is there with something like fifteen hundred men and a
considerable amount of stores."

"Is he?" quoth Old Dick. "Then, when we get to' Cedarville

ioo CEASE FIRING

I'll send somebody to get that honey out of the gum tree! Now you
go on, Gold, and get some more information."

The column marched through Front Royal. All of Front Royal
that was there came out and wept and laughed and cheered, and
dashed out to the ranks to shake hands, to clasp, to kiss. " Oh, don't
you remember, little more 'n a year ago — and all the things that
have happened since ! The North Fork — and the burnt bridge —
and Ashby at Buckton. . . . Oh,Ashby/ . . . and the fight with
Kenly — and the big charge — and Stonewall Jackson. . . . ' My
father, my father, the chariot of Israel and the horsemen thereof!'"

The column crossed the Shenandoah and came to Cedarville,
where it rested for the night. Here there reported to Ewell Jenkins's
cavalry brigade. In the morning Old Dick sent this body of horse,
together with Rodes's division, across country to Berryville with
instructions to capture or disperse McRennolds's command, and
then to press on to Martinsburg. Ewell himself, with Early and
Edward Johnson's divisions, took the road that led by Middletown
and Nineveh to the Valley Pike.

At Nineveh Allan Gold again appeared. "General, I've been
almost into Winchester. Milroy has breastworks all around, and
he 's well off in artillery. The hills west and northwest of the town
command his works."

"All right, all right!" said Ewell. "Winchester's going to see
another battle."

On the morning of the thirteenth the column divided. Edward
Johnson, with Nounnan's cavalry force, keeping on upon the Front
Royal and Winchester road, while Early's division struck the
Valley Pike at Newtown.

The Valley Pike! The Valley soldiers — of whom there were a
number in this division, though more in Edward Johnson's — the
Valley soldiers had last seen the Valley Pike in October — and now
it was June. They had seen it in a glory of crimson and gold, and a
violet haze of Indian summer, and then they had left it, Stonewall
Jackson riding ahead. . . . and then had come Fredericksburg . . .
and then had come the Wilderness.

"Howdy, Valley Pike!" said the soldiers. "It's been long that
we've been away! Did you miss us, old girl ? We've missed you.
A lot of us did n't come back, but here's some of us!"

THE STONEWALL : ;«i?

Through the hot afternoon Jubal Early and his troops moved
down the pike toward Winchester. Near Bartonsville, in position
upon a low hill, they found the First Maryland Infantry and the
Baltimore Artillery.

Colonel Herbert of the First reported. "They 've got a force, sir,
at Kernstown, and a battery on Pritchard's Hill. We've been
skirmishing off and on all day."

"All right 1" swore Old Jube. "I'll send the Louisiana Brigade
and dislodge that battery."

Hays and the Louisianians went, crossing the meadow and skirt
ing the ridge, marching where had marched the Army of the Valley
on the old field of Kernstown. The blue battery removed from
Pritchard's Hill; they took that eminence without difficulty. Hays
sent back tidings of Federal infantry massing to the left. Early
ordered Gordon forward. That dashing officer and brave and
handsome man swung by with his brigade. Joining Hays, the two,
Georgia and Louisiana, drove the blue detachment over field and
ridge and Abraham's Creek to Bowers's Hill. This, infantry and
artillery, the blue seized and held through the night. The brigades
of Hoke and Smith arrived, but it was twilight and a drenching
summer rain. The grey bivouacked on the field of Kernstown.

Dawn came up, hot and still, and with it Old Dick to confer with
Old Jube. Council over, Gordon was moved forward, the Maryland
troops with him, and left to skirmish with, amuse, and distract the
enemy. Hays and Hoke and Smith with some artillery plunged into
the woods. "Flank movement!" said the men. "It's fun to flank
and it's hell to be flanked. That's the road to Romney over there."

They came to the lower slopes of Little North Mountain, to the
Pughtown road. On high ground to the south was a ruined orchard
and a ruined house called Folk's Old House; while on high ground to
the north lay a ruined cornfield, part of Mrs. Brieley's land. Both
points overlooked the fortifications. Old Jube divided Jones's
Artillery. Twelve pieces were posted in the ruined orchard, eight in
the ruined cornfield. The Fifty-seventh North Carolina kept guard
in the direction of the Pughtown road, and Hoke and Smith were
drawn up in the rear of Hays. It was late in the day; intensely hot,
and the men suffering greatly from thirst. The twenty pieces opened
on the blue earthworks crowning the hills in front. Harry Hays and

'CEASE FIRING

the Louisianians moved forward, climbing the hill, through felled
brushwood, to the assault. They took the height and six guns upon
it. It overlooked and commanded the main works of the blue, and
the grey brought up and trained the guns. But the hot night fell,
and the soldiers lay on their arms till daybreak. When the dawn
came, pink over the distant Blue Ridge, it was found that the Fed
erals had evacuated all fortifications on this side of Winchester.
Before the earth was well lit, scouts brought news that they were
in retreat upon the Martinsburg Pike.

While on the thirteenth, Early advanced upon Winchester by the
Valley Pike, Edward Johnson's division, Nounnan's cavalry going
ahead, kept to the Front Royal and Winchester road. Two miles
from the town they made a line of battle and began to skirmish.
There was a blue battery upon the Millwood road, and to meet it
Carpenter's guns were brought up. A dozen blue pieces upon this
side of Winchester opened fire and for hours there went on a slow
cannonade. On the morning of the fourteenth the division moved
forward, the Stonewall leading, and renewed the skirmishing. In
the afternoon they heard the roar of Early's guns.

The Fifth Virginia was thrown forward, across the Millwood road
to the low hills fronting the town. The blue held in some strength
the scrubby crest of this ridge. The Fifth had sharp skirmishing.
Behind it came two companies of the Sixty-fifth, turned a little to
the left, and began sharpshooting from a screen of pine and oak.

" Sergeant Maydew," said a captain, " take six men and go occupy
that scrub-oak clump down there. Watch that ravine and pick
them off if they come up it."

Billy Maydew and the six fairly filled the tuft of bushes halfway
down the hill. "Jest as snug as a bug in a rug!"

"They'll get it hot if they come up that gully! It's a beautiful —
what did Steve use to call it ? — 'avalanche'!"

"I kind of miss Steve. He had his uses. He'd keep up even a
yaller dog's self-esteem. Even a turkey-buzzard could say, 'I am
better than thou.' Every time I got down in the mouth and began
to think of my sins I just looked at Steve and felt all right."

" Reckon the army '11 ever get him again ? Reckon his sore foot '11
ever get well ?"

"He'd better not come back to the Sixty-fifth," said Sergeant

THE STONEWALL 103

Billy Maydew. He spoke with slow emphasis. "The day Steve
Dagg comes back to the Sixty-fifth Billy Maydew air goin' to be
marched to the guardhouse for killing a polecat."

The six smiled, smiled with grimness. "Ef you do it, Sergeant,
reckon the Sixty-fifth, from the colonel down, '11 appear for you and
swear you did a public service!"

Dave Maydew moved his head aside, then softly raised his rifle.
The others did likewise. There was a pause so utter that they heard
each other's breathing and the dry Zrrrr I of a distant grasshopper.

Dave lowered the rifle. "I see now! 'Twa'n't nothing but a
squirrel."

"Reckon 't won't do to shoot him ? Squirrel stew — "

"Don't you dar!" said Billy. "There air to be no firing out of
this oak clump ex-cept upon the enemy."

The skirmish line of the Fifth swept past them, driving the blue.
The fighting was now nearer town; they knew by the slight change
in sound that there were houses and stone walls. The afternoon
wore on, — hot, hot in the clump of bushes ! Litter bearers came
by, carrying a wounded officer. " Colonel of the Fifth — Colonel
Williams. They came against our right! They've got ten of our
men. But then did n't we drive them!"

Litter and bearers and escort went on. "Ain't anybody, less'n
it's a crittur with fur, comin' up that ravine!"

"An old mooley cow might come up."

" Where 'd she come from ? They're all slaughtered and eaten.
Nothing 's left of anything."

"That's right! Egypt and the locusts — "

"Lieutenant Coffin's signalling to rejoin. Reckon Sixty-fifth's
going on, too!"

Forward! March !

Just before night the general commanding sent an order to Ed
ward Johnson. "Move with three brigades by right flank to the
Martinsburg Turnpike at a point above Winchester. If enemy
evacuates, intercept his retreat. If he does not, attack him in his
fortifications from that direction." Johnson started at once with
Steuart's and Nicholls's brigades, and Dement's, Raines's, and
Carpenter's batteries, Snowden Andrews commanding. Their way
lay across country on a dark night, by the Jordan Springs road.

104 CEASE FIRING

The objective was Stephenson's, several miles above Winchester,
where a railroad cut hidden by heavy woods almost touched the
Martinsburg Pike. Off marched Steuart and Nicholls and the
artillery. The Stonewall Brigade, nearest to the enemy, was ordered
to advance skirmishers to conceal the movement, and then to follow
to Stephenson's. There was some delay in the receipt of the order.
The Stonewall advanced its skirmishers, ascertained on this side the
position of the enemy, but did not till midnight take the road by
which the two brigades had gone.

It was a pitch black night after a hot and harassing day. The
"foot cavalry" marched as Stonewall Jackson had taught it to
march, but all country and all roads were now difficult, scarred,
trenched, broken, and torn by war. This was like a dream road,
barred, every rood, by dream obstacles. The Sixty-fifth sighed. It
was too tired to make any other demonstration. In the hot, close
night it was damp with perspiration. The road was deeply rutted
and the drying mud had a knife-like edge. The shoes of the Sixty-
fifth were so full of holes ! The bruise from the chance stone, the cut
of the dried mud helped at least in keeping the regiment awake.
The Sixty-fifth's eyes were full of sleep : it would have loved — it
would have loved to drop down in the darkness and float away —
float away to Botetourt and Rockbridge and Bedford . . . float
away — float away, just into nothingness!

Behind the Stonewall the sky began, very faintly, to pale. The
native of the country who was guiding spoke briefly. "We're near
the pike. Stephenson's not far on the other side." Down the dark
line, shadows in the half light, rang an order like a ghostly echo.
"Press forward, men! Press forward! " The "foot cavalry" made a
sound in its throat, then did its best.

The east grew primrose, the rolling country took form. It was
now a haggard country, seamed, burned over, and ruined, differing
enough from what it once had been. There came a gleam of the
Valley Pike, then with suddenness a heavy sound of firing. " They 're
attacking! They're attacking!" said the Stonewall. "Hurry up
there! — hurry up — Double-quick /"

So thick was the fog that it was difficult to distinguish at any
distance shape or feature. A mounted man appeared before the
head of the column, all grey in grey mist. "It's Captain Douglas,

THE STONEWALL 105

General, from General Johnson ! The enemy 's evacuating Winches
ter. We're holding the railroad cut over there, but they're in
strength and threaten to flank us! Ammunition's almost out.
Please come on as fast as you can!"

The Stonewall felt the Valley Pike beneath its feet. Through the
fog, a little to the west of the road, they saw a body of troops moving
rapidly. In the enveloping mist the colour could not be told. " Grey,
aren't they? — Can you see the flag — ?" "No, but I think
they're ours — Steuart or Nicholls . . ." "They're not Steuart
and they are not Nicholls," said Thunder Run. "They're blue."

"It's the Yankee flanking body! . . . Firel"

The dew-drenched hills and misty woods echoed the volley. It was
answered by the blue, but somewhat scatteringly. The blue were in
retreat, evacuating Winchester, moving toward the Potomac. They
were willing to attack the grey regiments known to be holding the
railroad cut, but a counter-attack upon their own rear and flank had
not entered into their calculations. In the fog and in the smoke it
could not be told whether it was one grey brigade or two or four.
Soldiers, grey or blue, might be stanch enough, but in this, as in all
wars, the cry, "We're flanked!" stirred up panic. The constitution
ally timid, in either uniform, were always expecting to be flanked.
They often cried wolf where there was no wolf. This morning certain
of the blue cried it lustily. And here, indeed, was the wolf, grey,
gaunt, and yelling! The blue, bent on flanking the two brigades
and the artillery in and around the railroad cut, found themselves,
in turn, flanked by the Stonewall Brigade. They were between
Scylla and Charybdis, and they broke. There was a wood. They
streamed toward it, and the Stonewall came, yelling, on their tracks.
At the same moment at the railroad cut, Nicholls's Louisiana regi
ments, Dement's and Raines's and Carpenter's guns, came into
touch with and routed the blue cavalry and infantry moving to the
left. The cavalry — most of it — escaped, Milroy on a white horse
with them. The infantry were taken prisoner. From the centre,
where it, too, was victor, rose the jubilant yell of Steuart's brigade.

The Stonewall reached the rim of the wood. It was filled with
purple, early light and with the forms of hurrying men. The
charging line raised its muskets ; the Stonewall's finger was on the
trigger. Down an aisle of trees showed a white square, raised and

io6 CEASE FIRING

shaken to and fro. Out of the violet light came a voice. "Don't
fire ! We surrender ! "

Steuart and Nicholls and the Stonewall and the artillery took,
above Winchester, twenty-three hundred prisoners with arms and
equipments, one hundred and seventy-five horses, and eleven stands
of colours. Back in Winchester and the surrounding fortifications
there fell into Early's hands another thousand men in blue, other
horses, twenty-five pieces of artillery, ammunition, and three hun
dred loaded wagons and stores. The remainder of Milroy's com
mand, evacuating the town early in the night, had passed the dan
ger-point on the Martinsburg Pike in safety. Now it was hurrying
toward the Potomac, after it Jenkins's cavalry.

"Dear Dick Ewell " with his crutches, Jubal Early with his eccen
tricity, his profanity, his rough tongue, his large ability, and heroic
devotion to the cause he served, behind them Hays and Gordon and
Hoke and Smith, and all the exultant grey officers, and all the exult
ant grey men passed in the strengthening sunlight through happy
Winchester. It was a scarred Winchester, a Winchester worn of
raiment and thin of cheek, a Winchester that had wept of nights
and in the daytime had watched, watched ! Sister Anne, Sister
Anne, what do you see? This June morning Winchester was
happy beyond words.

Out on the Martinsburg Pike, Ewell and Early met Edward
Johnson and his brigadiers. " Rodes is at Martinsburg. His courier
got to us across country. He's taken the stores at Berryville and
now at Martinsburg, — five pieces of artillery, two hundred prisoners,
six thousand bushels of grain. The enemy's making for the river,
Jenkins behind them. They'll cross at Williamsport. I've sent an
order to General Rodes to press on to the Potomac. We '11 rest the
men for two hours and then we'll follow."

The next day, the fifteenth of June, Rodes crossed to Williams-
port in Maryland, Jenkins going forward to Chambersburg. Jubal
Early with his division took the Shepherdstown road, threaten
ing, from that vicinity, Harper's Ferry. Edward Johnson and his
division crossed at Shepherdstown and encamped near the field of
Sharpsburg.

On the fifteenth,Longstreet and the First Corps left Culpeper,and
marched along the eastern base of the Blue Ridge toward Ashby's

THE STONEWALL 107

Gap. At the same time A. P. Hill and the Third Corps took the road
for the Valley already traversed by Ewell and the Second. Stuart
and the cavalry moved to cover Longstreet's front. Fighting Joe
Hooker had left the Rappahannock, but he yet hovered in Virginia,
on the south side of the Potomac.

June seventeenth, June nineteenth, June twenty-first saw the
second tilt of this month between Pleasanton and Stuart, the running
cavalry fight through the Loudoun Valley, between the spurs of the
Bull Run Mountains, by Middleburg and the little town of Aldie.
The tournament was a brilliant one, with charge and counter-charge,
ambuscade, surprise, wheelings here and wheelings there, pourings
from dark mountain passes, thundering dashes through villages
quivering with excitement, fighting from the saddle, fighting dis
mounted, incursions of blue infantry and artillery, hairbreadth
escapes, clank and din and roll of drum, dust cloud and smoke
cloud, mad passage of red-nostrilled, riderless horses, appeal of
trumpet, rally and charge. It was a three-days' fight to stir for many
a year to come the blood of listening youth, but it was not a fortun
ate fight — not for the grey South ! The honours of the joust itself
were evenly enough divided. Stuart lost five hundred men, Pleasan
ton eight hundred. But before the trumpets rang Halt ! the blue
horsemen pushed the grey horsemen across the Loudoun Valley from
Bull Run Mountains to Blue Ridge. In itself the position was well
enough. Stuart, jocund as a summer morning, extricated with skill
brigade after brigade, plunged with them into the dark passes, and,
the fight drawn, presently marched on to the Potomac. But Pleasan-
ton's patrols, winding upward, came out upon the crest of Blue
Ridge. Here they reined in their horses and gazed, open-mouthed.
Far below, travelling westward, travelling northward were troops
on the roads of the great Valley — troops and troops and troops;
infantry, artillery, cavalry, wagon trains and wagon trains. The
vedettes stared. "The Confederacy's moving north! The Confed
eracy 's moving north ! " They turned their horses and went at speed
back to Pleasanton. Pleasanton sent at speed to Fighting Joe
Hooker. Hooker at once pushed north to the Potomac, which he
crossed, on the twenty-fifth, at Edwards's Ferry.

CHAPTER X

THE BULLETIN

Miss LUCY opened the paper with trembling fingers. "'A
great cavalry fight at Brandy Station! General Lee's tele
gram. Killed and wounded. ' " Her three nieces came close
to her. "It 'snot a long bulletin. . . . Thank God, there's no Gary!"

She brushed her hand across her eyes, and read on. "We have
few particulars as yet. The fighting was severe and lasted all day.
The loss on both sides is heavy. Our loss in officers was, as usual,
very considerable. Among those killed we have heard the names of
Colonel Hampton, brother of General Wade Hampton. Colonel
John S. Green, of Rappahannock County, and Colonel Williams,
of the Eighteenth North Carolina. The latter was married only one
week ago. General W. H. F. Lee, son of General Lee, was shot
through the thigh. Colonel Butler, of South Carolina, is reported
to have lost a leg. From the meagre accounts we already have we
are led to conclude that the fight of Tuesday was one of the heavi
est cavalry battles that has occurred during the war, and perhaps
the severest ever fought in this country." .

Molly drew a long breath. "Let's turn the sheet, Aunt Lucy, and
look for Vicksburg."

"A moment!" said Judith. "I saw the word 'artillery.7 What
does it say about the horse artillery ? "

"Just that it made a brilliant fight. A few casualties — there are
the names."

Judith bent over and read. "You always want to know about
the horse artillery," said Molly. "I want to know about everybody,
too, but until you Ve heard about the artillery your eyes are wide
and startled as a fawn's. Is there somebody whom you like — "

"Don't, Molly!" spoke Miss Lucy. "Don't we all want to know
about every arm ? God knows, it is n't just our kith and kin for
whom we ache!"

"Of course not!" said Molly. "I just wanted to know — "

THE BULLETIN 109

Judith looked up, steady-eyed again. "So did I, Molly! I just
wanted to know. The paper says it was a brilliant fight, and every
body did well — those who Ve ridden on, and those who are lying
on the leaves in the woods. And it gives the names of those who are
lying there, and we don't know them — only that they are names of
our brothers. Vicksburg, read about Vicksburg, Aunt Lucy!"

Miss Lucy read. "We have received the Jackson Mississippian as
late as the twenty-seventh, since when there has been no reliable in
formation from the besieged city. We have, however, from prison
ers, Northern papers as late as June the first. We quote from them.

"'Washington, June first. Midnight. Up to one o'clock to-night no
additional intelligence had been received from General Grant's army
later than the previous dispatches of the twenty-eighth, when it was stated
that Grant's forces were progressing as favourably as could be expected,
and Grant had no fears of the result. ' "

"Well, I hope that he may yet acquire them," said Unity.

" ' Chicago, June first. A special dispatch to the Times dated) "Head
quarters in the Field. Near Vicksburg. May twenty-third," says, "But
little has been effected during the last thirty-six hours. Over a hundred
pieces of field artillery and several siege guns rained shot and shell on
the rebels' works yesterday. The mortar fleet took position behind De
Soto Point and bombarded the city during the entire day"'"

"Oh," cried Molly. "Oh!"

" 'On the right General Sherman has pushed Steele's division squarely
to the foot of the parapets. Our men lay in a ditch and on the slope of a
parapet, inside one of the principal forts, unable to take it by storm, but
determined not to retire. The Federal and Rebel soldiers are not twenty-
five feet apart, but both are powerless to inflict much harm. Each
watches the other and dozens of muskets are fired as soon as a soldier
exposes himself above the works on either side — '"

"Oh, I hope that Edward thinks of Desiree and all of us!"

"If there's need to expose himself he will do it — and Desiree
and none of us would say, 'Think of us!' — Go on, Aunt Lucy."

"' Nearly the same condition of things exists in McP her son's front,
and his sharpshooters prevent the working of the enemy's pieces in one or
two forts. A charge was made yesterday (Friday) morning on one of
them by Stephenson's brigade, but was repulsed. Two companies of one
brigade got inside, but most of them were captured. The forts are all

no CEASE FIRING

filled with infantry. Our artillery has dismounted a few guns and dam
aged the works in some places, but they are still strong — '"

"O may they stay so!"

"( General Joe Johnston is reported to be near the Big Black River in
our rear, with reinforcements for the besieged army. General Grant
can detail men enough for the operations here to keep Johnston in
check.'"

"Oh, always their many, many troops!"

"' General McClernand was hard pressed on the left yesterday, and
sent for reinforcements. General Quinby's division went to his assistance
at four o'clock. The contest continued until one of our flags was planted
at the foot of the earthworks on the outside of a rebel fort, and kept there
for several hours, but the fort was not taken: "

" Thank God!"

111 McClernand' s loss yesterday is estimated at one thousand killed
and wounded. The fighting grows more desperate each day. The trans
ports are now bringing supplies to within three miles of our right: "

The group on the Greenwood porch kept silence, then "What
from Tennessee ? "

"{A cavalry fight at Franklin. Infantry not engaged. A general
battle is, however, considered imminent:"

Molly put her head down in Judith's lap and began to cry. "Oh,
I want to see father! Oh, I want to see father! Oh, I miss him so!"

Unity knit very fast. Miss Lucy sat, the paper fallen beside her,
her fine, dark eyes on the distant mountains. She saw the old,
peaceful, early-century years again, and her brothers and herself,
children again, playing in the garden at Fontenoy, playing in the
garden here at Greenwood, going into town in the great old coach,
watching Mr. Jefferson pass and Mr. Madison. She saw her
brilliant girlhood set still in so shining, so peaceful a world ! . . .
The old White and her ball-gowns, and the roses and serenading. . . .
The leisurely progresses, too, from great house to great house, and
all in a golden, tranquil world. She saw her beautiful father and
mother and a certain lover whom she had had, and her brothers
wonderful and gallant. And now the first three were dead, and
long dead, and Warwick was with Lee at Culpeper, and Fau-
quier, yesterday in "the severest cavalry battle yet fought on
this continent," and Warwick's son, Edward, fighting in a city

THE BULLETIN in

besieged! Everywhere kinsmen and friends, fighting! And the
gaunt and ruined country, the burning houses and the turned-
out fields, the growing hunger, want no longer skulking, but walking
all the highroads, care and wounds and sickness, a chill at all hearts
and a lessening of the sunlight! "I have lived out of a gold world
into an iron one," thought Miss Lucy.

The old Greenwood carriage came round to the door. Judith
kissed Molly and rose, Unity with her. It was their day at the hos
pital. Isham took them into town, Isham thin and sorrowful, driv
ing the old farm-horses, muttering and mumbling of old times and
new. The day was hard at the hospital, though not so hard as there
had been days. Soldiers from the Wilderness still choked the rooms,
and there was sickness, sickness, sickness ! — and so little with
which to cope with sickness. But it was not so crowded as it had
been, nor so desperate. Many hai died, and many had grown well
enough to go away, and many were convalescent. There were only
fifty or so very bad. The two young women, straight and steady,
bright and tender, came into a long ward like twin shafts of sun
light.

The ward wanted all the news about Brandy Station it could get,
and a4J the news about Port Hudson and Vicksburg. Cavalry in the
ward got into an argument with Artillery, and Infantry had to call
the nurses to smooth things down. A man whose arm had been torn
from the socket fell to crying softly because there was a piece of
shell, he said, between the fingers and he could not get it out.

'" Nerve ends ?' — Yes, Doctor, maybe so. . . . Then, don't you
reckon the nerve ends in my arm out there in the Wilderness are
feeling for my shoulder ? Oh, I feel them feeling for it!"

Down the line was a jolly fellow and he sang very loudly —

"Yankee Doodle had a mind '

To whip the Southern traitors,
Because they did n't choose to live

On codfish and potatoes!
Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,

Yankee Doodle dandy—"

Some of the soldiers from the Wilderness, falling wounded in the
brush which was set on fire, had been badly burned before their
comrades could draw them forth. One of these now, lying wrapped

ii2 CEASE FIRING

like a mummy in oil-soaked cotton, was begging pitifully for mor
phia — and there was no morphia to give.

"I come from old Manassas with a pocket full of fun;
I killed forty Yankees with a single-barrelled gun — "

Forenoon, afternoon passed. The nurses dressed and bandaged
wounds, bathed and lifted, gave the scanty dole of medicines,
brought and held the bowls of broth, aired the wards, straightened
the beds, told the news, filled the pipes, read and wrote the home
letters, took from dying lips the home messages, closed the eyes of
the dead, composed the limbs, saw the body carried out to where the
pine coffin waited, turned back with cheer to the ward, dealt the
cards for the convalescent, picked up the fallen checker-piece,
laughed at all jokes, helped sick and weary Life over many a hard
place in the road, saved it many a jolt.

At six o'clock, the two from Greenwood left the hospital. Out
side they saw, on the other side of the street, a small crowd gathering
about a bulletin board. They went across as folk always went across
when there was seen to be a bulletin. The crowd was largely com
posed of country people, old men, women, and boys. It parted be
fore the ladies from Greenwood and the two came close to the board.
A boy, standing on a great stone beneath, alternately mastered,
somewhat slowly, the writing, then, facing around, delivered it in a
high young voice to the crowd.

A farmer, bent and old, touched Judith's sleeve. "Miss Judith
Gary, you read it to us. I could do it spryer than Tom there, but my
eyes are mighty bad."

''I don't mind," said Tom. "They've got so many words that
were n't in the reading-books! You do it, Miss Judith."

Judith stepped upon the stone. The board held an account of the
battle of Brandy Station, later and fuller than that in the morning
paper. She read first — it was always read first — the names of
the killed and wounded. It appeared that this crowd had in them
only a general interest. There were murmurs respectful and pitying,
but no sudden sharp cry from a woman, no groan from a man.

"Further particulars of the fight," read Judith. "The enemy
attacked at daybreak. They had with them artillery with which
they proceeded furiously to shell General Stuart's headquarters.

THE BULLETIN 113

The cavalry fighting was desperate and the loss on both sides heavy.
We had only cavalry and the artillery in action, the enemy having
retreated before our infantry arrived. The fight lasted all day and
was conducted vvith extreme gallantry. Many individual acts of
heroism occurred both among officers and men. The horse artillery
gathered fresh laurels. The spirit of Pelham stays with it. A gunner
named Deaderick —

" — A gunner named Deaderick, a strongly built man, held at bay
a dozen of the enemy who would have laid hands upon his gun which
had been dismounted by a shell striking the wheel. Almost singly
he kept the rush back until his comrades could replace the gun,
train, and serve it, when the attack was completely repulsed and
the gun saved —

Judith finished reading. The crowd thanked her. She stepped
from the great stone and passed with Unity to where the carriage
waited. Isham touched the old farm-horses; they passed out of the
town into the June country bathed in sunset light.

For a while there was silence, then, "Judith," said Unity, "I am a
talkative wretch, I know, but I can be silent as the grave when I
want to be! Where is Richard ? Is he in the horse artillery ? "

"Yes."

"I have never seen you when I did not think you beautiful. But
back there, standing on that stone, of a sudden you were most beau
tiful. It was like a star blazing out, a star with a voice, and some
thing splendid in that, too. Judith, is he that gunner you were read
ing about?"

"Yes — oh, yes!"

"Well, you don't often cry," said Unity, crying herself. "Cry it
out, my dear, cry it out. We have such splendid things nowadays
to cry for ! " l

Judith dried her tears. "No, I don't often cry. . . . Let it rest,
Unity, between us, silent, silent —

That night, at Greenwood, she opened wide the windows of her
room, till the moonlight flooded all the floor. She sat in the window
seat, in the heart of the silver radiance, her hands clasped upon her
knees, her head thrown back against the wood. Before her lay the
silver hills; up to her came the breath of the garden lilies. She sat
with wide, unseeing eyes; the mind exercising its own vision. It

n4 CEASE FIRING

gazed upon the bivouac of the horse artillery; it saw the two days
ago battle; and it saw to-morrow's march. It saw the moving guns,
and heard the rumbling of them; saw the column of horse and heard
the tread, marched side by side with that gunner of the horse artil
lery. Mists arose and blurred. There was a transition. Judith's
mind left the South. It travelled under Northern skies; it sought
out and entered Northern prisons. It saw Maury Stafford; saw him
walking, walking, a stockaded yard, or standing, standing, before a
barred window, looking out, looking up to the stars that shone
over Virginia. . . . The prisons, the prisons, North and South, the
prisons! Judith fell to shuddering. "O God — O God! Even our
enemy — show him mercy!"

Off in the distance a whip-poor-will was calling. The sound was
ineffably mournful; the whole night saddened and saddened. The
odour of the lilies laid waxen fingers upon the heart. The high, bare
sky was worse than a vault hung with clouds. The light wind came
like the sigh of an overladen heart. Judith moved, sank forward on
the window seat, and wept.

CHAPTER XI

PRISON X

THE stockade enclosed a half-acre of bare earth, trodden hard.
The prison was a huge old brick building with a few narrow,
grated windows. It had been built to store the inanimate,
and now it was crowded with the animate. The inanimate made
few demands save those of space and security. The animate might
demand, but they did not receive. They had space — after all, each
prisoner could move a very little way without jostling another pris
oner — and they were kept securely. The gratings were thick, the
guards were many, the stockade was high, and there was a Dead
Line. As for other requests, for light and air and an approach to
sanitation, for a little privacy, for less musty food and more of it,
for better water, for utensils and bedding — the inanimate had
made no such requests, and the animate requested in vain. What
had been good enough for good Northern manufactured goods was
good enough for Southern rebels. Everybody knew that Northern
prisoners were starving, dying in Southern prisons. '"Exchange,
then!' Well, I kind of wish myself that we'd exchange."

There were three floors in the prison, and a number of partitions
had been driven across the large, echoing shell. Officers' quarters
were the first floor, and officers' quarters were rudely divided into a
hot, dark, evil-smelling central hall, and a number of hot, narrow,
close, and poorly-lighted rooms in which to sleep and wake. Hall
and rooms were hot because it was warm summer-time, and they
were so crowded, and there was admitted so little air. In the winter
time they were cold, cold ! The prisoners who had been here longest
had tried both elements; in the winter- time they pined for summer
and in the summer-time they longed for winter. This building was
but one of several warehouses converted into places of storage for
the animate. There were, in all, in this place, twelve hundred Con
federate officers and six thousand Confederate privates.

Twilight was the worst time. Earlier there was all the sunshine

n6 CEASE FIRING

that could enter the small windows, and once a day there was exer
cise in the small sunbaked yard. As soon as it was totally dark a few
smoky lamps were lighted and for an hour there was "recreation"
in the various central halls. But twilight — twilight was bad! It was
the hopeless hour, the hour of home visions, the hour of longing, the
hour of nostalgia. It was the hour when men could and did weep
in shadowy places. The star that twinkled through the window
mocked, and the breeze from the south mocked. The bats that
wheeled above the prison yard were Despondency's imps. Melan
choly had free entrance; she could and did pass the sentries. Hope
deferred was always there. At twilight all hearts sickened.

With the smoky lamps came, on the part of most, — not of all,
but of most, — a deliberate taking-up again of life, even of prison
life. Heroism reentered the weary prison. Courage and cheerfulness
took the stage, the first a grim and steadfast warrior, the last fals
etto enough at times, and then again suddenly, divinely genuine.
At times there were brisk gaiety, unfeigned laughter, a quite rollick
ing joviality. Twilight was over — twilight was over for this
time!

Supper was over, too, — soon over! A small cake of meal, more or
less musty, a bit of " salt horse, " — the meal was not prolonged. It
was brought into the hall in a great kettle and sundry pans. The
prisoners had each a tin plate, with an ancient knife and fork. There
was no table; they sat on benches or old boxes, or tailor fashion on
the floor. They had a way of pleasing their fancies with elaborate
menus — like the Barmecide in the "Arabian Nights." Only the
menus never, never materialized! To-night, in a mess of thirty, a
colonel of A. P. Hill's, captured at Fredericksburg, laid out the
table. "Mountain mutton, gentlemen, raised in Hampshire! Del
icately broiled, served with watercress. No man must take less than
two helpings! Brook trout, likewise, speckled beauties, taken this
afternoon ! There was a pool and a waterfall and some birch trees,
and I went in swimming. Light rolls, gentlemen, and wheat muffins,
and, I think, waffles! Coffee, gentlemen, — don't cheer! — Mocha,
with sugar. The urn full and plenty more in the kitchen. Something
green, gentlemen, — lettuce, I think, with cucumber and onion
sliced thin and a little oil and vinegar. — Don't cheer! This mess has
all the early vegetables and all the garden fruit it needs, and is not

PRISON X 117

scorbutic! — Gentlemen, a dessert will follow — a little trifling jelly
or cream, and I think a dish of raspberries."

The "salt horse" was eaten, the thin cake of old, old meal, the
small and watery potato apiece. The mess arose. "For what we
have received may one day the enemy be thankful! Amen!"

It was a festal night. They had a prison paper — The Pen —
issued once a week. Foolscap paper was at a premium as was pen
and ink. Therefore there was but one copy. It was read on Monday
night by the gathering in division such and such a number. Tuesday
night it passed to another division and another social hour. Wednes
day night to another, and so on. The privates had their paper, too,
and late in the week there were exchanges. This was Monday night
and the hall of the editorial staff.

The smoky lamps burned dim in the close and heated air. At
times these officers were able to secure tobacco for those who
smoked, but more often not. This present week it was not, and the
hall missed this disinfectant. There were a few long benches, a
dozen stools, some boxes and barrels. Those who could not find
seats sat on the floor, or lounged against the darkened walls. They
had a table beneath one of the lamps, and a space was kept clear for
the performers of the evening. There was to be a debate and other
features.

The chairman of the evening arose. "Gentlemen, we will open
as usual with Dixie — "

"I wish I was in de land of cotton,
Old times dar am not forgotten!

Look away, look away, look away, Dixie Land I
In Dixie Land, whar I was born in,
Early on one frosty morning,

Look away, look away, look away, Dixie Land!
Den I wish I was in Dixie,

Hooray, hooray!

In Dixie Land I '11 take my stand,
To live an' die in Dixie!

Away, away, away down South in Dixie;

Away, away, away down South in Dixie — "

Two hundred men sang it loudly. Bearded, gaunt, unkempt, large-
eyed, in unsoldierly rags, they stood and sang Dixie — sang it
fiercely, with all their pent power, with all their wild longing. It
rolled and echoed through the building; it seemed to beat with

n8 CEASE FIRING

violence at the walls, so that it might get out beneath the stars. It
died at last. The prisoners in Division 3 turned again to the chair
man. "Gentlemen, the editors of The Pen crave your indulgence.
The latest news by grapevine and underground is just in! The
presses are working overtime in order that presently it may be
served to you hot — "

"The War is over !"

"We are to be exchanged !"

"England has declared — "

"We have met the enemy and he is ours!"

"We have received a consignment of tobacco."

"The rats have cried Hold, enough! A signal victory has been
achieved — "

" No; the bedbugs— "

"The commandant has been called up higher."

"Is — is it an exchange ?"

The chairman put that hope out with prompt kindness. "No,
no, Captain ! I wish it were. That would be the next best thing to
news of a big victory, would n't it! But, see, they approach! Way
for the noble editors! Way for The Pen that has — ahem! — swal
lowed the sword!"

The Junior Editor, having the biggest voice and being used to
commanding Partisan Rangers, was the chosen reader. He stood
forward. "Gentlemen, let me have your attention! — Can't that
lamp be turned up ? — Thank you, Colonel!

THE PEN

Light (mental) and Liberty (To the Dead Line)

VOL. i. No. 20.

PRISON X. JUNE — , 1863

IMPORTANT NEWS

Received by Grapevine, and confirmed by Fresh Fish

"General Lee is thought to be moving northward — "
"Yaaaih! Yaaaaaihhh! Yaaaaihl" , .

"He has certainly left the Rappahannock. Ewell has been ob-

PRISON X 119

served moving toward the Valley, probably with the intention of
falling on Milroy at Winchester — "

" Yaaaihhhh I Yaaaaaihhh ! — "

" — and crossing the Potomac at Williamsport. Longstreet and
A. P. Hill are in motion — "

"Yaaaih! Old Pete! Yaaaih! A. P. Hill!"

"If General Lee crosses the Potomac, surely all will be well. We
trust in God that it's true."

"Amen," said the prisoners. "Amen, amen!"

The reader turned the page.

"Underground and Fresh Fish alike confirm our assurance that
Vicksburg is NOT fallen! There is a rumour that provisions are
becoming exhausted and that in Vicksburg, too, rats are speared.
The Editors of THE PEN heartily wish that we might send a grape
vine to the beleaguered city, ' Nothing is, but only thinking makes
it so.' Think of your rat in terms of grace and you will find him good
as squirrel."

"The above items exhaust the news of the outer world. THE PEN
turns to the world around which runs the Dead Line. Incense first
to the Muses! Lieutenant Lamar, - — th Georgia, favours us as
follows : —

"Oh, were I a boy in Georgia,

As now I am a man in Hell,
I would haste to the old school-house
With the ringing of the bell!

"Oh, were I a boy in Georgia

As now I am a man in jail,
To go to church on Sunday,
Be sure I would not fail!

"Oh, were I a boy in Georgia,

As now I am a man in chains,
I'd not take the eggs from the bird-nests,
Nor apples from old man Hainesl

"Oh, were I a boy in Georgia,

As now I am a man in quod,

I'd be a better son to my mother,

Ere she lay beneath the sod!"

"In another vein Colonel Brown, th Kentucky, contrib
utes: —

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Air. Within a mile of Edinboro' Town*
" 'T was a mile within the Wilderness green,

In the rosy time of the year;
Artillery boomed and the fight was keen,
And many men found their bier.

There Marse Robert, grey and great,
Struck Joe Hooker, sure as fate!

The Yankee blenched and answering cried, 'No, no, it will not dol
I cannot, cannot, winnot, winnot, munnot lose this battle too!'

"Stonewall had a way of falling from the blue,

From the blue and on the blue as well!
Their right he crumpled up and many he slew,
And came on their centre like — !

Stonewall Jackson, great and grey,
Fought Joe Hooker on this day!

Yet Hooker, fighting, frowned and cried, 'No, no, it will not do!
I cannot, cannot, winnot, winnot, munnot lose this battle too!'

"Stuart shook his feather and hummed a merry tune,

Then swung the A. N. V. with might!
He struck Joe Hooker the crown aboon,
And put the blue army to flight!

Oh, Jeb Stuart, blithe and gay,
Beat Joe Hooker night and day!

And Hooker, fleeing, no more frowned and cried, 'No, no, it will not do!
I cannot, cannot, winnot, winnot, munnot lose this battle too!'"

" We pass from the service of the Muses to our editorial of the day.
PUBLIC IMPROVEMENTS AND THE CONDITION OF TRADE WITH A
GLANCE AT THE PREDICAMENT OF THE UNEMPLOYED."

The really able editorial was read at length. As it had the quality
of being applicable as well as dogmatic, as indeed it accurately
portrayed the conditions and beliefs of all present, it received
full attention and unanimous applause.

The reader bowed his thanks. "Gentlemen, in all our career, we
have been actuated by one sole ambition, and that ambition, gentle
men, was to become without any reservation, the Voice of the
People! To-night that ambition is realized. We see that we are IT
— and we thank you, gentlemen, — we thank you! We will now
pass to the Standing Committees and their reports. On Finance;
on Sick and Destitute; on State of the Church; on Public Education;
on Cleanliness; on the Fine Arts; on Amusements — "

After reports of committees came a page of advertisements.

"A STITCH IN TIME SAVES NINE. — Bring your rips

PRISON X 121

and rents to Captains Carter and Davenport, Division 10. Entire
satisfaction given. Charges moderate.

" INSTRUCTION IN ORATORY, and PARLOUR ACCOM
PLISHMENTS. Reginald De Launay, Division 13. I was once on
the stage.

"INSTRUCTION ON THE BANJO. (First get your banjo.)
John Paul, Lt. th Alabama, Division 24.

"A FIRST-CLASS LAUNDRY. No pains spared, only soap.
Patronize us. You will never regret it. Taylor and Nelson, North
west corner, Division 3, where you see the tub. No gentleman nowa
days wears starched linen. One dislikes, too, a glaring white. And
nobody likes a world too smooth. Our charges are moderate. We
are Old Reliable.

"GUTTA-PERCHA RINGS, Ladies' Bracelets, Watch Chains,
Walking-Sticks elaborately carved. Fancy Buttons. Just the
things for mementoes of this summer-and- winter resort! Your
lady-loves will prize them. Your grandchildren-to-be will treasure
them. Call and look them over. Genuine bargains. Washington
and Pinckney, Division 30, south side. Upper tier of bunks.

"HAVE YOUR HAIR CUT. It needs it. Barbering of all kinds
done with expedition and neatness. We will shave you. We will
shampoo you. Our terms are the most reasonable north of Mason
and Dixon. Call and see our stock of Arabian perfumes. We are
experimenting upon a substitute for soap. Smith and Smith,
Division 33.

"COBBLE! COBBLE! COBBLE! Have your sole and uppers
parted ? Do you need a patch ? Come and talk it over. We are
amateurs, but we used to watch old Daddy Jim do it. We think we
can help you. Our charges are not exorbitant. Porcher and Ravenel,
Division 38.

"CIRCULATING LIBRARY. We are happy to inform the
public that through the generosity of recent arrivals we have become
possessed of another copy of 'LesMiserables,' by Victor Hugo. We
have also 'Macaria,' by Miss Evans, Thackeray's 'Vanity Fair/
and Virgil's '^Eneid.' At the closing of the meeting the chairman
of the Library Committee will be happy to take names of appli
cants in order.

"We pass to NOTICE OF DEATHS. We mourn the loss of

122 CEASE FIRING

Brigadier-General . This gallant gentleman and soldier

passed away yesterday in the prison hospital. A kinsman, detained

in this division, was allowed to be with him at the last. General

asked that the twenty-third psalm be read, and when it was done he
lay quiet for a while, then raised himself slightly in his bunk. ' God
save the South ! ' he said, and died. Major , th South Caro
lina, is dead. Adjutant , th Tennessee, is dead. Captain

, th Virginia, is dead. Captain , th North Caro
lina, is dead. Lieutenant , th Virginia Cavalry, is dead.

Lieutenant , th Mississippi, is dead. We hear from the

men's side that very many of our comrades in the ranks are dead.
So be it! Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori."

There was a moment's pause in the reading. Resumed, The Pen
took up the Continued Story, Instalment 5.

The Continued Story did not deal with war and war's alarms.
The Continued Story was a story of domestic bliss. It was in the
quietest vein; true love not too much crossed, marriage bells, home,
a child, little details, a table set, flowers, robins singing, talk of a
journey. Division 3, leaning forward, listened breathlessly. The
instalment closed. "To be continued in our next." A sigh went
through the hall.

The hour was almost up. The debate that was scheduled to follow
The Pen had to be shortened. Even so, it took place, and so inter
esting was it that various blue guards and officials, drawn by echoes
as of Demosthenes, came into the hall and made part of the audience.
"WOMAN: HER PLACE IN CREATION. DOES IT EQUAL THAT OF
MAN?"

The negative, in this time and place and audience, received scant
sympathy. In vain the collegian who had somewhat doubtfully
undertaken it, piled Ossa on Pelion, Aristotle on St. Paul, Rousseau
on Martin Luther. That woman-famished audience received quot
ation and argument in stony disapproval. The affirmative soared
over Ossa without brushing a pinion. Amid applause from grey
and blue alike, the affirmative, somewhere now among the stars, was
declared to have won.

The chairman of the evening rose. "Gentlemen, the hour is
passed. May you rest well, and have pleasant dreams! To-morrow
night the Musical Club will delight us. We extend to the gentlemen

PRISON X 123

of the North whom I see among us a cordial invitation to honour us
again. Good night — good night! "

Division 3 streamed beneath the smoky lamps out of the close
and dark hall into the dark and close rooms. In each of these were
tiers of bunks, none too wide. Each boasted one grated window
which let in a very little of the summer night. The doors clanged
behind the entering men; outside in the hall and at all exits the
sentries were posted. Within a few minutes the doors were opened
again. "Rounds!" Officer in blue, men in blue, swinging lantern,
vague breath of the outer world — the guardian group went through
each room, examining keenly the tiers of bunks each with its shad
owy reclining or sitting inmate, lifting the lantern to peer into cor
ners, shaking the window bars to see that there had been no filing.
Ten minutes, and with or without a gruff "good night!" rounds
were over.

A half hour passed, an hour passed. It was a dark night and
breathless. The stars that might be seen through the window, above
the stockade, showed like white-hot metal points stuck through a
heavy pall. Without the door of a room in which were packed
twenty officers sounded, passing, the tread of the sentry. The-sound
died down the hall.

A man stepped lightly and quietly from his bunk. Another left
his as quietly, — another, — another. Those in the upper tier
swung themselves down, noiseless as cats. All twenty were out on the
floor. Whatever of clothing had been laid aside was resumed. Two
men took their places by the door, ear to the heavy panel. Two
watched at the window. All movement was made with the precision
of the drill-yard and in the quietude of the tomb. In the corner, near
the window, was a bunk in which had slept and waked a lieutenant
of nineteen, a light, thin, small-boned youngster. Now four men,
bending over, lifted noiselessly the boards upon which the lieutenant
had lain. Below, stretched smooth, stained and coloured like the
floor, was a bit of tarpaulin, obtained after God knows what skilful
manoeuvring! The men turned this back. Beneath gaped a ragged
hole, a yard across, black and deep. Up came a colder air and an
earthy smell.

In this room Maury Stafford was the leader. With a whispered
word he put his hands on the edge of the excavation and swung him-

124 CEASE FIRING

self down, dropping at last several feet to the floor of the tunnel.
One by one the twenty followed, the four from door and window
coming last. As best they could, these pulled the boards of the
lieutenant's bunk in place over the entrance to that underground,
which, with heart-stifling delays and dangers, they had digged.
For months they had been digging — a hundred and odd men
conspiring together, digging in the night-time, with infinite caution,
with strange, inadequate tools, in darkness and silence and danger, a
road to Freedom.

From either side of them came a tapping sound, three taps, one
tap, four taps, one tap. They made the return signal. " Trenck"
said a low voice down the tunnel. "Lattide" answered one of the
twenty. "All right!" came back the voice; " Latude, lead the way."

The men who replaced the boards had given a last backward look
to the room and the window through which came the starlight. The
slight and thin lieutenant was one of them. "I reckon even at home,
in the four-poster in the best room, I '11 dream for a while that there 's
a black, empty coal-mine below me! — Shh! — All right, sir."

There was a column moving through the tunnel, the tunnel into
which .from the several conspiring rooms there were openings, all
masked, all concealed and guarded, one by this means, one by that,
but alike with the infinite sharpened ingenuity of trapped creatures.
The disposal of the earth that was burrowed out — genius had
gone to that, genius and a patience incredible. Inch by inch the way
had opened. There has been the measuring, too, the calculation
of distance. . . . They must dig upward and out at some point
beyond the stockade — not too far beyond; they could not afford
to dig forever.

The tunnel was finished. To-night they were coming out, coming
out somewhere beyond the stockade. There was a rugged gully,
they knew, and then at a little distance, the river — the river that,
on the other side, laved the Virginian shore. Let them but surprise,
overpower whatever picket force might be stationed beyond the
stockade, get to the river. . . . Trust them to swim the river!

They crept — a hundred and odd men — through the stifling
passage. They could not stand upright. The sweat drenched their
bodies, their hands were wet against the walls. The tunnel that
they had been digging for ages had never appeared a short one; to-

PRISON X 125

night it seemed to stretch across infinity. At last they reached the
end, the upward slope and then the round chamber that they had
made beyond — beyond the stockade ! The head of the line had a
bit of candle, hoarded against this moment. The spurt of the match
caused a start throughout the stretched line, the pale flicker of the
candle showed drawn faces.

They had two makeshift picks. How the iron had been obtained
and the handles fashioned would make a long story. There had been
a sifting of the stronger men to the front; now two of these, standing
in the round chamber, raised and swung the picks and attacked the
tunnel's roof. Earth fell with a hollow sound. The hearts of that
company beat in response. They were all bowed in the tunnel; their
faces gleamed with sweat; their gleaming hands trembled where they
pressed them against the walls. The blows of the picks made music,
music that agonized while it charmed. They saw the sky and the
open country and the river mirroring the stars. They had not a
firearm nor a sword among them, but a few had pocket-knives, and
others jagged bits of sheet-iron, billets of wood, even sharpened
stones. Now and then the line whispered, but it never spoke aloud.
The two at the end of the tunnel gave the picks to another two; the
iron swung, the earth fell. To the strained hearing of all it fell ever
with a more hollow and thunderous sound. Moreover, the sense of
space changed, and time likewise. They knew this very long and
dark passage so well; every inch of it was familiar; had they not been
digging it since the dawn of time? To-night it was luridly strange.
Legions of drums beat in the brain, and there were flashes of colour
before the eyes. The line was caught in a strange vein of Becoming,
and what would Become no man knew. The hundred and odd hoped
for the best, but surely all things were becoming portentous.

The two in the round chamber changed again — Maury Stafford
now stood there with another. Rhythmically the picks struck the
roof, rhythmically the earth fell. Since Sharpsburg of what had not
Maury Stafford thought? The mind had tried to become and remain
stoical, the mind had sickened, the mind had recovered; it had
known the depths and the middle spaces and the blank wind-swept
heights; the depths again, the middle spaces, the heights, and every
point between. There had been changes in its structure. In its
legions of warring elements some, long dominant, had taken a lower

126 CEASE FIRING

place; others were making good their claims to the thrones. He had
been well-nigh a year in prison, and a year in prison counted five of
earth. He had seen the minds of others dulled; all things sent to
sleep except suffering and useless anger, or suffering and useless
despondency. He, too, had known dulness for a time, but it had
passed. There came in its place a certain lucidity, a certain hard
ness, and at the same time a widening. The prison bars held the
physical man, but the wings of the inner man had broadened and
they beat at vaster walls.

The picks struck, the earth fell. Behind him he heard the breath
ing of the men. He, too, was dizzy from exertion, from the air of the
tunnel. As he worked he was saying over to himself, over and over,
old lines that came into his head —

"This ae night, this ae night,

Every night and all.
Fire and sleet and candlelight
And Christ receive thy soul — "

The officer working with him uttered a low exclamation. " Look ! "

Stafford looked, then turned his head. "Be ready, all of you!
We're nearly through."

The earth fell, the rift widened. Down into the breathless tunnel,
like wine to the exhausted, came a gust of night air. The long queue
of waiting men quivered. The hole in the roof widened. . . .
The workers were now working very cautiously, very quietly. Even
in the dead of the night, even well beyond the stockade, even, as
they hoped, in the bottom of the gully running down to the river,
there might be wakeful ears. The workers made the least possible
noise, the hundred and odd waiting prisoners made none at all.
Crouched in silence they breathed the night air and the sweat dried
upon them. . . . The hole in the roof became large enough, to let
a man through. Footholds had already been made along the side
of the tunnel. The workers laid down their picks, mounted, and
tried their weight upon the edges of the opening. The earth held.
"Ready!" breathed Stafford. "McCarthy, you go first."

McCarthy drew himself up and out of the tunnel. " Now, Lamar ! "
Lamar followed. The queue moved a step forward. The third man
had his hands on the edge of the hole. McCarthy's form appeared
above, blocking the starlight, McCarthy's face down bent, waxen

PRISON X 127

as the almost burned-out taper which threw against it a little
quivering light. McCarthy's whisper came down. "O my God, my
God! We turned and dug obliquely. . . . We're still inside the
stockade!"

There sounded the discharge of a sentry's piece, followed by a
hallooing and the noise of running feet.

CHAPTER XII

THE SIEGE

EIGHT gunboats held the river in front of, above, and below the
doomed town. Under the leafy Louisiana shore the blue
placed seven mortars. These kept up a steady fire upon the
city and the river defences. At intervals the gunboats engaged the
lower batteries. There was an abandoned line of works which was
seized upon by a cloud of blue sharpshooters. These began to pick
off men at the grey guns, and traverses had to be built against them.
The grey had in the river batteries thirty-one siege guns, and a few
pieces of light artillery. Even of these they had eventually to spare
guns for the land defences.

At dawn of the twenty-seventh of May began the engagement in
which the Cincinnati was sunk. She had fourteen guns, and she
opened furiously upon the upper batteries while four gunboats
handled the lower. But the upper batteries sunk her; she went down
not far from the shore in water that did not quite cover her decks.
Her loss was heavy, from the grey shells and from the grey sharp
shooters who picked off her men at the portholes. Night after night
blue craft gathered around her, trying to take away the fourteen
guns, but night after night the upper batteries drove them away.
She stayed there, the Cincinnati, heavy and mournful in the smoke-
shrouded river. And day after day, and week after week, the seven
mortars and all the gunboats launched their thunders against the
water batteries and the town beyond.

Three fourths of a rough circle ran the landward defences. There
were exterior ditches, eight and ten feet deep, with provision for the
infantry, with embrasures and platforms for artillery. Before them
were thrown abatis, palisades, entanglements of picket and tele
graph wire. The ground was all ridge and hollow; redan and redoubt
and lunette occupied the commanding points, and between them
ran the rifle-pits. There was much digging yet to be done, and few
men and no great supply of entrenching tools with which to do it.

S HARPS H OOTERS

THE SIEGE 129

Night after night fatigue parties were busy. Behind all the salients
they made inner lines for time of need; they built traverses against
enfilading fires. So fast did the blue sharpshooters pick off officers
and men, as they passed from the works to the camps in the rear,
that very soon the grey were forced to contrive covered ways.
Through the hot nights laboured already wearied men. The five
hundred picks and shovels were shared among the troops. Where
they gave out, wooden shovels were contrived and bayonets were
used as picks. In the night-time the damage of the day must be
somehow repaired. The damage of each day was very great.

The centre of the Confederate line, from the Jackson railroad to
the Graveyard road, was held by Forney's division. General Martin
Luther Smith held from the Graveyard road to the river on the
north, and made the left. Carter L. Stevenson's division held from
the railroad to the Warrenton road and the river south, and formed
the right. Behind Forney lay in reserve Bowen with his Missourians
and Waul's Texas Legion. Counting the three thousand and more
in hospital, there were twenty-eight thousand men defending Vicks-
burg. They were all needed. Thrice the number would have found
work to do.

Outside the Confederate line ran the Federal line of investment.
At the beginning of the siege the two lines were some hundreds of
yards apart; as the siege went on the blue drew nearer, nearer. They
drew so near at last that, at night, the grey and blue pickets con
versed, so near that at places the several ramparts all but touched.
Forty-three thousand had Grant at the formal opening of the siege;
steadily as it progressed he brought across the river other thousands.
By the middle of June he had seventy-five thousand, besides the
fleet upon the river. Ninth Army Corps, Thirteenth Army Corps,
Fifteenth, Sixteenth, Seventeenth Army Corps, — Grant drew his
forces and to spare around the town and its all too meagre defences,
its one hundred and two guns and small store of ammunition and its
twenty-eight thousand combatants, three thousand of whom were
in hospital. Besides the guns of the fleet, there were now two hun
dred and twenty blue guns in position. They never lacked for am
munition. Seven miles, from the river north of the town to the river
south, ran the Confederate lines. Fifteen miles, from Haines's Bluff
to Warrenton, enclosing the Confederate, ran the Federal lines.

130 CEASE FIRING

Grant was strongly posted. He had wide, sheltered hollows in which
to mass his men, and commanding ridge-tops on which to place his
guns. His far-flung position was strong for offence, and equally
strong, in case of an attack from without, for defence. All day and
every day thundered the Federal artillery. All day and every day
the grey lines and the grey town knew the rain of shells. Very early
in the siege the blue prepared to mine.

At Jackson, fifty miles to the east, was Joseph E. Johnston, slowly
gathering troops. At the last and best he had only twenty-four
thousand troops. Between him and the beleaguered place lay an
army of seventy-five thousand men, strongly posted, and strong —
where the grey were weakest — in artillery; with, also, a blue
fleet in the background. At long intervals Pemberton got out a
messenger to him; at long intervals one of his own got into
Vicksburg.

Within all these lines Vicksburg herself crouched and waited.
All her people who might dwelled now in caves. They came out in
the night or during the infrequent silences of the day and returned
to the houses that were not injured. They grew careless about ex
posure, or rather they grew fatalistic after the manner of courageous,
besieged places. They passed through the streets even when the
shells were raining, or they wandered out toward the lines, or they
sat under some already splintered tree and counted the gunboats
on the dusky river. Courage stayed with them, and even at times
gaiety, though she had a hectic cheek.

On the twenty-second of May the town rocked under the first as
sault. Four ironclads and a wooden gunboat — thirty-two guns —
opened upon the river batteries. From the land the artillery began
as well, a great force of artillery sending shot and shell against the
Confederate centre and right and into the town beyond. At one
o'clock came the first of three Federal charges, directed against
the line of Stephen D. Lee. The assault was desperate, the repulse
as determined. The grey guns did not spare to-day grape and canis
ter. The grey musketry poured from the trenches volley after volley
in the face of the foe. A blue storming party, Illinois and Ohio and
Missouri, charged a redoubt in which the cannon had made a breach.
They crossed the ditch, they mounted the earthen wall, they fixed
two fla^s upon the parapet. They hurrahed in triumph. This angle

THE SIEGE 131

was uncommanded by any grey work. The flags could be dislodged
only by a countercharge and hand-to-hand fighting. Volunteers
were called for, and there went a band of Waul's Texans, led by
Colonel Pettus of the Twentieth Alabama. The blue artillery opened
upon them; there fell a fearful hail. The bullets of the sharpshooters,
too, came against them like bees armed each with a mortal sting.
The grey rushed on. They dislodged the blue from the fort, then
fought them in the ditch below. They used shells like hand grenades,
flinging them from the rampart. They took the flags, waved them
on high, then sent them back to their colonel, who sent them to
Stephen Lee. They beat back the blue storming party. . . . The
grey beat back the whole wide, three blue charges, hurled them back
upon their lines like torn waves from an iron coast. When dusk
came and sullenly the firing ceased, the Federal dead and wounded
lay thick, thick, up and down before the Confederate line, by ditch
and wall, — perhaps two thousand dead and wounded. In the
night-time some were taken away, but very, very many were left.
The weather was deadly hot.

Dead and wounded lay there so long that it became frightful. The
grey did not love the crying on their front, the gasping voices, the
faint, dry, Water! Water! Water! — dry and shrill like insects in the
grass. The dead became offensive, horrible. The grey sent a flag
of truce: General Pemberton's request to General Grant that hos
tilities be suspended for several hours while the Federal dead were
buried and the wounded relieved. It was then the twenty-fifth.
Grant, his cigar between his teeth, sitting before his tent out near
the Graveyard road, nodded assent. All that afternoon they buried
the dead, and removed the yet living. A thunder-shower came down
and did something to wash away the stains. In the silence and re
spite from the shells, Vicksburg left its caves and hurried through
trampled gardens back to the homes it loved. Here and there was
ruin. The shell might have exploded in the porch, bearing down the
white pillars, or in the parlour, shivering the mirrors and the crystal
chandeliers, or upon the stair, or in a bedroom. Here and there
was wholly ruin. A gaunt framework lifted itself among the roses,
or the white magnolias stared at a heap of charred timbers. . . .
The truce lasted less than three hours.

There was one cave quite out of town, quite near the lines. It

132 CEASE FIRING

belonged to an old country-house with a fair garden, and it was digged
at the time of the bombardment the past summer. Now the house
had been burned and the people occupying it had gone into the
crowded town. The cave stood empty. It had been made in the side
of a tall, vine-draped bank. Dark cedars with heavy and twisted
roots overhung it, and on either side there was ivy and honeysuckle.
It was a large cave, clean and dry. The family that had moved
away had left within it a low bed and a small old dressing-table and
other furniture and a little china and tinware. At no great distance
trickled and gurgled the spring belonging to the house. One heard it
in the night-time, but all day long it was lost in the thunder. Desiree
went to it for water only after dark.

The house which had given her refuge had been one of the first
demolished. She looked at all the warrens that had been dug in the
earth, and then, one rosy evening, she walked out toward the lines.
She took the direction of the redan where Edward was stationed,
and just on the townward side of the line of sentries she found this
ruined house in its ruined garden and the empty cave. The next day
in she moved.

Lieutenant Edward Gary got her message, brought him by his
commanding officer. " Gary, I was riding by the ruined house, and a
very beautiful woman came out of a cave in the hill and said she was
your wife, and that she was making her home there, and would you
come to Cape Jessamine when you could."

It was two days before he could go to Cape Jessamine. The even
ing of the truce he went, through the great fresh coolness after the
storm. There was yet in the sky a dark blur of cloud with a sweep
below it of ragged, crepe-like filaments, but the lightning and thun
der had ceased and the rain was over. Moist fragrance rose from the
desolated garden. After all the heat and turmoil there was a silence
that seemed divine. Just by the mouth of the cave, half buried in
the trailing ivy, Desiree had placed a bench. Here, the first rapture
of meeting over, they sat in the evening light, the storm rolling away,
an odour coming to them of mignonette.

He gathered her hands in his. "Desiree Gaillard, this is no place for
you ! They are driving an approach to the redan and are massing
guns against it. The shells will fall in this garden. Go back to the
town!"

THE SIEGE 133

"No; I will not. I like this better."

"The point is that you may be killed."

"No, I will not be. The shells fall, too, in the town. I will be care
ful."

"Dear heart, I mean it."

"Dear heart, I mean it, too. The danger is not greater than it is in
town. Yesterday there a child's arm was torn away."

"Oh—"

"Yes. . . . It is so frightful. And they are burying the dead out
there. A soldier told me."

"Yes. . . . How still it seems! And the mignonette ..."

"It is as still as was the garden at Cape Jessamine. Look how the
clouds are drifting by. . . ."

"Desiree, I brought you into the country of Danger. If you had
gone to the Fusilier place — "

"I should be dead by now. The country of Danger is a happy
country to-night. I fear it no more than you. Indeed, I love it —
since you are here. We are not children travelling, you and I. Look
at the light trembling up from the west!"

"That night upon the levee. . . . You were the heart of the red
light. Now you sit here, heart of the gold light. ... I love you."

"I love you."

The clouds drifted away, the sun went down clear. The evening
star was shining like a silver lamp when the two unlocked their
arms, kissed, and rose. All the ruined garden was filled with fireflies,
and there stole upward the odour of the mignonette. She went with
him to the fallen old brick gateposts. There they embraced and
parted. Going down toward the trenches he looked back and saw
her standing, the fireflies about her like stars, behind her tall shadowy
trees, and, like a hieroglyphic against the sky, the charred rafters of
the ruined house.

At dawn the cannonading began anew and lasted all day. Musk
etry, too, volleyed and rolled. The Federal ammunition never lacked,
but the grey were in no position to spend with freedom. Every ridge
of the besieging line belched saffron flame, thick smoke, and thunder;
every point of vantage sent its stream of minies, horribly singing.
On this day the blue began sap after sap. In the night-time the grey
sent a detachment from Stevenson's right out upon the river flats,

i34 CEASE FIRING

their errand the constructing of an abatis against a possible blue ap
proach that way. A Federal party came against them and there was
a bitter skirmish. The gunboats, excitedly waking, thrust a duel
upon the river batteries. The night flamed and roared. The grey
won out upon the flats and returned with a hundred prisoners. The
morning saw the river fight and the sinking of the Cincinnati.

May shook and thundered toward its sulphurous close. The
twenty-ninth, thirtieth, and thirty-first were marked by a continu
ous, frightful bombardment. By now the blue parallels were close,
close to every main grey work. They were very close, indeed, to
the Third Louisiana Redan. All night the grey engineers and their
haggard men dug, dug to repair the daytime breaches, to make inner
lines. On the first day of June fire broke out in the town. There
threatened a general conflagration, but soldiers and civilians con
quered the flames before there was disaster irretrievable. The
weather was deadly hot. Fever became epidemic.

There arrived a question of musket caps. Imperatively needed,
they must be had. If it were possible for a few daring men to get
down the river and across, behind the enemy, to Jackson, General
Johnston would send the caps. There were volunteers. Captain
Saunders, Lamar Fontaine, a courier named Walker, were the first
chosen ; later, a noted scout and Lieutenant Edward Gary. At mid
night they drifted down the river on logs. The battery under whose
shadow they had set out listened for a shout, looked for a leaping
flame from some one of the gunboats they must pass. But the
gunboats lay silent. There was always driftwood upon the rushing
river.

At dawn the mortars on the Louisiana side began to shell the bat
teries and the town beyond. Later the gunboats took a hand. Six
days in succession this bombardment opened with the first light in
the east and closed with the latest in the west. Vicksburg lost the
last semblance of old times. The bombs ripped houses open as
they ripped bodies. The blue began to drive double saps against
the principal redans. The grey began to countermine. All the
torn, sunbaked line knew that from now on it would stand over
volcanoes.

Desiree went into the town and to the hospitals, but when she
found there were nurses enough she was glad — though, had there

THE SIEGE 135

been need, she like all the rest would have worked there until she
dropped.

At the door of one of the hospitals she spoke to a surgeon. " There
is no yellow fever ? "

"No, thank God! Not yet. — I'll strike on wood."

They watched a shell burst in the air above an empty garden.
"Well, if they'd only keep that spot for a target! But they
won't. . . . When we stopped counting a week ago the hospitals
had been struck twenty-one times. It 's hard on wounded men to
be rewounded. — There's another!"

The shell ploughed a trench across the street, burst against the
corner of a brick wall, and brought it down in ruin.

" You can't blame them for getting unnerved, lying there and list
ening," pursued the surgeon. "Then they don't get well quickly
and conditions are unfavourable for amputations and operations.
And I 've never seen worse wounds than we 're getting in this siege.

— There's another!"

Desiree went on to a row of caves in a parched hillside. Here were
certain of her old friends, and here was a kind of central storeroom
from which she with others drew her slender rations. The basket
which she had brought she partly rilled, then sat upon a stone and
asked and answered questions. It was not for long; she was not
happy away from Cape Jessamine. They begged her to stay; they
represented that a moderate risk was all right, — they ran it here,

— but that so near the lines she was in actual danger. She laughed
with her beautiful eyes and went her way.

A little farther down the line she paused for a moment beside a
young woman in black sitting in the cave mouth, a slate and pencil
on her knee and beside her a boy and girl. " You are keeping school,
Miss Lily?"

"It is n't exactly school," said Miss Lily, "but one must enter
tain the children. It is hard on them being penned up like this."

"We're drawing funny pictures," explained the boy. "This is
General Grant."

"And this," chimed in the girl, "is General Sherman! Does n't
he look fierce?"

"And this is Yankee Doodle! Look at his feather — all over the
slate!"

136 CEASE FIRING

Miss Lily leaned a little forward, her thin hands clasped about her
knees, her luminous dark eyes upon the murky sky. She had a voice
of liquid sweetness, all shot with little lights and shadows. "I had
such a vivid dream last night. I thought that suddenly all the shells,
instead of coming this way, were going that way, and somebody said it
would be because General Johnston was coming with a great army
and that the enemy's cannon were turned against them. All the sky
grew clear red instead of blue, and in it I saw the army coming.
It was like the pictures of the Judgment Day. And the flag was in
front, and there were clouds and thunders. And the enemy was swept
of the face of the earth." She sighed. "And then I woke up, and the
shells were coming this way."

"I dreamed, too," said the little girl; "I dreamed about Christ
mas."

Desiree went back to Cape Jessamine. On the way she walked for
a while beside an old negro woman. " Yass, 'm, yass, 'm! De deb-
bil am rainin' fire an' brimstone! En now ef de Lawd 'd only send
de manna an' de quails ! "

"Are you hungry ?" asked Desiree. "You look hungry."

"Well, 'm, dar wuz de chillern. I done hab my ration en dey done
hab theirs, but de Lawd Jesus knows growin' chillern need six ra
tions! I could n't give 'em six, but I giv 'em mine. — I ben lookin'
at de berries in de patch ober dar, but Lawd! de bloom ain't much
moh'n fallen!"

Desiree uncovered the basket and shared with her her loaf of
bread. The other took it with glistening eyes and profuse thanks.
They parted, and Desiree went on to the cave below the cedars in
the ruined garden. The day was hot, hot! and the air was thick, and
there was always smell of burned powder, and dull, continual noise.
But the cave itself was dark and cool. She had drawn the ivy so that
it fell like a curtain across the entrance. She drank a cup of water,
ate a piece of bread, then lay down upon her pallet. She lay very
straight, her hands clasped upon her breast, her dark eyes fixed upon
the veil of ivy. The light came in, cool and green like emerald water.
The booming of the cannon grew rhythmic like great waves against a
cliff. Edward! Edward! They beat in her brain — Edward! Edward!

She knew that he was gone with the others for the musket caps.
Day by day soldiers in numbers passed her garden. She had come to

THE SIEGE 137

know the faces of many and had made friends with them. Sometimes
they asked for water. Sometimes the wounded rested here. An offi
cer, mortally wounded, had been laid upon this pallet and had died
here, upheld for the last labouring breath in her arms. The colonel
commanding the troops in the redan and trenches at this point
stopped occasionally in coming or going. He was a chivalrous, grey-
mustached hero who paid her compliments three-piled. It was he
who told her of the volunteers for dangerous service, but it was a
smoke-grimed, tattered private who brought her a line from Edward,
pencilled just at starting. . . . Five days ago.

She lay perfectly still, breathing lightly but deeply. Her mind, like
a bird, flew now into this landscape, now into that. Cape Jessamine
— Cape Jessamine — and the river rolling over what had been home
and life. Her room — the river rolling over her room — the bal
cony with the yellow rose and the silken dresses in the carved ward
robe. . . . She was in New Orleans. — Mardigras — Rex pass
ing — Louis as Rex — flowers down raining. All the masks — the
ball. . . . France — an old house in Southern France with poplars
and a still stream. . . . Her eyelids closed. Green water falling, and
the cypresses of Cape Jessamine. . . . She turned on her side —
Edward! Edward!

The great waves continued to break against the cliffs, then
arose a deafening crash as of down-ruining land. Desiree sprang to
her feet and went and pushed aside the ivy. Thick smoke hung over
a salient some distance to the right; she saw men running. Though
she had never seen a mine exploded, she knew it for what it was. She
watched the thickest of the smoke lift and drift aside, she saw that
the flag still waved from the salient and she gathered from the steadi
ness of the world in general and the rhythmic pursuance of the
cannonading that the mine had not been large, or had failed of its
full intent. She knew, however, that in the salient there had been
moments of destruction and anguish.

Sleep was driven from her eyes. She sat down upon the bench
without the door. It was the blazing afternoon. She saw the air
upquivering from the baked earth, the ruined wall. The neglected
garden looked dead with sultriness. Beyond, in the heat, she saw the
camps, tents, huts of dried boughs, small wooden structures. From
them to the front ran strange geometric lines that were the covered

i3 8 CEASE FIRING

ways. She saw the sentries, small, metallic-looking figures. Then
came trenches, breastworks, redan. Smoke was over them, but here
and there it gave and let through the red points of flags, or a vision
of soldiers. The horizon all around stood a wall of murk torn by red
flashes. That the air rocked with sound was now a matter of course.
The ear was accustomed to it, as to the roar of a familiar cataract,
or as mechanics and mill-hands might be to the roar of machinery.
Distracting sound ceased to be distracting. The attention went
where it was needed, as in the silence of the desert. Desiree sat
with her hands in her lap, staring into the heat and light. She sat
with a certain look of the Sphinx, accepting the spectator's place,
since the ages had fixed her there, and yet with a dim and inner
query that raised the corners of her lips.

A squad of soldiers came by, paused and asked if they might get
water. When they came back from the spring she stopped them with
her eyes.

"Did the mine do much harm ?"

"No, 'm, mighty little, considering. It hurt a dozen men and gave
us some digging and mending to do to-night. Good for us, I reckon!
We all are so awful lazy — serving only twenty out of twenty-four
hours!"

"Yes," said Desiree. "I've observed how lazy you are. There
never were soldiers who did better than you are doing. — Is there
any news?"

"They've got their sap rollers within a hundred feet of us. I've
got an idea that I'm going to give the captain. If you'd soak wads
of cotton in turpentine, and wrap them in pieces of match and fire
them from an old large-bore gun into them rollers, you might burn
the darned things up!"

" Two of the men who went after caps got in at dawn this morning."

"Two — ?"

" Yes, Jm. Captain Saunders and Walker. They brought two hun
dred thousand caps between them. They had a lively time getting
out, and a livelier getting in."

" The others — ?"

" They have n't been heard from. It was n't an easy job ! I reckon
if we get two back — and that many caps — it 's as good as we could
expect."

THE SIEGE 139

The day declined. The sun went down like a red cannon ball. The
cannonading ceased; the minies ceased. Slowly the smoke drifted
away and let the stars be seen. The silence after sound oppressed,
oppressed ! Desiree sat still upon the bench. The moon rose, round
and white, mounted and made the world spectral. At last she stood
up. She raised and opened her arms, then closed them on each other
and wrung her hands. Then she went out of the night without to
that within the cave. The moon came strongly in. When, presently,
she lay down upon the pallet, she drew her eyes and forehead out of
the pool of silver. Edward 1 Edward !

Between the dead night and the first dawn, an hour before the
sharpshooters would begin, she suddenly sat up, then rose to her
feet. The moonlight was gone from the floor; there was only the
unearthly hush and ebb of the hour. She moved to the entrance,
pushed aside the ivy, and stood with held breath. Though she could
not see him, she knew when he turned in at the ruined gate. A mo
ment and his voice was in her ears. " Desiree ! " — another, and they
were clasped in each other's arms. "I got in an hour ago — with the
caps. I have till dawn."

Throughout the seventh and eighth of June the firing from the
mortars was very heavy and the Federal digging, digging continued.
The grey private's device was adopted and a number of sap rollers
were set afire and destroyed, exposing the sappers behind and com
pelling fresh beginnings. On the Jackson road, before Hebert's
lines, the blue were using for screen cotton bales piled high upon a
flatcar. This shield also was fired by musket balls wrapped in tur
pentine and tow. Bales and car went up in flames. The grey began
new rifle-pits, and in the redans they collected thundering barrels
and loaded shells. There was a feeling of impending assault. Now,
too, began night sallies — Federal attacks upon the picket lines,
Confederate repulses. Sentinel duty, heavy from the first, grew ever
more heavy. Men fought during the day, and the same men watched
at night. Day and night the trenches must be manned. The lines
were long, and by now there were barely eighteen thousand grey
effectives. They lived perforce in the trenches; they had no relief
from the narrow ditches. The sun of a Southern June blistered and
baked; then came torrential rains and soaked all things; then the sun
shone again and the heavens became an inverted bowl of brass. On

CEASE FIRING

the twelfth of June the troops were put on half-rations; a little later,
these, too, were reduced. The water grew low and very impure!
There were so many dead bodies — men and animals. Fever ap
peared in every main work, and in every trench. Men lifted their
muskets with shaking hands.

O

CHAPTER XIII

ACROSS THE POTOMAC

N the thirteenth of June, Ewell and the Second Corps forded
the Potomac.

"Come! 'T is the red dawn of the day,
Maryland!"

sang the men.

" Come with thy panoplied array,

Maryland! . . .
Come, for thy shield is bright and strong,

Maryland !

Come, for thy dalliance does thee wrong,
Maryland! ..."

From the thirteenth to the twenty-first they bivouacked on and
near the battle-field of Sharpsburg. By now they were used to
revisiting battle-fields. Kernstown — Manassas — many another
stricken field; they knew them once, they knew them twice, they
knew them times again! On the twenty-first, Ewell had orders from
Lee to march northward into Pennsylvania, then eastwardly upon
Harrisburg on the Susquehanna. "Old Dick" broke camp at dawn
of the twenty-second.

South of the Potomac waited Lee with the First and Third Corps.
He waited watching "Fighting Joe Hooker," willing to give him
battle in Virginia if he so elected. On the twentieth he sent a dis
patch from Berryville to Richmond, to Mr. Davis.

MR. PRESIDENT: — I have the honour to report, for the informa
tion of your Excellency, that General Imboden has destroyed the
bridges on the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad over Evarts's Creek,
near Cumberland; the long bridge across the Chesapeake and Ohio
Canal below Cumberland; the iron bridge across the North Branch
of the Potomac, with the wooden trestle adjoining it; the double-
span bridge across the mouth of Patterson's Creek; the Fink's

142 CEASE FIRING

patent iron bridge across the mouth of the South Branch of the
Potomac, three spans of 133 1-3 feet each, and the wooden bridge
over Little Cacapon.

All the depots, water tanks, and engines between the Little
Cacapon and the Cumberland are also destroyed, with the block
houses at the mouth of the South Branch and Patterson's Creek.

The Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, about two miles above Old
Town, where the embankment is about forty feet high, has been
cut, and General Imboden reports that when he left it the entire
embankment for about fifty yards had been swept away.

A similar crevasse with like results was also made in the canal
about four miles from Old Town.

Lieutenant-Colonel White, of the cavalry, has also cut the Balti
more and Ohio Railroad, east of the Point of Rocks.

General Milroy has abandoned the south side of the Potomac,
occupying Harper's Ferry with a picket, and holds the Maryland
Heights with about eight thousand men.

General Ewell's corps is north of the Potomac, occupying Sharps-
burg, Boonsborough, and Hagerstown. His advance cavalry is at
Chambersburg, Pennsylvania.

The First Division of General A. P. Hill's corps will reach this
vicinity to-day; the rest follow.

General Longstreet's corps with Stuart's cavalry still occupy the
Blue Ridge between the roads leading through Ashby's and Snick
er's Gaps, holding in check a large force of the enemy, consisting
of cavalry, infantry, and artillery.

The movement of the main body of the enemy is still toward the
Potomac, but its real destination is not yet discovered. . . .

If any of the brigades that I have left behind for the protection of
Richmond can, in your opinion, be spared, I should like them to be
sent to me.

I am, with great respect, your obedient servant,

R. E. LEE, General.

Several days later, Ewell being now so advanced that support for
him was absolutely necessary, Longstreet was withdrawn from the
edge of the Blue Ridge. With the First Corps he crossed the Poto
mac at Williamsport. A. P. Hill and the Third followed, crossing at

ACROSS THE POTOMAC 143

Shepherdstown. At Hagerstown the two corps united and the
resulting column moved northward into Pennsylvania.

Now Jeb Stuart's only fault was that he too dearly loved a raid.
He applied to Lee for permission to take three brigades, thread the
Bull Run Mountains, attain the enemy's rear, pass between his
main body and Washington and so cross into Maryland, joining the
army somewhere north of the Potomac. Now Lee's only fault was
an occasional too gracious complaisance, a too moderate estimate
of his own judgment, a willingness to try for what they were worth
the suggestions of subordinates. With entire justice he loved and
trusted Stuart and admired his great abilities. He permitted the de
flection of the cavalry — only the cavalry must keep him cognizant
of every move of the enemy. If Hooker finally crossed the Poto
mac, he must know it at once, and at once Stuart must fall in upon
the right of the grey army of invasion.

Ewell at Sharpsburg broke camp at dawn of the twenty-second.
Followed a week of, on the whole, tranquil progress. "Old Dick's"
marches were masterly done. Reveille sounded at dawn. An hour
later the troops were on the road. Unhurrying and undelayed,
they made each day a good march and bivouacked with the setting
sun.

How fair seemed the rich Pennsylvania countryside ! The Valley
of Virginia had worn that aspect before the war. It, too, had had
yellow wheat-fields and orchards and turning mill wheels. It, too,
had had good brick country-houses and great barns and peaceful
towns and roads that were mended when they were worn. It, too,
had had fences and walls and care. It had had cattle in lush mead
ows. "Land of Goshen!" said EwelPs soldiers. "To think we were
like this once!"

"Well, we will be again."

"Listen to old Cheerfulness! And yet I reckon he's right, I
reckon he's right, I reckon he's right!"

"Of course he's right! I couldn't be low-spirited if I tried.
Hallelujah!"

The Second Corps did not try. No more did the First nor the
Third. The Army of Northern Virginia was in good spirits. Behind
it lay some weeks of rest and recuperation ; behind that the victory
of the Wilderness. Worn and inadequate enough as it was, yet this

i44 CEASE FIRING

army's equipment was better to-day than it had been. It had the
spoils of great battle-fields. Artillery was notably bettered; cavalry
was fit and fine ; infantry a seasoned veteran who thought of a time
without war as of some remote golden age. The Army of Northern
Virginia was now organized as it had not been organized before for
efficiency. It numbered between sixty and seventy thousand men.
It had able major- and lieutenant-generals and a very great com
manding general. It was veteran, eager for action, confident, with
victories behind it. There was something lifted in the spirit of the
men. Behind them, across the Potomac, lay a devastated land, —
their land, their home, their mother country! Before them lay a
battle, a great battle, the greatest battle yet, perhaps! Win it —
win it! and see a great rainbow of promise, glorious and bright, arch
itself over the land beyond the river, the land darkened, devastated,
and beloved! . . . Before them, as they marched, marched a vision
of dead leaders : Shiloh and Albert Sidney Johnston — Port Re
public and Ashby — Chancellorsville and Stonewall Jackson —
of many dead leaders, and of a many and a many dead comrades.
The vision did not hurt; it helped. It did not weaken their hearts;
it strengthened them.

The Stonewall Brigade found itself in good heart and upon the
road to Greencastle. It was a sunny June day and a sunny June road
with oxheart cherry trees at intervals. Corps, divisions, brigades,
regiments, companies — one and all had orders, calm and complete,
not to plunder. "The Commanding General," ran Lee's general
order, "earnestly exhorts the troops to abstain with most scrupulous
care from unnecessary or wanton injury to private property, and he
enjoins upon all officers to arrest and bring to summary punishment all
who shall in any way of end against the orders on this subject." To the
credit of a poorly clad army, out of a land famished and fordone, be
it said that the orders were obeyed. The army was in an enemy's
land, a land of plenty, but the noncombatant farming-people of that
land suffered but little in purse or property and not at all in person.
"I was told," writes a good grey artilleryman, "by the inhabitants
that they suffered less from our troops than from their own, and
that if compelled to have either they preferred having the 'rebels'
camped upon their land. I saw no plundering whatever, except that
once or twice I did see branches laden with fruit broken from cherry

ACROSS THE POTOMAC 145

trees. Of course it goes without saying that the quartermasters,
especially of artillery battalions, were confessedly, and of malice
aforethought, horse- thieves!"

The Sixty-fifth Virginia admired the Cumberland Valley. "It
looks for all the world like the picture of Beulah land in a 'Pilgrim's
Progress' I got as a prize for learning the most Bible verses!" —
"This landscape makes me want to cry. It looks so — so — so
damn peaceful." — "That's so! They don't have to glean no
battle-fields. They're busy reaping wheat." — "Cherries! Those
cherries are as big as winesaps. I'm going to have cherry pie

to-night, —

" Can she make a cherry pie,

Billyboy, Billyboy?
Can she make a cherry pie,
Charming Billy?"

"Did you hear Early's boys tell about 'Extra Billy' at Winches
ter?" — "No." — "Well, 't was the artillery going by at a gallop
to occupy a work they had just taken, going by the lying-down in
fantry, and Milroy's other batteries blazing against them from the
other hills, and the Yankee sharpshooters just as busy as bees. And
the lying-down infantry just cocked its eye up from the earth and
said, 'Go it, boys!' But ex-Governor William Smith ain't made like
that. He stood up before his regiment just as graceful and easy as if
he was going to make a speech, with the blue cotton umbrella over his
shoulder, and when that artillery came thundering by, by jingo! he
began bowing to every man and some of the horses! He just stood
there and beamed and bowed — good old Governor! Everybody
knew that he'd just forgotten and thought that he was at a political
meeting." — "Probably he did. War's an awful intensifier and a
kind of wizard that puts a year in a day, but if a man 's been habitu
ated one way for fifty years he'll slip back into it, cannon balls not
withstanding." — "There's a spring-house and a woman churning!
Buttermilk / " — " Reckon she 's got any cherry pies ? Reckon she 'd
sell them to us ? Colonel says we 've got to pay — pay good Con
federate money!"

The Sixty-fifth marched on upon a sunshiny road, beneath blue
sky, between crimson-fruited cherry trees. Beyond swelled the
green and gold countryside, so peaceful. . . . Butterflies fluttered,

146 CEASE FIRING

honeybees hummed, birds warbled. Dinner was good meat and
wheaten bread, taken in cheerful meadows, beneath elms and pop
lars. Village and farmer people showed themselves not tremend
ously hostile. Small boys gathered, happy and excited; Dutch
farmers, anxiety for their red barns appeased, glowered not over
much. Women were stiffer and took occasion to hum or sing aloud
patriotic Northern songs. Southerners are a polite people, and the
women of the Cumberland Valley met with no rudeness. At a
cross-roads, the Sixty-fifth passing with jingle and tramp, a Penn
sylvania carriage horse, that had never snuffed the battle from afar,
took fright at the grey men or the gleam of rifle barrels or the san
guine fluttering colours. Ensued a rearing and plunging, and, from
the phaeton behind, a scream. Lieutenant Coffin sprang to the
rescue. — The horse stood soothed, though trembling a little still.
"Thar now! thar now!" said Billy Maydew at the reins. The
twelve-year-old urchin in the driver's seat glued his eyes to the
marching Sixty-fifth and gasped with delight. The sprigged muslin
and straw bonnet in the embrace of the phaeton made a gallant bid
for the austerity of a marble monument.

"You wish to cross the road, madam ? Or can you wait until the
column has passed ?"

"Oh, wait, please, sister! Golly! Look at that blue flag!"

"No, I cannot wait. I wish to cross now. I am going to a funeral."

The last of the Sixty-fifth passed with jingle and tramp. The
Fourth was seen looming through the mist. Sergeant Maydew at
the horse's head, Lieutenant Coffin beside the phaeton — across the
highroad was conducted straw bonnet and sprigged muslin. The
two soldiers stood back, Lieutenant Coffin making a courtly bow.
It was answered by a stately inclination of the bonnet. The boy
reluctantly said, "Get up!" to the horse, and the phaeton slowly
climbed a flowery hill.

The lieutenant and the sergeant strode after their regiment. " She
was mighty sweet and fine! " volunteered Billy. " I like that dark,
soft kind, like pansies. I '11 tell you who I think she air like. She air
like Miss Miriam Cleave at Three Oaks."

Coffin considered. "I see what you mean. They are a little alike.
. . . Three Oaks!"

"I used to think," said Billy, "that I'd be right happy if I could

ACROSS THE POTOMAC 147

kill you. That was before Port Republic. Then I used to think I 'd
be right happy when Allan Gold had beat spelling into me and I 'd be
made sergeant. And after Chancellorsville I thought I 'd be right
happy if General Jackson got well. But I've thought right along,
ever since White Oak Swamp, that I'd be right happy if the
Sixty-fifth had back the only colonel I Ve ever cared much for, and
that air Richard Cleave!"

In the afternoon the Sixty-fifth came to the town of Greencastle.
It looked a thriving place, and it had shops and stores filled with the
most beautiful and tempting goods. Back home, the goods were all
gone from the stores, the old stock assimilated and the new never
appearing. The shop windows of Greencastle looked like fairyland,
a hundred Christmases all in one. " Look-a-there ! Look at that
ironware!" — "Look at them shirts and suspenders! Coloured
handkerchiefs." — "Fancy soap and cologne and toothbrushes!" -
"I wish I might send Sally that pink calico and some ribbons, and
a hoop." — "Look at that plough — that's something new!"
"Figured velvet waistcoats." •- "Lord have mercy! this is the
sinfullest town of plutocrats!"- "Try them with Confederate
money." — "Sure Old Dick said we might n't take just a little?" -
"Oh, me! oh, me! there's a shoe-store and a hat-store and a drug
store." - "Say, Mr. Storekeeper, would you take for that pair of
shoes a brand-new fifty-dollar Richmond Virginia bank note with
George Washington and a train of cars on it?" — "He won't sell.
This gilded town's got so much money it does n't want any more —
tired of money." - "Disgusting Vanity Fair kind of a place! Glad
the colonel is n't going to halt us!" — Don't straggle, men I — "No,
sir; we aren't!"

Camp was clean beyond Greencastle — a lovely camp quite re
moved from Vanity Fair. Apparently the quartermasters had been
able to buy. There was coffee for supper, real coffee, real sugar;
there were light biscuits and butter and roast lamb. A crystal stream
purled through the meadows; upon the hilltops wheat, partly
shocked, stood against the rosy sky. The evening was cool and
sweet and the camp-fires for a long way, up and down and on either
side the road, burned with a steady flame. The men lay upon the
earth like dusty acorns shaken from invisible branches. At the foot
of the hills the battery and wagon horses cropped the sweet grass.

148 CEASE FIRING

The good horses ! — their ribs did not show as they did on the Vir
ginia side of the Potomac. They were faring well in Pennsylvania.
Rank and file, men and horses, guns and wagon train, the Second
Corps, Rodes and Jubal Early and "Alleghany" Johnson, and
"Dear Dick Ewell" at the head, — the Second Corps was in
spirits. To-night it was as buoyant as a cork or a rubber ball. Where
there were bands the bands played, played the sprightliest airs in
their repertory. Harry Hays's Creoles danced, leaping like fauns
in the dying sunset and the firelight, in a trodden space beneath
beech trees.

The next morning Rodes and Johnson pursued the road to
Chambersburg, but Early's division took the Gettysburg and
York road, having orders to cut the Northern Central Railroad
running from Baltimore to Harrisburg, and to destroy the bridge
across the Susquehanna at Wrightsville and rejoin at Carlisle.
Ahead went Gordon's Georgia brigade and White's battalion of
cavalry.

The town of Gettysburg, where they made boots and shoes, lay
among orchards and gardens at the foot of the South Mountain. It
numbered four thousand inhabitants, a large place for those days.
It lay between the waters that drain into the Susquehanna and the
waters that drain into the Potomac and commanded all the country
roads. On the outskirts of this place, a place not marked out on that
day from other places on the map, White's cavalry encountered a
regiment of militia. The militia did not stand, but fled to either side
the macadamized road, through the midsummer fields. A hundred
and seventy-five were taken prisoner. On through Gettysburg
marched Gordon and the cavalry, the people watching from the
windows, and took the pike to York. Behind them came "Old Jube,"
marching in light order, having sent his trains to Chambersburg,
"excepting the ambulances, one medical wagon for a brigade, the
regimental ordnance wagons, one wagon with cooking-utensils
for each regiment, and fifteen empty wagons to gather supplies
with."

It came on to rain. The troops bivouacked somewhat comfort
lessly a mile or two out on the York road. Two thousand rations
were found in a train of cars. When they had been removed the cars
were set afire, and in addition a railroad bridge hard by. These

ACROSS THE POTOMAC 149

burned with no cheer in the flames seen through a thick veil of
chilly rain. "I don't care if I never see Gettysburg again!" said
the division.

At dawn rang the bugles. The rain was over, the sun came up,
breakfast was good, the country smiled, the division had a light
heart. All this day they made a good march, through a pleasant
country, leading to York. The cavalry' was on ahead toward Han
over Junction, destroying railroad bridges. Gordon and his Georg
ians acted vanguard for the infantry. Of the main body, Brigadier-
General William Smith with the Thirty-first, Forty-ninth, and
Fifty-second Virginia headed the column. By reaped wheat and
waving corn, by rich woods and murmuring streams, under blue sky
and to the song of birds, through a land of plenty and prosperity,
the grey column moved pleasantly on to York, and at sunset
bivouacked within a mile or two of that place.

Out to Gordon's camp-fire came a deputation — the mayor of York
and prominent citizens. Gordon, handsome and gallant, received
them with his accustomed courtesy. "Their object," he reports,
"being to make a peaceable surrender, and ask for protection to
life and property. They returned, I think, with a feeling of assured
safety."

The next day was Sunday — a clear midsummer Sunday, the
serene air filled with church bells. Gordon's men, occupying York,
found well-dressed throngs upon the sidewalks, in the doorways,
leaning from the windows. Confederate soldiers had always to hope
that the inner man could not be hidden, but shone excellently forth
from the bizarrest ragged apparel. Sunburnt, with longish hair,
gaunt yet, despite a fortnight with the flesh pots of this Egypt,creat-
ure of shred and patches and all covered with the whitish dust of a
macadamized road — it needed some insight to read how sweet and
sound, on the whole, was the kernel within so weather-beaten a
shell. Now Gordon was the Southern gentleman at his best. "Con
federate pride, to say nothing of Southern gallantry," reports Gordon,
"was subjected to the sorest trial by the consternation produced
among the ladies of York. . . . I assured these ladies that the troops
behind me, though ill-clad and travel-stained, were good men and
brave; that beneath their rough exteriors were hearts as loyal to
women as ever beat in the breasts of honourable men; that their own

150 CEASE FIRING

experience and the experience of their mothers, wives, and sisters at
home had taught them how painful must be the sight of a hostile
army in their town; that under the orders of the Confederate Com-
mander-in-Chief both private property and noncombatants were
safe; that the spirit of vengeance and rapine had no place in the
bosoms of these dust-covered but knightly men; and I closed by
pledging to York the head of any soldier under my command who
destroyed private property, disturbed the repose of a single home,
or insulted a woman."

Gordon made no tarrying in York, but moved on toward Wrights-
ville, with orders to burn the long railroad bridge crossing the Sus-
quehanna. A few hours later marched in Early's advance brigade —
General ex-Governor William Smith on a fine horse at its head.
Now this brigade had a very good band, as bands went in the Con
federate service, and this band proposed to enter York playing
" Dixie " ! Indeed, they had begun the familiar strains when an aide
appeared, "General says you 'tooting fellows' are temporarily to
lay that air in lavender. When you are in Rome, play what Rome
likes, or, in other words, Virginians, take your manners along! He
says come up front and play 'Yankee Doodle."1

York was out of doors for this brigade as it had been for Gordon's.
In the sunny mid-afternoon, the column swung into its main street,
"Extra Billy" riding at the head, beaming like the sun. Hero of a
hundred hustings, he always took his manners with him; and indeed,
as they came from his heart, he could not do otherwise. At the head
of town he took off his hat, kept it in his hand, and began bowing
right and left, always with his hearty, beamy smile. Behind him
rode his smiling staff, and behind staff came the band, horns and
drums giving "Yankee Doodle."

The citizens of York upon the sidewalks — and they were crowded
— developed a tendency to keep pace with the head of the column.
It presently arrived that General William Smith^ like a magnet, was
carrying with him a considerable portion of the population. Before
the procession opened the public square, bathed in a happy light.
The band, having come to an end of "Yankee Doodle," played
"Dixie," then slipped again into the first, then happily blended the
two. Staff was laughing, regimental officers broadly smiling, the
troops behind in the best of spirits. All poured into the sunny

ACROSS THE POTOMAC 151

square, where were more of the inhabitants of York. "Tell 'em to
halt," ordered the ex-Governor, " and tell those tooting fellows to
stop both tunes. These are nice people and I am going to give them
a speech."

He gave it, sitting very firm on his fine horse, to an open-mouthed-
and-eyed crowd, behind him the troops at rest, the whole throng,
invaded and invaders, filling the square and the street. He spoke in
his geniallest fashion, with his mellowest voice and happiest allu
sions. The warm, yellow, late June sunshine flooded the square,
lighting the curious throng, and that worn, grey, citizen soldiery,
making a splendour of the brass instruments of the band and wrap
ping General William Smith in a toga of airy gold. "Ladies and
gentlemen (and York has such beautiful ladies)," spoke "Extra
Billy," "as you see, we are back in the Union! May we not hope
that you are glad to see us ? I assure you that we are glad to see
you ! I wish that we were dressed for visiting, but you '11 excuse us,
we know ! What we all need on both sides is to mingle more with
each other, so that we shall learn to know and appreciate each
other's good qualities. Now — "

From behind arose a murmur. The aides looked over their shoul
ders and beheld a pushing to the front on the part of some person or
persons. Whatever it was, cavalry squad trying to pass, aides, or
couriers, general officer, and staff — there was difficulty in attracting
the attention of the grinning, absorbed troops sufficiently to let the
party by.

"Now," continued General William Smith, "we are n't at all the
villains and cut- throats that you've been seeing in your dreams!
Clothes don't make the man, and we 're better than our outfit.
When this little rumpus is all over and you come visiting us in the
Confederacy of the South (and I hope that the beautiful ladies of
York will come often and come in summer-time, for we want to
have a tournament and crown them all Queens of Love and Beauty)
— when this little border war is over, I say — "

The party from the rear had now got to the front. A thin, stoop-
shouldered man, with a long, thin beard and glittering, small black
eyes, rose in his stirrups, leaned forward, and brought a vehement
hand down upon " Extra Billy's" shoulder. His voice followed —
Jubal A. Early 's voice — a fierce sing-song treble. " General Smith,

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what the Devil are you about? — stopping the head of this column
in this cursed town!"

"Extra Billy's" smile, manly and beaming and fearless, stayed
with him. "Why, General, just having a little fun! Good for us all,
sir; good for us all!"

Smith's brigade moved on, to be followed by Hoke's and Harry
Hays's. Camp was pitched a mile or two out of town, "Old Jube,"
however, resting with Avery's command in York. "I made," he re
ports, "requisition upon the authorities for 2000 pairs of shoes, 1000
hats, 1000 pairs of socks, $100,000 in money, and three days' rations
of all kinds. Subsequently between 1200 and 1500 pairs of shoes,
the hats, socks, and rations were furnished, but only $28,600 in
money, which was paid to my quartermaster, the mayor and other
authorities protesting their inability to get any more money, as it
had all been run off previously, and I was satisfied they made an
honest effort to raise the amount called for."

He continues: "A short time before night, I rode out in the direc
tion of Columbia Bridge, to ascertain the result of Gordon's expedi
tion, and had not proceeded far before I saw an immense smoke
rising in the direction of the Susquehanna, which I subsequently dis
covered to proceed from the bridge in question. This bridge was one
mile and a quarter in length, the superstructure being of wood on
stone pillars, and it included in one structure a railroad bridge, a pass-
way for wagons, and also a tow-path for the canal which here crosses
the Susquehanna. The bridge was entirely consumed, and from it
the town of Wrightsville caught fire, and several buildings were
consumed, but the farther progress of the flames was arrested by the
exertions of Gordon's men. . . . On the evening of the twenty-
ninth, I received through Captain Elliott Johnston, aide to General
Ewell, a copy of a note from General Lee which required me to
move back so as to rejoin the rest of the corps on the western side
of the South Mountain, and accordingly, at daylight on the morn
ing of the thirtieth, I put my whole command in motion. ... I
encamped about three miles from Heidlersburg, and rode to see
General Ewell at that point, and was informed by him that the
object was to concentrate the corps at or near Cashtown, and I
received directions to move next day at that point. . . . After
passing Heidlersburg a short distance, I received a note from Gen-

ACROSS THE POTOMAC 153

eral Ewell informing me that General Hill was moving from Cash-
town towards Gettysburg, and that General Rodes had turned off
at Middletown and was moving toward the same place, and direct
ing me also to move to that point. I therefore continued to move on
the road I was then on toward Gettysburg. ..."

From Greencastle, Rodes and Johnson, Ewell riding at the head
of the column, had marched to Chambersburg and thence to Car
lisle. They reached the latter place on the twenty-seventh. On this
day Robert E. Lee, with Longstreet and A. P. Hill, the First and
Third Corps, bivouacked near Chambersburg.

With the grand patience which he habitually exercised, Lee
waited for tidings from Stuart. There was room for intense im
patience. His cavalry leader, who was to keep him informed of the
least move upon the board of the other colour, had failed to do so.
Four days in the enemy's country, and no news of Stuart and no
news of the blue host south of the Potomac ! Was it still south of the
Potomac? Surely so, or Stuart's couriers, one after the other, would
have come riding in! Surely so, or Stuart himself would be here,
falling in on the right as ordered! With entire justice the grey com
mander loved and trusted the grey cavalry leader. He waited now,
in the green Pennsylvania country, with a front of patience, but per
haps with an inner agony. Was Hooker yet in Virginia? Lee sat
still in his small tent, his eyes level, his hand resting lightly on the
table; then he rose, and said to the adjutant-general that the army
would advance, next day, upon Harrisburg.

But that same night, the twenty-eighth, there was a movement

at the door of the tent. " Captain , from General Longstreet,

sir, with the scout, Harrison."

A short, lean, swarthy man in citizen's dress, came forward and
saluted.

"You are," said Lee, "the scout General Longstreet sent into
Washington?"

"Yes, General. Three weeks ago from Fredericksburg."

"Very well. Give me your report."

" General Longstreet gave me money, sir, and orders to make my
way into Washington and to stay there until I had something im
portant to report and could get out. I only managed the last, sir,
five days ago. Since then I've been travelling at night and what

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parts of the day I could without observation. I knew, of course,
that the army had crossed or was crossing, and from Washington I
struck out toward Frederick. There was talk in Washington that
General Hooker would certainly be superseded, and last night I
heard that he had resigned and General Meade was in command."

"I have been looking for that. General Hooker was a good
fighter, and so is General Meade. But it is of the whereabouts of
that army that I want to know."

"I had to hide at Frederick, sir. Three corps were already there.
As I left I saw the dust of a fourth."

"At Frederick I"

"Yes, sir. I understood from a farmer that they crossed at
Edwards's Ferry the twenty-fifth and sixth."

"Have you seen or heard of General Stuart ?"

"An ambulance driver told me there was a report that what he
called the rebel cavalry had crossed the Potomac and were cutting
the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal."

"And the enemy's line of march from Frederick ?"

"Toward South Mountain, sir."

"That is all of consequence you have to report?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. You have done well, Harrison. Goodnight!"

The scout and the aide departed. In the tent there was a some
what heavy silence. Lee drew the map upon the table closer and sat,
his forehead upon his hand, studying it. Two candles stood beside
him, and the white light showed the beauty of the down-bent head
and face. His expression was very quiet, but the adjutant, watching
him, ached for the ache that he read there, the ache of a great gen
eral who was yet mortal, with a mortal's equipment; of the leader
of brave men who were yet mortal with a quiverful of the arrows
of mistake and random aim. The hopes of the South hung upon
this campaign. All knew it; the adjutant-general knew it; the man
bending over the map knew it. ... Hooker — no, Meade ! — was
across the Potomac, and advancing. By now he would be some
where south of Gettysburg. . . . The candles burned clear; Lee sat,
very still, his gaze level, his hand upon the map.

Colonel Taylor ventured to speak. "The orders for Harris-
burg-"

ACROSS THE POTOMAC 155

"Yes, Colonel. We must countermand them. These people are
closer than I thought. I wish we had our cavalry. But I make mis
takes myself." He rose, moving out of the clear light into the dusk
of the tent. "The orders are that all three corps concentrate at
Cashtown a little to the west of Gettysburg."

CHAPTER XIV

THE CAVE

ON the thirteenth of June grey countermines were begun from
all the main grey works. The men worked continuously upon
these, and in the night-time they strengthened the breaches
made by the daily fierce cannonade. With the few hundred entrench
ing tools, with the improvised spades, the bayonet picks, with earth
carried in camp-buckets, with all ingenious makeshifts, they bur
rowed and heaped continuously. But they laboured, now, somewhat
weakly. They were so tired. The heat of that Southern land was
frightful, and the confinement in the trenches was frightful. The
thought began to sicken at those deep troughs in the earth. In
the scanty sleep of officers and men they pressed upon the brain;
they grew to seem trenches in the brains, troughs filled with dead
thoughts, thoughts that still suffered. There was no relief from
the trenches, no relief at all, except when a wound came — a bad
wound — or fever came — serious fever with delirium — when the
wounded or the fevered was borne with some risk from shells and
minies to the hospital. Even in the hospital the trenches stayed in
the brain. It came that, in the trenches, the tired, tired soldiers
looked with something like envy upon the wounded or the fevered as
he was borne away. "That fellow's going to get some sleep." —
"Stop your nodding, Jimmy! — nodding same as if you were in
church!" — "Captain's calling!" — "Go 'way! If you jerk your
head back like that you'll break your neck." — "I wouldn't
care," said Jimmy, "if it just meant sleeping on and on." — "It
would n't. You'd be fighting again somewhere else in a jiffy! — O
God! these trenches."

Officers and men were dead for sleep. Officers and men had never
dreamed of such fatigue. Officers and men handled sword and
musket with hands that were hard to keep ennerved and watched
the foe with eyes over which the lids would droop. It was growing
ghastly at Vicksburg, and the June sun beat down, beat down. In

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the infrequent times when the river was clear of smoke it lay glit
tering like diamonds and topazes, paining the weary eye. North
and east and south the cloud rarely lifted. A thinner battle cloud
overhung the seven-mile Confederate line. The grey could not
spend powder as might the blue, nor did they have the blue's great
horde of guns. But what with the blue and what with the grey all
Vicksburg and its environs dwelled day after day, week after week,
in a battle murk. The smoke was always there; the smell, the taste,
were always there. The pitiless sun was no less hot for the ashen
gauze through which it struck. Shorn of its beams, it rose and
moved through the muddy blue, and set like a thick red-gold
buckler, from behind which came lances of heat and madness. With
the night there came drenching dews and the mist from the river.
Heat and cold beat on the same men, cramped forever in the same
trenches.

On the tenth day of the siege the eighteen thousand fighting men
had been put on half-rations. Later these were greatly reduced. At
first five ounces of poor corn or pea flour were issued daily; later the
amount fell to three ounces. The mules in the place were slaugh
tered, but the meat gained in this way fed but a few. After mid-June
the cats disappeared from the town. In the spring Vicksburg had
had its fair vegetable gardens. Now every eatable root below or
stalk or seed above the ground was gone. The small, unripe fruit,
peach or quince or fig, the hard green berries, were gathered, stewed,
and eaten. All things were eaten that could be eaten, but the men
grew large-eyed, and their physical strength flagged. From almost
the beginning the water had been bad. The men in the river batter
ies and the troops upon the right suffered most where all suffered
much. The Federal shot and shell had slain, in the first days of the
siege, a number of horses and mules. It being the first of the siege
and starvation not yet above the horizon, these animals were
dragged in the night to the river and thrown in. Now the cisterns
were exhausted, the wells were insufficient. They were forced to
draw by night the water from the edge of the river, filled with mag
gots as it was. They dug shallow wells in the hollows and dips of the
land and placed sentinels over them to see that the water was not
wasted. The water was there for drinking or for the slight cooking
that went on ; there was never any for washing. Some men forgot the

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feel of cleanliness; others set their lips and did without. Powder-
grime and sweat; drenching rains that lined and floored every
trench with miserable mire; fierce, beating suns that made the mire
into a dust that stiffened the hair and choked the pores; effluvia,
blood, refuse that could not be carted away, that there was not time
to bury, — the trenches at Vicksburg and the slight camps behind
grew like a bad dream, vague and sickening. Hunger that could not
be fed dwelled in Vicksburg, weariness that could not find rest, in
sufficient sleep, dirt, thirst, wounds, disease. Fever was there hugely,
fever and flux, exhaustion, debility, and also hyperexcitement;
strange outbreaks of nature and strange sinkings together. Once
there was a hint of cholera. Two surgeons stood over the man who
had been lifted from the trench and now lay writhing on the earth
under a roof of dried pine boughs.

"It looks mighty suspicious," said one in a weary voice, barely
rising above a whisper. " That 's why I called you. It would be the
last stroke."

The other nodded. "You 're right there. I Ve seen it once before,
off a ship at Tampa, but I'm not sure that this is it. There's a
mock here of everything in the world that's awful, so it may be
a mock of that, too."

"I've heard that chloroform is good. One part chloroform, three
parts water, two —

"Yes. There is n't any chloroform."

The man died, but, whatever it had been, that particular disease
did not spread. Others did. They spread apace.

A grey mine was started from within the Third Louisiana Redan
by sinking a vertical shaft and then digging outward a gallery under
the Federal sap. Night and day the grey worked, and night and day
worked the blue. The grey worked hungry, the blue worked fed.
The grey worked heavy-lidded, with long, long shifts. The blue
worked, rested and refreshed, with short shifts. The blue had every
modern appliance for their work, the grey had not. The grey worked
with desperation upon their inclined gallery; the blue drove steadily
and apace toward the salient of the redan.

Now and then there were assaults where the enemy thought his
cannon or his mines had made a practicable breach. These were
driven back, and then the great guns belched flame and thundered.

THE CAVE 159

The grey guns answered where answers were most strongly indic
ated; never had they had ammunition to spend on mere pleasure of
defiance. Now here, now there, along the lines, leaping from place
to place like lightning, musketry flamed and crackled. Always the
blue minies kept up their singing, and always the many and deadly
sharpshooters watched to pick off men and officers. The gunboats
and the mortars from the Louisiana shore helped with a lavish hand
the land guns. Day chiefly saw the bombardments, but there were
nights when the region shook ; when the bombs, exploding, reddened
the sky; when, copper-hued, saffron- tinged, the clouds rolled over
the place; when there was shriek and thunder, light and murk, glare
and horror of the great city of Dis.

Desiree could not rest within the cave or on the bench among the
ivy sprays. Hard-by was now a field hospital, and now each morn
ing she left the ruined garden, mounted a little rise of ground, de
scended it, and found herself under a shed-like structure amid
ghastly sights and sounds of suffering. Here she ministered as best
she might. Like other Southern women she was familiar with plant
ation accidents. She knelt and helped with capable hands, prefer
ring to be there and occupied than to sit in the torn garden and hear
upon the wind the sobbing and crying of this place. At night, lying
upon her pallet, she sometimes stopped her ears against it. Sight
horrified the brain, but hearing twisted the heartstrings. She never
fancied that she distinguished Edward's voice; if he were hurt he
would not cry aloud. But she trembled to hear the others crying,
and though she loved life she would have died for them if she could
have thereby stopped the crying.

Now and again she went into the town. It was a place now of
thin-faced heroism, large-eyed endurance, seldom-speaking women,
patient children. Hunger was in the town as well as at the lines, hun
ger and fever, hunger and fever! Mourning was there, too; not loud
but deep. There were so many widows, so many orphans. There
were sisters with a brother's death upon their hearts; there were be
trothed girls who now would never marry. All were brave, with a
dumb heroism. The past told. Aryan emigrants, women of the dark
Teutonic forest, Pictish women, women of a Roman strain, Angle
and Dane and Celt and Saxon, Gaul and Iberian and Hebrew, —
yes, and women of Africa, — the wide past of famished sieges, of

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back to the wall, of utter sacrifice, came again to the town of Vicks-
burg upon the Mississippi River.

Desiree returned to Cape Jessamine. The ruined garden was
ruined now, indeed, torn by shot and shell, sunbaked, withered,
dead. Post, beam, and rafter of the burned house no longer stood
like a hieroglyphic against the sky. An exploding shell had wrecked
the last support and all had fallen. Desiree, passing close, one day,
saw a snake among the warped timbers. The trees had lost all green
ness. They, too, suffered deadly injury from the shells. The flowers
were all withered. They could not bloom in that heavy and sulph
urous air. The bed of mignonette grew yellow and thin and wan. It
lost its odour. The birds were gone long ago. One neither heard the
buzz of bees nor saw a butterfly. It was as though a wizard's wand
were waving away life and loveliness.

Desiree kept her beauty, but it grew beauty of the inner outward,
beauty of a myriad complexities, subtleties, intensities. Memory
was there and forecasting, and everything heightened. She had her
Leonardo look; she went from hour to hour, not unsmiling, but the
smile was remote from mirth and near to thought. Her physical
being was clean, poised, and strong. She fared as scantily as all the
others, but she did not perceptibly weaken. Or if the body weakened,
she drew deep upon the innermost reserve and braced nerve and
muscle with her will. The field hospital thought her tireless.

As she left the garden one day, a mine was sprung under the
nearest salient and a breach made through which a blue wave at
once undertook to pour. The grey meeting it, there followed three
minutes of shock and roar, when the blue went back. It was an ugly
breach, and while the grey cannon thundered it must be quickly
mended. All the men possible fell to digging, while sand bags were
brought and great bolsters of earth wrapped in old tenting.
"Hurry! " said the captains. "Dig fast! "

Desiree went nearer and nearer. A man with a spade, making
some headway with a hillock of earth, which, as he loosened, another
scraped into a sack, fell dead, the brain pierced by a sharpshooter's
bullet. The man with the sack made a "Tchk!" with his tongue,
then turned to shout for another digger. His eyes fell on Desiree.

"What are you doing here, ma'am? This ain't no place for a

THE CAVE 161

Desiree bent and took the spade from the dead man's grasp. "I
am strong," she said, "and I like to dig. Hold the sack open."

She worked for an hour, until the breach was fully mended.
At the last her fellow worker and she struck the dirt from their
hands, and, straightening themselves, looked at each other.

"You do fine," he said. "I reckon you must have had some dig
ging to do once."

"Yes, I had," she answered. "For a long time and much of it. I
am coming again."

The next day there was a bombardment that shook earth and sky.
When, in the late afternoon, it was over, the air rested thick as on
the slopes of a volcano in action, dusk and thick and heavy with the
sullen odour of strife. Through the false twilight, Desiree, now at
the cave, saw looming figures, litter-bearers. She knew they would
come in at the ruined gate, and they came. She met them by the
fallen house. "I am not badly hurt," said Edward's voice. "Don't
think it! And how blessed to have Cape Jessamine to come to — "

The time wore on toward late June. The month of roses, here, was
a month of red flowers of death. Outward from the Third Louisiana
Redan dug feverishly the grey miners driving a gallery beneath the
Federal sap. Outward from the blue lines dug fast and far the blue
sappers, making for the Third Louisiana Redan that crowned a nar
row ridge. Within the redan, seeing the explosion approach, the grey
built a second parapet some yards behind the first. On the twenty-
fifth the explosion came. The salient was wrecked, six men who
were digging a shaft were buried alive. Through the thick smoke
and infernal din was pushed a blue charge, hurrahing. The grey
were ready at the second parapet. The Sixth Missouri, held by
Forney in reserve, poured into the injured works. "Yaaaaih!"
they yelled; " Yaaaaih! Yaaaaihhhh!" and checked the blue with a
deadly volley. Their colonel — Colonel Erwin — mounted the
shattered parapet. He waved his sword. "Charge, men, charge!"
A minie killed him, but his men poured over the parapet. There
was fierce hand-to-hand fighting. Dark came, the blue holding ditch
and slope of the outer, now ruined parapet, the grey masters of the
inner works.

In the middle of the night the two Confederate mines beyond the
stockade redan were exploded, filling up the Federal sap and parallels

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and destroying their sap rollers. There was also this night a transfer
of guns, a Dahlgren gun being added to the battery facing the
enemy's works on the Jackson road, and a ten-inch mortar mounted
on the Warren ton road. Off and on, throughout this night, arose a
fierce rattle of musketry, came an abortive blue attempt to storm
the grey line. Half the grey men watched; the other half slept
upon its arms.

Life in the town grew tense and vibrant. Also something high and
clear came into it and a certain insouciance. The caves gave parties.
There was no room to dance and there was nothing to eat; but
parties the slight gatherings were called. In the hospitals the
wounded ceased to blench at the crashing shells. The surgeons and
nursing women went lightly between the pallets, nor turned their
heads because a roof was struck. The large-eyed children played
quietly in the cave mouths, or gathered about some woman who told
them of Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast. The negro mam
mies crooned the babies to sleep. Officers and men passed through
the streets, exhibiting a certain wan jauntiness. Commissariat and
quartermasters said pleasant things about the squirrel's store with
which they must feed an army, and the powder-horn and pouch
of shot from which they must keep it in ammunition. The non-
combatant citizens did their share toward keeping up the general
spirits. Songs appeared, and there was a general and curious
readiness to laugh. A Vicksburg newspaper faced with a thought
ful brow the giving-out of paper and a consequent suspension of
issue. It did not want to suspend. It viewed a forlorn little wall
paper shop, and it went across and purchased the dusty stock.
The next morning it came out with a backing of noble arabesque,
of morning glories on trellises, of green and gold leaves and cab
bage roses.

Down at Cape Jessamine undeniably there was happiness.
Edward Gary's wound was not grave. It disabled, kept him lying,
thin and pale, on the pallet which for light and air Desiree had
dragged near to the cave entrance. But there was no fever. His
superb, clean manhood told. The two of them kept bodily poise, and
with it the mental. They were happy; a strange, personal happiness
in the midst of menace and the gathering public woe. It was not
selfishness; they would have laid aside bliss itself like a gold mantle

THE CAVE 163

and gone down to lazar rags and the cold and dark forever if they
could thereby have rescued their world. That could not be; they
were here on a raft together in the midst of the ocean ; they could
only serve themselves and each other. They had had few days and
hours together. The lover's passion was yet upon them; each to the
other was plainly aureoled. He lay with the veil of ivy drawn back so
that he might see the battle cloud. She tended him, she prepared their
scanty food, she brought water at nightfall from the little spring.
Sometimes she left him to go help awhile in the field hospital. But
he was as badly hurt as many there; with a clear conscience she
might choose to tend this wounded soldier. She did so choose.

The hot days went by beneath the bowl of brass that was the sky.
The murk came up to the cave, the steady thunder shook the ivy
sprays. Desiree sat upon the earth beside the pallet. Sometimes
they talked together, low- voiced; sometimes, in long silent spaces,
they looked each on the aureoled other. He was most beautiful to
her, and she to him. A faint splendour dwelled in the cave and
over this part of the withered garden, a strange, transforming,
golden light. They smelled the honeysuckle, they smelled the
mignonette. They thought they heard the singing of the birds.

On the twenty-sixth the mortars upon the Louisiana side began
again to throw huge shells into the town, while the gunboats opened
a rapid and heavy firing upon the lower batteries. This continued.
On the twenty-eighth the grey exploded a mine before the lunette
on the Baldwin's Ferry road, where the Federal sap was within six
yards of the ditch. At point after point now, the blue line held that
near the grey. At places the respective parapets were fearfully
close. There was fighting with hand grenades, there was tossing
of fire-balls against the sap rollers behind which worked the blue
miners.

Night attacks grew frequent; all the weakened grey soldiers lay
on their arms; no one, day or night, could leave the trenches. The
wounded, the fevered, the hunger-weakened, the sleepless — Vicks-
burg's defenders grew half wraith, half scarecrow.

In the dead night of the twenty-ninth, after five hours of a sultry
and sullen stillness, every blue cannon appeared to open. From the
Louisiana shore, from the river, from the land, north, east, and south,
came the blast.

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Desiree parted the mat of ivy and watched with Edward from the
mouth of the cave.

"The twenty-ninth!" he said. "It is, I think, the beginning of
the end. I doubt if we can hold out another week."

She sat on the earth beside him, her head against the pillow. Lip
and ear must be near together; at any distance the blast carried the
voice away. "The beginning of the end. . . . You think General
Johnston will not come ? "

"How can he ? I saw the force that he had. It is not possible. He
is right in refusing to play the dare-devil or to sacrifice for naught.
He should have been listened to in the beginning."

"And we cannot cut our way out?"

"Evacuate? How many could march ten miles? No. Troy's
down — Troy 's down!"

"Richmond is Troy."

"... That is true. Then this is one of the small Asian towns."

Without the ivy sprays there was a red and awful light. They saw
the world as by calcium. The stars were put out, but the flashes
burnished the piled battle clouds. Bronze and copper and red
gleamed the turreted fierce clouds. Below were now sharply shown,
now hidden, the Vicksburg lines, the heaped, earthen front. Redan
and redoubt and lunette and the long ragged rifle-pits between, —
now they showed and now the smoke drove between.

"It repeats and repeats," said Edward. "Life's a labyrinth, and
the clue broke at the beginning."

"Love is the clue."

"Love like ours? There must be many kinds of love."

"Yes. But love in all its degrees. From love of thought to love of
the snake that I saw again to-day. Love in all its degrees casting
out hate in all its degrees. Love that lives and lets live. Love that is
wise."

"Is it always wise?"

"It can be made so. All other clues will break like packthread."

The light grew intenser. Houses in the town had been set afire.
Air and earth shook, all the heavy, buried strings vibrated. Sound
rolled against the ear like combers of a sea, deep, terrific, with a
ground swell, with sudden, wild accesses as when world navies are
wrecked. The smell of powder smoke gathered, familiar, familiar,

THE CAVE 165

familiar! Marching feet were heard, going down to the lines — the
City Guard probably, called to come and help.

"Packthread," said Edward. "All this to break like packthread
and go out like flaming tow. . . . Love and Thought the sole
weavers of relations. Love and Thought the related and the rela
tion. . . ."

The rapid and heavy cannonading stopped with the amber dawn.
The Federal sappers were again under the Third Louisiana Redan.
They worked behind a timber-and-wire screen against which in vain
the grey threw hand grenades and fire balls. Lockett, the chief
engineer, had a barrel, filled with a hundred and twenty-five pounds
of powder and carrying a time fuse of fifteen seconds, rolled over the
parapet toward the blue shelter. The explosion sent the timber screen
in a thousand fragments into the air; behind it there came a shouting
and running. All this day there was heavy firing from the river.

The morning of July first all division commanders received from
General Pemberton a confidential note. It stated succinctly that
apparently the siege of Vicksburg could not be raised and that sup
plies were exhausted. There remained an attempt at evacuation.
The note asked for reports as to the condition of the troops and
their ability to make the marches and endure the fatigues necessary
to a successful issue. The major-generals put the note before the
brigadiers, and the brigadiers before the colonels. There was but
one answer. The morale of the men was good — yes ! and again yes !
But for the rest, for their physical condition, so hungry, so tired, so
staggering from weakness . . .

This was in the morning. At one in the afternoon of this first of
July the enemy exploded their great mine under the Third Louisiana
Redan. The fuse was lit, the fuse burned, the spark reached fifteen
hundred pounds of powder. There was an awful, a rending explo
sion. Earth, defences, guns, men and men and men were blown high
into the air. The Sixth Missouri suffered here. There was made
a crater twenty feet deep and fifty across. The Third Louisiana
Redan was no more.

All day the second, a part of the day the third, the blue land bat
teries, the blue gunboats, the blue mortars bombarded Vicksburg.
On the Fourth of July the place surrendered.

CHAPTER XV

GETTYSBURG

THE sun of the first day of July rose serene into an azure sky
where a few white clouds were floating. The light summer
mist was dissipated; a morning wind, freshly sweet, rippled
the corn and murmured in the green and lusty trees. The sunshine
gilded Little Round Top and Big Round Top, gilded Gulp's Hill and
Cemetery Hill, gilded Oak Hill and Seminary Ridge. It flashed from
the cupola of the Pennsylvania College. McPherson's Woods caught
it on its topmost branches, and the trees of Peach Orchard. It trem
bled between the leaves, and flecked with golden petals Menchey's
Spring and Spangler's Spring. It lay in sleepy lengths on the Em-
mitsburg road. It struck the boulders of the Devil's Den; it made
indescribably light and fine the shocked wheat in a wheat-field that
drove into the green like a triangular golden wedge. Full in the
centre of the rich landscape it made a shining mark, a golden bull's-
eye, of the small town of Gettysburg.

It should have been all peace, that rich Pennsylvania landscape —
a Dutch peace — a Quaker peace. Market wains and country folk
should have moved upon the roads, and a boy, squirrel-hunting,
should have been the most murderous thing in the Devil's Den.
Corn-blades should have glistened, not bayonets; for the fluttering
flags the farmers' wives should have been bleaching linen on the
grass; for marching feet there should have risen the sound of the
scythe in the wheat ; for the groan of gun wheels upon the roads
the robin's song and the bob white's call.

The sun mounted. He was well above the tree-tops when the first
shot was fired — Heth's brigade of A. P. Hill's corps encountering
Buford's cavalry.

The sun went down the first day red behind the hills. He visited
the islands of the Pacific, Nippon, and the Kingdom of Flowers, and
India and Iran. He crowned Caucasus with gold, and showered
largess over Europe. He reddened the waves of the Atlantic. He

GETTYSBURG 167

touched with his spear lighthouses and coast towns and the inland
green land. He came up over torn orchard and trampled wheat-
field; he came up over the Round Tops and Gulp's Hill and Ceme
tery Hill. But no one, this second day, stopped to watch his rising.
The battle smoke hid him from the living upon the slopes and in all
the fields.

The sun travelled from east to west, but no man on the shield
of which Gettysburg was the centre saw him go down that second
day. A thick smoke, like the wings of countless ravens, kept out the
parting gleams. He went his way over the plains of the West and
the Pacific and the Asian lands. He came over Europe and the Atlan
tic and made, on the third morning, bright pearl of the lighthouses,
the surf, and the shore. The ripe July country welcomed him. But
around Gettysburg his rising was not seen. The smoke had not dis
persed. He rode on high, but all that third day he was seen far away
and dim as through crepe. All day he shone serene on other lands,
but above this region he hung small and dim and remote like a tarn
ished, antique shield. Sometimes the drift of ravens' wings hid him
quite. But an incense mounted to him, a dark smell and a dark
vapour.

The birds were gone from the trees, the cattle from the fields, the
children from the lanes and the brookside. All left on the first day.
There was a hollow between Round Top and Devil's Den, and into
this the anxious farmers had driven and penned a herd of cattle. On
the sunny, calm afternoon when they had done this, they could not
conceive that any battle would affect this hollow. Here the oxen,
the cows, would be safe from chance bullet and from forager. But the
farmers did not guess the might of that battle.

The stream of shells was directed against Round Top, but a num
ber, black and heavy, rained into the hollow. A great, milk-white ox
was the first wounded. He lay with his side ripped open, a ghastly
sight. Then a cow with calf was mangled, then a young steer had
both fore legs,.broken. Bellowing, the maddened herd rushed here
and there, attacking the rough sides of the hollow. Death and panic
were upon the slopes as well as at the bottom of the basin. A burst
ing shell killed and wounded a dozen at once. The air grew thick
and black, and filled with the cry of the cattle.

A courier, returning to his general after delivering an order, had

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his horse shot beneath him. Disentangling himself, he went on, on
foot, through a wood. He was intolerably thirsty — and lo, a
spring! It was small and round and clear like a mirror, and as he
knelt he saw his own face and thought, " She would n't know me."
The minies were so continuously singing that he had ceased to heed
them. He drank, then saw that he was reddening the water. He did
not know when he had been wounded, but now, as he tried to rise, he
grew so faint and cold that he knew that Death had met him. . . .
There was moss and fern and a nodding white flower. It was n't a
bad place in which to die. In a pocket within his grey jacket he had
a daguerreotype — a young and smiling face and form. His fingers
were so nerveless now that it was hard to get the little velvet case
out, and when it was out it proved to be shattered, it and the picture
within. The smiling face and form were all marred, unrecognizable.
So small a thing, perhaps! — but it made the bitterness of this sol
dier's death. The splintered case in his hands, he died as goes to
sleep a child who has been unjustly punished. His body sank deep
among the fern, his chest heaved, he shook his head faintly, and
then it dropped upon the moss, between the stems of the nodding
white flower.

A long Confederate line left a hillside and crossed an open space of
corn-field and orchard. Double-quick it moved, under its banners,
under the shells shrieking above. The guns changed range, and an
iron flail struck the line. It wavered, wavered. A Federal line leaped
a stone wall, and swept forward, under its banners, hurrahing. Mid
way of the wide open there was stretched beneath the murky sky a
narrow web — woof of grey, warp of blue. The strip held while the
heart beat a minute or more, then it parted. The blue edge went
backward over the plain; the grey edge, after a moment, rushed
after. " Yaaaiihhhl Yaaaiiihhhhl" it shouted, — and its red war-
flag glowed like fire. The grey commander-in-chief watched from a
hillside, a steady light in his eyes. Over against him on another
hill, Meade, the blue general, likewise watched. To the south, across
the distant Potomac, lay the vast, beleaguered, Southern fortress.
Its gate had opened; out had poured a vast sally party, a third of
its bravest and best, and at the head the leader most trusted, most
idolized. Out had rushed the Army of Northern Virginia. It had
crossed the moat of the Potomac; it was here, on the beleaguer's
ground.

GETTYSBURG 169

Earth and heaven were shaking with the clangour of two shields.
The sky was whirring and dim, but there might be imagined, sus
pended there, a huge balance — here the besiegers, here the fort
ress's best and bravest. Which would this day, or these days, tip the
beam? Much hung upon that — all might be said to hang upon that.
The waves on the plain rolled forward, rolled back, rolled forward.
When the sun went down the first day the fortress's battle-flag was
in the ascendant.

A great red barn was the headquarters of " Dear Dick Ewell." He
rode with Gordon and others at a gallop down a smoky road be
tween stone fences. " Wish Old Jackson was here ! " he said. " Wish
Marse Robert had Old Jackson! This is the watershed, General
Gordon — yes, sir! this is the watershed of the war! If it does n't
still go right to-day — It seems to me that wall there's got a sus
picious look —

'The wall in question promptly justified the suspicion. There came
from behind it a volley that emptied grey saddles.

Gordon heard the thud of the minie as it struck "Old Dick."
"Are you hurt, sir? Are you hurt?"

"No, no, General ! I 'm not hurt. But if that ball had struck you,
sir, we 'd have had the trouble of carrying you off the field. I 'm a
whole lot better fixed than you for a fight! It don't hurt a mite to be
shot in a wooden leg."

Three grey soldiers lay behind a shock of wheat. They were
young men, old schoolmates. This wheat-shock marked the farthest
point attained in a desperate charge made by their regiment against
a larger force. It was one of those charges in which everybody sees
that if a miracle happens it will be all right, and that if it does n't
happen — It was one of those charges in which first an officer
stands out, waving his sword, then a man or two follow him, then
three or four more, then all waver back, only to start forth again,
then others join, then the officer cries aloud, then, with a roar, the
line springs forward and rushes over the field, in the cannon's
mouth. Such had been the procedure in this charge. The miracle
had not happened. After a period of mere din as of ocean waves the
three found themselves behind this heap of tarnished gold. When,
gasping, they looked round, all their fellows had gone back ; they saw
them a distant torn line, still holding the flag. Then a rack of smoke

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came between, hiding flag and all. The three seemed alone in the
world. The wheat-ears made a low inner sound like reeds in quiet
marshes. The smoke lifted just enough to let a muddy sunlight
touch an acre of the dead.

" We've got," said one of the young men, "to get out of here.
They'll be countercharging in a minute."

"O God! let them charge."

" Harry, are you afraid — "

" Yes; I'm afraid — sick and afraid. O God, O God!"

The oldest of the three, moving his head very cautiously, looked
round the wheat-shock. "The Army of the Potomac's coming."
He rose to his knees, facing the other way. "It 's two hundred yards
to the regiment. Well, we always won the races at the old Academy.
I '11 start, Tom, and then you follow, and then you, Harry, you come
straight along!"

He rose to his feet, took the posture of a runner, drew a deep
breath and started. Two yards from the shock a cannon ball sheared
the head from the body. The body fell, jutting blood. The head
bounded back within the shadow of the wheat-shock. Tom was
already standing, bent like a bow. A curious sound came from his
lips, he glanced aside, then ran. He ran as swiftly as an Indian,
swiftly and well. The minie did not find him until he was halfway
across the field. Then it did, and he threw up his arms and fell.
Harry, on his hands and knees, turned from side to side an old, old
face, bloodless and twisted. He heard the Army of the Potomac
coming, and in front lay the corpses. He tried to get to his feet, but
his joints were water, and there was a crowd of black atoms before
his eyes. A sickness, a clamminess, a despair — and all in eternities.
. . . Then the sound swelled, and it drove him as the cry of the
hounds drives the hare. He ran, panting, but the charge now swal
lowed up the wheat-shock and came thundering on. In front was
only the dead, piled at the foot of the wall of smoke. He still
clutched his gun, and now with a shrill cry, he stopped, turned, and
stood at bay. He had hurt a hunter in the leg, before the blue
muskets clubbed him down.

A regiment, after advancing a skirmish line, moved over broken
and boulder-strewn ground to occupy a yet defended position. In
front moved the colonel, half turned toward his men, encouraging

GETTYSBURG 171

them in a rich and hearty voice. " Come on, men ! Come on ! Come
on ! You are all good harvesters, and the grain is ripe, the grain is
ripe! Come on, every mother's son of you! Run, now! just as
though there were home and children up there! Come on! Come
on!"

The regiment reached a line of flat boulders. There was a large,
flat one like an altar slab, that the colonel must spring upon and
cross. Upon it, outstretched, face upward, in a pool of blood, lay a
young figure, a lieutenant of skirmishers, killed a quarter of an hour
ago. " Come on ! Come on ! " shouted the colonel, his face turned to
his men. ''Victory! To-night we'll write home about the victory!"

His foot felt for the top edge of the boulder. He sprang upon it,
and faced with suddenness the young dead. The oncoming line saw
him stand as if frozen, then with a stiff jerk up went the sword again.
" Come on ! Come on ! " he cried, and plunging from the boulder con
tinued to mount the desired slope. His men, close behind him, also
encountered the dead on the altar slab. "Good God! It's Lieu
tenant — It's his son!" But in front the colonel's changed voice
continued its crying, "Come on! Come on! Come on!"

A stone wall, held by the grey, leaped fire, rattled and smoked. It
did this at short intervals for a long while, a brigade of the enemy
choosing to charge at like intervals. The grey's question was a ques
tion of ammunition. So long as the ammunition held out, so would
they and the wall. They sent out foragers for cartridges. Four men,
having secured a quantity from an impatiently sympathetic reserve,
heaped them in a blanket, made a large bundle, and slung it midway
of a musket. One man took the butt, another the muzzle, and as they
had to reckon with sharpshooters going back, the remaining two
marched in front. All double-quicked where the exposure was not
extreme, and ran where it was. The echoing goal grew larger — as
did also a clump of elms at right angles with the wall. Vanguard
cocked its eye. "Buzzards in those trees, boys — blue buzzards! "

Vanguard pitched forward as he spoke. The three ran on. Ten
yards, and the man who had been second and was now first, was
picked off. The two ran on, the cartridges between them. "We're
goners!" said the one, and the other nodded as he ran.

There was a grey battery somewhere in the smoke, and now by
chance or intention it flung into the air a shell that shrieked its way

172 CEASE FIRING

straight to the clump of elms, and exploded in the round of leaf and
branch. The sharpshooters were stilled. "Moses and the pro
phets!" said the runners. "That's a last year's bird's nest!"

Altogether the foragers brought in ammunition enough to serve
the grey wall's immediate purpose. It cracked and flamed for an
other while, and then the blue brigade ceased its charges and went
elsewhere. It went thinned — oh, thinned ! — in numbers. The
grey waited a little for the smoke to lift, and then it mounted the
wall. "And the ground before us," says a survivor, "was the most
heavenly blue!"

A battalion of artillery, thundering across a corner of the field,
went into position upon a little hilltop. Facing it was Cemetery Hill
and a tall and wide-arched gateway. This gateway, now clearly
seen, now withdrawn behind a world of grey smoke, now showing a
half arch, an angle, a span of the crest, exercised a fascination. The
gunners, waiting for the word, watched it. " Gate of Death, don't it
look? — Gate of Death." — " Wonder what 's beyond? " — " Yank
ees." — "But they ain't dead — they're alive and kicking!" —
"Now it's hidden — Gate of Death." — "This battle's going to
lay over Sharpsburg. Over Gaines's Mill — over Malvern Hill —
over Fredericksburg — over Second Manassas — over — " "The
Gate's hidden — there's a battery over there going to open — "
" One? there 's two, there 's three — " " Cannoneers, to your pieces I "

A shell dug into the earth and exploded. There was a heavy rain
of dark earth. It pattered against all the pieces. It showered men
and horses, and for a minute made a thick twilight of the air.
" Whew ! the Earth 's taking a hand ! Anybody hurt? " — "Howitzer,
load!"

"Gate of Death's clear."

An artillery lieutenant, — Robert Stiles, — acting as volunteer
aide to Gordon, was to make his way across the battle-field with in
formation for Edward Johnson. The ground was strewn with the
dead, the air was a shrieking torrent of shot and shell. The aide and
his horse thought only of the thing in hand — getting across that
field, getting across with the order. The aide bent to the horse's
neck; the horse laid himself to the ground and raced like a wild
horse before a prairie fire. The aide thought of nothing; he was go
ing to get the order there; for the rest his mind seemed as useless as

GETTYSBURG 173

a mirror with a curtain before it. Afterwards, however, when he had
time to look he found in the mirror pictures enough. Among them
was a picture of a battalion — Latimer's battalion. " Never, before
or after, did I see fifteen or twenty guns in such a condition of wreck
and destruction as this battalion was! It had been hurled back
ward, as it were by the very weight and impact of metal, from the
position it had occupied on the crest of a little ridge, into a saucer-
shaped depression behind it; and such a scene as it presented! — guns
dismounted and disabled, carriages splintered and crushed, ammuni
tion chests exploded, limbers upset, wounded horses plunging and
kicking, dashing out the brains of men tangled in the harness; while
cannoneers with pistols were crawling round through the wreck
shooting the struggling horses to save the lives of the wounded
men."

Hood and his Texans and Law's Alabamians were trying to take
Little Round Top. They drove out the line of sharpshooters behind
the stone wall girdling the height. Back went the blue, up the steeps,
up to their second line, behind a long ledge of rock. Up and after
went the grey. The tall boulders split the advance like the teeth of a
comb; no alignment could be kept. The rocks formed defiles where
only two or three could go abreast. The way was steep and horrible,
and from above rained the bullets. Up went the grey, reinforced now
by troops from McLaws's division; up they went and took the second
line. Back and up went the blue to the bald and rocky crest, to their
third line, a stronghold, indeed, and strongly held. Up and on came
the grey, but it was as though the sky were raining lead. The grey
fell like leaves in November when the winds howl around Round
Top. Oh, the boulders! The blood on the boulders, making them
slippery! Oh, the torn limbs of trees, falling so fast! The eyes
smarted in the smoke; the voice choked in the throat. All men were
hoarse with shouting.

Darkness and light went in flashes, but the battle odour stayed, and
the unutterable volume of sound. All the dogs of war were baying.
The muscles strained, the foot mounted. Forward and up went the
battle-flag, red ground and blue cross. Now the boulders were foes,
and now they were shields. Men knelt behind them and fired up
ward. Officers laid aside their swords, took the muskets from the
dead, knelt and fired. But the crest of Round Top darted lightnings

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— lightnings and bolts of leaden death. Death rained from Round
Top, and the drops beat down the grey. Hood was badly hurt in
the arm. Fender fell mortally wounded. Anderson was wounded.
Semmes fell mortally wounded. Barksdale received here his death-
wound. Amid the howl of the storm, in the leaden air, in scorching,
in blood and pain and tumult and shouting, the small, unheeded
disk of the sun touched the western rim of the earth.

A wounded man lay all night in Devil's Den. There were other
wounded there, but the great boulders hid them from one another.
This man lay in a rocky angle, upon the overhanging lip of the place.
Below him, smoke clung like a cerement to the far-flung earth. For
a time smoke was about him, thick in his nostrils. For a time it hid
the sky. But now all firing was stayed, the night was wheeling on,
and the smoke lifted. Below, vague in the night-time, were seen
flickering lights — torches, he knew, ambulances, litter- bearers,
lifting, serving one in a hundred. They were far away, scattered
over the stricken field. They would not come up here to Devil's Den.
He knew they would not come, and he watched them as the ship
wrecked watch the sail upon the horizon that has not seen their sig
nal, and that will not see it. He, shipwrecked here, had waved no
cloth, but, idle as it was, he had tried to shout. His voice had fallen
like a broken-winged bird. Now he lay, in a pool of his own blood,
not greatly in pain, but dying. Presently he grew light-headed,
though not so much so but that he knew that he was light-headed,
and could from time to time reason with his condition. He was a
reading man, and something of a thinker, and now his mind in its
wanderings struck into all manner of by-paths.

For a time he thought that the field below was the field of Water
loo. He remembered seeing, while it was yet light, a farmhouse, a
distant cluster of buildings with a frightened air. "La Belle Alli
ance," he thought, "or Hougomont — which? — These Belgians
planted a lot of wheat, and now there are red poppies all through it.
- Where is Ney and his cavalry? — No, Stuart and his cavalry — "
His mind righted for a moment. "This is a long battle, and a long
night. Come, Death! Come, Death!" The shadowy line of boulders
became a line of Deaths, tall, draped figures bearing scythes. Three
Deaths, then a giant hour-glass, then three Deaths, then the hour
glass. He stared, fascinated. ''Which scythe ? The one that starts

GETTYSBURG 175

out of line — now if I can keep them still in line — just so long will I
live!" He stared for a while, till the Deaths became boulders again
and his ringers fell to playing with the thickening blood on the ground
beside him. A meteor pierced the night — a white fire-ball thrown
from the ramparts of the sky. He seemed to be rushing with it,
rushing, rushing, rushing, — a rushing river. There was a heavy
sound. As his head sank back he saw again the line of Deaths, and
the one that left the line.

Below, through the night, the wind that blew over the wheat-
fields and the meadows, the orchards and the woods, was a moaning
wind. It was a wind with a human voice.

Dawn came, but the guns smeared her translucence with black.
The sun rose, but the ravens' wings hid him. Dull red and sickly
copper was this day, hidden and smothered by dark wreaths.
Many things happened in it, variation and change that cast a tendril
toward the future.

Day drove on; sultry and loud and smoky. A squad of soldiers in
a fence corner, waiting for the order forward, exchanged opinions.
"Three days. We're going to fight forever — and ever — and
ever." — "You may be. I ain't. I'm going to fight through to
where there's peace—" "' Peace!' How do you spell it?"
"'They cry Peace! Peace! and there is no Peace!": -"D'ye
reckon if one of us took a bucket and went over to that spring there,
he'd be shot?" -"Of course he would! Besides, where 's the
bucket?" — "I've got a canteen." — "I've got a cup—" "Say,
Sergeant, can we go ?" — "No. You'll be killed." • - "I'd just as
soon be killed as to perish of thirst! Besides, a shell '11 come plump
ing down directly and kill us anyhow. ' ' — ' ' Talk of something pleas
ant." — "Jim's caught a grasshopper! Poor little hoppergrass, you
ought n't to be out here in this wide and wicked world! Let him go,
Jim." — "How many killed and wounded do you reckon there are? "
— "Thirty thousand of us, and sixty thousand of them." — "I
wish that smoke would lift so's we could see something!" — "Look
out I Look out ! Get out of this I "

Two men crawled away from the crater made by the shell. A
heavy tussock of grass in their path stopped them. One rose to his
knees, the other, who was wounded, took the posture of the dying
Gaul in the Capitolme. "Who are you?" said the one. — "I am

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Jim Dudley. Who are you?" — "I — I didn't know you, Jim.
I'm Randolph. — Well, we're all that's left."

The dead horses lay upon this field one and two and three days in
the furnace heat. They were fearful to see and there came from
them a fetid odour. But the scream of the wounded horses was worse
than the sight of the dead. There were many wounded horses.
They lay in wood and field, in country lane and orchard. No man
tended them, and they knew not what it was all about. To and fro
and from side to side of the vast, cloud-wreathed Mars's Shield
galloped the riderless horses.

At one of the clock all the guns, blue and grey, opened in a can
nonade that shook the leaves of distant trees. A smoke as of Vesu
vius or ^Etna, sulphurous, pungent, clothed the region of battle.
The air reverberated and the hills trembled. The roar was like the
roar of the greatest cataract of a larger world, like the voice of a
storm sent by the King of all the Genii. Amid its deep utterance
the shout even of many men could not be heard.

Out from the ranks of the fortress's defenders rushed a grey,
world-famous charge. It was a division charging — three brigades
en echelon, — five thousand men, led by a man with long auburn
locks. Down a hill, across a rolling open, up an opposite slope, —
half a mile in all, perhaps, — lay their road. Mars and Bellona
may be figured in the air above it. It was a spectacle, that charge,
fit to draw the fierce eyes and warm the gloomy souls of all the war
rior deities. Woden may have watched and the Aztec god. The
blue artillery crowned that opposite slope, and other slopes. The
blue artillery swung every muzzle; it spat death upon the five thou
sand. The five thousand went steadily, grey and cool and clear, the
vivid flag above them. A light was on their bayonets — the three
lines of bayonets — the three brigades, Garnett and Kemper and Ar-
mistead. A light was in the eyes of the men; they saw the fortress
above the battle clouds; they saw their homes, and the watchers
upon the ramparts. They went steadily, to the eyes of history in
a curious, unearthly light, the light of a turn in human affairs, the
light of catastrophe, the light of an ending and a beginning.

When they came into the open between the two heights, the
massed blue infantry turned every rifle against them. There poured
a leaden rain of death. Here, too, the three lines met an enfilading

GETTYSBURG 177

fire from the batteries on Round Top. Death howled and threw
himself against the five thousand; in the air above might be heard
the Valkyries calling. There were not now five thousand, there were
not now four thousand. There was a clump of trees seen like spectres
through the smoke. It rose from the slope which was the grey goal,
from the slope peopled by Federal batteries, with a great Federal
infantry support at hand. Toward this slope, up this slope, went
Pickett's charge.

Garnett fell dead. Kemper and Trimble were desperately
wounded. Save Pickett himself, all mounted officers were down.
The men fell — the men fell; Death swung a fearful scythe. There
were not now four thousand, there were not now three thousand.
And still the vivid flag went on ; and still, high, thrilling, clear and
dauntless, rose from Pickett's charge the "rebel yell."

There was a stone wall to cross. Armistead, his hat upon the
point of his waved sword, leaped upon the coping. A bullet pierced
his breast; he fell, was captured, and the next day died. By now,
by now the charge was whittled thin! Oh, thick as the leaves of
Vallombrosa, the fortress's dearest and best lay upon that slope
beneath the ravens' wings! On went the thin, fierce ranks, on and
over the wall, on and up, into the midst of the enemy's guns. The
two flags strained toward each other; the hands of the grey were
upon the guns of the blue; there came a wild melee. . . . There
were not two thousand now, and the guns were yet roaring, and
the blue infantry gathered from all sides. . . .

"The smoke," says one Luther Hopkins, a grey soldier who was
at Gettysburg, "the smoke rose higher and higher and spread wider
and wider, hiding the sun, and then, gently dropping back, hid from
human eyes the dreadful tragedy. But the battle went on and on,
and the roar of the guns continued. After a while, when the sun was
sinking to rest, there was a hush. The noise died away. The winds
came creeping back from the west, and gently lifting the coverlet of
smoke, revealed a strange sight. The fields were all carpeted, a
beautiful carpet, a costly carpet, more costly than Axminster or
velvet. The figures were horses and men all matted and woven
together with skeins of scarlet thread."

CHAPTER XVI

BACK HOME

IF he who ruleth his spirit is greater than he that taketh a
city, Robert E. Lee was a general doubly great. The gallantry
of the three days' fighting at Gettysburg he left like a golden
light, like a laurel wreath, with his men. The responsibility for
Gettysburg, its strategy and its tactics, he laid with quietness upon
his own shoulders and kept it there. In the last hour of the third
day, after the last great charge, after Pickett's charge, when the
remnant that was left was streaming back, he rode into the midst of
that thin grey current. He sat Traveller, in the red light, in the
murk and sorrow of the lost battle, and called upon the men to re
form. Pickett came by, his sword out, his long auburn hair dank
with sweat. " Get your men together, General," said Lee. "They
did nobly. It is all my fault."

If the boyishness in Jeb Stuart, his dear love of dancing meteors,
had swept him in the past weeks too far from his proper base, he was
now fully and to the end by his general's side. He kept his gaiety,
his panache, but he put on the full man. He was the Stuart of Chan-
cellorsville, throwing a steady dart, swinging a great shield. Long-
street, the "old war horse"; A. P. Hill, red-shirted, a noble fighter;
"Dear Dick Ewell" — each rose, elastic, from the disastrous field
and played the man. That slow retreat from Gettysburg to the
Potomac, through a hostile country, with a victorious, larger army
hovering, willing to strike if only it could find the unguarded place,
was masterly planned, masterly done. The Army of Northern Vir
ginia retired grudgingly, with backward turnings, foot planted and
spear brandished. It had with it pain and agony, for it carried its
wounded; it had with it appalling knowledge that Vicksburg was
fallen, that the battle behind them, hard-fought for three days, was
lost, that the campaign was lost, that across the river the South was
mourning, mourning, that at last all were at the death-grapple. It
knew it all, but it went steadily, with lips that could yet manage a

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smile. For all its freight of wounded, for all the mourning of its
banners, it went ably; a long, masterly retreat, with effective stands
and threatenings. But how the wounded suffered, only the wounded
knew.

The rain came down as it usually did after the prolonged cannon-
adings of these great battles. It came down in sullen torrents, un
friendly, cold, deepening the deep reaction after the fever of the
fight. It fell in showers from a sky leaden all the day, inky all the
night. At twilight on the fourth, A. P. Hill and the Third Corps
swung in silence out upon the Fountain Dale and Monterey road.
They marched away in the rain and darkness. All night Longstreet
and the First stayed in position at the Peach Orchard. But the foe
did not attack, and at dawn Longstreet and the First followed A. P.
Hill. When the dawn broke, grey and wet, Ewell and the Second
Corps alone were there by Seminary Ridge. Again the blue —
they also gathering their wounded, they also mourning their dead
— made no movement to attack. Ewell and the Second followed
the First.

The rain came down, the rain came down — rain and wind and
low-hanging clouds. Forty thousand men marched in a silence
which, now and then, it was felt, must be broken. Men broke it,
with song that had somehow a sob in it, with laughter more strained
than jovial. Then came down the silence again, leaden with the
leaden rain. But march in silence, or march in mirth, the Army of
Northern Virginia marched with its morale unbroken. Tramp,
tramp! through the shifting sheets of rain, through the wind that
bent the tree-tops. . . . With Hood's division marched four thou
sand and more of Federal prisoners. With these, too, the silence
was heavy.

But there was not silence when it came to the fearful train of the
wounded. Fifteen miles, along the Chambersburg Pike, stretched
the train of the wounded and of ordnance and supply wagons, with
its escort of cavalry and a score of guns. The convoy was in the
charge of Imboden, and he was doing the best he could with those
long leagues of hideous woe. The road was rough ; the night dark,
with wind and rain. " Woe I " cried the wind. " Woe, woe ! Pain and
woe!"

Ambulances, carts, wagons, crowded with the wounded, went

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jokingly, under orders to use all speed. Cavalry rode before, cavalry
guarded the rear, but few were the actual guards in among or along
side the wagons. Vanguard and rear guard needed every unhurt
man. For miles there were, in sum, only the wounded, the jaded
wagon horses, the wagon drivers with drawn faces. Orders were for
no pausing, no halts. If a wagon became disabled, draw it out of the
road and leave it! There must be rapid travelling through the night.
Even so, if the blue were alert, the blue might strike the train before
day. Rapid motion and no halting — " On ! " beneath the blackness,
in the teeth of wind and rain. " Woe ! " cried the wind. " Woe, woe !
Pain and woe!"

The wagons were springless. In many there was no straw. Num
bers of the wounded lay upon bare boards, placed there, in some
cases, hours even before the convoy could start. Many had had no
food for long hours, no water. Their rough clothing, stiff with dried
blood, abraded and inflamed their wounds. The surgeons had done
what bandaging was possible, but many a ghastly hurt went un
bound, unlocked to. With others the bandages slipped, or were torn
aside by pain-maddened hands. There was blood upon the bed of
all the wagons, blood and human refuse. Upon the boards lay men
with their eyes gone, with their jaws shot through and crushed, with
their arms, their legs mangled, with their thighs pierced, their bow
els pierced, with tormenting stomach wounds, with a foot gone, a
hand gone. There were men with fever and a horrible thirst, and
men who shook in a death chill. There were men who were dead.
And on them all poured the rain, for the canvas wagon covers,
flapping in the wind, could not keep it out. And the road, cut by
countless wheels and now washed into ridge and hollow, would have
been rough for well folk, in cushioned vehicles. "On ! On ! No halt
ing for any one ! — Good God, man ! Don't I know they are suffer
ing? Don't I hear them? Do you reckon I like to hear them? But
if I'm going to save General Lee's trains I've got to get on! Get
on, there!" " Woe!" cried the wind. "Woe, woe! pain and woe."

"Oh, Jesus Christ, have mercy upon me!"

"Just let me die, O God! just let me die!"

" If there 's anybody at all outside, won't they stop this wagon? If
there's anybody driving, won't you stop this wagon? Please! You
don't know how it hurts — Please ! . . Ah ! — Aaahh I — Aaahhh 1 "

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"Curse you! — Curse war! — Curse living and dying! Curse
God! Ah! — Akhh! — Aaahhh!"

"For God's sake! just lift us out and let us die lying still, on the
roadside. . . . OGodJOGod!"

"O God! OGod!"

"I am dying! I am dying! . . . Mary, Mary, Mary! Lift me
up!"

"We are dying! We are dying!"

"O Jesus of Nazareth— "

"During this one night," says Imboden, "I realized more of the
horrors of war than I had in all the two preceding years."

The Second Corps, marching by the Fairfield road, marched in
rain and wind and weariness. Ewell, wooden-legged now, irascible,
heroic, sighing for "Old Jackson," handling his corps as "Old
Jackson " would have approved, rode in front. Jubal Early, strange
compound but admirable fighter, — Jubal Early guarded the rear
with the brigades of Hoke and Smith and Gordon and Harry Hays.
Between were Rodes's division — Iverson and Daniels, Dole, Ram-
seur and O'Neal — and "Alleghany" Johnson's division — Steuart
and Jones and Nicholls and the Stonewall Brigade. With each
division heavily moved upon the road its artillery — Charlottesville
Artillery, Staunton Artillery, Louisiana Guard Artillery, Courtney
Artillery, King William Artillery, Orange Artillery, Morris Artillery,
Jeff Davis Artillery, Chesapeake Artillery, Alleghany Artillery,
First Maryland Battery, Lee Battery, Powhatan Artillery, Salem
Artillery, Rockbridge Artillery, Third Richmond Howitzers, Second
Richmond Howitzers, Amherst Artillery, Fluvanna Artillery, Mil-
ledge's Georgia Battery.

The Stonewall Brigade bent its head and took the blast. The rain
streamed from the slanted forest of rifle barrels; the wind blew out
the officer's capes; the colours had to be furled against it. All the
colours were smoke-darkened, shot-riddled. The Stonewall was a
veteran brigade. It had an idea that it had been engaged in war
since the rains first came upon the earth. Walker, its general, a
good and gallant man, plodded at its head, his hat brim streaming
wet, his horse's breath making a little cloud. Tramp I tramp I be
hind him marched the Stonewall — a long, swinging gait, a "foot
cavalry" gait.

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The Sixty-fifth Virginia, Colonel Erskine, covered the way with a
mountain stride. It was nearing now the pass of the South Moun
tain, and its road lay uphill. It had done good service at Gettys
burg, and it had its wounded in that anguished column over on
the Chambersburg Pike. It had left its dead upon the field. Now,
climbing the long hills, colours slanted forward, keen, bronzed faces
slanted forward, man and beast streaming rain and all battling with
the gusty wind, the Sixty-fifth missed its dead, missed its wounded,
knew that the army had suffered defeat, knew that the high hopes
of this campaign lay in ashes, knew that these days formed a crisis
in the war, knew that all the sky had darkened over the South,
knew that before it lay grim struggle and a doubtful end. The units
of the Sixty-fifth knew many things that in the old piping time of
peace they had never thought to know.

The grain in the fields was all broken down, the woods clashed
their branches, through flawed sheets of dull silver the distant moun
tain crests were just divined. The wind howled like a banshee, and
for all that it was July the air was cold. The Sixty-fifth thought of
other marches. Before McDowell — Elk Run Valley — that was
bad. Elk Run Valley was bad. Before Mechanicsville — coming
down from Beaver Dam Station — that was bad. Bath to Romney

— that was worst. . . . We Ve had plenty of bad marches — plenty
of marches — plenty of heroic marches. We are used to marching

— used to marching . . . Marching and fighting — marching and
fighting. . . .

Tall and lean and tanned, the Thunder Run men opposed the
wind from the mountains. Allan Gold and Sergeant Billy Maydew
exchanged observations.

"I would n't be tired," said Billy, "going up Thunder Run Moun
tain. I air not tired anyhow."

"No, there's no help in being tired. ... I hope that Tom and
Sairy are dry and warm —

"I don't mind wet," said Billy, " and I don't mind cold, and I can
tighten my belt when I 'm hungry, but the thing that air hard for me
to stand air going without sleep. I tell my will to hold hard and I
put tobacco in my eyes, but sleep sure air a hard thing for me to go
without. I could sleep now — I could sleep — I could sleep . . .
Yes; I hope all Thunder Run air dry and warm — Mr. Cole and Mrs.

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Cole and Mother and Christianna and Violetta and Rosalinda and
the children and Grandpap and the dawgs and Steve Dagg — No;
I kinder hope Steve air wet and whimpering. . . . Thunder Run 's
a long way off. I could go to sleep — and sleep — and sleep . . ."

"I'm not sleepy," said Allan. "But I wish I had a pitcher of
milk—"

The Sixty-fifth determined to try singing.

"O my Lawd, whar you gwine ?

Keep in de middle ob de road!
Gwine de way dat Moses trod,
Keep in de middle ob de road — "

"The butcher had a little dog,

And Bingo was his name.
BB-i-n-g-o-go ! B-i-n-g-o-go !
And Bingo was his name — '

Toward four o'clock, as the head of the column neared Fairfield,
came from the rear a burst of firing — musketry, then artillery.
There was a halt, then the main body resumed the march. Early,
in the rear, deployed Gordon's brigade and fought back the long skir
mish line of the pursuing blue. Throughout the remainder of the
afternoon there was fitful firing — sound, water-logged like all else,
rising dully from the rear. Down came the night, dark as a bat's
wing. The Second Corps bivouacked a mile from Fairfield, and,
waking now and then in the wet and windy night, heard the rear
guard repelling half-hearted attacks.

Reveille echoed among the hills. The Second rose beneath a still
streaming sky. The Stonewall, camped on a hillside, sought for
wood for its fires and found but little, and that too wet to burn. It
was fortunate, perhaps, that there was so little to cook. The Sixty-
fifth squatted around a dozen pin-points of light and did its best
with the scrapings of its commissary. " Well, boys, the flesh pots of
Egypt have given us the go-by! D'ye remember that breakfast at
Greencastle? Oohh ! Was n't it good? "... " Hold your hat over
the fire or it'll go out!" . . . "I wish we had some coffee . . ."
"Listen at Gordon, way back there, popping away at Yanks! —
Did you hear about his men burning fence rails ? No ? — well,
'twas out beyond York. 'Men!' says Marse Robert's General
Order, 'don't tech a thing!' 'All right, Marse Robert!' says we, as

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you can testify. Gordon's as chivalrous as Young Lochinvar, or ' A
Chieftain to the Highlands Bound,' or Bayard, or any of them fel
lows. So he piles on an order, too. ' Don't touch a thing! especially
not the fences. Gather your wood where Nature has flung it ! ' Well,
those Georgia boys had to camp that night where Nature had n't
flung any wood — neither Cedar of Lebanon nor darned pawpaw
bush ! Just a nice bare field with rail fences — our kind of fences.
Nice, old, dry, seasoned rails. Come along Gordon, riding magnifi
cently. ' General, the most wood around here is musket stocks, and
of course we ain't going to burn them! Can't we take just a few
rails? ' ' Boys,' says Gordon, being like a young and handsome father
to his men. 'Boys, you can take the top rail. That will leave the
fences high enough for the farmer's purposes. Now, mind me! don't
lay your hand on anything but the top rail ! ' And off he goes, look
ing like a picture — leaf of Round Table, or what not. Whereupon
company by company marched up and each tookin turn the top rail."

"Must have been an all-fired lasting top rail — "

" — And they had supper and went to bed cheered and com
forted. And by and by, in the morning, just after reveille, comes
Gordon, fresh as a daisy. And he looks at the boundaries of that
field, and he colours up. 'Men,' he says in a kind of grieved anger,
'you have disobeyed orders!' Whereupon those innocents rose up
and assured him that not a man had touched anything but a top
rail!"

Fall in ! Fall in / Column Forward /

It rained, and rained. You saw the column as through smoke,
winding toward the pass of the South Mountain. From the rear
came fitfully the sound of musketry. But there was no determined
pursuit. Early kept the rear; Stuart, off in the rain and mist, lion-
bold, and, throughout the long retreat to the fortress, greatly saga
cious, guarded the flanks. A. P. Hill and Longstreet were now be
yond the mountains, swinging southward by the Ringgold road.
With the First and the Third rode Lee, grey on grey Traveller, in
the grey rain, his face turned homeward, turned toward the fortress
of the South, vast, mournful, thenceforth trebly endangered. It was
the sixth of July. A year ago had been the Seven Days.

Back on the road of the wounded there was trouble. Imboden,
having crossed the mountain, determined upon a short cut by a

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country road to Greencastle. On through the small town rode the
vanguard, the Eighteenth Virginia Cavalry. Behind, as rapidly as
might be, came the immense and painful train. On the outskirts of
the place a band of civilians attacked a weakly guarded portion of
the column. They had axes, and with these they hewed in two the
wagon yokes or cut the spokes from the wheels. The wagon beds
dropped heavily upon the earth. "Ahh!" groaned the wounded.
"Ahhh! Aaaahhl"

Back in wrath came a detachment of the Eighteenth, scattering
or capturing the wielders of axes. The long train passed Greencastle.
Before it lay the road to Williamsport, the road to the Potomac. The
rain was streaming, the wind howling, and now the Federal cavalry
made its appearance. All the rest of the day the train was subjected
to small sudden attacks, descents now on this section, now on that.
The grey escort, cavalry and artillery, beat them off like stinging
bees; the grey wagoners plied their long whips, the exhausted horses
strained forward yet again, under the wagon wheel was felt again
the ridge and hollow of the storm- washed road. " Woe! " cried the
wind. "Woe, woe! Pain and woe!"

There came a report that blue troops held Williamsport, but when
late in a stormy afternoon the head of Imboden's column came to
this place, so known by now, frontier, with only the moat of the
river between the foe's territory and the fortress's territory, — when
the advance rode into town, there were found only peaceful Mary-
landers. The grey convoy occupied Williamsport. At last the tor
turing wagons stopped, at last the moaning hurt were lifted out, at
la^t the surgeons could help, at last the dead were parted from the
living. Imboden requisitioned all the kitchens of the place. There
arose a semblance of warmth, a pale ghost of cheer. Here and there
sounded even a weak laugh.

"Say, Doctor! after hell, purgatory seems kind of good to us!
That was hell back there on the road — hell if ever there was hell
. . . Ouch! . . . Ooooghh! Doctor!"

"Doctor, do you reckon I'll live to get across? I want to see my
wife — I want to see her so badly. — There 's a boy, too, and I Ve
never seen him — "

"How air we going to get across ? Air there boats?"

" Who's keeping the Yankees away ? Jeb Stuart? That's good

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Oh, Doctor, you ain't going to cut it off? Please, Doctor, please, sir,
don't! No, it won't mortify — I'm just as sure of that! Please just
put it in splints. It ain't so badly hurt — it ain't hurting me hardly
any. . . . Doctor, Doctor! for God's sake! — Why, I could n't walk
any more! — why, I'd have to leave the army! . . . Doctor, please
don't — please don't cut it off, sir. . . ."

The rain came down, the rain came down, a drenching, sullen
storm. Wide, yellow, and swollen rolled the Potomac before Wil-
liamsport. Imboden procured several flatboats, and proceeded to
the ferrying across of those of the more slightly wounded who
thought that once in Virginia they might somehow get to Winchester.
In the midst of this work came news of the approach of a large
force of Federal cavalry and artillery — Buford and Kilpatrick's
divisions hurrying down from Frederick.

Imboden posted every gun with him on the heights between the
town and the river. Hart, Eshleman, McClanahan — all faced the
eighteen rifled guns with which presently the blue opened. A sharp
artillery battle followed, each side firing with rapidity and some
effect. Imboden had his cavalry and in addition seven hundred
wagoners organized into companies and headed by commissaries,
quartermasters, and several wounded officers. These wagoners did
mightily. This fight was called afterwards "The Wagoners' Battle."
Five blue cavalry regiments were thrown forward. The Eighteenth
Virginia Cavalry and the Sixty-second Virginia Mounted Infantry
met them with clangour in the rain-filled air. McNeilPs Partisan
Rangers came to the aid of the wagoners down by the river. Eshle-
man's eight Napoleons of the Washington Artillery, Hart's and Mc-
Clanahan's and Moore's batteries poured shot and shell from the
heights. Through the dusk came at a gallop a courier from Fitzhugh
Lee. "Hold out, General Imboden! We're close at hand!" From
the direction of the Hagerstown road broke a clap of war thunder,
rolling among the hills. "Horse Artillery! Horse Artillery !" yelled
Imboden's lines, the Eighteenth, the Sixty-second, the Partisan
Rangers, and the Wagoners. Yaaaihh ! Yaaaaihh I Yaaaaaaihhh I
Forward, I Charge /

July the seventh broke wet and stormy. The First and Third
Corps were now at Hagerstown. Ewell and the Second nearer South
Mountain, yet watchfully regarding the defiles through which might

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pour the pursuit. But Meade had hesitated, hesitated. It was only
on the afternoon of the fifth that a move southward was begun in
earnest. The Sixth Corps, on the same road with Ewell, struck now
and again at the grey rear guard, but the rest of the great blue army
hung uncertain. Only on the seventh did it pour southward, through
the country between the Monocacy and the Antietam. In the dusk
of this day Lee met Stuart and ordered an attack at dawn. Time
must be gained while a bridge was built across the swollen river.

All day the eighth the heavy air carried draggingly the sound of
cannon. So drowned with rain were the fields and meadows that
manoeuvring there was manoeuvring in quagmires. The horsemen
of both sides must keep to the roads, deep in mire as were these.
Dismounted, they fought with carbines in all the sopping ways,
while from every slight rise the metal duellists barked at one another.
At last the Fifth Confederate Brigade drove the Federal left, and
the running fight and the long wet day closed with one gleam of light
in the west.

On July the ninth the Army of Northern Virginia occupied a
ten-mile line from the Potomac at Mercersville to the Hagerstown
and Williamsport road. A. P. Hill held the centre, Longstreet the
right, Ewell the left, stretching toward Hagerstown. Forty thou
sand infantry and artillery stood ready. Stuart with eight thousand
horsemen drew off to the north, watching like a falcon, ready for the
pounce. The rain ceased to fall. A pale sunshine bathed the country,
and in it gleamed the steel of the Army of Northern Virginia. The
banners grew vivid.

All day Lee waited in line of battle, but Meade was yet hesitant.
The tenth dawned, and Stuart sent word that the Army of the
Potomac was advancing through the defiles of South Mountain.
All this day the grey dug trenches and heaped breastworks. The
sun shone, ill was forgotten; hope sprang, nourished by steadfast
ness. There were slight cavalry encounters. The night of the tenth
was a warm and starry one. The grey slept and rose refreshed.
Ewell and the Second now left Hagerstown. Each corps commanded
one of the three roads glimmering eastward, and Stuart patrolled all
the valley of the Antietam. Lee had laid his pontoon bridge across
to Falling Waters. All night long there passed into Virginia the
wounded and a great portion of the trains.

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July twelfth was a day of cloud and mist. Still the grey waited ;
still Meade, with his sixty-five thousand infantry and artillery, his
ten thousand cavalry, hung irresolute. Kelly at Hancock had eight
thousand men. He could be trusted to flank the grey. And in the
rear of the grey was the river, turbid, wide, deep, so swollen as
hardly to be fordable. Halleck telegraphed Meade from Washing
ton peremptory orders to attack. But the twelfth passed with only
slight encounters between reconnoitring parties.

On the thirteenth down came the rain again, a thick, cold, shifting
veil of wet. Again Meade stayed in his tents. The Army of the Poto
mac understood that on the morrow it would attack. In the mean
time reinforcements were at hand.

That night, in the rainy dusk, Stuart drew a cordon between the
opposed forces. Behind the screen of horsemen, behind the impen
etrable, rainy night, the Army of Northern Virginia prepared to re-
cross the Potomac. Beneath the renewed rains the river was steadily
rising; it was go now, or abide the onset of the sixty-five thousand
along the Antietam and on the Sharpsburg Pike, with Kelly's eight
thousand marching from Hancock, and other troops on the road from
Chambersburg. Down came the rain and the night was Egyptian
black.

The artillery and the balance of the trains must cross by the pon
toon bridge. Bonfires were built on the northern and the southern
bank, but all the wood was wet, and the flickering light proved deceit
ful as any darkness. The rolling smoke mounted and overhung the
landings like genii from Arabian bottles. With sullen noise the guns
crossed, hour after hour of sullen noise. The wagons with the
wounded crossed. A heavy wagon, in which the badly hurt were laid
thick, missed its way, and, with its horses, went blindly over the
side into the rushing water, where all were drowned. After the guns
and the wagons came the men of Longstreet's corps. Dawn found
the First not yet over-passed, while the Third waited on the pebbly
stretch between the water and the hills. In the mean time Ewell and
the Second had undertaken the ford.

That which, a month before, had been a pleasant summer river, —
clear, wide, and tranquil, not deep, and well known by now to the
Second Corps, — was to-night a monster of the dark, a mill-race of
the Titans. The heaped wood set afire on either bank lit the water

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but a few yards outward. Between the several glares was darkness
shot with rain, shaken by wind. And always the bonfires showed
thronging men, a broad moving ribbon running upwards and back
from the water's edge, and between these two throngs a void and
blackness. It was like a vision of the final river — a great illus
tration out of "Pilgrim's Progress." Company by company went
down into the river; company by company slowly mounted on the
farther side, coming up from the water into strange light, beneath
tall shadowy trees. The water was up to the armpits. It was
cold and rushing water. The men tied their cartridge boxes around
their necks; they held their muskets above their heads; now and
again a short man was carried across upon the shoulders of a tall
and strong man. Sergeant Billy May dew carried Lieutenant Coffin
across thus.

The Sixty-fifth kept its cartridges dry, held its muskets high. It
had crossed into Maryland with song and joke and laughter, step
ping easily through water to the mid- thigh, clear water, sparkling
in the sun. It returned into Virginia through a high and stormy
water, beneath a midnight sky. The sky of its fortunes, too, was
dark. There was no singing to-night; each man, breasting the flood,
needed all his wits merely to cross. The red light beat upon the
Sixty-fifth going down from the Maryland shore, rank after rank,
entering the water in a column of three. Rank by rank, the darkness
swallowed it up, officers and men, colonel, lieutenant-colonel, cap
tains, lieutenants, the chaplain, the surgeons, the noncommissioned
officers, all the men, Thunder Run men, men from the mountain
ous Upper Valley counties, — all the Sixty-fifth, rank by rank
dipped out of the light into the darkness. The darkness swallowed
the regiment, then the darkness gave it again to the light on the
Virginia shore. Up to the gate of the fortress, through the red
flare of torches, came the Sixty-fifth. A man with a great rich, deep
voice, broke into song in the night-time, in the wind and rain, as he
came up beneath the sycamores. He sang "Dixie," and the Sixty-
fifth sang it with him.

All night, endlessly across the river, out of light into darkness,
then into light again, came the slowly unwinding ribbon of the regi
ments. All night the Second Corps was crossing by the ford as all
night the First was crossing by the unstable bridge of boats. In the

190 CEASE FIRING

grey morning there crossed A. P. Hill and the Third. The last
brigade was Lane's North Carolinians. It made the passage, and
then Stuart drew his thousands steadily to the waterside. Meade's
advance, Kilpatrick and Buford, saw from the hill-tops the river
dark with swimming horsemen.

CHAPTER XVII

BREAD CAST ON WATER

PRISON X had a catechism which it taught all the newly arrived.
Question. Where are we ?
Answer. In the North.
Q. Do we find the North interesting ?
Ans. We do not.

Q. Where is the country of our preference ?
Ans. South of the Potomac.
Q. Do we find this prison pleasing ?
Ans. We do not.
Q. Have we an object in life ?
Ans. We have.
Q. What is it?
Ans. To get out.
Q. Again ?
Ans. To get out.
Q. Again?

Ans. To get out — and stay out.
Q. Both are difficult ?
Ans. Both are difficult.
Q. Have all apparent ways been tried ?
Ans. All apparent ways have been tried.

Q. Uprisings, tunnels, sawing window bars, bribing guards, tak
ing a corpse's place, etc., have all been tried ?
Ans. They have all been tried.
Q. And they have failed ?
Ans. They have failed.
Q. What is to be done ?
Ans. I do not know.
Q. Have you an object in life ?
Ans. I have an object in life.
Q. What is it?

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Ans. To get out — and stay out.

Q. To get South ?

Ans. To get South.

Maury Stafford was not a newcomer, but the substance of this
catechism was graved in his mind and daily life and actions. He had
passed the stage of violently beating against the bars, and had passed
the stage of melancholia, and the stage of listlessly sitting in what
fleck of sunshine might be found in winter, or hand's breadth of
shade in summer. He had settled into the steady stage, the second
wind. He knew well enough that, though it might last the longest,
this stage, too, would expire. When it did, it might not come again.
He had seen it expire in others and it had not come again. He had
seen the dead moon of hope that followed, the mere continuance of
breathing in a life of shards and weeds. He had seen the brain grow
sick in the hands of the will ; he had seen the wrists of the will broken
across. ... He meant to make the steady stage last, last, last! —
outlast his last day in Prison X.

The August day was hot — almost the hottest, said the papers,
on record. Prison X was careful now not to have too many prisoners
at once in the prison yard. But to-day the heat seemed to breed
humanity; at any rate, there came an order that a fair number of
rebels at once might go out into the air. In the officers' yard as many
as fifty were permitted to gather at a time. The small, sunbaked, sor
did place looked west. At this hour of the morning it was in the
prison's shadow, and cooler than it would be later in the day.

Some of the grey prisoners walked up and down, up and down;
others sat alone, or in twos and threes, in the shadow of the wall.
There was talk, but not loud talking. There was no briskness in the
yard, no crisp bubbling of word and action. Languor reigned, and
all the desirable lay without the walls. One tree-top showed above
them, just the bushy head of an airy, mocking giant.

At ten, the yard being filled, there came in through the gate, where
were double guards, three or four officers in blue and a Catholic priest.
The yard knew the inspecting officers, and bestirred itself to only a
perfunctory recognition — perfunctory, not listless; it being a point
of honour not to look listless or broken in presence of the opposing
colour. One of these blue officers the yard liked very well, a bluff
and manly fellow, with a frown for the very many things he could

BREAD CAST ON WATER 193

not alter and a helping hand with the few that he could. The grey
made a subtle difference to show here in their greeting.

For the priest — they had never seen him before ; and as novelty
in prison is thrice novelty, the various groups welcomed with an in
terested gaze the stout-built, rusty-black figure with a strong face,
rosy and likable. "Holy Virgin!" said the priest. "If the South is
any warmer than this, sure ye '11 be af ther thanking the Saints and us
for bringing you North ! Are there any sons of the Church in sound
of my voice ?"

There was one — a lieutenant in the last stages of consumption.
He sat in the sun with a red spot in each cheek and eyes bright as a
bird's. The well-liked blue office* brought the priest to this boy.
He was but nineteen, and evidently had not a month to live. " Good
morning, Lieutenant ! " said the officer. " Father Tierney 's a cordial
in himself! And if, being a Catholic, you'd like —

"Were he twenty times a Ribil," said Father Tierney, sotto voce,
"he's a sick human crathure and a dying man."

"Then I'll leave you with him for a little," said the officer, and
walked away.

"Peace go with you! "said Father Tierney. "My poor son, if
you've done any harm in the flesh, the Lord having taken away
the flesh will take away that, too. — You are not one of those
who — " Father Tierney spoke for thirty seconds in a lowered voice.

"No," said the lieutenant, "I used to try, but I gave it up when I
saw that I was going to get out anyhow. But a lot of us are still
trying — There's one over there that's trying, I'm certain. He's
been awful good to me. If he could — if you could now —

"The man standing in the shadow of the wall? "

The man standing in the shadow of the wall was only a stride or
two away. The blue officers had their backs turned; the grey prison
ers were listlessly minding their own business; guards and sentries
had their eyes on their superiors. The sun blazed down, the green
tree-top just nodded.

"Good morning, my son," said Father Tierney.

"Good morning, Father."

Father Tierney took off his hat and with it fanned his rosy, open
face. "Holy Virgin! 'Tis warmer here in the District than it is
in Maryland — Maryland being my home, my son."

i94 CEASE FIRING

"Which half of Maryland, Father ?"

"The 'Maryland, my Maryland' half, my son."

"That," said Stafford, "is the half that I like best. It is the near
est to Virginia."

" What," said Father Tierney, "if ye had a wishing-cap, would ye
wish for?"

"Gold and a blue suit, Father."

"A uniform, ye mane?"

"No. A hospital steward's suit. Blue linen. I've got it worked
out."

"My son," said Father Tierney, in a brisk, full voice, "ye've a
look of mortal fever! The Saints know it doesn't become us to
boast! But I was born with a bit of a medical faculty sticking
sthraight out and looking grave. — Let me lay my finger on your
pulse."

Stafford's palm closed upon something hard and round and yel
low. His eyes met the priest's eyes.

"It's a weary number of soul miles ye '11 have been travelling, my
friend," thought the priest. "There's something in you that's been
lightning branded, but it's putting out green shoots again."

The blue officer was seen approaching. Father Tierney turned
with heartiness to meet him. "That poor lad yonder, Captain,
he's not long for this sinful world! If you've no objection I'd like
to come again — That 's thrue ! That 's thrue enough ! ' Who 'd
mercy have must mercy show.' — Captain, darlint, it's hot enough
to melt rock! Between the time I left Ireland and came to America,
and that's twinty years ago, I went a pilgrimage to Italy. Hav
ing seen Rome I wint to Venice. There 's a big palace there where
the Doges lived, and up under the palace roof with just a bit of
lead like a coffin lid between you and the core of the blessed sun in
heaven — there 's the prisons they call piombi. — Now you usually
think of cold when you think of prisons, but I gather that heat's
more maddening — "

Prison X was as capricious as any other despot. The next day
was as hot a day, but only so many might go into the air at once.
Many, waiting their turn in the black, stifling hall, got no other
gleam than that afforded by the grudged opening and the swift
closing of the outer door. The next day again the heat held and the

BREAD CAST ON WATER 195

despot's ill humour held. At long intervals the door opened, but
before a score had passed, it closed with a grating sound.

The fourth morning Stafford found himself again in the sun and
shadow of this yard. The earth was harder-baked, the blue sky
more fiercely metallic, the bushy head of the one tree seen over the
wall more decisively mocking. With it all there was a dizziness in
the air. He knew that he had been buoyed by the second wind. As
he came out from the gloom into the glare a doubt wound like a
snake into his brain. He feared the wind — that it would not last —
it was so very sickening out here.

He took the shade of the wall, pressed his shoulder against the
bricks and closed his eyes. For a minute or more the spirit sank,
then the will put its lips to some deep reservoir and drank.
Stafford opened his eyes and stood from the wall. Second wind or
third wind, it held steady.

The consumptive lieutenant was not in the yard. He had had a
hemorrhage and was now in the hospital watching Death come a
stride a day. The yard held a fair number of men, listless in the heat,
walking slowly, standing, or seated, with hands about the knees and
bowed heads, on the parched, untidy ground. The guards at the
small gate, a gate which opened on another yard, not free to prison
ers, with beyond it the true, heavy gate — the guards suffered with
the heat, held their rifles languidly. The moments went on, a line of
winged creatures now with broken wings, creeping, not flying, an
ant-line of slow moments, each with its burden of lassitude, ennui,
enfeebled hope. The one tree-top was all green and gold and shin
ing fair and heavenly cool, but it was set in Paradise, and from
Paradise, like Abraham, it only looked across the gulf, a gulf in
which it acquiesced. And so it was a mocking tree, more fiend than
angel. . . .

The figures of the sentries at the gate grew energized; they
tautened, stood at salute. Into the yard came on inspection a group
of officers, among them the one whom the prisoners held to be
human. With them came Father Tierney.

"The top of the morning to ye, children!" said Father Tierney.
"Sure it's a red cock feather the morning's wearing!" He came
nearer. "Where's the lieutenant that was coughing himself away,
poor deluded lad!"

196 CEASE FIRING

He looked about him, then came over to the wall, a big, rusty-
black figure, standing so close that he made another wall for shadow.
His eyes and Stafford's met.

"The lieutenant, poor lad!" demanded Father Tierney, his
strong, rich voice rolling through the yard, "it's the hospital he's
in?"

"Yes," said Stafford. "He had a bad hemorrhage and they took
him yesterday."

"Tell me," said Father Tierney, "a bit about him, and I'll write
it to his parents. Parents — especially mothers — have the same
kind of heartbreak on both sides of the line."

The officers passed on. The thirty-odd grey prisoners walked or
sat or stood as before. Stafford was a little in shadow, and the
priest's bulky form, squared before him, cut off the more crowded
part of the enclosure.

Father Tierney, discoursing of parents, dropped his voice with
suddenness. "It's the smallest possible bundle. You're sure you
can hide it under your coat ?"

"Yes—"

"And his father 's a ribil fighting with Johnston — and his mother
in Kentucky — Holy Powers!" said Father Tierney, "the heat in
this place 's fearful and I once had sunsthroke — Quick I — It 's giddy
enough — Have you got it ? — I 'm feeling this minute ! " He straight
ened himself, wandered to a neighbouring stone, and, sitting down,
called to the nearest guard who came up. "Is there a cup of water
handy, my son? I had a sunsthroke once and this yard 's Gehenna
to-day, no less!"

Two days later, just at sunset, a hospital steward passed through
the hall of the officers' side of Prison X, nodded to the sentries at the
door, crossed the yard, was let pass the small gate, crossed the court
beyond, pretty well occupied as it was with blue soldiers, and ap
proached the heavy, final gate. An official of some description was
ahead of him, and he had for a moment to wait. The gate opened,
the man in front passed through ; there came a moment's vision of a
green tree against a rosy sky — the tree whose head showed above
the prison wall. The hospital steward stepped forward. He had
the word — it had been bought with a gold-piece of considerable
denomination. He gave it; the gate creaked open, he passed out.

BREAD CAST ON WATER 197

The sunset looked a fabulous glory; the one tree had the sublimity
of the pathless forest.

At dark he found the priest's lodging and, waiting for him, a suit
of civilian clothes. He proposed to get to the river that night, swim
it, and find dawn and the Virginian shore. "Whist!" said Father
Tierney. " You '11 be afther attacking a fretful porcupine ! Put out
your hand, and you'll touch a pathrol. They're thicker on the
river bank than blue flies. No, no ! you thravel by road till you 're

twinty-five miles from here. You'll come to a hamlet called

and there you '11 find a carpenter shop and a negro named Taylor.
He 's a faithful freedman and well thought of by the powers that be.
You stop and ask for a drink of water, and thin you say in a whisper
across the gourd, 'Benedict Tierney and a boat across.' You'll
get it. — It's risky by the road, thrue enough, but divil a bit of
risk would there be if you wint shtraight down to the river! The
hedgehog would shoot as many quills at you as was necessary."

"Whether I get clear away or not, you have put me under an
obligation, Father, which —

"Whist, my son, I'm Southern, I tell ye! Drink your wine, and
God be good to the whole of us!"

The night was still and starry, dry and warm. Stafford walked in
company yet of the second wind. Bliss, bliss, bliss, to be out of
Prison X! He went like a child, wary as a man, but like a child in
mere whiteness of thought and sensuousness of being. The stars — •
he looked up at them as a boy might look his first night out of doors.
Bright they were and far away, and the flesh crept toward them with
a pleasure in the movement and a sadness for the distance. The
slumberous masses of the trees, the dim distinction of the horizon, the
sound of hidden water, the flicker of fireflies, the odour of the fields,
the dust of the glimmering road — all had keenness, sonority, fresh
ness of first encounters. For a long time he was not conscious of
fatigue. Even when he knew at last that he was piteously tired,
night and the world kept their vividness.

'• Between two and three o'clock some slight traffic began upon the
road. A farm-gate opened to let out a great empty wagon and a
half-grown boy with a whip over his shoulder. The horses turned
their heads westward. Stafford, rising from a rock-pile, asked a
lift, and the boy gave it. All rattled westward over the macadam

198 CEASE FIRING

road. The boy talked of the battle of last month — the great battle
in Pennsylvania.

" Did n't we give them hell — oh, did n't we give them hell ? They
saw we killed twenty thousand! "

" Twenty thousand. ... It is not, after all, strange that we de
duced a hell. . . . How fresh the morning smells !"

Horses, wagon, and boy were but going from one farm to another.
Two miles farther on Stafford thanked the youngster and left this
convoy. Light was gathering in the east. He was now met or over
taken and passed by a fair number of conveyances. In some there
were soldiers; others held clusters of loudly talking or laughing men.
A company of troopers passed, giants in the half-light. He concluded
that he must be near an encampment, and as he walked he debated
the propriety of turning from the road and making his way through
woods or behind the screen of hills. Men on horseback, in passing,
spoke to him. At last, as the cocks were crowing, he did turn from
the road. The lane in which he found himself wound narrowly
between dew-heavy berry-bushes and an arch of locust trees.
Branch and twig and leaf of these made a wonderful fretted arch
through which to view the carnation morning sky. Ripe berries
hung upon the bushes. Stafford was hungry and he gathered these
and ate. A bird began to sing, sweet, sweet ! Holding by the stem of
a young persimmon he planted his foot in the moist earth of the
bank, and climbed upward to where the berries grew thickest. Briar
and elder and young locust closed around him. Above the bird sang
piercingly, and behind it showed the purple sky. The dewy coolness
was divine. His head was swimming a little with fatigue and hunger,
but he was light-hearted, with a curious, untroubled sense of identity
with the purple sky, the locust tree, the singing bird, even with the
spray of berries his hand was closing on.

The bird stopped singing and flew away. A horse neighed, the
lane filled with the sound of feet. Stafford saw between the bushes
the blue moving forms. He crouched amid the dimness of elder
and blackberry, not knowing if he were well hidden, but hoping for
the best. The company, pickets relieved and moving toward an en
campment, had well-nigh passed when one keen-eyed man observed
some slight movement, some overbending of the wayside growth.
With his rifle barrel he parted the green curtain.

BREAD CAST ON WATER 199

This encampment was an outstretched finger of the encampment
of a great force preparing to cross the Potomac. It appeared, too,
that there had been recently an outcry as to grey spies. Stafford
proffered his story — a Marylander who had been to the city and was
quietly proceeding home. He had turned into the lane thinking it a
short cut — the berries had tempted him, being hungry — he had
simply stood where he had climbed, waiting until he could plunge
into the lane again; — behold the whole affair!

He might have won through, but in the guardhouse where he was
searched they found a small, worn wallet whose contents damned
him. Standing among the berry-bushes, his hand had gone to this
with the thought that he had best throw it away before danger
swooped — and then he had refrained, and immediately it was too
late. The sergeant looked it through, shook his head, and called a
lieutenant. The lieutenant took the papers in a bronzed hand, ran
them over, and read a letter dated two years back, written from
Greenwood in Virginia and signed Judith Gary. He folded it and
returned it to the wallet which he kept.

"Of course you know," he said in an agreeable voice, "that this
is your death-warrant. I wonder at you for such monumental care
lessness! Or, perhaps, it was n't carelessness."

"No," said Stafford, "it was n't carelessness. But I am not a spy.
Yesterday I escaped from Prison X."

"Tell that," said the lieutenant, "to the marines. Sergeant, we
move before noon, and jobs of this sort must be put behind us!
There's a drumhead court sitting now. Bring him across."

The tree was an oak with one great bough stretching like a warped
beam across a cart track. Stafford divined it when he and the blue
squad were yet three hundred yards away. It topped a slight rise
and it thrust that arm out so starkly against the sky. He knew it
for what it was. The world and the freshness of the world were as
vividly with him as during any hour of the preceding vivid twelve.
Every sense was vigorously functioning ; the whole range of percep
tion was lit; length and breadth and depth, he felt an intimacy of
knowledge, a sure interpenetration. He saw wholly every little dog
wood tree, every stalk of the long grass by the roadside ; the cadence
of the earth was his, and the taste of existence was in his mouth. He
had a steady sense of the deep that was flowing into the mould of

200 CEASE FIRING

life and then out of the mould of life. He felt eternal. The tree and
that stark limb bred in him no fear.

A party of cavalry came up behind the foot soldiers.

"Where are you going?" asked the officer at the head.

"To hang a spy," answered the lieutenant. " On the tree yonder."

"Yes?" said the officer. "Not the pleasantest of work, but at
times necessary. — It's a lovely morning."

"Is n't it? The heat's broken at last."

The troopers continued to ride alongside, and so all mounted the
little rise and came together upon the round of dry sward beneath
the'tree. A curt order or two left the blue soldiers drawn up at one side
of this ring, and the prisoner with the provost guard in the centre,
beneath the tree. Stafford glanced down at the rope that was now
about his neck. It lay curled there like a tawny serpent, visible, real,
real as the bough up to which, too, he glanced— real, and yet pro
foundly of no tremendous importance. He had a curious fleeting
impression as of a fourth dimension, as of the bough above arching a
portal, on the other side of which lay utter security. Upon the way
thither he had been perfectly silent, and he felt no inclination now
toward speech or any demonstration. He stood and waited, and he
was not conscious of either quickening or retarding in Time's quiet
footfall.

The cavalry officer, in the course of a checkered existence, had
witnessed a plenty of military executions — so many, in fact, that
Pity and Horror had long since shrugged their shoulders and gone off
to sleep. They had left a certain professional curiosity; a degree of
connoisseurship in how men met death. He now pushed his horse
through the scrub to the edge of the ring. The action brought him
within twenty feet of the small group in the centre, and, upon the
blue soldiers standing back a little, face to face with the bareheaded
prisoner. The officer looked, then swung himself from the saddle,
and, with spurs and sabre jingling, strode into the trodden ground.
"A moment, Lieutenant, if you please! I have somewhere seen your
prisoner — though where — "

H^ came closer. Stafford, worn to emaciation, dressed in rough
civilfan clothes, with the rope about his bared neck, returned his
gaze. Memory stepped between them with a hand to each. The air
darkened, grew filled with thunder, jagged lightning, and whistling

BREAD CAST ON WATER 201

rain, the parched earth was quagmire, the dusty trees Virginia
cedars with twisted roots, wet, murmuring in a harsh wind. There
was heard the rattle of Stonewall Jackson's musketry, and, above
the thunder, Pelham's guns.

"Ox Hill!" exclaimed Marchmont with an oath.

Stafford's eyelids just quivered. "Ox Hill," he repeated.

Suddenly, with the thunder of Pelham's guns, the bough above was
no longer the arch of a portal. It was an oak bough with the end of
a rope thrown across it. Life streamed back upon him. The clarity,
the silver calm, the crystal quality went from things. He staggered
slightly, and the blood drummed in his ears.

Marchmont was speaking rapidly to the lieutenant and the pro
vost officer. "How do you know that he is a spy? Said he was an
escaped prisoner — escaped from Prison X? Could n't you wait to
find out? Believe it? Yes, I believe it. He 's a Southern officer —
he did me the best of turns once — day when I thought I was a
prisoner myself — day of Chantilly. — Yes. Colonel Francis March
mont. Marchmont Invincibles. Remand him, eh? — until we tele
graph to the Commandant at X. No use treating him as a spy if
he is n't a spy, eh? Remember once in Italy when that game was
nearly played on myself. — You will wait, Lieutenant, until I send
an orderly back with a note to your general ? Know him well —
think I can arrange matters. — Thanks! Here, Roberts!"

Roberts galloped off. The group beneath the tree, the soldiers
drawn up at one side, the troopers and their colonel stayed as
they were, waiting. The bright sands ran on, the breeze in the
oak whispered like a dryad, the bees buzzed, there came an odour
of the pine. Stafford's hand and lip were yet stained with the
berries. He stood, the tawny cirque about his neck, waiting with
the rest.

Roberts returned. He bore a folded piece of writing which he
delivered to Marchmont. The latter read, then showed it to the
lieutenant, who spoke to the sergeant of the provost guard. Two not
unkindly hands loosened the circle of rope and lifted it clear from the
prisoner. Marchmont came across with outstretched hand.

"Major Stafford, I thought I could manage it! As soon as the
matter is verified from X — I shall see if I cannot personally
arrange an exchange. . I am pretty sure that I can do that, too."

202 CEASE FIRING

His teeth gleamed beneath his yellow mustache. "I haven't at
the moment a flask such as you raised me from the dead with ! —
Jove ! the fine steel rain and the guns with the thunder, and Caliph
pressed hard, and it was peine forte et dure —

"It was a travelled road," said Stafford; "presently some one else
would have come by and released you. But this is not a travelled
road and I was very near to death." He looked at his berry-stained
hands. "I don't think I cared in the least about death itself. It
seemed, standing here, a perfectly unreal pasteboard arch, a piece of
stage furniture. But I have a piece of work to do on this side of it
. . . and so, on the whole, I am glad you came by." He laughed a
little. "That has a mighty ungracious sound, has it not ? I should
thank you more heartily — and I do!"

A month from this day he stood upon Virginia earth, duly ex
changed. He had been put across at Williamsport. Marchmont
had pressed upon him a loan of money and a horse. For a week
he had been, in effect, Marchmont's guest. A strange liking had
developed between the two. . . . But now he was alone, and in
Virginia, — Virginia that he had left more than a year ago when
the army crossed into Maryland and there followed the battle
of Sharpsburg. He was alone, riding through a wood slowly, his
hands relaxed upon the saddlebow, lost in thought.

About him was the silence of the warm September wood. It was a
wood of small pines, scarred and torn, as were now all the woods of
this land by the heavy hand and heel of a giant war. That was a
general war, but to each man, too, his own war. Stafford's had been
a long war, long and sultry, stabbed with fierce lightnings. He had
scars enough within, stains of a rough and passionate weather,
marks of a lava flow. But to-day, riding through the September
wood, he felt that the war was over. He was drawing still from that
deeper stratum of being, from the colder, purer well. His mind had
changed, and without any inner heroics he was prepared to act
upon that change. He had never been weak of will.

In Winchester, when he entered it at sunset, he found a small grey
command, and on the pillared porch of the hotel and in the bare
general room various officers who came and went or sat at the table
writing. Stafford, taking his place also at this long and heavy board
and asking for pen and ink, fell into talk, while he waited, with an

BREAD CAST ON WATER 203

infantry captain sitting opposite. Where was General Lee and the
main army?

"Along the Rapidan, watching Meade on the other side. Where
have you been," said the captain, "that you did n't know that ?"

"I have been in prison. — On the Rapidan."

" Yes. But Longstreet, with Hood and McLaws, has been ordered
to Tennessee to support Bragg. There'll be a great battle down
there."

"Then there's inactivity at the moment with us?"

"Yes. Marse Robert 's just resting his men and watching Meade.
Nobody exactly knows what the next move will be."

A negro boy brought the writing-materials for which Stafford
had asked. He left the captain's conversation and fell to wrriting.
He wrote three letters. One was to General Lee, whom he knew per
sonally, one to the general commanding his own brigade, and one to
WTarwick Gary. When he came to the envelope for the last-named
letter he glanced across to the captain, also writing. "The Golden
Brigade, General Gary — Warwick Gary? Do you know if it is with
Longstreet or by the Rapidan ?"

"By the Rapidan, I think. But Warwick Gary was killed at
Gettysburg."

Stafford drew in his breath. "I had not heard that! I am sorry,
sorry. ... I begin to think how little I have heard. I have been in
Prison X since Sharpsburg. . . . General Gary killed!"

" Yes. At the head of his men in a great charge. But the brigade
is by the Rapidan."

"It was not the brigade I was thinking of," said the other.

He sat for a moment with his hand shading his eyes, then he
slowly tore into pieces the letter to Warwick Gary. The remaining
two letters he saw placed in the mail-bag for army headquarters.
The next morning early he rode out of Winchester, out upon the
Valley Pike. Before him lay Kernstown; beyond Kernstown
stretched beneath the September mist the long, great war-road
with its thronging memories. He touched his horse and for sev
eral days travelled southward through the blackened Valley of
Virginia.

CHAPTER XVIII

THREE OAKS

THE countryside lay warm and mellow in the early autumn
air. The mountains hung like clouds; the vales cherished the
amber light. The maple leaves were turning; out on the edge
of climbing fields the sumach was growing scarlet, the gum trees red
as blood. The sunlight was as fine as old Canary. Caw! Caw I went
the crows, wheeling above the unplanted fields.

The Three Oaks' carriage, Tullius driving, climbed the heavy
fields, where, nowadays, the roads were never mended. This region,
the head of the great main Valley, was a high, withdrawn one. From
it men enough had gone to war, but as yet it had not itself become
a field for contending armies. No cannon here had roused the
echoes of the Blue Ridge, no smoke of musketry drifted through
the forest glades. News of the war came by boat up the James,
or from the lower towns, — Lexington, Staunton, Charlottesville, —
in the old, red, high-swung stages, or brought by occasional horse
men, in saddle-bags filled with newspapers. The outward change in
the countryside was to be laid to the door, not of violent commis
sion but of omission — omission less spectacular, but no less assured
of results. The roads, as has been said, were untended, fallen into
holes, difficult to travel. A scrub of sassafras, of trailing berry-
vines, of mullein, was drawing with slender fingers many a field back
into the wild. The fences were broken, gaps here and gaps there,
trailed over by reddening vines. When the road passed a farmhouse
the fences there were a ghastly, speckled, greyish white; innocent
of whitewash for now going on three years. The horseblocks showed
the same neglect; the spring-houses, too, and the outbuildings and
negro cabins. The frame farmhouses looked as dolefully. The brick
houses kept more an air of old times, but about these and their
gardens there dwelled, too, a melancholy shabbiness. Everywhere
was a strange feeling of a desert, of people gone away or sunken
in dreams, of stopped clock-hands, of lowered life, of life holding

THREE OAKS 205

itself very still, yet of a life that knew heavy and painful heart
beats. There .were not many cattle in the fields; you rarely saw
a strong, mettled horse; those left were old and work-worn and
thin. There seemed not so many of anything; the barnyards lacked
feathered people, the duck-ponds did not flower in white and gold as
of yore, the broods of turkeys were farther between, even the flower
gardens seemed lessened in colour, the blooms farther apart. At
long intervals the Three Oaks' carriage met or overtook slow travel
lers on the road. Chiefly they were women. In the same way the
fields and gardens, the dooryards and doorsteps of the houses pre
sented to view women and children.

Miriam remarked upon this. "Just women and babies and old
Father Time. I have n't seen a young man to-day. I have n't seen a
boy — not one over fifteen. All gone. . . . And maybe the cannon
balls to-day are playing among them as they played with Will."

"Miriam," said her mother, "be as strong as Will! How shall
you be merry with him when you do meet if you go on through life
like this?"

"I don't see that you have any right to say that to me," said
Miriam. "I do everything just the same. And it seems to me that
I can hear myself laughing all the day. Certainly I don't cry. I
never was a cry-baby."

"I had rather you cried," answered Margaret Cleave.

"Well, I'm not going to cry. . . . Look at that calf in the
meadow yonder — little brown thing with a mark on the forehead!
Does n't it look lonely — usually there are two of them playing
together. Here comes an old man with a bucket."

It was an old negro with a great wooden bucket filled with
quinces. He put up a beseeching hand and Tullius stopped the
horses. "Dey's moughty fine quinces, mistis. Don' yo' want ter
buy 'em ? Dey dries fust-rate."

"They're dry already," said Miriam. "They're withered and
small."

" Yass 'm. Dar ain' anything dishyer war ain't shrivelled. But I
sho does need ter sell 'em, mistis."

"I can't pay much for them," said Margaret. "Money's very
scarce, uncle. It's withered, too."

"Yass'm, dats so! I ain't er-gwiner ax much, mutis. I jesj

206 CEASE FIRING

erbleeged ter sell 'em, kase de cabin 's bare. Ef ten dollars '11 suit
you — "

Mrs. Cleave drew from her purse two Confederate notes. The
seller of quinces emptied his freight into the bottom of the
roomy equipage. He went on down the road, slow swinging his
empty bucket, and the Three Oaks' carriage mounted the last long
hill. It was going to the county-seat to do some shopping. The sun
shine lay in dead gold, upon the road and the fields on either hand.
There was hardly wind enough to lift the down from the open milk
weed pods. The mountains were wrapped in haze.

"War-shrunk quinces!" said Miriam. "Do you remember the
Thunder Run woman with blackberries to sell a month ago ? She
said the same thing. I said the berries were small and she said,
'Yass, ma'am. The war's done stunt them.'"

"I wonder where the army is to-day! "

"You're thinking of Richard. You're always thinking of
Richard."

"Miriam, do you not think of Richard? Do you not love
Richard ? "

"Of course I love Richard. But you're thinking of him all the
time! Will's only got me to think of him."

"Miriam!"

Miriam began to shudder. Dry-eyed, a carnation spot in each
cheek, she sat staring at the dusty roadside, her slight figure shaking.
Her mother leaned across and gathered her into her arms. "O child,
child! O third of my children! The one dead, and another perhaps
dying or dead, at this moment, and in trouble, with a hidden
name — and you, my littlest one, tearing with your hands at your
own heart and at mine! And the country. ... All our men and
women, the warring and the warred upon. . . . And the world that
wheels so blindly — all, all upon one's heart! It is a deal to think
on, in the dead of night — "

"I don't mean to be hard and wicked," said Miriam. "I don't
know what is the matter with me. I am mad, I think. I remember
that night after the Botetourt Resolutions you said that war was a
Cup of Trembling. I did n't believe you then. — I don't believe
we're going to find a sheet of letter-paper in town, or shoes or flannel
either."

THREE OAKS 207

There were three stores in town and the Three Oaks' carriage
stopped before each. A blast had passed over the country stores as
over the country fields, a sweeping away of what was needed for the
armies and a steady depletion of what was left. For three years no
new stock had come to the stores, no important-looking boxes and
barrels over which the storekeeper beamed, hatchet in hand, around
which gathered the expectant small fry. All the gay calicoes were
gone, all the bright harness and cutlery. China had departed from
the shelves, and all linen and straw bonnets and bright wool. The
glass showcases, once the marvel and delight of childish eyes, were
barren of ribbons and " fancy soap," of cologne, pictured handker
chief boxes, wonderful buttons, tortoise-shell combs, and what-not.
The candies were all gone from the glass jars, the "kisses" and
peppermint stick. There were no loaves of sugar in their blue paper.
There was little of anything, very little, indeed, — and the mer
chant could not say as of old, "Just out, madam! — but my new
stock is on the way."

They found at Jast a quire or two of dusty foolscap, paid thirty
dollars for it, and thought the price reasonable. Shoes were not
to be discovered — "any more than the North Pole ! " said the small
old man who waited upon them. "Yes, Mrs. Cleave; it's going to
be an awful thing, this winter! " They bought a few yards of flannel,
and paid twenty dollars the yard; a few coarse handkerchiefs, and
paid three dollars apiece for them; a pound of tea, and paid for it
twenty-five dollars. When at last Tullius tucked their purchases
into corners of the carriage, they had expended five hundred dollars
in bright, clean, handsome Confederate notes.

There were other shoppers in a small way in the stores, and, it
being a fine morning, people were on the streets. It was the day of
the month that was, by rights, court-day. The court-house was
opened, and an ancient clerk attended, but there was no court. Out
of habit, the few men left in town gathered in the court-house yard
or upon the portico between the pillars. Out of habit, too, the few
men left in the countryside were in town to-day, their horses fast
ened at the old racks. Moreover, in this, as in other counties, there
was always a sprinkling of wounded sons, men home from the hospi
tal, waiting for strength to go back to the front; now and then, too,
though more rarely, an officer or private home on furlough. The

208 CEASE FIRING

little town, in the clutch of adversity as were all little towns through
the great range of the South, was not in the main a dolorous or de
jected place. The fine, clear, September air this morning carried
laughter. And everywhere nowadays there bloomed like a purple
flower a sense of the heroic. The stage was not due for hours yet,
and so there was no crowd about the post-office where the last bulle
tin, read and re-read and read again, was yet posted upon a board
beside the door.

The ladies from Three Oaks exchanged greetings with many an
old friend and country neighbour. Margaret Cleave was honoured
by all, loved by many, and her wistful, dark, flower-like daughter
had her friends also. Everybody remembered Will, everybody knew
Richard. It used to be "Have you heard from Captain Cleave ?"

— "Have you heard from Major Cleave?" — "Have you heard
from Colonel Cleave ? " — Now it was different. Most people here
abouts believed in Richard Cleave, but they, somewhat mistakenly,
did not speak of him to his mother. There was always a silence
through which throbbed a query. Margaret Cleave, quiet, natural,
unafraid, and unconstrained, never told where was Richard, never
spoke of him in the present, but equally never avoided reference to
him in the past. It was understood that, wherever he was, he was in
health and "not unhappy." His old friends and neighbours asked
no more. In the general anxiety, the largeness of all reference, too
great curiosity, or morbid interest in whatever strangeness of ill
fortune came to individual folk, had little place.

The two moved with naturalness among their fellows, going to
and fro on various errands. When all were accomplished they went
for dinner to a fair pillared house of old friends on the outskirts of
town. Dinner was the simplest of meals and all were women who sat
at table. They talked of the last-received letters, the latest papers,
the news of recent movements, battles, defeats, victories, hardships,
triumphs, — AverelPs raid in western Virginia, the cavalry fighting
near the White Sulphur, the night attack on Fort Sumter, the fight
ing in Arkansas, the expected great battle in Tennessee. The one-
course dinner over, they sat for an hour in the cool, deep parlour,
where they took up baskets and fell to carding lint while they talked

— now of prices and makeshift, how to contrive shoes, clothing,
warmth, food, medicines, what-not, and how to continue to send

THREE OAKS 209

supplies to the men in the army. Then, while they carded lint,
Miriam was asked to read aloud. She did so, taking the first book
that offered from the table. It was "Lalla Rookh," and she read
from it with a curious, ungirlish brilliancy and finish. When she
put the book down she was asked if she would not sing.

"Not if you do not wish to," said her mother.

Miriam got up at once. "I do wish to."

Her mother, following her to the piano sat down and laid her
fingers on the keys.

"Sing," said some one, "'Love launched a Fairy Boat.'"

"Love launched a fairy boat
On a bright and shining river,
And said, ' My bark shall float
O'er these sunny waves forever.
The gentlest gales shall fill the sails
That bear me onward cheerily,
And through Time's glass the sand shall pass
From morn till evening merrily,
From morn till evening merrily . . .'
Love launched a fairy boat — "

Margaret rose quickly. The others with exclamations gathered
around as the mother laid the slight figure on the sofa.

"She is frightfully unwell," said Margaret. "Will — Richard -
the strain of this war that should never have been!" She loosened
the girl's dress at the throat, bathed her temples. "There, my dear,
there, my dear —

Miriam sat up. "What is the matter? The world go tall black. . . .
Let us go home, mother."

They only waited for the stage to come in. From the carriage,
drawn up near the post-office, they watched it rumble up, within its
depths a hurt soldier or two and the usual party of ref ugeeing women
and children. The jaded horses stopped before the post-office; the
driver climbed down with the mail-bag, all the town came hurrying.
A man standing on a box, beneath the bulletin board, began to read
in a loud voice from an unfolded paper: "Cavalry encounters along
the Rapidan — General Lee in Richmond conferring with the Pre
sident — Longstreet's corps taking train at Louisa Court-House.
Destination presumably Tennessee. — Cumberland Gap. Tennessee.
September ninth. To-day General Frazer, surrounded and cut of by
superior force of enemy, surrendered with two thousand men — "

210 CEASE FIRING

The Three Oaks' carriage went heavily homeward, up and over
the long hills. A light from the west was on the Blue Ridge, the sky
clear, the winds laid. At last they saw the home hill, and the three
giant oaks.

For a long time Miriam kept awake, lying in her narrow bed, her
head on her mother's breast, but at last her eyes closed. Presently
she was asleep, breathing quietly. Margaret, for the child's more
easy lying, slipped her arm from beneath her, then waited until,
with a little sigh, she settled more deeply among the pillows, then
rose, waited another moment, and stepped lightly from the room.
The hall window showed a sky yet red from the sunset. Across was
the room that since boyhood had been Richard's. The mother
entered it, closed the door, and moving to an old, leather-covered
couch, lay upon it face downward.

Outside the dusk closed in ; the stars peered through the branches
of the poplar without the window. Margaret rose, stood for a mo
ment looking at the sword slung above the mantel, then quit the
room, and going downstairs, ate her slender supper while Mahalah
discoursed of a ghost the negroes had seen the night before.

It had been a frightful ghost — "Er ha'nt ez tall ez dat ar cedar
ob Lebanon, an er part grey an' er part white an' er part black!
An' it had n't no mo' touch to hit den de air has, an' whar de eyes was
was lak two candles what de wind's blowin', and it kept er-cryin'
lak somebody in de mountains — wooh ! — wooh ! — wooh / —
No,'m, Miss Margaret! hit wa'n't 'magination. What we gwine
'magine for, when ever'body could see hit wif their own two eyes?"

Mahalah cleared the table, closed the shutters, and carried the
lamp into the wide hall, where she set it on a leaf-table beside her
mistress's workbasket. Then, still muttering of the " ha'nt," she
threw her apron over her head, and departed for the quarter. Mar
garet mounted the stair and stood listening at Miriam's half-open
door. The girl was sleeping quietly, and the mother, turning, came
down again to the hall, and took her low chair beside the table and
the basket of lint she was carding. The night was mild and soft,
the front door standing open, the scent of the autumn flowers per
ceptible.

Margaret Cleave, sitting carding lint, the lamplight upon her
brown hair, her slender hands, the grave beauty of her face, — Mar-

THREE OAKS 211

garet Cleave thought of many things. In the midst of her thinking
she heard a step upon the gravel before the house. A man mounted
the porch steps and came into the light from the open door. He had
raised his hand to the knocker when he saw the mistress of the house
sitting in the lamplight by the table.

Margaret rose and came forward. She saw that it was a soldier,
an officer.

" Good evening," she said; then as she came closer, — " One mo
ment! . . . Major Stafford!"

With a gesture for silence she took up the lamp and led the way
into the parlour. "My daughter is not well and has fallen asleep.
But we can talk here without disturbing her."

"I came," said Stafford, "hoping to find Colonel Cleave. I have
ridden from Lexington to-day. He is not here ?"

"No."

The two faced each other, her eyes large, enquiring, quietly host
ile. Stafford, moving with steadiness upon that changed level, met
her gaze with a gaze she could not read. She turned slightly, sank
into a great chair, and motioned him to one opposite. He continued
to stand, his hand touching the table. There was a bowl of roses on
the table, and soft lights and shadows filled the room.

" Mrs. Cleave, will you tell me where I may find him ? "

"No. You must understand that I cannot do that. . . . We heard
that you were in prison."

"I have been in prison since Sharpsburg. Latterly I found a
friend and four days ago I was exchanged. I have come straight to
Three Oaks."

"Yes? Why?"

Stafford walked the length of the room and stood a moment at a
window, looking out into the night. He had fought his fight; it was
all over and done with. Those last weeks in prison he had known
where the victory would fall, and that first night out his mind had
parted as finally as was possible with one vast country of his past, a
dark country of strain and longing, fierce attraction, fierce repulsion.
On the starlit road from Prison X, in the quietude of the earth,
victory profound and ultimate had come, soft as down. Before he
gathered the berries in the by-road, before the soldiers took him,
before Marchmont came, he had touched the larger country.

212 CEASE FIRING

He came back to the table where Margaret sat, a rose in her
hand, her eyes upon its petals.

"I came to Three Oaks," he said, "to make retribution."

"Retribution!"

Stafford faced her. "Mrs. Cleave, what do you know — what
has he told you — of White Oak Swamp ? "

Margaret laid the rose from her hand. "I know that somewhere
there was treachery. I know that my son was guiltless of that charge.
I know little more except that — except that, either you, also,
were strangely misled, involved in that dreadful web of error — or
that — or that you swore falsely."

"I swore falsely."

There was a silence. She sat looking at him with parted lips. He
kept the quietness with which from his entrance he had moved and
spoken, but as he stood there there grew a strange feeling in his face,
and suddenly he raised his hand and covered his eyes. The clock in
the hall ticked, ticked. Far out in the night a whip-poor-will was
calling. The walls of the room seemed to expand. There came a
sense of armies, of camp-fires stretching endlessly, of movements
here and there beneath the canopy of night, of a bugle's distant
shrilling, of the wheels of cannon, of a dim, high-borne flag.

At last it grew intolerable. Margaret broke it with a thrilling
voice. "And you come here to tell this to me?"

"I came," said Stafford, "to tell it to Richard Cleave. I have
written it to General Lee and my brigade commanders — and to
others. By now it is in their hands."

The silence fell again, while the mother's heart and brain dealt
with the action and its consequences. At last she put her hands
before her face.

"I am joyful," she said, and her voice was thrillingly so, "but I
am sorrowful too — " and her voice veiled and darkened. "Un
happy man that you are — !"

"If you will believe me," said Stafford, "I am not unhappy. It
was not, I think, until I ceased to be unhappy that I could see clearly
either the way that I had travelled or the way that I am to travel.
I will not speak of what is past, nor of remorse for what is past. I
am not sure that what I feel is remorse. I have seen the ocean when,
lashed by something in itself or out of itself, it wrecked and ruined,

THREE OAKS 213

and I have seen the ocean when it carried every bark in safety. It
was the same ocean, and what is the use of words? But I will take
now the blame and double blame of White Oak Swamp. I wished
to say this to him, face to face — "

"He took another name, and rejoined before Second Manassas.
He joined Pelham's Battery, of the horse artillery. He called himself
Philip Deaderick."

" Deaderick t The rain and Pelham's guns . . . I remember."

" He is to-night wherever his battery is. Somewhere on the Rapi-
dan. He would not let — what happened — ruin his life. He went
back to the army that he loved. He has done his duty there. More
over, no friend that knew him believed him guilty. Moreover, the
woman that he loves has kept the steadiest faith — not less steady
than mine, who am his mother. ... I will tell you this because it
should be told you."

"Yes," he said, "it should be told me. I have loved Judith Gary.
But I want her happiness now. I wrote to her last night. I could n't
do it before."

The clock ticked, ticked. The whip-poor-will cried. Whip-poor-
will! whip-poor-will! Margaret sat very still, her elbow on the
table, her hand shading her eyes.

The quiet held a moment longer in the Three Oaks' parlour, then
he broke it. "I have said all, I think, that needed to be said. It
does not seem to me to be a case for words. You understand that
the machinery has been set in motion, and that the weight will be
lifted and laid where it belongs. I shall try when I reach the army
to see Colonel Cleave. You will understand that I wish to do that,
and why I wish it. Had he been here to-night I should have said to
him little more, I think, than I have said to you. I should have said
that the old, unneeded hatred had died from within me, and that I
asked his forgiveness."

He took his hat from the chair beside him. " I '11 ride to town
and sleep there to-night. In the morning I'll turn toward the
Rapidan — "

Margaret rose. "It is late. You have been riding all day. You
are tired and thin and pale — you have been in prison." Suddenly
as she looked at him the tears came. "Oh, the world, the world that
it is! Oh, the divided heart of it, the twisted soul, the bitter and the

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sweet and the dark and the light — " She dashed the tears away
and came over to him with her hand held out. "See! it is all over
now. It is far to town, and late. Stay at Three Oaks to-night. —
Tullius shall put your horse up, and I will call Mahalah to see to
your room — "

CHAPTER XIX

THE COLONEL OF THE SIXTY-FIFTH

THROUGH the cool October sunlight three grey regiments and
a battery of horse artillery were marching upon a road that
led from the Rapidan to the Rappahannock. They were
coming up from Orange Court-House and their destination was the
main army now encamped below Kelly's Ford.

The air was like wine and the troops were in spirits. There were
huge jokes, laughter, singing, and when at noon the column halted
in a coloured wood for dinner, the men frisked among the trees like
young lambs or very fauns of Pan. They were ragged, and they
did n't have much for dinner, but gaiety was in their gift and a quite
superb "make the best of it." They were filled with quips and
cranks; they guffawed with laughter. They lay upon the earth,
hands beneath their heads, one knee crossed above the other, and
sang to the red oak leaves on the topmost branch.

"I dreamed a dream the other night,

When everything was still; —
I dreamed I saw Susannah

Come running down the hill. . . .

" O Susannah, don't you weep,

Nor mourn too long for me —
I'se gwine to Alabama,

With my banjo on my knee!"

"Old Grimes is dead, that good old man,
Whom we shall see no more — "

The Sixty-fifth Virginia's spirits flew in feathers. The Sixty-fifth
was, for this period of the war and on the Southern side, a full regi
ment. It carried nearly five hundred muskets. It was practically
half as large as it had been on the day of First Manassas. It had
passed through three years of deadly war, but as a regiment it
possessed skill as well as courage, and — with one exception — it
had had fair luck. And then it had gathered recruits. It was a good
regiment to belong to — a steady, fine regiment.

2 1 6 CEASE FIRING

Officers' mess spread its table on the golden, fallen leaves of a
hickory beside a sliding, ice-cool rivulet. The four hundred and odd
men were scattered, in perhaps fifty messes, through the grove.
The smoke of their fires rose straight and blue. The metal of the
stacked muskets reflected a thousand little saffron flames. The leaves
drifted down. The day was ineffably sweet, cool, and fragrant.
Caw ! caw ! went the crows in a neighbouring field.

The Sixty-fifth believed in friendship. It believed in cousins. It
believed in the tie of the County. The river, winding between wil
low and sycamore from croft to croft, — the chain of little valleys,
the end of one touching the beginning of another, — the linked hills,
each with its homestead, — the mountains with their mountain
cabins, — all was so much framework in and over and about which
flowed the mutual life. In its consciousness hill called to hill and.
stream to stream — Thunder Run to other runs and creeks — other
mountains to Thunder Run Mountain. The Sixty-fifth experienced
a profound unity — a unity bred of many things. Physical contig
uity played its part, a common range of ideas, a general standard of
conduct, a shared way of seeing, hearing, tasting. Upon all was the
stamp of community in effort, community in danger, community in
event. It was not to the erection of separateness that brothers,
cousins, friends, acquaintances, even in a minor degree enemies,
shared heat and cold, the burning sun or the midnight, stumbling
darkness of the road, storm and fatigue and waking through the
night, hunger, thirst, marchings and battles and the sight of battle
fields, that their hearts together failed, shrivelled, darkened, or
expanded, rose and shouted. So deeply alike now was their environ
ment and the face of their days that their own faces were grown
strangely alike. Sometimes the members of the Sixty-fifth differed
in opinion, sometimes they squabbled, sometimes they waxed sar
castic, sometimes they remarked that the world was too small for
such or such a comrade and themselves. Then came the battle —
and when in the morning light they saw such or such an one, it was
" Hello, Jim — or Jack — or Tom ! I 'm right down glad you were n't
killed! Fuss at you sometimes, but I'd have missed you, all the
same!"

The Sixty-fifth sat cross-legged in the coloured wood near Rappa-
hannock, and ate its diminutive corn-pone and diminutive rasher of

THE COLONEL OF THE SIXTY-FIFTH 217

bacon. No Confederate soldier ever felt drowsily heavy after dinner.
Where there was so little to digest, the process accomplished itself
in the turn of a hand. There was little, too, to smoke, now — worse
luck! But there was always — except in the very worst straits —
there was always something out of which might be gotten a certain
whimsical amusement.

The Sixty-fifth had had an easy march, and was going to have
another one. The Sixty-fifth knew this country like a book, having
fought over most steps of it. It had a pleasant feeling of familiarity
with this very wood and the shining stretch of road narrowing toward
a dark wood and the Rappahannock. The Sixty-fifth had every con
fidence in Marse Robert, commanding all ; in Old Dick, command
ing the Second Corps, in Alleghany Johnson, commanding the divis
ion; in Walker, commanding the Stonewall; in Colonel Erskine,
commanding the Sixty-fifth. Its confidence in the Sixty-fifth itself
was considerable. Dinner done, it fell, lying beneath the trees, now
to jokes and now to easy speculation.

"What is Marse Robert moving us for ?"

"Meade's walking again. Stalking up and down north side of
Rappahannock. Same as Burnside last year. Marse Robert 's bring
ing us and the th and th, over from Orange, to lay the ghost.

— Oh, and I forgot the horse artillery! "

"Horse artillery's all right, down there by that sumach patch,
eating parched corn. . . . This is what you might call golden
weather. Listen to the crows. Caw! caw! caw I Just like old
Botetourt."

" If I were Allan Gold, I 'd let that shoe alone. He can't mend it."

"Whose shoe is it? Allan's?"

"No. It's Lieutenant Coffin's. He's had a pale blue letter, and
it said that the young lady was visiting in Fredericksburg — and
ain't we on the road to Fredericksburg ?"

"I see — I see!"

" And of course lieutenant would like to have a whole shoe. You 'd
like it yourself under the circumstances. Allan's mighty handy,
and he told him he thought he could do it — "

"If I had a knife — Allan! Here's a scrap of good leather.
Catch! — Ain't no pale blue letter in mine. Wish there was."

Sergeant Billy Maydew, at the- head of a small reconnoitring

2i 8 CEASE FIRING

party, appeared and reported to the colonel. " We went to the river,
sir, and two miles up and two miles down. As far as could be seen,
things air all quiet. We thought we saw a smoke across the river —
back agin' the sky. We met a foraging party — cavalry. It said
General Lee was at Kelly's Ford, and that it was understood the
enemy meant to cross. That air all I have to report, sir."

The column took again the road. Of the three regiments, the
Sixty-fifth came last. Behind it rumbled a small wagon train, and
in rear of these the battery from the horse artillery. The battery
was an acquisition of the morning. It had come out of the yellow
and red woods in the direction of Culpeper, and had proceeded to
"keep company." The Sixty-fifth liked the artillery very well, and
now it fraternized as jovially as discipline would allow. " An old
battery of Pelham's ? Pelham was a fighter! Saw him at Second
Manassas with his arm up, commanding! Looked like one of those
people in the old mythology book. — Glad to see you, old battery
of Pelham's!"

The afternoon was a wonderful clear one of high lights and blue
shadows, of crisply moving air. All vision was distinct, all sound
sonorous. Even touch and taste and smell had a strange vigour.
And, by way of consequence, all faculties were energized. Past and
present and future came all together in the hands, in one wonderful
spice apple. And then, just as life was most worth living, the col
umn, the road bending, clashed against a considerable Federal force,
that, crossing the Rappahannock at Beverly's Ford, had come down
the river through the wonderful afternoon.

The Sixty-fifth fought from behind a brown swale of earth with
a rail fence atop. The rails were all draped with travellers' joy;
together they made a flimsy screen through which sang the bullets.
Zipp I zziipp ! zzzip ! went the minies, thick as locusts in Egypt. The
two other regiments ahead were fighting, too; the wagons were
scattered, the horses stampeded, the negro teamsters ashen with
panic. The battery of horse artillery drove in thunder to the front,
the guns leaping, the drivers shouting, the horses red-nostrilled,
wide-eyed. Down sprang the gunners, into action roared the pieces;
there was a bass now to answer the minies' snarling treble. But the
blue had guns, too, more guns than the grey. They came pounding
into the fight.

THE COLONEL OF THE SIXTY-FIFTH 219

The Sixty-fifth fought with desperation. It saw Annihilation, and
it strove against it through every fibre. The men fired kneeling. The
flame had scarcely leapt ere the hand felt for the cartridge, the teeth
tore at the paper, the musket flamed again. The metal scorched all
fingers; powder grime and sweat marred every face. The men's lips
moved rapidly, uttering a low monotone, or, after biting the cart
ridge, they closed and made a straight line in each powder-darkened
countenance. A shell tore away a length of the fence, killing or maim
ing a dozen. Through the smoke was seen the foe, gathering for a
charge. The charge came and was repelled, but with loss. Two cap
tains were down, a lieutenant, many men. A gun, back on a hillside,
was splitting the fence into kindling wood. The grey battery — the
old battery of Pelham's — silenced this gun, but others came. They
bellowed from three different points. The grey battery began itself
to suffer. Doggedly it poured its fire, but a gun was disabled, a
caisson exploded, horses and men dead or frightfully hurt. The two
forward regiments had a better position or met a less massed and
determined attack. They had come upon a hornet's nest, truly, but
their fire at least kept the hornets at bay. But the Sixty-fifth was in
the thick of it, and like to be overpowered. It had to get away from
where it was in the cross-fire of the batteries — that was clear. Ers-
kine dragged it back to a field covered with golden sedge. Out of
the sheet of gold sprang small dark pines, and above the roar and
the smoke was the transparent evening sky. Panting, devastated,
powder-blackened, bleeding, the Sixty-fifth felt for its cartridges,
bit them, loaded, fired on a dark blue wedge coming out of a wood.
The wedge expanded, formed a line, came on with hurrahs. At the
same instant a monster cylindrical shell, whooping like a demon,
hurled itself against the grey battery. A second gun was put out of
the fight. The sky went in flashes of red, the air in toppling crashes
as of buildings in earthquake. When the smoke cleared, the blue
had gone back again, but dead or dying in the sedge were many grey
men. Colonel Erskine, slight, fiery, stood out, his hand pressing his
arm from which blood was streaming. " Sixty-fifth Virginia ! You 've
got as splendid a record as is in this army! You can't run. There
isn't anywhere to run to. — White flag? No — o! You don't raise
a white flag while I command ! — Put your back to the wall and
continue your record!"

220 CEASE FIRING

"All right, sir," said the Sixty-fifth. "All right— Oh, the
colonel! — oh, the colonel — "

The colonel fell, pierced through the brain. A captain took his
place, but the captains, too, were falling. . . .

Billy Maydew and Allan Gold saw each other through a rift in the
smoke. They were close together.

"Billy," said Allan, "I wish you were out of this."

"I reckon it's the end," said Billy, loading. "You look all kind
of shining and bright, Allan. — Don't you reckon Heaven '11 be
something like Thunder Run ?"

"Yes, I do. Sairy and Tom, and the flowers and Christianna — "

"And all the boys," said Billy, "and the colonel — Here air the
darn Yanks again — "

A short-range engagement changed into hand-to-hand fighting.
Already the aiding battery had suffered horribly. Now with a shout
the blue pushed against it, seizing and silencing one of the two re
maining guns. The grey infantry thrust back by the same onset, the
grey artillerymen beaten from the guns, were now as one — four
hundred grey men, perhaps, in a death clutch with twice their num
ber. Down the road broke out a wilder noise of fighting — it would
seem, somehow, that there was an access of forces. . . . The blue,
immediate swarm was somehow pushed back. Another was seen
detaching itself. The ranking officer was now a captain. He
hurried along the front of the torn and panting line. "Don't let's
fail, men! — Don't let's fail! Everybody at home — everybody at
home knows we could n't — Give them as good as we take! Here
they come ! — Now — now ! — "

There was, however, a wavering. The thing was hopeless and the
Sixty-fifth was deadly tired. With the fall of Erskine the trumpets
had ceased to call. The Sixty-fifth looked at the loud and wide ap
proach of the enemy, and then it looked sideways. Its lips worked,
its eyelids twitched. The field of sedge expanded to a limitless plain,
heaped all with the dead and dying. The air no longer went in waves
of red; the air was sinking to a greenish pallor, with a sickness trem
bling through it. Here was the swarm of the enemy. . . . The
Sixty-fifth knew in its heart that there was some uncertainty as to
whether it would continue to stand. The day was dead somehow,
the heart beating slow and hard. . . .

THE COLONEL OF THE SIXTY-FIFTH 221

The blue overpassed the ruined, almost obliterated line of the rail
fence, came on over the sedge. "Don't let's fail, men!" cried the
captain. "Don't let's fail! We've never done it — Stand your
ground!" — A minie ball entered his side. A man caught him,
eased him down upon the earth. " Stand it out, men ! stand it out ! "
he gasped.

" Sixty-fifth Virginia / Front! Fix bayonets I Forward! Charge!"

The Sixty-fifth Virginia obeyed. It wheeled, it fixed bayonets, it
charged. It charged with a shout. As by magic, even to itself, its
aspect changed. It was as though a full regiment, determined,
clothed in the habit of victory, vowed to and protected by War
himself, sprang across the sedge, struck against, broke and drove
the blue. All the pallor went out of the atmosphere, all the faint-
ness out of life. Every hue came strong, every line came clear, life
was buoyant as a rubber ball.

And now at last, as the blue fell back, as there came a shouting
from down the road, as a mounted aide appeared, — "Hold your
own! Hold your own! Stuart's coming — horse and guns! Hold
your own!" — as the smoke cleared, in the shaft of light that the
westering sun sent across the field, the Sixty-fifth recognized why
it had charged. In its ranks were men who had come in during
the past year as recruits, or who had been transferred from other
regiments. To these the Sixty-fifth apparently had charged,
changing rout into victory, because a gunner from the disabled
battery — the old battery of Pelham's — had sprung forward,
faced for an instant the Sixty-fifth, then with a waved arm and
a great magnetic voice had ordered the charge and led it. But
most of the men of the Sixty-fifth were men of the old Sixty-fifth.
Now, in the face of another and violent rush of the foe, the Sixty-
fifth burst into a shout. "Richard Cleave!" it shouted; "Richard
Cleave!"

Twenty-four hours later, a great red sun going down behind the
pines, Cleave found himself summoned to the tent of the Commander
of the Army. He went, still in the guise of Philip Deaderick. Lee
sat at a table. Standing behind him were several officers, among
them Fauquier Gary, now General Gary. Beyond these was another
shadowy group.

222 CEASE FIRING

Lee acknowledged the gunner's salute. " You have been known as
Philip Deaderick, gunner in 's battery ?"

"Yes, sir."

"But you are Richard Cleave, colonel of the Sixty-fifth ?"

"I am Richard Cleave, sir. I was colonel of the Sixty-fifth."

Lee moved his head. The tent was filled with shadows. A negro
servant, bringing a lamp, set it on the table. In at the tent flap came
the multitudinous hushed sound of the gathering night. "Major
Stafford!" said Lee.

Stafford came out of the dusk and stood before the table. There
were five feet of earth between him and Cleave. The latter drew a
quickened breath and held high his head.

"When," asked Lee, watching him, "when did you last see the
officer whom I have just called ?"

"Sir, I saw him at Chantilly, in the dusk and the rain — "

"You knew that he was taken at Sharpsburg ?"

"Yes."

"He has been in prison ever since — until the other day when he
broke prison. He has been, I think, in another and worse prison —
the prison of untruth. Now he breaks that prison, too. — Major
Stafford, you will repeat to Colonel Cleave what you have written
in these letters" — he touched them where they lay upon the table
— "and what you have to-day told to me."

Stafford's controlled, slow speech ceased its vibration in the tent.
It had lasted several minutes, and it had been addressed to a man
who, after the first few words, stood with lowered eyes. It was a
detailed explanation of what had occurred at White Oak Swamp in
'62, and it was given with a certain determined calm, with literal-
ness, and with an absence of any beating of the breast. When it was
ended there was a defined pause, then through the tent, from the
great general at the table to the aide standing by the door, there ran
a sound like a sigh. The man most deeply concerned stood straight
and quiet. He stood as though lost in a brown study, like one who
has attention only for the inward procession of events.

Lee spoke. "As quickly as possible there shall be a public reversal
of the first decision." He paused, then rested his grave eyes upon
Stafford. "As for you," he said, "you will consider yourself under
arrest, pending the judgment of the court which I shall appoint

THE COLONEL OF THE SIXTY-FIFTH 223

You have done a great wrong. It is well that at last, with your own
eyes, you see it for what it is." He withdrew his gaze, rose, and
going over to Cleave, took his hand. " You have gone through bitter
waters," he said. "Well, it is over! and we welcome back among us
a brave man and a gallant gentleman! Forget the past in thought
for the future! The Sixty-fifth Virginia is yours again, Colonel
Cleave. Indeed, I think that after yesterday we could not get it to
belong to any one else!"

"Colonel Erskine, sir, — "

From the shadow hard-by came Fauquier Gary's moved voice.
"Erskine would have rejoiced with the rest of us, Richard. He
never believed — "

"Come, General Gary," said Lee, "and you, too, gentlemen,—
come and give your hands to Colonel Cleave. Then we will say good
night."

The little ceremony was over, the kindly words were spoken. One
by one the officers saluted and left the tent, Fauquier Gary tarrying
in obedience to a sign from Lee. When all were gone, the General
spoke to Cleave whom he had been watching. "You would like a
word alone with — ' His eyes indicated Stafford.

"Yes, General, if I may -

"I am going across for a moment to General Stuart's. I will leave
you here until I return."

He moved toward the tent opening. "Richard," said Gary, — •
"Richard, I have no words — ' He dropped his kinsman's hands;
then, in following Lee, passed within a few feet of Stafford. He made
a gesture of indignation and grief, then went by with closed lips
and eyelids that drooped. Stafford felt the scorn like a breath from
hot iron.

The tent was empty now save for the two. "We cannot stop
here," said Cleave. "I must go farther. Why have you changed ?
Or are we still wearing masks ?"

"If there is any mask I do not know it," said the other. " What is
change, and why do we change? We have not found that out. But
there is a fact somewhere, and I have — changed. I will answer
what you will not ask. I love her, yes! — love her so well now that
I would have her happy. I have written to her, and in my letter I
said farewell. She will show it to you if you wish."

224 CEASE FIRING

"I do not wish—"

"No," said Stafford. " I believe that you do not. Richard Cleave,
I have not somehow much feeling left in me, but . . . You remem
ber the evening of Chantilly, when I came to Pelham's guns? In the
darkness I felt you threatening me."

"Yes."

"Well, I did all that you knew of me, and I was all, I suppose,
that you thought me. . . . There is never any real replacement,
any real atonement. To my mind there is something childish in all
our glib asking for forgiveness. I do not know that I ask you for
your forgiveness. I wish you to know, however, that the old inex
cusable hatred is dead in my soul. If ever the time arrives when
you shall say to yourself 'I forgive him' — "

"I could say it for myself. I could not say it — not yet — for the
regiment"

Stafford flung out his hand. "I, no more than you, foresaw that
ambush beyond the swamp ! I meant to procure what should seem
your disobedience to General Jackson's orders. I saw nothing else,
thought of nothing else — "

"If you had seen it— "

The silence held a moment; then said the other painfully, "Yes.
You are perhaps right. In what a gulf and hollow man's being is
rooted! ... I will not ask again for what I see would be difficult
for any man to give — Here is General Lee."

Cleave slept that night in the tent of Fauquier Gary. When, in
the dusk of the morning, reveille sounding clearly through the
woods by Rappahannock, he rose, and presently came out into the
autumn world, an orderly met him. "There's a negro and a horse
here, sir, asking for you. He says he comes from your county."

From under the misty trees, out upon the misty road before the
tent, came Tullius and Dundee. " Yaas, Marse Dick," said Tullius.
"Miss Margaret, she done sont us. She say she know all erbout hit,
en' that Three Oaks is er happy placet"

CHAPTER XX

CHICKAMAUGA

IT is said to be easy to defend a mountainous country," said
General Braxton Bragg, commanding the Army of Tennessee,
"but mountains hide your foe from you, while they are full of
gaps through which he can pounce upon you at any time. A moun
tain is like the wall of a house full of rat-holes. Who can tell what
lies hidden behind that wall ?','

The wall was the Cumberland Range. The several general officers,
riding with General Bragg, uttered a murmur, whether of agreement
or disagreement was not apparent.

General D. H. Hill, lately sent from Virginia to the support of
"the forces in Tennessee, made a sound too gruff for agreement. He
fell back a pace or two and drew up beside General Cleburne. " You
can know mountainous country, you know," he said. " It 's a matter
of learning, like everything else."

"True enough," agreed the other. "But there's precious few of
mankind with any talent for learning!"

The group sitting their horses in the scrub oak, in the September
sunshine, gazed in a momentary silence upon Pigeon Mountain and
Missionary Ridge and the towering Lookout Mountain. Bragg,
brave, able in his own way, but melancholy, depressed, ill in body
and mind, at war with himself and all his subordinates, sat staring.
Below him lay the slender valley of the Chickamauga. Clear, sinu
ous, the little stream ran between overbending shrubs and trees.
A vague purple mist hung over the valley and the tree-clad slopes
beyond. The knot of horsemen fell silent, there in the oak scrub,
looking at the folds of the Cumberland Range. Past them on the
Lafayette road marched endlessly the Army of Tennessee. Tanned
and gaunt, ragged and cheerful, moving out from Chattanooga, but
moving out, there was assurance, to give fight, by went the grey,
patient, hardy legions, corps of Hill, Polk, Buckner, and Walker,
divisions of Cheatham, Cleburne, Breckinridge, Liddell, Hindman,

226 CEASE FIRING

Bushrod Johnson, Preston, and Stewart. Colours, mounted officers,
grey foot soldiers and grey foot soldiers and grey foot soldiers, the
rumbling guns, old, courageous battalions, on they went, endlessly.
The dust rose and clothed them; the purple mountains made a
dreamy background. The party, sitting their horses on the scrub-
covered low hill, looked again westward.

Bragg spoke to one of his corps commanders, Leonidas Polk,
bishop and general. "Chickamauga! This was Cherokee country,
was n't it?"

"Yes, General. Cherokee Georgia. Chief Ross had his house
near here. ' Chickamauga ' means River of Death. For ages they
must have gone up and down, over these ridges and through these
vales, hunting and warring, camping and breaking camp —

" Killing and being killed. We've only changed the colour, not
the actuality. McLemore's Cove ! The scouts think that Rosecrans
is going to push a column across Missionary Ridge and occupy
McLemore's Cove. I think they are mistaken. They are often mis
taken."

" General Forrest— "

"He is near Ringgold, I suppose. General Forrest does not keep
me properly informed as to where he is — "

Cleburne came in with his rich Irish voice. "Well, that would
make quite a shower of notes, would n't it, sir ?"

"I have never had the pleasure of meeting General Forrest," said
D. H. Hill. "He must be a remarkable man."

"He is a military genius of the first order," said Cleburne.

Bragg continued to gaze upon the Chickamauga. "The three gaps
in Pigeon Mountain are Bluebird and Dug and Catlett's. We will
of course hold these, and if Crittenden or Thomas is really in Mc
Lemore's Cove, I will dispatch a force against them. General Long-
street's arrival cannot now be long delayed."

Longstreet, travelling from Louisa Court-House in Virginia by
Petersburg, Wilmington, Augusta, and Atlanta, because Burnside
held the shorter Knoxville route, had in all nine hundred miles to
traverse, and to serve him and his corps but one single-track, war
worn grey railroad of dejected behaviour. Lone and lorn as was the
railroad, it rose to the emergency and deserved the cheers with
which, after long days of companionship, Longstreet's troops finally

CHICKAMAUGA 227

quitted the rails. On the sixteenth the regiments of Hood began to
arrive at Dal ton. On this day also Rosecrans, a tenacious, able gen
eral, completed the drawing of his lines — eleven miles, northeast
to southwest — from Lee and Gordon's Mills on the east bank of
Chickamauga to Stevens's Gap in Lookout Mountain.

On the eighteenth, General Bragg, at Lafayette, issued the fol
lowing order: —

"i. Bushrod Johnson's column, on crossing at or near Reed's
Bridge will turn to the left by the most practical route, and sweep
up the Chickamauga toward Lee and Gordon's Mills.

"2. Walker, crossing at Alexander's Bridge, will unite in this
move, and push vigorously on the enemy's flank and rear in the
same direction.

"3. Buckner, crossing at Tedford's Ford, will join in the move
ment to the left, and press the enemy up the stream from Folk's
front at Lee and Gordon's.

"4. Polk will press his forces to the front of Lee and Gordon's
Mills, and if met by too much resistance to cross, will bear to the
right and cross at Dalton's Ford or at Tedford's, as may be neces
sary, and join the attack wherever the enemy may be.

"5. Hill will cover our left flank from an advance of the enemy
from the cove, and by pressing the cavalry on his front, ascertain
if the enemy is reinforcing at Lee and Gordon's Mills, in which event
he will attack them in flank.

"6. Wheeler's cavalry will hold the gaps in Pigeon Mountain,
and cover our rear and left and bring up stragglers.

"7. All teams, etc., not with the troops should go toward Ring-
gold and Dalton beyond Taylor's Ridge. All cooking should be
done at the trains. Rations when cooked will be forwarded to the
troops.

"8. The above movements will be executed with the utmost
promptness, vigour, and persistence."

"That's an excellent order," said D. H. Hill. "The only fault to
be found with it is that it's excellent-too-late. Some days ago was
the proper date. Then we could have dealt with them piecemeal;
now they're fifty thousand men behind breastworks."

228 CEASE FIRING

The aide wagged his head. " Even so, we can beat them, General."
D. H. Hill looked at him a little sardonically. " Of course, of course,
we can beat them ! But have you noticed how many men we lose
in beating them ? And have you any idea how we are to continue to
get men? It takes time to grow oaks and men. What the South
needs is some Cadmus to break the teeth out of skulls, sow them,
and raise overnight a crop of armed men ! There are plenty of skulls,
God knows ! We are seeing in our day a curious phenomenon. Armies
are growing younger. We are galloping toward the cradle. The V.
M. I. Cadets will be out presently, and then the nine- and ten-
year-olds. Of course the women might come on afterwards, though,
to tell the truth," said Hill, " they 've been in the field from the first."

"Here's General Forrest."

Forrest rode up. " General Hill, ain't it ? Good morning, sir.
I am going to fight my men dismounted. This is going to be an
infantry battle."

" I have heard, General," said Hill, " that you have never lost
a fight. How do you manage it ? "

" I git there first with the most men."
^ "You don't hold then with throwing in troops piecemeal?"

"No," said Forrest, with a kind of violence. "You kin play the
banjo all right with one finger after another, but in war I clutch with
the whole hand!"

He rode on, a strange figure, an uneducated countryman, behind
him no military training or influence, no West Point; a man of
violences and magnanimities, a big, smoky personality, here dark,
here clearly, broadly lighted. "He was born a soldier as men are
born poets." "Forrest!" said General Joseph E. Johnston long af
terwards. "Had Forrest had the advantage of a military education
and training, he would have been the great central figure of the war !"

The sun of the eighteenth of September sank behind the moun
tains. A cool night wind sprang up, sighing through the bronzing
wood and rippling the surface of the Chickamauga. Three brigades
of Hood's division, marching rapidly from Dalton, had come upon
the field; with them Hood himself, with his splendid personal reputa
tion, his blue eyes and yellow hair and headlong courage. He had
now his three brigades and three of Bushrod Johnson's. That church
man militant, Leonidas Polk, held the centre at Lee and Gordon's

CHICKAMAUGA 229

Mills, and D. H. Hill the left. Joseph Wheeler and his cavalry
watched the left flank, Forrest and his cavalry the right.

The country was rough, the roads few and poor, the fords of the
Chickamauga in the same category. Dusk of the eighteenth found
Hood and Walker across the stream, but other divisions with the
fords yet to make. At dawn of the nineteenth, the Army of the Cum
berland began to put itself into position. In the faint light the out
posts of the blue caught sight of Buckner's division fording the
Chickamauga at Tedford's. In the mist and dimness they thought
they saw only a small detached grey force. Three brigades of Bran-
nan's division were at once put forward. In the first pink light Buck
ner's advanced brigade clashed with Croxton's. With a burst of
sound like an explosion in the dim wood began the battle of Chicka
mauga — one of the worst in history, twice bloodier than Wagram,
than Marengo, than Austerlitz, higher in its two days' fallen than
Sharpsburg, a terrible, piteous fight.

Forrest, on the right, was immediately engaged. "We've stirred
up a yaller-jacket's nest," he said, and sent to General Polk a re
quest for Armstrong's division of his own corps. The centre needing
cavalry, too, there was returned only DibbrelPs brigade. Dibbrell's
men were dismounted, and together with John Pegram's division —
also, in this battle, actingfoot soldiers — began a bloody, continued
struggle. The point of the blue wedge had been four infantry brig
ades and one of cavalry, but now the thickness was disclosed, and
it fairly proved to be Rosecrans in position. While the grey had
moved up the Chickamauga, that able blue strategist, under the
cover of night, had moved down the opposite bank. The grey
crossed — and found their right enveloped! The Fourteenth Army
Corps, George H. Thomas commanding, was here, and later there
were reinforcements from the Twenty-first, Crittenden's corps. The
storm, beginning with no great fury, promptly swelled until it at
tained the terrific. Forrest sent again for infantry support. None
came, the centre having its own anxieties. "If you want to git a
thing done, do it yourself," quoth Forrest, and rode up to John
Pegram. "We've got to have more fighters and I'm going to fetch
them. Hold your ground, General Pegram, I don't care what
happens!"

"All right, sir. Neither do I," said Pegram, and held it, with the

230 CEASE FIRING

loss of one fourth of his command. The pall of smoke settled, heavily,
heavily! The dismounted troops fought here in the open, here behind
piled brushwood and fallen logs, while the few grey batteries spoke
from every little point of vantage. From the woods in front leaped
the volleys of the blue, came whistling the horrible shells. The
brushwood was set afire, the cavalrymen moving from place to place.
They fought like Forrest's men. Rifle barrels grew too hot to touch;
all lips were blackened with cartridge powder. There was a certain
calmness in the face of storm, sotto wee remarks, now and then a
chuckling laugh. The finger of Death was forever pointing, but by
now the men were used to Death's attitudinizing. They took no
great account of the habitual gesture. When he came to sweep with
his whole arm, then of course you had to get out of his way! The hot
day mounted and the clangour of the right mounted. Back came
Forrest, riding hard, at his heels the infantry brigades of Wilson and
Walthall. A line of battle was formed; Wilson and Walthall, Dib-
brell and Pegram and Nathan Bedford Forrest advancing with a
yell, coming to close range, pouring volley after volley into the
dense, blue ranks. The dense, blue ranks answered; Death howled
through the vale of Chickamauga. Wilson's men took a battery,
hard fought to the last. The grey brigade of Ector came up and
formed on Wilson's right. Fiercely attacked, Ector sent an aide to
Forrest. "General Forrest, General Ector is hard pressed and is
uneasy as to his right flank." Forrest nodded his head, his eyes on a
Federal battery spouting flame. "Tell General Ector not to bother
about his right flank! I'll take care of it." The aide went back, to
find Wilson's brigade, on Ector's left, in extremity. Ector sent him
again, and he found Forrest now in action, directing, urging his men
forward with a voice like a bull of Bashan's and with a great, war
like appearance. "General Forrest, General Ector says that his
left flank is now in danger!" Forrest turned, stamped his foot, and
shouted, "Tell General Ector that, by God! I am here, and I will
take care of his left flank and of his right flank!"

On went the grey charge, infantry and dismounted cavalry.
Yaaaaih ! Yaaaaihhh ! Yaaaaiiihhhh ! it yelled and tossed its col
ours. Back it pressed the blue, back, back! The first line went back,
the second line went back . . . and then was seen through rifts in
the smoke the great third line, breastworks in front.

CHICKAMAUGA 231

George Thomas was a fighter, too, and he flung forward Brannan
and Baird and Reynolds, with Palmer and VanCleve of Crittenden's
corps. Out of the smoky wood the blue burst with thunder, flanking
Wilson and opening a furious enfilading fire. It grew terrible, a
withering blast before which none could stand. Wilson was forced
back, the whole grey line was forced back. Forrest's guns were al
ways clean to the front. They must be gotten back — but so many
of the horses were dead or dying, and so many of the artillerymen.
Those left put strength to the pieces, got them off, got them back
through the brush in ways that could afterwards hardly be remem
bered. There was a piece entirely endangered — all the horses down
and most of the men. Forrest shouted to four of his mounted escort.
Cavalry dropped into the places of battery horses and drivers. In
a twinkling they were harnessed — off went cavalry with the gun
through the echoing wood, the smoke wreaths, and the shouting.
The grey went back not far: the blue but regained their first position.
It was high noon. Then entered the fight the divisions of Liddell and
Cheatham.

Liddell had two thousand men. Bursting through the under
growth they came into hot touch with Baird's re-forming lines.
They broke the brigades of King and Scribner; they took two bat
teries; yelling, they pursued their victory. The smoke lifted. The
two thousand were in the concave of a blue sickle, their line over
lapped, right and left — Brannan's men now and R. W. Johnson, of
McCook's corps. Liddell, wheeling to the right, beat from that
deadly hollow a justifiable retreat.

Cheatham came over a low hill with five brigades. It was a vet
eran division, predestined to grim fighting. Down on the Alexander
Bridge road he formed his line, then, as Walker's commands were
pressed back, as the hurrahing blue columns swept forward, he
entered the battle with the precision of a stone from David's sling.
The blue wavered, broke! In rushed Cheatham's thousands, driving
the foe, fiercely driving him. The foe withdrew behind his breast
works, and from that shelter turned against the grey a concentrated
fire of musketry and artillery. The grey stood and answered with
fury. The ground was all covered with felled trees, piles of brush
wood, timber shaken down like jackstraws. No alignment could be
kept ; the men fired in groups or as single marksmen. As such they

CEASE FIRING

strove to advance, as such they were mowed down. The blue began
to hurrah. Palmer of Crittenden's corps came swinging in with a
flanking movement.

But Palmer's hurrahing lines were checked, as had been Bran-
nan's and Johnson's. In through the woods, now all afire, came A.
P. Stewart's division of Buckner's corps. Alabama and Tennessee,
three thousand muskets, it struck Palmer's line and forced it aside.
Van Cleve came to help, but Van Cleve gave way, too, pressed by
the grey across the vast, smoke-filled stage to the ridge crowned by
earthworks that like a drop-scene closed the back. The roar of battle
filled all space; officers could not be heard, nor, in the universal
smoke, could waved sword or hat be seen. Off to the right, Forrest's
bugles were ringing. Now and then drums were beaten, but this
noise seemed no louder than woodpeckers tapping, lost in the crash
of the volleys. Alabama and Tennessee pressed on. It was half
past two o'clock.

Hood had three brigades of his own division and three of Bushrod
Johnson's, and now, from the Lee and Gordon's Mills road, Hood,
unleashed at last, entered the battle. Into it, yelling and firing,
double-quicked his tall grey lines. He came with the force of a
catapult. Yaaaih ! Yaaaiiiihhh ! yelled Tennessee, North Carolina,
Arkansas, and Texas. They struck the Chattanooga road and drove
the blue along it, toward the westering sun. Up at a double swung
the fresh blue troops of Negley and Wood, Davis and Sheridan.
In the descending day they pushed the grey again to the eastward
of the contested road.

At sunset in came Patrick Cleburne, general beloved, marching
with his division over wildly obstructed roads from Hill on the
extreme right. But it was late and the dark and smoky day was
closing down. Night came, filled with the smell and taste of burned
powder and of the wood smoke from all the forest afire. The firing
became desultory, died away, save for now and then a sound of
skirmishers. The two armies, Army of Tennessee, Army of Cumber
land, rested.

They rested from strife, but not from preparation for strife. The
two giants, the blue and the grey, were weary enough, but between
Chickamauga and the slopes of Missionary Ridge they did small
sleeping that Saturday night, the nineteenth of September, 1863.

CHICKAMAUGA 233

All night rang the axes. " Log- works," said the grey giant. "At
dawn, I am going to storm log- works." Fifty-seven thousand strong
was the blue giant and the grey about the same. "To-morrow's
fight," said both, "is going to lay over to-day's." "Where," said,
in addition, the grey — "where is General Longstreet ?"

The soldiers who might sleep, slept on their arms, under a sulphur
ous canopy. All the forest hereabouts was thick with brushwood
and summer-parched. It burned in a hundred places. The details,
gathering the wounded, carried torches. It was lurid enough, all the
far-flung field. There were very many wounded, many dead. Blue
and grey alike heard the groaning of their fallen. Ahh ! ahhhf
groaned the forest. And the word that was always heard, as soon as
the guns were silent, was heard now, steady as cicadas in a grove.
Water/ Water! Water! Water! Water! There was a moon, but not
plainly seen because of the gauze that was over the earth. A chill
and restless night it was, filled with comings and goings, and move
ments of large bodies of troops.

Just before midnight Longstreet appeared in person. The weary
grey railroad had brought him, in the afternoon, to Catoosa plat
form, near Ringgold. With two aides he took horse at once and
pushed out toward the field of action. But the woods were thick and
the roads an unmarked tangle. He came at last upon the field and
met General Bragg at midnight. Behind him, yet upon the road,
were three brigades of Hood's division and Kershaw's and Hum
phrey's, of McLaws's.

There was a council of war. It was understood, it was in the air,
that the past day had been but a prelude. Now Bragg announced
to his officers a change of plan. The Army of Tennessee was divided
into two wings. The right was composed of Walker's and Hill's
corps, Cheatham's division, and the cavalry of Forrest. Leonidas
Polk commanded here. The left was formed by Hood's and Buck-
ner's corps, the division of Hindman, and Joe Wheeler's cavalry,
and Longstreet commanded this wing.

"And the plan of attack ?"

"As it was to-day. Successive pushes from right to left. The
attack to begin at daylight."

But daylight was not far away, and the movements to be made
were many. The sun was above the tree- tops when Breckinridge

234 CEASE FIRING

advanced upon the Chattanooga road and opened the battle of the
twentieth. " Sunday," said the men. " Going to church — going to
church — going to a little mountain church ! Going to be singing —
Minie singing. Going to be preaching — big gun preaching. We 've
got what the General calls a ponshon for Sunday service. . . . Lot
of dead people in this wood. Have n't you ever noticed how much
worse a half-burned cabin looks than one burned right down ? That
one over there — it looks as if home was still a-lingering around.
Go 'way! it does! You boys haven't got no imagination. — No
imagination — no imagination — No shoes and pretty nearly no
breakfast. ... I wish this here dust was imagination —

"The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home;

'T is summer, the darkies are gay,
The corn-top 's ripe and the meadow 's in the bloom,
While the birds make music all the day."

"Birds all fly away from battle-fields" — "Not when there are
nestlings ! Saw a tree set on fire by hot shot from Yankee gunboat on
the Tennessee. Marched by it when it was jest a pillar of flame, and,
by gum ! there was a mocking-bird dead on her nest, with her wings
spread out over the little birds. All of them dead. ... It made
you wonder. And, by gum! the captain, when he saw it — the cap
tain saluted!"

"The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,

All merry, all happy and bright;
By V by hard times comes a-knocking at the door,
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!"

"Whew! That's a pretty line of breastworks over there before
Helm's brigade! Reckon that's what Billy Yank was building all
night long! — Helm's going forward — " Kentuckians ! Charge
bayonets I Double-quick f

Helm was killed, heroically leading his brigade. The colonel of
the Second Kentucky was killed, the colonel of the Ninth badly
wounded. The Ninth lost a third of its number. "I went into the
fight," says the colonel of the Second, "with thirty officers and two
hundred and seventy- two men, and came out with ten officers and
one hundred and forty-six men. Both officers and men behaved gal
lantly." The colonel of the Fourth was badly wounded; the Sixth
had its losses ; the Forty-first Alabama went in with something over

CHICK AMAUGA 235

three hundred men, and lost in killed twenty-seven, in wounded, one
hundred and twenty. Three captains of the Second were killed at
the foot of the works, and the colour-sergeant, Robert Anderson,
having planted the flag a- top, died with his hands about the staff.
Adams's Louisiana brigade came to the help of Helm. Adams,
severely wounded, was taken prisoner. The combat raged, bitter
and bloody. There was a long, long line of well-erected breastworks,
with a shorter line at right angles. The divisions of Thomas fought
grimly, heroically; the brigades of Breckinridge went to the assault
as heroically. Nowadays no Confederate brigade, no Confederate
regiment, had full complement of muskets. They were skeleton
organizations, gaunt as their units, but declining to merge because
each would keep its old, heroic name. Spare as they were, they
threw themselves, yelling, against the log- works. Breckinridge was
tall and straight and filled with fiery courage. Vice-President, on a
time, of the United States, now grey general on the chessboard, he
showed here, as there, a brilliant, commanding personality. His
men, proud of him, fought with his own high ardour. The withering
blast came against them; they shouted and tossed it back. Now
there came also against the breastworks the division of Cleburne.
Patrick Romayne Cleburne, — thirty-six years old, but with
greying hair above his steel-grey eyes, Irishman of the county of
Cork, one time soldier in the English army, then lawyer in the city
of Helena and the State of Arkansas, then private in the Confederate
army, then captain, then colonel, then brigadier, and now major-
general, — Patrick Cleburne commanded a division that, also, had
its personality. The division's heart and his heart beat in unison.
"He was not only a commander, but a comrade fighting with his
men." Arkansas, Tennessee, Texas, Alabama, Mississippi, and the
Irish regiment adored Cleburne, and Cleburne returned their love.
"To my noble division," he wrote to a lady, "and not to myself,
belong the praises for the deeds of gallantry you mention." Cle-
burne's division had its own flags, and on each was worked a device
of "crossed cannon inverted," and the name of the battle-fields over
which it had been carried. "Prior to the battle of Shiloh," says
General Hardee, " a blue battle-flag had been adopted by me for this
division, and when the Confederate battle-flag became the national
colours, Cleburne's division, at its urgent request, was allowed to

236 CEASE FIRING

retain its own bullet-ridden battle-flags. . . . Friends and foes soon
learned to watch the course of the blue flag that marked where Cle-
burne was in the battle. Where this division defended, no odds
broke its lines where it attacked, no numbers resisted its onslaught —
save only once — and there is the grave of Cleburne and his heroic
division." Now at Chickamauga, Cleburne and forty-four hundred
bayonets swung into battle to the support of Breckinridge. Before
Cleburne, also, at short range, were breastworks, and now from these
there burst a tempest of grape and canister, with an undersong of
musketry. It was a fire that mowed like a scythe. Wood's brigade
had to cross an old field bordering the Chattanooga road, an old field
marked by a burning house. Crossing, there burst against it, from
hidden batteries to right and left, a blast as from a furnace seven
times heated. Five hundred men fell here, killed and wounded. On
the left Lucius Folk's brigade came against breastworks cresting a
hill covered with scrub oak. Blue and grey engaged with fury. Down
poured the blast from the ridge, canister and grape and musketry.
Lucius Folk's men lay down behind the crest of a lower ridge, and
kept up the fight, losing in no great time three hundred and fifty
officers and men. Deshler's brigade moved forward. A shell came
shrieking, struck Deshler in the breast, and killed him. Cleburne
shook his head. "Too much loss of good life!" — and withdraw
ing the division four hundred yards, took up a strong defensive
position.

Breckinridge and Cleburne, there was loss of life enough. What
was gained was this: Thomas called for reinforcements, and Rose-
crans, to strengthen his left, began to weaken his right. To the aid
of Baird and Johnson, Palmer and Reynolds behind the breast
works, came first a brigade of Negley's division, then regiments
from Palmer's reserve, and then from the left troops of McCook
and Sheridan.

The divisions of Gist and Liddell, Walker's corps, moved to the
aid of Breckinridge, Gist throwing himself with fury against the
works before which Helm had fallen. It was eleven o'clock. Bragg
ordered in Stewart's division. The three brigades — Clayton,
Brown, and Bate — charged under a deadly fire, " the most terrible
fire it has ever been my fortune to witness." Brown's men, exposed
to an enfilade, broke, but Clayton and Bate rushed on past the clear-

CHICKAMAUGA 237

ing, past the burning house, past the Chattanooga road. They drove
the blue within entrenchments, they took a battery and many
prisoners. Thomas sent again to Rosecrans, and Rosecrans further
weakened his right. His adjutant forwarded an order to McCook.
The left must be supported at all hazards, "even if the right is
drawn wholly to the present left." After Van Cleve had been sent,
and Sheridan and Negley, there came yet another message that the
left was heavily pressed. The aide bringing it stated that Brannan
was out of line and Reynolds's right exposed. Rosecrans sent an
order to Wood, commanding a division —

"The general commanding directs that you close up on Reynolds
as fast as possible and support him"

It was the fatal, the pivotal order. Wood moved — and left a
great opening in the blue line of battle. Toward the filling of this
gap there moved with precision two brigades of Sheridan's. But
some one else moved first, with a masterful change of plan, made
with the swiftness of that glint of Opportunity's eye.

Longstreet had made a column of attack, three lines, eight brig
ades. Long, grey, magnificent, these moved forward, steady as
steel, eyes just narrowed in the face of the hurricane of shot and shell.
"Old Pete," "the old war horse," rode with them, massively direct
ing. The smoke was drifting, drifting over the field of Chickamauga,
over the River of Death and the slopes of Missionary Ridge. Under
foot was dust and charred herbage and the dead and the wounded.
On the right the roar of the fight never ceased — Forrest, Breckin-
ridge, Cleburne, Walker, Stewart, and George Thomas behind his
breastworks.

Longstreet with his eight brigades, swinging toward the right,
saw, through a rift in the smoke, the movement of Wood and the
gap which now, suddenly, was made between the Federal right and
left. A kind of slow light came into Longstreet's face. "By the right
flank, wheel! — Double-quick I — Forward! Charge ! "

Hood was leading. His line struck like a thunderbolt the foe in
reverse, struck McCook's unprepared brigades. There sprang and
swelled an uproar that overcrowed all the din to the right. McCook
broke, the grey drove on. They yelled. Yaaaihl Yaaaihhh!
Yaaaaihh ! yelled the grey. Hood rose in his stirrups and shouted
an order to Bushrod Johnson. " Go ahead, and keep ahead of every-

238 CEASE FIRING

thing!" Aminieball shattered his thigh. He sank from his horse;
Law took command ; on swept the great charge. Brigades of Mani-
gault and Deas, McNair, Gregg, Johnson, Law, Humphrey, Ben-
ning, with Patton Anderson, of Hindman's division, they burst
from the forest into open fields running through smoky sunshine
backward and upward to ridges crowned by Federal batteries. All
these broke into thunder, loud and fast, but the blue infantry,
surprised, broken, streamed across the fields in disorder. Behind
them came the vehement charge, long, triumphant, furious, with
blare and dust and smoke and thunder, with slanted colours, with
neighing chargers, with burning eyes and lifted voices. All the elan
of the South was here. Brigade by brigade, Longstreet burst from
the forest. Yelling, this charge drove the blue from their breast
works, took the house that was their headquarters, took twenty-
seven pieces of artillery, and more than a thousand prisoners, laid
hand upon hospitals and ordnance trains, slew and wounded and
bore the blue back, back ! McCook suffered heavily, oh, heavily! "I
have never," says D. H. Hill, — "I have never seen the Federal
dead lie so thickly on the ground save in front of the sunken wall at
Fredericksburg."

There was a line of heights behind the Vidito house, beyond the
Crawfish Spring road. Thomas seized these, and here the blue rallied
and turned for a yet more desperate struggle. It came. Hindman
and Bushrod Johnson proposed to take those heights by assault.
They took them, but at a cost, at a cost, at a cost! When they
won to the Vidito house, the women of the family left whatever
hiding-place from the shells they had contrived, and ran, careless of
the whistling death in the air, out before the house. They laughed,
they wept, they welcomed. "God bless you! God bless you! It's
going to be a victory! It's going to be a victory! God bless you!"
The grey, storming on, waved hat and cheered. "It's going to be
a victory! It's going to be a victory! God bless you!"

Up on the sides of the ridge it came to hand-to-hand fighting, a
dreadful, prolonged struggle, men clubbing men with muskets,
men piercing men's breasts with bayonets, men's faces scorched, so
near were they to the iron, flaming muzzles! Over all roared the
guns, settled the smoke; underfoot the earth grew blood-soaked.
Inch by inch the grey fought their way; inch by inch the blue gave

CHICK AMAUGA 239

back, driven up the long slope to the very crest of the ridge. The
sun was low in the heavens.

On Horseshoe Ridge the fight grew fell. And now came to the
aid of the right wing, came in long, resistless combers, the brigades
of Hill. They came through the woods afire, over the clearings
sown with dead and wounded, up the slope of Horseshoe. Once
more the summit flamed and thundered — then the blue summit
turned grey. Over the crest, down the northern slope of the ridge
swept the united wings, right wing and left wing. They made a
thresher's fan; before it the blue fell away, passed from the slope
into deep hollows of the approaching night. Right wing and left
wing shouted; they shouted until Lookout Mountain, dark against
the sunset sky, might have heard their shouting.

On the field of Chickamauga, by the River of Death, thirty thou
sand men lay dead or wounded, or were prisoners or missing. If
there were Indian spirits in these woods they might have said in
council that September night: "How fierce and fell and bloody-
minded is this white man who wars where once we warred! Look
at the long files of his ghost, rising like mist from Chickamauga,
passing like thin smoke across the moon!"

CHAPTER XXI

MISSIONARY RIDGE

A, day the twenty-first the shattered blue army lay in posi
tion at Rossville, five miles away. But Bragg, his army
likewise shattered and exhausted, his ammunition failing,
did not attack. At night Rosecrans withdrew to Chattanooga, en
trenching himself there. On the twenty-second, Bragg followed, and
took up position on Missionary Ridge and along the lower slopes
of Lookout. The blue base of supplies was at Stevenson, in Ala
bama, forty miles away. Cut the road to this place and Rosecrans
might be compelled to evacuate Chattanooga.

Bragg sent Law's brigade to hold the Jasper road. Wheeler, too,
in a raid, wrought mischief to the blue. To the latter the possession
of the Tennessee River and the building of a bridge became of
supreme importance. Down the stream Rosecrans sent fifteen hun
dred men and a flotilla of pontoons, while a land force marched to
guard them. Before the grey could gather to the attack the bridge
was built. A day or two later came to the aid of the blue "Fighting
Joe" Hooker and two corps of the Army of the Potomac. On the
twenty-second of October, Grant arrived in Chattanooga and super
seded Rosecrans.

There occurred the night battle of Wauhatchie, — four brigades
of Hood's attacking Geary 's division of the Twelfth Corps, — a
short, hard fight, where each side lost five hundred men and nothing
gained. But now to the South to lose five hundred men was to lose
five hundred drops of heart's blood, impossible of replacement.
Men now in the South were worth their weight in gold.

There came to the grey camps news that Sherman, with a con
siderable force, was on the road from Memphis. Hooker, with the
Eleventh and Twelfth Corps, was here. Grant was here. From the
Knoxville side Burnside threatened. Action became imperative.

Bragg acted, but not, perhaps, with wisdom. On the fourth of
November, Longstreet's corps and Wheeler's cavalry found them-

MISSIONARY RIDGE 241

selves under orders for Knoxville. Longstreet remonstrated, but
orders were orders. Grey First Corps, grey cavalry marched away,
marched away. The weakened force before Chattanooga looked
dubious, shook its head. Later, Bragg detached two other brigades
from the thin grey lines and sent them after Longstreet on the Knox
ville campaign. Burnside was to be fought there, and here were only
Hooker, Grant, and Sherman!

Ten thousand infantry and artillery, five thousand horse, marched
away. The loss at Chickamauga had been perhaps sixteen thousand.
What remained of the Army of Tennessee had to hold an eight-mile
line. It was a convex; right and left in hollow ground, the centre on
the flank of Lookout Mountain and the crest of Missionary Ridge.
On the twenty-second, Grant began under cover certain operations.

In this region the weather is mild, even on the twenty-fourth of
November. A crimson yet burned in the oak leaves, and the air,
though mist-laden, was not cold. Grey cliffs form a palisade on
Lookout Mountain. Above is the scarped mountain-top, below, long
wooded slopes sinking steeply to the levels through which bends and
bends again the Tennessee. One grey brigade — Walthall's Miss
issippi brigade — was stationed on this shoulder of Lookout; below
it steep woods, above it the cliffs, with creepers here and there yet
scarlet-fingered. The day was tranquil, quiet, pearly grey, with fog
upon the mountain-head. From early morning the fog everywhere
had been very dense, so dense that men could not be distinguished
at a hundred yards. It was known that affairs were on the point of
moving. Walthall and his Mississippians were alert enough — and
yet the day and the woods and the whole far-flung earth were so
dreamy-calm, so misty-still, that any battle seemed impossible of
quick approach. There was the odour of wet earth and rotting leaves,
there was the dreamy, multitudinous forest stir, there was the vague
drifting mist — the soul was lulled as in a steady boat. Walthall's
men rested on the earth, by quiet little camp-fires. Their arms were
at hand, but it seemed not a day of fighting. The day was like a
grey nun. The men grew dreamy, too. They drawled their words.
"This air a fine view, when it's right clear," they said. "Yes. This
air a fine view. But when the Lord laid out the Tennessee River he
surely took the serpent for a pattern! He surely did. Never see
such a river for head and tail meeting — and I Ve seen a lot of rivers

242 CEASE FIRING

since Dan Tucker rang the court-house bell, and we all stood around
and heard Secession proclaimed. Yes, sir. I Ve seen a lot of rivers,
— big rivers and little rivers and middle-sized rivers, — but I never
see a river twisted like the Lord 's twisted the Tennessee!" — "I
wish," said a comrade, "that the Lord'd come along and put his
finger and thumb together and flip away those danged batteries over
there on Moccasin Point — jest flip them away same as you'd flip a
pig-nut. Kind of funny looking over there to-day anyhow! Ef I had
a glass — "

" Captain 's got a glass. He 's looking — "

"So much fog you can't see nothing. There's batteries on the
Ridge beyond Lookout Creek, too — "

"I kin usually feel it in my bones when we're going to have a
fight. Don't feel nothing to-day, but just kind of studious-like. The
world 's so awful quiet."

"Cleburne's men are away off there at Chickamauga Creek — "

"Most of the enemy's tents are gone," said the captain, "and
they have removed their pontoon bridges. When this fog lifts — "

Walthall came by, talking to his adjutant. "As far as you can
tell for the fog they are moving rapidly on the left. General Steven
son showed me an order from General Bragg. Stevenson has the
whole defence on this side of Chattanooga Creek."

"Do you think they will attack to-day?"

" Who can tell ? If this miserable fog would lift — "

Crack! crack! crack! crack! out of the woods to the westward
rang the muskets of the picket line. Instantaneously, from the
batteries on Moccasin [Point, from the batteries on the ridge over
the creek, sprang a leap of light that tore the fog. Followed thunder,
and the ploughing of shells into the earth of Lookout. The grey
brigade sprang to arms. In tumbled the pickets. "Yankees above
us—"

"Above — 1"

The Lookout cliffs were tall and grey. They crowned the moun
tain with an effect from below of robber castles. The November
woods were so sere and leafless that in clear weather, looking up the
long slopes, you would see with distinctness wall and bastion. To
day there was fog, fog torn by the crowding yellow flashes of many
rifles. The flashes came from the base of the cliffs. They came from

MISSIONARY RIDGE 243

blue troops, troops that had crept from the west, around the shoul
der of Lookout, along the base of the cliffs — troops that were many,
troops of Hooker's that had come up from the valley of Lookout
Creek, stealing up the mountain in silence and security, in the heavy
fog. Now they hurrahed and sprang down from among the cliffs.
Many and ready, they dropped as from the clouds; they took the
grey brigade in reverse. And with instantaneous thunder the bat
teries opened all along the front.

The blue — Geary's division — came over the shoulder of the
mountain in three lines. From time to time in the past weeks the
grey had constructed rude works of stones and felled wood. Now the
men fought from one to another of these ; withdrawn from one base
to a second, from a second to a third, they fought from facet to facet
of Lookout. The ground was intolerably rough, with boulder and
fallen timber and snares of leafless vines. Now the grey were upon a
slope where the casemented batteries of Moccasin Point had full
play. There was an old rifle-pit dug downward and across. It gave
the men passing over this shoulder a certain vague and ineffective
shelter. Walthall's men, forced from Lookout, came to Craven's
house, and here, in hollow ground, made a stand and sent for rein
forcements. Pettus's brigade appearing at last, the fight was re
newed. It waged hotly for a while, but the odds were great. The
November day spread its mists around. Mississippi and Alabama
fought well on Lookout; but there was somehow a sinking at the
heart, a dreary knowledge that Grant had perhaps a hundred thou
sand men and the Army of Tennessee a third of that number; that
General Bragg was a good man, but not a soldier like Lee or Jackson
or Johnston; that Longstreet should never have been detached;
that there was a coldness in this thickening fog; that the guns on
Moccasin Point were as venomous as its name; and that War was a
nightmare oftener than one would think. Two months had passed
since Chickamauga. That was a great battle, that was a great,
glorious, terrible, hot-blooded, crashing battle, with the woods ring
ing and the blue breaking before you! This was not that. Two
months of sickness, two months of hard picketing, two months of
small rations and difficult to get, two months of dissatisfaction with
the commanding genera] and his plan of campaign, of constant crit
icism, of soreness, of alternation between the fractious and the list-

244 CEASE FIRING

less, two months of fretting and waiting in an unhealthy season, in
an unhealthy situation, — the Army of Tennessee was in a conceiv
ing mood that differed palpably from the mood of Chickamauga! It
was ready for bogies, ready for — what? It did not know. At dusk
the command that had been posted on Lookout, pressed backward
and down throughout the foggy day, halted at the foot of the moun
tain, on the road leading outward and across a half-mile of valley to
Missionary Ridge. Here in darkness and discontent it waited until
midnight, when, under orders from Cheatham, it sank farther down
to McFarland's Spring. At dawn it was marched across the lowland
to Missionary Ridge, and was put into position on that solemn wave
of earth. It found here the other commands forming the Confeder
ate centre.

Patrick Cleburne, ordered with his division after Longstreet on the
Knoxville expedition, received at Chickamauga Station a telegram
from the general commanding. "We are heavily engaged. Move
up rapidly to these headquarters."

Cleburne moved. That night, the night of the twenty-third, he
spent immediately behind Missionary Ridge. With the first light he
began to construct defences. It was known now that in great force
Grant had crossed the Tennessee, both above and below Chicka
mauga. It was known that the great blue army, Grant with Sher
man and Hooker, had burst from Chattanooga like a stream in
freshet; the dark blue waves were seen wherever the fog parted.
They coloured all the lowland; they lifted themselves toward the
heights. Already the waves had taken Lookout; already they were
lapping against the foot of Missionary. Cleburne held the hollow
ground on the right of Missionary, near the tunnel of the East
Tennessee and Georgia Railroad. His orders were to hold this right
at all hazards. Cleburne obeyed. There was a detached ridge which
he wished to gain before the blue, now rapidly advancing, should
gain it. He sent Smith's Texas brigade, but the blue had greatly the
start. When the Texans reached the foot of the ridge, they were
fired upon from the top. Smith, turned by his right flank, climbed
Missionary Ridge and took position upon its crest.

Below, in the hollow ground stretching toward the Chickamauga,
Cleburne disposed the remainder of his troops. Hardee, experi
enced, able, stanch, came and approved. They burned a bridge

MISSIONARY RIDGE 245

across the Chickamauga. Dark was now at hand. The fog was
disappearing, but the flames from the burning bridge had a curious,
blurred, yellow, heatless effect. An aide came up with news.

"They've overrun Lookout, sir. Our men there have come over
to Missionary."

" What loss?"

"I don't know, sir. Some one said they came like driftwood. I
know that there's a flood gaining on us."

"Where there's a flood," said Cleburne, " thank the Saints,
there 's usually an Ark ! Set the axes to work, Major. We 're going
to run a breastwork along here."

There was that night an eclipse of the moon. The men who were
making the breastwork stopped their work when the blackness be
gan to steal across. They watched it with a curious look upon their
lifted faces. "That thar moon," said a man, — "that thar moon is
the Confederacy, and that thar thing that 's stealing across it —
that thar thing 's the End!"

"That ain't the kind of talk — "

"Yes, it is the kind of talk! When you've come to the End, I
want to know it. I ain't a-going to stop building breastworks and
I ain't a-going to stop biting cartridges, but I want to know it. I
want .to be able to point my finger and say, 'Thar's the End.'"

The black moved farther upon the silver shield. All the soldiers
rested on their axes and looked upon it. "When the Confederacy
ends I want to end, too, — right then and thar and hand in hand!
But the Confederacy ain't going to end. I reckon we've given it
enough blood to keep it going!"

But the first speaker remained a pessimist. "What we give our
blood to is the earth and the sea. We don't give no blood to the
Confederacy. The Confederacy ain't gaining blood; she's losing
blood — drop by drop out of every vein. She lost a deal at Chicka
mauga and she 's going to lose a deal — "

"The black is three quarters over. God! ain't it eerie?"

"The man that says the Confederacy is going to end is a damned
coward and traitor! That thing up there ain't nothing but a passing
shadow — "

Cleburne came by. "Too dark to dig, boys? Never mind!
There '11 be light enough by and by."

246 CEASE FIRING

The black veil drew across, then slowly passed. Cold and bright
the moon looked down. Cleburne's men built their breastwork,
then, straightening themselves, wiped with the back of their hands
the sweat from their brows. Their work had made them warm, but
now was felt the mortal chill of the hour before dawn. The woods
began to sigh. They made a mysterious, trembling sound beneath
the concave of the sky. The sky paled; on the east above the leaf
less trees came a wash of purple, desolate and withdrawn. The
November day broke slowly. There was a mist. It rose from the
streams, it hung upon bush and tree, it hid enemy from enemy, it
almost hid friend from friend.

With the light came skirmishing, and at sunrise the batteries
opened from the ridge the blue had seized. At ten o'clock there ar
rived the Federal advance upon this front. It came through the light
mist, in two long lines of battle. Its bands were playing. Davis's
division, three divisions of Sherman's, Eleventh Corps of the Army
of the Potomac, Sherman commanding all. There was a hill near the
tunnel, and Cleburne held this and the woodland rolling from the
right. He had guns in position above the tunnel gaping like a black
mouth in the hillside, gaping at the hurrahing rush of Sherman's
men.

All day on this right the conflict howled. Hardee and Hardee's
corps were cool and stanch; Cleburne was a trusted man, hilt and
blade. Sherman launched his thunderbolts, blue charge after blue
charge; " General Pat" flung them back. The sky was dark with
the leaden rain; the November woods rang; Tunnel Hill, Swett's
and Key's batteries, flamed through the murk; Texas and Arkansas,
Georgia and Tennessee, grappled with Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Ohio.
All day, to and fro, in the leafless woods, under the chill sky, over
a rugged ground, they swung and swayed. Now the blue seemed
uppermost, and now the grey, but at last the grey charged with
bayonets. After this the blue rested, a sullen sea, held back by
Tunnel Hill and all the grey-hued slopes around. The afternoon was
well advanced, the smoke-draped woods dim enough. Cleburne's
men smiled, nodding their heads. "That old eclipse wa'n't nothing!
This Confederacy 's immortal — Yes, she is ! She 's got a wreath of
immortelles. — I'm going to ask General Pat if she hasn't! You
artillerymen did first-rate, and we infantry did first-rate, and if the

MISSIONARY RIDGE 247

cavalry had n't been sent away I reckon they'd have done as well as
it lies in cavalry to do. — Now, if the centre and the left -

A courier came over stock and stone, pushing a foam-flecked
horse — " General Cleburne! — Order from General Hardee — "

Cleburne read: "General: Send at once all possible troops to support
centre. It 's much in danger"

Cleburne took Cummings and Maney and with them set face to
Missionary Ridge. A little way through the darkening wood and
a gasping aide met him — "From General Hardee, sirl They 've
pierced our centre. They 're on the Ridge — they 've overflowed
Missionary Ridge. We're all cut to pieces there — demoralized. —
General Hardee says, form a line so as to meet attack. Do the best
you can for the safety of the right wing —

Missionary Ridge rose two hundred feet. It rose steeply, with a
narrow plateau a- top. It was seamed with gullies, shaggy with woods.
In places, however, the wood had been cleared, leaving the stumps of
trees, gaunt, with sere, slippery grass between. At the foot of the
Ridge were grey works, and now, within the last twenty-four hours,
the grey had built other works along the crest. For lack of entrench-
ing-tools and of time, they were slight enough — a shallow ditch, a
slight breastwork, dark against a pallid sky. Here, at the top of
Missionary, and there at the foot, were gathered the Confederate
centre, together with the troops driven yesterday from Lookout.
Missionary Ridge was like a crag, rising from a blue, determined sea.

Officers looked at the lines. "What do you think of it ?"

"Bad."

"Even here at the top we don't command all approaches."

"No. Those ravines are natural covered ways. They can come
close and our guns never harm them."

"Do you understand this order ?"

"No. I don't— "

"'Brigades to divide. One half to defend the foot of Missionary,
one half to remain on crest. If the enemy attacks in force, fire once'
— that is, the force at the foot fire once — ' and retire to the works
above— ' H'mmm!"

This day was not the humid, languid, foggy day of yesterday. It
was cool and still, but the sun was out. The Confederate centre,
high on Missionary, saw to-day its foe.

248 CEASE FIRING

The foe was massing, massing, on level and rolling ground below.
In the amber air it could be plainly seen. It was in two vast lines of
battle, with large reserves in the background, and hovering skir
mishers before. The grey, watching, estimated its front, from wing to
wing, as two and a half miles. Being formed, it advanced a mile and
stood. Now it could be seen with extreme plainness, a blue sea just
below. It had, as always, many bands and much music. These
made the air throb. At intervals, like blossoms in a giant's garden,
swayed the flags. The crest of Missionary watched.

"They're the boys for an imposing advance!"

"How many d' ye suppose they've got ?"

"Don't know. Don't know about Ulysses. Xerxes had a million."

"Hope they're all there. Hope they are n't trying any flank and
rear foolishness."

"Hope not, but I would n't swear to it! I've got a distrust of
Grant — though it may not be well founded, as the storekeeper said
when the clerk and the till were found on the same train."

" Wish there was water up here on Sinai ! My mouth 's awful dry."

A man spat. " It 's curious how many this morning I 've heard say
their mouth was awful dry and they felt a little dizzy — "

"It's the altitude."

" Six hundred feet ? No. It 's something else. I don't know just
what it is— "

Voices died. There fell a quiet as before a thunderstorm, an
oppressive quiet. Missionary Ridge, its brows faintly drawn and
raised, looked forth upon the sea. The sea stood broodingly quiet,
without music now, the coloured blossoms still upon their stems. It
held and held, the quietude.

Far off a dozen cannon boomed — Sherman's sullen last attack
upon Cleburne. The grey ridge, the blue sea, bent heads to one
side, listening. The far-off iron voices ceased to speak. Silence fell
again. Up on Missionary a lieutenant drew his hand across his
forehead. When it fell again to the sword hilt the palm was wet with
sweat, the back was wet. The lieutenant was conscious of a slight
nausea. There was a drumming, too, in his ears. He took himself to
task. "This will never do," he said; "this will never do — " Sud
denly he thought, "The men are looking at me" — and stood up
very straight, smiling stiffly.

MISSIONARY RIDGE 249

Off on the horizon three cannon spoke, one after the other, with
the effect of a signal. The sound died into silence — there followed a
moment of held breath — the storm broke.

All the great blue guns — and they were many — opened upon
the grey centre. There burst a howling, a shrieking, a whistling of
artillery. The sky grew suddenly dark. From Missionary the grey
answered, but it was a far lesser storm that they could launch. So
much the lesser storm it was that it may be said that Missionary
early saw its fate, towering, resistless, close. The sea lifted itself,
moving forward like a spring tide while the cannon shook the firma
ment. It moved so close that the face of it was seen, it moved so
close that the eyes of it were seen. It came like the tide that drags
under the rocks.

Then was shown the fatalness of that order. All the grey troops
at the foot of Missionary fired with precision, one point-blank volley
in the face of the sea. // they advance in force, fire once and fall back —
// they advance in force, fire once and fall back.

Only officers, and not all the officers, knew that the order was of
hours' standing. As for the men, they only saw that after one volley
they were in retreat. The lines above only saw that after one volley
the lines below were in retreat. Over Missionary ran something
like the creeping of flesh at midnight when the nightmare is felt in
the room. The grey troops of the lower line began to climb. Before
them rose the scarped earth, boulder-strewn, seamed and scarred,
here with standing wood, here with crops of tree-stumps like dark
mushrooms. Behind them was the dark blue shouting sea, and all
the air was mere battle-smoke and thunder. The artillery echoed
frightfully. It was as though the mountains of the region were con
voluted walls of a vast shell. The vibrations were flung from one
wall to another; they never passed out of that wildly disturbed, hol
low chamber. So loud were the cracks of sound, so steady the hum
ming, that orders, right or wrong, that encouraging shouts of officers,
were not well heard. In the tormenting roar, with the knowledge
of the lost left, in ignorance of Cleburne's dogged stand on the right,
with a conception, like a darting spark in the brain, of the isolation
of Missionary, of fewness of numbers, of a lack here of leadership,
with a feeling of impotence, with a feeling of dread, the grey lower
lines began to climb Missionary to the upper lines. At first they

250 CEASE FIRING

went steadily, in fair order. . . . The surges of sound and light
filled the universe. A sudden message rocked through every brain.
They 're coming after us, over the breastworks ! Instantaneously the
waves of light passed into waves of darkness. With a shriek as of a
million minies came panic Fear.

On the slopes of Missionary there was now no order. It was
same qui pent. The blue tide overswept the breastworks and came
on, and the grey fled before it.

In this war it had come to the grey, as it had come to the blue, to
retreat, to retreat hastily and in confusion, to retreat disordered.
The grey, as the blue, had some acquaintance with Panic, had
occasionally met her in the road. But to-day Panic meant not to
stop at a bowing acquaintance. She aimed at a closer union and she
attained her end. Each man there felt her bony clutch upon his
throat and her arms like a Nessus shirt about his body. . . .

Up — up — up ! and the dark tree-stumps got always in the way.
Men stumbled and fell ; rose and went blindly on again — save those
whom the black hail from the guns had cut down forever. These
lay stark or writhing among the stumps. Their pale fellows went by
them, gasping, fleet-footed. Up — up — up !

The troops upon the crest, white-faced, tight-lipped, at last re
ceived the lower line, staggering figures rising through the murk.
Officers were here, officers were there, hoarse-voiced, beseeching.
There came at the top a wraithlike order out of chaos; there was
achieved a skeleton formation. But many of the men had rushed
below the Ridge, stumbling down into the protecting forest, their
hands to their heads. Others fell upon the earth and vomited. Many
were wounded, and now, memory returning where they lay sunk
together on the level ground, they began to cry out. All were as
ghastly pale as bronze could turn, from all streamed the sweat.
When they staggered into line, as many, Panic to the contrary,
did stagger, their hands shook like leaves in storm. For minutes
they could not duly handle their pieces. To the line a-top of Mis
sionary, the line looking down upon the mounting tide, they were
as an infectious disease. It was horrible to see Terror and the
effect of Terror; it was horrible to feel finger-tips brushing the
throat.

In the mean time the tide mounted. It had no orders to mount.

MISSIONARY RIDGE 251

It was expected, when the lower line was taken, that it would wait
for some next indicated move. But always the higher grey line was
raining fire upon it, the grey batteries were spouting death. It be
came manifest that the road of safety was up Missionary. On its
top grew the nettle Danger from which only might be plucked the
flower Safety. The blue kept on because that was the best thing and
only thing to do. Moreover, they soon found that the gullies and
miniature ridges of Missionary afforded protection. The whole vast
wave divided into six parties of attack, and so came up the face of
Missionary.

"Who," asked Grant from the eminence where he stood, -
"who ordered those men up the hill ?"

He spoke curtly, anger in his voice. " Some one will suffer for it,"
he said, "if it turns out badly."

But, for the blue, it did not turn out badly. . . .

When the thunder and shouting was all over, when the short
desperate melee was ended, when the guns were silenced and taken,
when the blue wave had triumphed on the height of Missionary,
and the grey had fallen backward and down, when the pursuit was
checked, when the broken grey army rested in the November forest,
when the day closed sombrely with one red gleam in the west, three
soldiers, having scraped together dead leaves and twigs and lit a
fire, nodded at one another across the blaze.

"Didn't I tell you," said one, "that that thar moon was the
Confederacy and that that thar thing stealing across it was the
End?"

"And didn't I tell you," said the second, "that thar don't
nothing end ? Ef a thing has been, it Is."

"Well, I reckon you'll allow," spoke the third, "that we've had
an awful defeat this day ? "

"A lot of wise men," said the second, "have lived on this here
earth, but the man that's wise enough to tell what's defeat and
what is n't has n't yet appeared. However, I '11 allow that it looks
like defeat."

"Wouldn't you call it defeat if every army of us surrendered,
and they took down the Stars and Bars from over the Capitol at
Richmond?"

"Well, that depends," said the second. "Got any tobacco ?"

252 CEASE FIRING

That same night Bragg crossed the Chickamauga, burning the
bridges behind him. The Army of Tennessee fell back to Ringgold,
then to Dal ton. While at this place, Bragg, at his own request, was
relieved from command. The Army of Tennessee came into the
hands of Joseph E. Johnston.

CHAPTER XXII

DALTON

ON the twelfth of March, 1864, Ulysses S. Grant was placed
in command of all the Federal armies, and on the twenty-
sixth joined the army in Virginia. He says : —

"When I assumed command of all the armies, the situation was
about this: the Mississippi was guarded from St. Louis to its mouth;
the line of the Arkansas was held, thus giving us all the Northwest
north of that river. A few points in Louisiana, not remote from the
river, were held by the Federal troops, as was also the mouth of the
Rio Grande. East of the Mississippi we held substantially all north
of the Memphis and Charleston railroad as far east as Chattanooga,
thence along the line of the Tennessee and Holston Rivers, taking in
nearly all of the State of Tennessee. West Virginia was in our hands,
and also that part of old Virginia north of the Rapidan and east of
the Blue Ridge. On the seacoast we had Fort Monroe and Norfolk,
in Virginia; Plymouth, Washington, and New Berne, in North
Carolina; Beaufort, Folly and Morris Islands, Hilton Head and
Port Royal, in South Carolina, and Fort Pulaski, in Georgia; Fer-
nandina, St. Augustine, Key West, and Pensacola, in Florida. The
remainder of the Southern territory, an empire in extent, was still in
the hands of the enemy.

" Sherman, who had succeeded me in the command of the Mil
itary Division of the Mississippi, commanded all the troops in the
territory west of the Alleghanies and north of Natchez, with a large
movable force about Chattanooga. ... In the East, the opposing
forces stood in substantially the same relations toward each other as
three years before or when the war began; they were" both between
the Federal and Confederate capitals. . . . My general plan now
was to concentrate all the force possible against the Confederate
armies in the field. There were but two such . . . east of the
Mississippi River and facing north ; the Army of Northern Virginia,
General Robert E. Lee commanding, was on the south bank of

254 CEASE FIRING

the Rapidan, confronting the Army of the Potomac; the second,
under General Joseph E. Johnston, was at Dalton, Georgia, opposed
to Sherman, who was still at Chattanooga. Besides these main arm
ies the Confederates had to guard the Shenandoah Valley — a great
storehouse to feed their armies from — and their line of communi
cations from Richmond to Tennessee. Forrest, a brave and intrepid
cavalry general, was in the West with a large force, making a larger
command necessary to hold what we had gained in Middle and
West Tennessee. ... I arranged for a simultaneous movement, all
along the line."

"On the historic fourth day of May, 1864," says General William
T. Sherman, "the Confederate army at my front lay at Dalton,
Georgia, composed, according to the best authority, of about forty-
five thousand men, commanded by Joseph E. Johnston, who was
equal in all the elements of generalship to Lee, and who was under
instructions from the war powers in Richmond to assume the offen
sive northward as far as Nashville. But he soon discovered that he
would have to conduct a defensive campaign. Coincident with the
movement of the Army of the Potomac, as announced by telegraph,
I advanced from our base at Chattanooga with the Army of the
Ohio, 13,559 men; the Army of the Cumberland, 60,773; and tne
Army of the Tennessee, 24,465 — grand total, 98,797 men and 254
guns."

Johnston took command at Dalton in December and spent the
winter bringing back efficiency to the shaken Army of Tennessee.
In his account of the following campaign, he says: "An active
campaign of six months, half of it in the rugged region between
Chattanooga and Dalton, had so much reduced the condition of the
horses of the cavalry and artillery, as well as of the mules of the
wagon-trains, that most of them were unfit for active service. . . .
In the course of an inspection, and as soon as practicable, I found
the condition of the army much less satisfactory than it had ap
peared to the President on the twenty-third of December. There
was a great deficiency of blankets ; and it was painful to see the num
ber of bare feet in every regiment. . . . There was a deficiency in the
infantry, of six thousand small arms. . . . The time of winter was
employed mainly in improving the discipline and instruction of the
troops and in attention to their comfort. Before the end of April

D ALTON 255

more than five thousand absentees had been brought back to their
regiments. Military operations were confined generally to skir
mishing between little scouting parties of cavalry of our army with
pickets of the other. . . . The effective strength of the Army of
Tennessee, as shown by the return of May first, 1864, was 37,652
infantry; 2812 artillery, and 2392 cavalry. ... On the fifth, the
Confederate troops were formed to receive the enemy. . . . My
own operations, then and subsequently, were determined by the
relative forces of the armies, and a higher estimate of the Northern
soldiers than our Southern editors and politicians, or even the Ad
ministration, seemed to entertain. This opinion had been formed in
much service with them against Indians, and four or five battles in
Mexico — such actions, at least, as were then called battles. Observ
ation of almost twenty years of service of this sort had impressed
on my mind the belief that the soldiers of the Regular Army of the
United States were equal in fighting qualities to any that had been
found in the wars of Great Britain and France. General Sherman's
troops, with whom we were contending, had received a longer train
ing in war. than any of those with whom I had served in former times.
It was not to be supposed that such troops, under a sagacious and
resolute leader, and covered by entrenchments, were to be beaten by
greatly inferior numbers. I therefore thought it our policy to stand
on the defensive, to spare the blood of our soldiers by fighting under
cover habitually, and to attack only when bad position or division
of the enemy's forces might give us advantages counterbalancing
that of superior numbers. So we held every position occupied until
our communications were strongly threatened; then fell back only
far enough to secure them, watching for opportunities to attack,
keeping near enough to the Federal army to assure the Confederate
Administration that Sherman could not send reinforcements to
Grant, and hoping to reduce the odds against us by partial engage
ments." And later, of the situation in July before Atlanta: "The
troops themselves, who had been seventy-four days in the immediate
presence of the enemy, labouring and fighting daily, enduring toil
and encountering danger with equal cheerfulness, more confident
and high-spirited even than when the Federal army presented itself
before them at Dal ton, and though I say it, full of devotion to him
who had commanded them, and belief of ultimate success in the

256 CEASE FIRING

campaign, were then inferior to none who ever served the Con
federacy or fought on this continent."

And again, toward the elucidation of this campaign, General
Sherman speaks: "I had no purpose to attack Johnston's position
at Dalton in front, but marched from Chattanooga to feign at his
front and to make a lodgment in Resaca, eighteen miles to 'his rear,
on his line of communication and supply. This movement was
partly but not wholly successful ; but it compelled Johnston to let go
at Dalton and fight us at Resaca, where, May thirteenth to six
teenth, our loss was 2747 and his 2800. I fought offensively and he
defensively, aided by earth parapets. He fell back to Calhoun,
Adairsville, and Cassville. ... I resolved to push on toward
Atlanta by way of Dallas. Johnston quickly detected this, and
forced me to fight him, May twenty-fifth to twenty-eighth, at New
Hope Church, four miles north of Dallas. . . . The country was
almost in a state of nature — with few or no roads, nothing that
an European could understand. . . . He fell back to his position
at Marietta, with Brush Mountain on his right, Kenesaw his centre,
and Lost Mountain his left. His line of ten miles was too long for
his numbers, and he soon let go his flanks and concentrated on
Kenesaw. We closed down in battle array, repaired the railroad
up to our very camps, and then prepared for the contest. Not a
day, not an hour, not a minute, was there a cessation of fire. Our
skirmishers were in absolute contact, the lines of battle and the
batteries but little in rear of the skirmishers, and thus matters
continued until June twenty-seventh, when I ordered a general
assault . . . but we failed, losing 3000 men to the Confederate loss
of 630. Still the result was that within three days Johnston aban
doned the strongest possible position and was in full retreat for the
Chattahoochee River. We were on his heels; skirmished with his
rear at Smyrna Church on the fourth day of July, and saw him
fairly across the Chattahoochee on the tenth, covered and protected
by the best line of field entrenchments I have ever seen, prepared
long in advance. No officer or soldier who ever served under me
will question the generalship of Joseph E. Johnston. . . . We had
advanced into the enemy's country one hundred and twenty miles,
with a single-track railroad, which had to bring clothing, food,
ammunition, everything requisite for 100,000 men and 23,000 ani-

DALTON 257

mals. The city of Atlanta, the gate city opening the interior of the
important State of Georgia, was in sight; its protecting army was
shaken but not defeated, and onward we had to go. ... We
feigned to the right, but crossed the Chattahoochee by the left,
and soon confronted our enemy behind his first line of entrench
ments at Peach Tree Creek, prepared in advance for this very occa
sion. At this critical moment the Confederate Government ren
dered us most valuable service. Being dissatisfied with the Fabian
policy of General Johnston, it relieved him and General Hood was
substituted to command the Confederate army. Hood was known
to us to be a 'fighter.' . . . The character of a leader is a large fac
tor in the game of war, and I confess I was pleased at this change."

But in the early Georgian spring, pale emeralds and the purple
mist of the Judas tree, July and that change were far away. The
Army of Tennessee, encamped in and around Dalton, only knew
that "Old Joe" was day by day putting iron in its veins and shoes
upon its feet; that the commissariat was steadily improving; that
the men's cheeks were filling out; that the horses were growing less
woe-begone; that camp was cheerful and clean, that officers were
affable, chaplains fatherly, and surgeons benevolent ; that the
bands had suddenly plucked up heart; that the drills, though long,
were not too long ; that if the morale of the Army of Tennessee had
been shaken at Missionary Ridge, it had now returned, and that
it felt like cheering and did cheer "Old Joe" whenever he appeared.
Men who had been wounded and were now well; men who had been
on furlough, men who had somehow been just "missing, "came in
steadily. Small detachments of troops appeared, also, arriving from
Canton, Mississippi, and from northern Alabama. The Army of
Tennessee grew to feel whole again — whole, bronzed, lean, deter
mined, and hopeful.

From northern Alabama came in March the th Virginia. For

the th Virginia there had been the siege of Vicksburg and the

surrender; then the long slow weeks at Enterprise, where the Vicks
burg men were reorganized; then service with Loring in northern
Mississippi; then duty in Alabama. Now in the soft spring weather
it came to Dalton and the Army of Tennessee.

The village was filled with soldiers. The surrounding valley was

258 CEASE FIRING

filled with soldiers. From the valley, rude hills, only partially
cleared, ran back to unbroken woods. There was Crow Valley and
Sugar Valley, Rocky Face Mountain, Buzzard Roost and Mill
Creek Gap, and many another pioneer-named locality. And in all
directions there were camps of soldiers. Sometimes these boasted
tents, but oftenest they showed clusters or streets of rude, ingenious
huts, brown structures of bark and bough, above, between, and be
hind them foliage and bloom of the immemorial forest. Officers had
log cabins, very neatly kept, with curls of blue smoke coming out of
the mud chimneys. Headquarters was in the village, a white house
with double porch, before it headquarters flag, and always a trim
coming and going. At intervals the weary and worn engines, fed by
wood, rarely repaired, brought over an unmended road a train of
dilapidated cars and in them forage, munitions, handfuls of troops.
But in the increasing confidence at Dalton, in the general invigora-
tion and building-up, the tonic air, the running of the sap, the smil
ing of the world, even the East Tennessee, Virginia, and Georgia,
and the Western and Atlantic, roadbed and rolling-stock and force
of men, took on, as it were, an air of lively instead of grim deter
mination. Outside of the town was the parade ground. Drill and
music, music and drill, and once or twice a great review! Here came
Johnston himself, erect, military, grey-mustached, with a quiet ex
terior and an affectionate heart, able and proud. With him rode his
staff. Staff more than worshipped Johnston; it loved him. Here,
too, came the lieutenant- and major-generals — Hardee, one of the
best — and Hood the " fighter," well-liked by the President —
Patrick Cleburne and Cheatham and Stewart and Carter Stevenson
and Walker, and many another good leader and true. Here the
artillery, reorganized, was put through manoeuvres, and Joe Wheel
er's cavalry trotted across, and in the morning light the bugles
blew. It was a lovely Southern spring, with soft airs, with dogwood
stars and flame-coloured azalea, with the fragrance of the grape and
the yellow jessamine, with the song of many a bright bird, build
ing in the wood. The Army of Tennessee, strong at Chickamauga,
fallen ill at Missionary Ridge, convalescent through the winter, was
now in health again.

There was a small house, half hidden behind two huge syringa
bushes. It had a bit of lawn no bigger than a handkerchief, and

DALTON 259

the bridal wreath and columbines and white phlox that bordered it
made the handkerchief a lace one. Here lived Miss Sophia and
Miss Amanda, gentlewomen who had seen better days, and here
" boarded," while the army was at Dalton, Desiree Gary.

Miss Sophia designed and carried out wonderful bouquets of wax
flowers. Miss Amanda was famed for her bead bags and for the mar
vellous fineness of her embroidery. Miss Sophia was a master-hand
at watermelon rind "sweetmeats," carving them into a hundred
pretty shapes. Miss Amanda was as accomplished in "icing " cakes.
Sweetmeats and wedding and Christmas cakes, embroidery, and an
occasional order of wax flowers had for years "helped them along."
Long visits, too, after the lavish, boundless Southern fashion, to kins
folk in South Georgia had done much; — but now there was war, and
the kinsfolk were poor themselves, and nowhere in the wide world
was there a market for wax flowers, and there was no sugar for the
sweetmeats, and no frosted cakes, and life was of the whole stuff
without embroidery! War frightfully snatched their occupation
away. As long as they could visit, they visited, and they valiantly
carded lint and knit socks and packed and sent away supplies and
helped to devise substitutes for coffee and tea and recipes for Con
federate dishes. But kinsmen had died on the field of battle, and
kinswomen had grown poorer and poorer. One had made her way to
Virginia where her boy was in hospital, and another had gone to
Savannah, and another's house had been burned. Miss Sophia and
Miss Amanda had retired up-country to this extremely small house
which they owned. Beside it and its furniture they apparently owned
nothing else. Even the stout, sleepy negro woman in the kitchen
was a loan from the last visited plantation. Desiree, applying for
board, was manna in the wilderness. They took her — with faintly
flushed cheeks and many apologies for charging at all — for fifty
dollars a week, Confederate money. She had a bare white room
with a sloping roof and a climbing rose. There was a porch to the
house, all bowered in with clematis and honeysuckle. Miss Sophia
and Miss Amanda rarely sat on the porch ; they sat in the parlour,
where there were the wax flowers and a wonderful sampler and an
old piano, and, on either side the fireplace, a pink conch shell. So
Desiree had the porch and the springtime out of doors.

Captain Edward Gary's beautiful wife made friends quickly.

260 CEASE FIRING

Officers and men, the th Virginia had now for months rested her

bound slave. It was not long before that portion of the Army of
Tennessee that had occasion from day to day to pass the house
began to look with eagerness for the smiling eyes and lips of
Desiree Gaillard. Sometimes she was out in the sunshine, gravely
pondering the lace border of the handkerchief. Army of Tennessee
lifted hat or cap; she smiled and nodded; Army of Tennessee went
on through brighter sunshine. She was presently the friend of all.
After a while Johnston himself, when he rode that way, would stop
and talk; Hardee and .Cleburne and others often sat beneath the
purple clematis and, sword on knees, talked of this or that. They
sent her little offerings — small packets of coffee or of sugar, once
a gift of wine, gifts which she promptly turned over to the hospital.
If they had nothing else, they brought her, when they rode in from
inspection of the scattered camps, wild flowers and branches of
blossoming trees.

Edward came to her when it was possible. The th Virginia

was encamped among the hills. Often at dusk he found her at the
gate, her eyes upon the last soft bloom of the day. Or, if she knew
that he was coming, she walked out upon the road toward the hills.
The road was a place of constant travel. Endlessly it unrolled a
pageant of the times. War's varied movement was here, the multi
plicity of it all; and also the unity as of the sound of the sea, or
the waving of grass on a prairie. Troops, incoming or outgoing, —
infantry, artillery, cavalry, — were to be found upon it. The com
missariat Vent up and down with white-covered wagons. Foragers
appeared, coming in to camp with heterogeneous matters. Ordnance
wagons, heavy and huge, went by with a leaden sound. Mules and
negroes abounded — laughter, adjuration, scraps of song. Then
came engineers, layers-out of defences and the clay-plastered work
ers upon them. Country people passed — an old carryall filled
with children — a woman in a long riding-skirt and calico sun-
bonnet riding a white horse, gaunt as death's own — sickly looking
men afoot — small boys, greybeards, old, old negroes hobbling with
a stick — then, rumbling in or out, a battery, the four guns very
bright, the horses knowing what they drew, breathing, for all their
steadiness, a faint cloud of brimstone and sulphur, the spare artil
lerymen alongside or seated on caissons — then perhaps cavalry,

DALTON 261

man and horse cut in one like a chesspiece — then a general officer
with his staff — couriers, infantry, more foragers, a chaplain bound
for some service under the trees, guard details, ambulances, more
artillery, more cavalry, commissariat, "Grand Rounds," more
infantry. . . . Desiree loved the road and walked upon it when
she liked. She grew a known figure, standing aside beneath a
flowering tree to let the guns go by, or the heavy wagons; moving,
slender and fine, upon the trampled verge of the road, ready with a
friendly nod, a smile, a word — a beautiful woman walking as safely
upon a military road as in a hedged garden. The road loved to see
her; she was like a glowing rose in a land of metal and ore. And
when a mile from town, perhaps, she met her husband, when, turn
ing, she came with him back through the sunset light, when they
moved together, of a height, happy, it was as though beings of
another race trod the road. There needed no herald to say, " These
are gods ! "

But much of the time Desir6e was alone. She asked for work at
the hospital and was given it, and here she spent several hours of each
day. There were no wounded now at Dalton, only the ill, and these
in the wisely cared-for, steadily built-up army, lessened always in
number. Suffering there was, however, now as always; moanings
and tossings, delirium, ennui, pain to be assuaged, crises to be met,
eyes to be closed, convalescence to be tended. In Dalton as else
where the Confederate women nursed with tenderness the Con
federate ill. Desiree did her part, coming like something cordial,
something golden, into the whitewashed ward. When her hours
were over, back she came to the house behind the syringas, bathed
and dressed, and ate with Miss Sophia and Miss Amanda a Con
federate dinner. Then for an hour they sewed and knitted and
scraped lint; then, when the afternoon had lengthened, she took the
palmetto hat she had braided and went out of the lace handkerchief
yard to the road and walked upon it.

Miss Sophia and Miss Amanda had attacks of remonstrance.
" Dear Mrs. Cary, I don't think you should ! A young woman and —
pardon us if we seem too personal — and beautiful ! It 's not, of
course, that you would suffer the least insult — but it is not cus
tomary for a lady to walk for pleasure on a public road where all
kinds of serious things are going on — "

262 CEASE FIRING

Desiree laughed. " Not if they are interesting things? Dear Miss
Sophia, I stopped at the post-office and brought you a letter."

Miss Sophia put out her hand for the letter, but she held to her
text a moment longer. "I do not think that Captain Gary should
allow it," she said.

The letter was from Richmond, from the cousin who had gone to
nurse her son. Miss Sophia read it aloud.

MY DEAR SOPHIA: —

I am here and George is better — thank God for all His mercies !
The wound in the leg was a bad one and gangrene set in, necessitating
amputation, and then came this pneumonia. He will live, though,
and I shall bring my son home and keep him while I live ! The city is
so crowded, it is frightful. We in Georgia do not yet know the hor
rors of this war. I could hardly find a place to lay my head, but now
a billiard-room in a hotel has been divided off into little rooms, each
no bigger than a stall in my stable, and I have one of these. I go for
my meals to a house two streets away, and I pay for shelter and food
twenty-five dollars a day. Flour here is two hundred and fifty dol
lars a barrel. Butter is twelve dollars a pound. We live on corn-
bread, with now and then a little bacon or rice. Yesterday I bought
two oranges for George. They were eight dollars apiece. Oh,
Sophia, it's like having George a little boy again! Two days ago
there was a dreadful excitement. I heard the cannon and the alarm
bell. George was a little light-headed and he would have it that
there was a great battle, and that the boys were calling, and he must
get up ! At last I got him quiet, and when he was asleep and I went to
supper I was told that it was a Yankee raid, led by an officer named
Dahlgren, who was killed. The reserves had been called out and
there was great excitement. We have since heard fearful reports of
the object of the raid. The President and his Cabinet were to be
killed, the prisoners freed and set to sacking the city which was then
to have been burned. Oh, my dear Sophia, what a world we live in!
I was in Richmond on my wedding journey. I feel dazed when I
think of now and then. Then it was all bright-hued and gay; now it
is all dark-hued, with the strangest restlessness! I never saw so
many women in black. You always hear military sounds, and the
people, for one reason or another, are out of doors in great numbers.

DALTON 263

The church bells have been taken down to be melted into cannon.
The poverty, the suffering, the crowding are frightful. But I do not
believe there is another such people for bearing things! George is a
great favourite in the ward. They say he has been so patient and
funny. My dear Sophia, I always think of you with your plum-
colour silk bag and your spools of embroidery thread! I wish I had
those spools of thread. Yesterday I had to do some mending, and I
went out and bought one spool for five dollars. — George is waking
up! I will write again. If he only gets well, Sophia, — he and the
country!

Your affectionate cousin,

Miss Sophia folded the letter. " Dear George! I am glad enough
that he will get better. He was a sad tease! He used to say the
strangest things. I remember one day he said that behind Amanda
embroidering he always saw a million shut-in women sticking cam
bric needles into the eyes of the future. And he said that I had done
the whole world in wax, and he wondered how it would be if we ever
got before a good hot fire. — He was n't lacking in sense either, only
it never had a chance to come out, Maria spoiling him so, and
darkeys and dogs always at his heels. — No, dear Mrs. Gary, you're
a young woman, and — you'll pardon me, I know! — a beautiful
one, and I don't think Captain Gary ought to allow it!"

March went, April went, May came. On the first of May, Desiree,
walking on the road, thought she observed something unusual in the
air. Presently there passed cavalry, a great deal of cavalry. She
leaned against a wayside tree and watched. Presently there rode an
officer whom she knew.

He lifted his hat, then pushed his horse upon the dusty turf be
neath the tree. "We 're ordered out toward the Oostenaula! Sher
man's in motion. The volcano is about to become active."

"Is it going to overflow Dalton ?"

"Well, it would seem so! Though sometimes there's a new crater.
We'll see what we'll see. Anyhow, Gary '11 be sending you to the
rear."

"I'll fall back when the army falls back."

Edward came that night and plead with her. She could go to

264 CEASE FIRING

Kingston on the cars and thence to Rome to the westward, out of
the region of danger —

"Edward," she said, "have n't I been a good campaigner ?"

" The best— "

"Then, when you can do a thing well, why do something else
poorly ? This is the way I am going to live, and when you wed me
you wed my way of life."

"If harm came to you, Desiree — "

"And I might say, 'If harm came to you, Edward/ — I know
that harm may come to you, but — I don't say it, and you must not
say it either. With you is my home, my Cape Jessamine, and I am
not going to leave it."

"With you is my home, my Cape Jessamine — and all the gods
know I love you here — "

" I am not going to Rome. Let us walk a little, in the moonlight."

The next day came in from Savannah Mercer's brigade of four
teen hundred. On the third the scouts reported a great force of the
enemy at Ringgold. On this day, too, the cavalry pickets were
driven in along the Cleveland road. On the fifth the great blue host
formed in line of battle near Tunnel Hill. Over against them were
drawn the grey. The fifth and the sixth were days of skirmishing, of
reconnoissance, of putting forth fingers and drawing them back. In
the first light of the seventh, under a wonderful sunrise sky, the blue
army began a general advance.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE ROAD TO RESACA

FOR seven days Rocky Face Mountain echoed the rattling fire.
Milk Mountain behind also threw it back, and Horn Moun
tain behind Milk. Crow Valley saw hard fighting, and Mill
Creek Gap and Trail Gap. Alabama troops were posted above the
last two and on the top of the Chattoogata Ridge. Here they laid in
line huge stones, ready for the throwing down when the pass below
should darken with the blue. They made also slight breastworks and
rifle-pits. At Dug Gap were stationed two regiments of Arkansas
and a brigade of Kentucky cavalry. On the eighth, Hooker attacked
these in force. Kentucky fought dismounted ; Kentucky and Arkan
sas together did mightily. Johnston sent to Hardee to dispatch aid
to this point. Up to Dug Gap came Patrick Cleburne with Lowrey's
and Granbury's brigades. Cleburne came at a double-quick, through
the intense heat, up the rough mountain-side. The woods rang with
fighting until the dark came down. Then Geary rested in the valley
below and Cleburne on the heights above, and the stars shone on
both. Stewart's and Stevenson's divisions held Rocky Face Moun
tain. Old Rocky Face saw tense fighting, stubborn as its own
make-up. Skirmish upon skirmish occupied the hours. Here, too,
were breastworks and rifle-pits, and the blue advanced against them,
and the blue went back again, and came again, and went back again.
All the time the batteries kept up a galling, raking fire. Pettus's Ala
bama brigade was at the top of the mountain, at the signal station.
Brown and Reynolds and Gumming were lower down, toward the
valley. And on the floor of the valley, here visible in square or
roughly circular clearings, here hidden by the thick woods, was a
host of the enemy. Morning, noon, and afternoon went on the skir
mishing. On the ninth occurred a determined assault upon Pettus's
line. There was a bloody, protracted struggle, and while the moun
tain flamed and thundered, the blue sharpshooters paid deadly
attention to the brigades below of Cumming and Reynolds. The

266 CEASE FIRING

Alabamians on Rocky Face repelled the assault; down, down it
sank to the floor of the valley. After an interval a line of battle
appeared before Gumming. The Georgian threw forward skirmish
ers. There was a battalion of artillery — Major John William
Johnston's battalion. Cherokee Artillery, Stephens's Light Artil
lery, Tennessee Battery, all came into action. The major com
manding — once the captain of the Botetourt Artillery, of the
"homesick battery" of Chickasaw Bayou and Port Gibson —
placed his guns with skill and saw them served well and double
well. Together with Cumming's skirmishers the battalion checked
the blue advance along this line.

Hour after hour, day after day, continued the skirmishing to the
west of Dal ton. Now and again, among the slighter notes, struck
the full chord of a more or less heavy engagement. But there came
no general and far-flung battle. There was loss of life, but not great
loss, and all the attacks were repelled. Joseph E. Johnston watched
with his steady face.

On the afternoon of the ninth came the first indication that the
blue, behind the long cover of the mountains, were moving south
ward toward Snake Creek Gap, halfway between Dalton and Resaca.
Hood with three divisions was at once ordered upon the road to
Resaca, where was already Cantey's brigade, come in the day before.
Observing the grey movement, theblue advance by Snake Creek drew
back for the moment. The air around Dalton continued smoky, the
rifles to ring. The blue made a night attack, thoroughly repulsed by
Bates's division. On the eleventh arrived at Resaca from Mississippi
Leonidas Polk with Loring's division. On this day Cantey sent a
courier to General Johnston. Sherman's was certainly a turning
movement, a steady blue flood rolling south by Snake Creek Pass,
between Milk and Horn Mountains.

Before break of day on the twelfth, Johnston sent Wheeler with
two thousand cavalry, supported by Hindman, to the northern end
of Rocky Face to reconnoitre in force. Was the whole Federal army
moving toward Resaca, or not ? Rounding Rocky Face, Wheeler
clashed with Stoneman's cavalry. After a sharp engagement, the
blue fell back down the western side of Rocky Face. Retiring, they
set fire to a great number of their wagons. The smoke arose, thick
and dark, but the grey reconnoissance, piercing it, saw enough to

THE ROAD TO RESACA 267

assure it that Sherman intended no pitched battle at Dalton. The
whole vast blue army was moving southward behind the screen
of Rocky Face and the Chattoogata Ridge, south and east upon
Resaca and the grey line of communications. Wheeler returned at
dusk and reported.

Night fell. The Army of Tennessee, after days of fighting, nights
of alarms, lay now, in its various positions, in a world that seemed
suddenly, strangely silent. The army, that was by now a philo
sopher, welcomed the moment with its quiet. It threw itself upon
the warm earth and slept with the determination of the dead. Ten
o'clock, eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock, one o'clock! A bugle blew —
another at a distance — another. Drums began to beat. The Army
of Tennessee rose to its feet. Marching orders! The road to Resaca ?
All right!

Grey infantry, grey artillery, grey wagon- train, grey cavalry rear
guard, grey stanch generals, grey stanch men, the Army of Tennes
see took the starlight road to Resaca, where were already Hood with
the three divisions, Cantey's brigade, and Polk with the division of
Loring. The night rolled away, the morning wind blew fresh, the
streamers of the dawn flared high above the Georgia woods. The
Army of Tennessee moved with a light and swinging step. Of this
campaign a week had marked itself off, like a bead, half dark, half
bright, on a rosary string. At Dalton, Atlanta lay a hundred and
twenty miles to the southward. When the army came to Resaca,
Atlanta was eighteen miles the nearer.

Back in Dalton, in the house behind the syringas, there was pro
test. Miss Sophia protested with a waxen dignity, Miss Amanda
with tears in her eyes. Both were so moved that they came out
of the parlour upon the clematis porch where Desiree was super
vising the cording of a small hair-trunk. "Follow the Army!"
cried Miss Sophia, and " Follow the Army!" echoed Miss Amanda.
"Oh, dear Mrs. Gary, are you sure that it's wise —

"It's the wisdom of Solomon," said Desiree, on her knees. "Of
the Song of Solomon. — Now, uncle, that's done! Can you carry it
out to the wagon, or shall I help you ?"

The ancient darkey lifted it. "No, 'm. I kin tote it." He went
down the path toward the gate and an ancient, springless wagon.

Desiree rose. Miss Amanda's tears overflowed, and Miss Sophia

268 CEASE FIRING

was so agitated that she leaned against the doorpost, and her thin
old hand trembled where it touched her linsey skirt. " You 've been
as good as gold to me," said Desiree. "I've loved this little house.
I'm going to think of it often. Dear Miss Sophia, dear Miss
Amanda, good-bye!"

"Oh, it's not wise," cried Miss Sophia; "I feel that it's not
wise!"

"If you'd just quietly wait," said Miss' Amanda, "until the army
comes back through Dalton."

But Desiree thought that that would be too long. She smiled and
broke some purple clematis from the porch to take with her, and
then the two ladies went with her to the gate, and she kissed them
both, and they said " God bless you!" and she mounted the wagon;
and from the place where the road turned southward looked back
and waved her hand. The lace handkerchief yard and the syringa
bushes and the shingled roof above them sank out of her life.

"I'se gwine tek de duht road," said the negro. "Less ob fool
soldiers projeckin' erlong dat one!"

The horse was worn and old, the wagon the same. Out of Dal
ton, over trampled fields, then between wooded hills, went, slowly
enough, the wagon, the hair-trunk, Desiree, and the negro. "Don'
yo' fret, mistis ! I 'se gwine git yo' dar befo' de battle. I 'se gwine git
yo' dar befo' midnight ennyhow!"

"What is your name ?"

"Nebuchadnezzar, mistis."

"And the horse?"

"Dat ar horse name Julius Caesar. He good horse ef he had
ernough ter eat."

The day was warm, the sky a deep blue, all neighbouring vegeta
tion covered with a tawny felt of dust. Trampling feet and tramp
ling feet of horses and men, wagon wheels and wagon wheels and
wagon wheels, had gone over that road. It was a trough of dust,
and when the wind blew it up, a sandstorm would not have been
more blinding. It seemed clear now of troops — all were withdrawn
into the haze to the southward. As for the enemy, he must be mov
ing on the other side of the low mountains, unless, indeed, he were
already in force at Resaca — and the grey were going into battle —
and the grey were going into battle.

THE ROAD TO RESACA 269

"Julius Caesar goes pretty slow," said Desiree.

There was little debris in the road or by the wayside, no wrecked,
lef t-behind wagons, little or no discarded accoutrement, few broken-
down or dying horses, very few ill or wounded men, or mere footsore
stragglers. Johnston's movements were as clear-cut as so many
cameos. He left no filings behind; he did not believe in blurred
edges. He might place an army here to-day, and the morrow might
find it a knight's move or a bishop's or a rook's or a queen's away';
but always it went cleanly, bag and baggage, clean-lined, self-con
tained, with intention and poise. If his army was in retreat, the
road behind him hardly bore witness to the fact.

Horse and wagon crept on toward Resaca. Morning wore to after
noon, very warm, very — "Nebuchadnezzar, what do you make of
that dust before us ? I make smoke as well as dust. And now I
make firing! Listen!"

"Reckon better tuhn back — "

"No, no! Goon! When it is necessary to stop, we will stop until
they let us by. It's rear guard fighting probably — "

The cloud mounted. A few hundred yards and a bullet came and
sheared away a leafy twig from the oak under which they were pass
ing. It fell upon Desiree's lap. A few yards farther, a second struck
the dusty road in front of the horse. The confused sound down the
road swelled into tumult.

"Gawd-er-moughty!" said Nebuchadnezzar. "Mus' git out ob
dis! Dey're projeckin' dishyer way!"

"Drive into the bank!" ordered Desiree. "No! there where it is
wider! Don't be afraid! Look how steady Julius Caesar stands!"

" Yass, 'm. Think I '11 git out en hoi' him. — Lawd hab mercy,
heah dey come!"

They came like a storm of the desert, two colours, one driving, one
giving back, but in so great a cloud of road dust and carbine smoke,
and in so rapid motion that which was which and whose were the
shouts of triumph was not easy to tell. The horses' hoofs made a
thunder; all grew large, enveloped the earth, brought din and suffo
cation, roared by and were gone. There was a sense that the vic
torious colour was grey — but all was gone like a blast of the genii.
The wagon had been nearly overturned. Some one had ridden
violently against it — then there had sounded a shout, " 'Ware! A

270 CEASE FIRING

woman ! " and the wild course, pursued and pursuers, ever so slightly
swerved. Desiree, thrown to her knees, laid hold of the wagon edge
and waited, but not with closed eyes. A colour was in her cheek; she
looked in this torrent as she had looked upon the levee, above the
Mississippi in anger. The torrent passed, the rage of noise sank, the
choking, blinding dust began to settle. Nebuchadnezzar came from
the lee side of Julius Caesar. He was ashen, whether with dust or
with fear.

"Whoever in dey born days see de like ob dat ? Christian folk
actin' de debbil lak dat! Hit er-gwine ter bring er jedgment! Yo'
ain' huht, mistis ?"

"No," said Desiree. "I felt as though something were bearing
down upon me out of 'Paradise Lost/"

"What dat blood on yo' ahm ?"

Desiree looked. " A bullet must have grazed it. I never felt it. It
does n't hurt much now."

They did not get to Resaca that night. Julius Caesar was too tired,
the road too heavy, and one of Wheeler's outposts, stopping the
wagon, insisted that it was not safe for it to go farther in the dark
ness. With the first fireflies they turned aside to a " cracker's " cabin
in a fold of the hills and asked for hospitality. A tall, lean, elderly
woman and her tall, lean daughters gave them rude shelter and rude
fare. In the morning the wagon and Julius Caesar and Nebuchad
nezzar and Desiree went on again toward Resaca.

To-day they overtook more limping soldiers than had been the
case on yesterday. The wagon gave "lifts" to several and would
have given more but that Julius Caesar was so evidently a weary
and worn foot soldier himself. They came upon a bank topped by a
pine tree, and under it, his arm overhanging the road, was stretched
a soldier overtaken by a fever. His face was flushed and burning
hot, his eyes bright and wild. "Point Coupee Artillery !" he said;
"Point Coupee Artillery!" over and over again. Desiree made
Nebuchadnezzar draw rein. She got out of the wagon, climbed the
bank, and knelt beside the man. "Point Coupee Artillery ! " he said.
"Water! Point Coupee Artillery. Water!" There was no spring
anywhere near. She had had a bottle of water, but had given it all to
two soldiers a mile back. Together she and Nebuchadnezzar got the
artilleryman into the wagon, where he lay with his head against her

THE ROAD TO RESACA 271

knee. "Point Coupee!" she said. " Louisiana!" and her hand lay
cool and soft upon the burning forehead. They carried him two
miles, until they came to the house of a widow, who took the
fevered man in and gave him water and a bed, and could be trusted,
Desiree saw, to nurse him. Going on for a mile, they came up with a
boy with a badly cut foot and a man with a bandaged head and his
trouser leg rolled up to the thigh, bandaged, too, with^ a bloody
cloth. Both were white-lipped with the heat and weariness, and
Desiree and Nebuchadnezzar and Julius Caesar took them on upon
the road. Desiree said that she was tired of riding and walked beside
the wagon, and when they came to a hill, Nebuchadnezzar, too, got
down and walked. The two honest stragglers, though worse for the
wear, were cheerful souls and inclined to talk. "Near Resaca ? Yes,
ma'am; right near now. It's mighty good of you to give us a lift!
Old Joe certainly can't begin the battle till Robin and me get

there!"

Robin put in his oar. "Man on horseback came riding along
awhile ago and turned off toward the Connesauga, an' he said that
Loring met the Yanks yesterday as they were streaming out of
Snake Creek Gap, and held them in check for three hours until
Hardee and Hood came up and formed, and that then things
stopped and were holding their breath on that line when he left -

" Old Blizzard 's a good one ! Never '11 forget him at Fort Pember-
ton ! l Give them blizzards, men ! ' says he. ' Give them blizzards ! ' :

"My husband was at Fort Pemberton. Were you at Vicks-

burg?"

"Vicksburg! Should think I was at Vicksburg! Were you,

ma'am?"

"Yes. In a cave down by the th Redan."

"I was down by the river, back of the Lower Batteries. Vicks
burg! We thought that nothing could ever happen any more after
Vicksburg! But things just went on happening — "

"Firing ahead of us," said the boy.

It rose and fell in the distance to the left of the road. A turn and
they came upon pickets. Followed a parley. " You two want to join
your regiment, and the lady wants to get to Resaca? Resaca is n't a
big place, ma'am, and the fighting's going to be all around it and
maybe through it. Had n't you better —

272 CEASE FIRING

"No, I had n't. My husband is Captain Gary of the th Vir
ginia. I know, sir, that you are going most courteously to let me
pass."

When Desiree Gaillard said "most courteously," when she smiled
and looked straight and steady with her dark eyes, it was fatal. No
thing short of positive orders to the contrary would have kept those
grey pickets from letting her pass. The wagon went on, and, having
pierced a skirmish line lying down waiting, came, in the dusty fore
noon, to Stevenson's division, drawn up in two lines across and on
either side of the Dalton and Resaca road.

An officer stopped the advance. "There's going to be fighting
here in five minutes! You shouldn't have been let to pass the
pickets. You can't go on and you can't go back. They 've got their
batteries planted and they 're coming out of the wood yonder. —
There's the first shell!" He looked around him. " Madam, I '11 agree
that there are n't many safe places in the Confederacy, but I wish
that you were in one of them ! You two men report to the sergeant
there ! Uncle, you drive that cart behind the hill yonder — the one
next to the one with the guns on it. When you're there, madam,
you 'd better lie close to the earth, behind one of those boulders. As
soon as we 've silenced their fire and the road 's clear, you can go on.
— Not at all ! Not at all ! But it is extremely unwise for a lady to be
here!"

The eastern side of the hill offered fair shelter. Nebuchadnezzar
took the old horse from the wagon and fastened him to a small pine.
Desiree sat down in the long cool grass beside a grey boulder. Before
her stretched rugged ground, and far and wide she saw grey troops,
ready for battle. Johnston had wasted no moment at Resaca. With
skill and certitude he flung down his battle line, horseshoe-shaped,
Hardee holding the centre, Polk on the left bent down to the
Oostenaula, Hood on the right resting on the Connesauga. Earth
works sprang into being, salients for artillery — hardy and ready
and in high spirits the Army of Tennessee faced the foe. Through
out the morning there had been general skirmishing, and now a
fierce attack was in progress against Hindman's division of Hood's
corps. It spread and involved Stevenson. The latter had the brig
ades of Cumming and Brown in his front line, in his second those
of Pettus and Reynolds. All the ground here was rough and tan-

THE ROAD TO RESACA 273

gled, rock-strewn, overlaid with briars and a growth of small bushy
pines. The men had made some kind of breastworks with rotted
logs and the rails from a demolished fence. What especially an
noyed were the blue sharpshooters. There was a ridge in the pos
session of these, from which they kept up a perpetual enfilading
fire, addressed with especial vigour against Cumming's line and
against Johnston's battalion ranged upon a long hillside by Gum
ming.

From the foot of her small adjoining hill, Desiree could see these
pieces plainly. Elbow on knee, chin in hand, she sat and watched.
Six guns were in action ; the others, expectant, waiting their time.
The horses were withdrawn below the hill. Here, indifferent, long
trained, they stood and cropped the grass in the face of thunder and
gathering smoke. The caissons were in line behind the pieces, and
from them powder and grape and canister travelled to the fighting
guns. They were fighting hard. From each metal bore sprang yel*
low-red flowers of death. The hill shook and became wreathed with
smoke. Through it she saw the gun detachments, rhythmically
moving, and other figures, officers and men, passing rapidly to and
fro. Shouted orders came to her, then the thunder of the guns cov
ered all other sound. The antagonist was a blue battery on a shoul
der of the ridge and blue infantry somewhere in the thick wood
below. This battery's range was poor; most of the shells fell short of
the grey hill. But the sharpshooters on the nearer spur were another
guess matter. Out of the tops of thick and tall pine trees came death
in the shape of pellets of lead — came with frequency, came with a
horrible accuracy.

Desiree shuddered as she looked.

"Oh," she cried. "Oh, to be God just one minute!"

She found Nebuchadnezzar beside her. " Gawd ain' mixed up wif
dis. Hit's de Debbil. — Dar's ernother one struck! See him spin-
nin' 'roun'. . . . Hit meks me sick."

The battalion commander — twenty-five years old, brown-eyed,
warm-hearted, sincere, magnetic, loved by his men — rode rapidly,
in the rolling smoke, across the hilltop, from the guns engaged to
those that waited. " Forward into battery! On Captain Van den
Corput's left."

He turned and rode back to the thundering battery. The smoke

274 CEASE FIRING

parted and he and his grey horse were plainly seen. A minie ball
came from the wood and pierced his thigh. "This morning," says
General Stevenson's report, "was wounded the brave Major J. W.
Johnston." The smoke of battle rolled over the hill and the battal
ion of artillery, and over the Dalton and Resaca road, and over
Stevenson's division.

Later, there was a great movement forward. Wheeler, ordered to
discover the position and formation of the blue left, brought John
ston information which resulted in an order to Hood to make a half-
change of front and drive the enemy westward. Hood, with the
divisions of Stewart and Stevenson and supported by Walker,
swept with his wild energy to the task. Stevenson in advance had
the hottest fighting, but all fought superbly. At sunset the enemy's
extreme left was forced from its position.

From the top of a railroad cut near the Dalton road, Johnston
gave an aide an order for Hood. "Prepare to continue movement
at daybreak. Let the troops understand that fighting will be re
newed." Off galloped the aide and sought through the gathering
dusk for General Hood, but missed his road, and after some search
ing came back to the railroad cut to find General Hood now with
General Johnston. Hood was speaking: "The men are in wild spir
its! I am, too, sir, if we are going to fight to a finish!"

Two or three prisoners were brought to the cut. Questioned, two
refused to answer; a third stated that he belonged to Whittaker's
brigade, Stanley's division, Fourth Army Corps; that the blue line
of battle ran northeast and southwest, and that the blue army looked
for victory. Wheeler rode up, received orders, and in the fading
light drew his cavalry out along the railroad. Night was now at
hand. Johnston and those with him turned their horses and rode
rapidly from the right toward the left, back to headquarters, estab
lished in a small house behind Selden's battery. Here they found
General Hardee. "All well with us, sir! They tried to storm Cle-
burne's position, but signally failed! "

" Nothing from the left ? "

" There has been firing. Here comes news now, I think."

Up came an aide, breathless, his horse bleeding. " General John
ston — from General Polk, sir! "

"Yes, yes — "

THE ROAD TO RESACA 275

" They attacked in force, sir, driving in our troops and seizing a
hill which commands the Oostenaula bridges. They at once brought
cannon up. General Polk is about to move to retake the hill."

"The Oostenaula bridge! . . . The guns now!"

The heavy firing rose and sank, rose again, then finally died in
the now full night. The ridge commanding the bridge to the
south, held by Dodge and Logan of McPherson's corps, was not
retaken. Tidings that it was not came to the group by Selden's
battery. And on the heels of this came another breathless mes
senger. "General — from General Martin! He reports that the
enemy have thrown pontoons across the Oostenaula near Calhoun.
They crossed two divisions this afternoon."

Silence for a moment, then Johnston spoke crisply. "Very well!
If he crosses, I cross. General Hood, the order for the advance at
daybreak is revoked." He spoke to an aide. "Get the staff to
gether! — General Walker, you will at once take the road to Cal
houn with your division. Is Colonel Prestman here? — Colonel, the
engineers are to lay to-night a pontoon bridge across the Oostenaula,
a mile above the old bridges. General Hardee — What is it, Gen
eral Hood?"

"Not to attack in the morning! General Johnston, do you not
think—"

"I do occasionally, sir. At present I think that General Sherman
ardently desires to place himself in our rear."

"We rolled them back this afternoon! And if at dawn we accom
plish even more — '

"Yes, sir, 'if.' You ' rolled back,' very gallantly, part of the
Fourth Army Corps."

"But, sir,— "

" Circumstances, sir, alter cases. It was General Sherman's inten
tion to place a huge army astride the railroad here at Resaca. That
intention was defeated. He proposes now to cross the Oostenaula
and cut our lines at Calhoun. It is that movement that demands
our attention."

"I only know, sir, that it is expected at Richmond that we take
the offensive."

"Yes, sir. Many things are expected at Richmond. — You have
your order, General. Now, General Hardee — '

276 CEASE FIRING

An hour or two later, the commander of the Army of Tennessee
returned with Hardee from the left toward which they had ridden.
The two were friends as well as superior and subordinate. John
ston had great warmth of nature; he was good lover, good hater.
Now he rode quietly, weary, but steadily thinking. The light of
the house behind Selden's battery appeared, a yellow point in the
thickened air. " How far that little candle . . . Hardee! I Ve had
ten wounds in battle, but before this summer ends I 'm going to
have a worse wound than any! "

" I don't know what you mean, General," said Hardee.

" Don't you ? " said Johnston. " Well, well! perhaps I shan't be
wounded. The stars are over us all. — Here is the house."

As the two dismounted, an aide came forward. " There is some
one waiting here, General, to speak to you. A lady — Mrs. Gary — "

Desiree came into the light from the open door. "Mrs. Gary!"
exclaimed Hardee. "How in the world — "

Johnston took her hand in his. It was cold, and the light showed
her face. "My dear, what is it — "

"General," said Desiree, "I left Dalton yesterday, and to-day I
got by the lines, and this afternoon into Resaca. And awhile ago,

when the fighting had stopped, I found where was 's brigade

and the th Virginia. And I went there, to headquarters, to find

out if my husband was unhurt. His regiment was in the attack on
the enemy's left. It was in the advance and it lost heavily. When
night came and the troops were withdrawn, they took back with

them all their wounded they could gather. But the th was well

ahead, and the enemy was reinforced and threatening in its front.
When it was ordered back it had to leave its hurt. They are there
yet — they are there now. My husband is among the missing. . . .

They were very kind, the colonel and General . They would

not let me pass, but they asked for volunteers to go. Some brave
men volunteered and went. They brought back a number of the
wounded — but they did not bring back my husband. They said
they sought everywhere and called as loudly as they dared. They
said that if he were living — But I can seek better than they and I

am not afraid to call aloud. General said that he would not let

me go, and I said that I would bring an order from you that should
make him let me go. I have come for it, General."

THE ROAD TO RESACA 277

"The enemy is very close to that front. They will fire at any
sound."

"I shall go silently. Do I not want to bring him safely ?"

"You would have to have men with you."

"Three of those men said they would go again. But I said no.
An old negro brought me in his wagon from Dalton. He is old
but strong, and he is willing, and we can manage together."

" If I let you go— "

"I shall love you forever. If you let me go you will do wisely
and rightly — "

" It is not a time," said Johnston, " to measure by small standards
or weigh with little weights. You may go."

A host of stars looked down on the wooded hills and narrow vales.
There was a space of about an acre where, long ago, trees had been
girdled and felled. The trunks of some still lay upon the earth, bare
of bark, gleaming grey- white, like great bones of an elder age. Else
where there were mere stumps, serried rows of them, with a growth
of mullein and blackberry between. There were stones, too, half-
buried boulders, and in a corner of the field, pressing close to a rail
fence, a thicket of sumach.

Edward Gary lay in this angle. He had fallen at dusk, leading his
men in the final charge. It was twilight; the grey wave went on,
shouting. He saw and heard another coming, and to avoid tramp
ling he dragged himself aside into this sumach thicket by the fence.
He had a bullet through his shoulder, and he was losing blood beside
from a deep wound above the knee. It was this bleeding that
brought the roaring in his ears and at last the swoon. He had band
aged it as well as he could, but a bone in his hand was shattered
and he could not do it well. He thought, "I shall bleed to death."
After a while life and the content of life went to a very great dis
tance — very far off and small like a sandbar in a distant ocean.
Time, too, became a thin, remote, and intermittent stream. Once, he
had no idea when, he thought that there were voices and movement
on the sandbar. He wet his lips and thought that he spoke aloud ,
but probably it was only in thought. All things vanished for a while,
and when he next paid attention the sandbar was very quiet and
farther oft" than ever. The wind was blowing in the sumach on the
sandbar, and a star was shining over it. . . . No ! it was the light of

278 CEASE FIRING

a lantern. There were hands about his wound, and the sound of
tearing cloth, and the feel of a bandage drawn tightly with a bit of
forked stick for a tourniquet, and then water with a dash of brandy
at his lips — and then an arm beneath his head and a face down
bent. "Desiree Gaillard," he breathed.

'CHAPTER XXIV

THE GUNS

MORNING broke with a heavy mist over Oostenaula and
Connesauga, over Rocky Face and Snake Creek Gap, over
the village of Resaca, over the Western and Atlantic Rail
road, over the grey army and the blue army. A keen, continual
skirmishing began with the light. It extended along the whole front,
but with especial sharpness upon Hardee's line. Some blue cannon
opened here, and for a time it seemed that at any moment the main
bodies, blue and grey, might crash through the fog into a general
and furious battle. Stevenson's division, moving forward, reoc-
cupied the position gained the evening before. Wrapped in the mist,
wet with the morning dew, the men fell to work upon log and rail
and stump defences. Hindman's line was next to Stevenson's, and a
blue battery, well placed, was sending against Hindman, engaged in
thrusting back a blue assault, a stream of grape and canister. Ste
venson, ordered to help out Hindman, sent Max Van den Corput's
battery of Johnston's battalion to a point eighty yards in front of his
own line — a ragged hill, rising abruptly from the field, with a wide
and deep ravine beyond. In dust and thunder the battery came to
this place; the guns were run into position, the guns were served,
steady, swift, and well. "But," says Stevenson, "the battery had
hardly gotten into position when the enemy hotly engaged my skir
mishers, driving them in, and pushing on to the assault with great
impetuosity. So quickly was all this done that it was impossible to
remove the artillery before the enemy had effected a lodgment in the
ravine in front of it, thus placing it in such a position that, while the
enemy was entirely unable to remove it, we were equally so, without
driving off the enemy massed in the ravine beyond it, which would
have been attended with great loss of life. The assaults of the enemy
were in heavy force and made with the utmost impetuosity, but
were met with a cool, steady fire which each time mowed down their
ranks and drove them back, leaving the ground thickly covered in
places with their dead. ..."

CEASE FIRING

Along Hardee's line the white puffs of cannon smoke showed all
day through. In the early afternoon came a courier with a note
from Walker, now at Calhoun. "No movement of the enemy ob
served. Think report of passage of Oostenaula unfounded." John
ston read, then dispatched an order to Hood. "Prepare to attack
enemy's left as indicated yesterday evening. Three brigades of
Folk's and Hardee's will support." But later, as Hood was prepar
ing to move forward, there came a more breathless messenger yet
from Walker. "The first report was true, General! They crossed at
Lay's Ferry. Two divisions are over, and others on the way."
Johnston listened with an impassive face, then sent at once and
countermanded Hood's order. Stewart's division only was not
checked in time. It attacked, and was roughly handled before it
could be recalled.

Lieutenant T. B. Mackall, aide-de-camp to General Mackall,
chief of staff, kept a journal of the operations, during these days, of
the Army of Tennessee. May fifteenth, 1864, he writes: —

"... 7 A.M. General Johnston has been on hill where Selden's
battery is posted since firing began; is just going to ride to the
right, leaving General Mackall here. Skirmishing and artillery
still going on. 10 A.M. General Johnston returned to Selden's bat
tery an hour ago. Answer sent to cipher of the President received
yesterday: l Sherman cannot reinforce Grant without my knowledge,
and will not as we are skirmishing along our entire line. We are in
presence of whole force of enemy assembled from North Alabama and
Tennessee.' Ferguson's brigade of cavalry, also Brigadier-General
Jackson have reached Rome. Wheeler has just gone to upper
pontoon bridge, which will not be ready for crossing for fifteen
minutes. It is in long range of the six-gun battery put up last night
on the hill which they captured. 1 1 A.M. Very heavy musketry and
artillery firing going on, apparently on Hindman's line. Just before
it became so rapid General Johnston rode up the Dal ton road,
apparently on account of some news brought by Hampton from
Hardee. About 11.15 battery on our extreme right opened. Firing
slackened on Hindman's front. Battery on hill on our left enfilades
our trenches; riflemen annoying to our gunners. 12 M. General
Johnston has come back to Selden's battery. The firing on extreme
right three quarters of an hour ago caused by enemy's crossing

THE GUNS a8i

Connesauga in rear of Hood, capturing Hood's hospital. A brigade
of our cavalry after them, supported by a brigade of Stewart's.
Captain Porter, who went with General Johnston, came back. Says
last reports represent our troops driving enemy's cavalry, i .30 P.M.
Heavy musketry and artillery on Hindman's front; began about
fifteen minutes ago. Lieutenant Wigfall has just come up to say
enemy are making a very determined attack on Hindman. General
Johnston preparing to mount to ride to Hood's. Firing continuous.
3.30 P.M. Few minutes after writing above rode off to General
Hood's with General Mackall, who accompanied General Johnston.
Found Hood where Dalton dirt road and railroad are near each
other and where we now are. Hindman, a few minutes after we ar
rived, repulsed the enemy, who came up in some places to his breast
works. Our reserves not used. Orders given for Stewart to take
enemy in flank; for wagons which were sent back to be brought up
to Resaca. Stevenson and Hindman to take up movement of Stew
art. Featherston brought from Folk's line, also Maney and

from Cheatham. These supports came up in very short time.
Stevenson, however, sent word that enemy in three lines were pre
paring to attack Stewart's centre. 3.40 P.M. (In rear of Stewart's
line near railroad) Stewart directed to receive attack and pursue.
But slight skirmishing now; enemy not making attack. 9.30 P.M.
At house behind Selden's battery (headquarters at night). Orders
given to withdraw from this place; arrangements made and trains
moving. This afternoon, about 4.30P.M., Stewart, in obedience to
orders to attack if his position was not assaulted, advanced; soon his
line was broken by a terrible fire of Hooker's corps, who were ready
to attack. I had been sent to accompany Major Ratchford to Gen
eral Featherston (held in reserve) to order him in the General's
name to take position in support of Stewart, near Green's house.

"Monday, May 16. On Calhoun and Adairsville road, two miles
south of Calhoun. While in field in rear of Stewart's line and near
railroad last night, about dark, corps and division commanders
assembled and instructions given to effect withdrawal of army ta
south bank of Oostenaula. Enemy had crossed force to south bank
of river at Dobbin's Ferry; reported two divisions. Walker was fac
ing them, immediately in our front. He was entrenched, his line ex
tending from Oostenaula River to Tilton on Connesauga. ... In

282 CEASE FIRING

two hours after Stewart's repulse, Cheatham, Hindman, Cleburne,
etc., were assembled around the camp-fires. Hardee had been
there all evening. Routes and times fixed; cars to be sent for the
wounded; wagons and ambulances and most of artillery to cross
pontoons above; troops and artillery on Folk's line on railroad and
small trestle bridge; an hour occupied in giving orders, etc., and all
dispersed, going to their headquarters. We rode in; wagons not
brought over. After writing dispatches . . . lay down (sleeping on
porch of house in rear of Selden's battery) ; waked by noise — firing,
confusion, etc. ; saddle and mount. General Loring comes up; all ride
to roadside at foot of Selden's battery, passing through Hindman's
column, going to railroad bridge. Cheatham's pass from his line
over small trestle bridge below. Night cloudy. Firing of musketry
and small arms on Hood's line, which was rapid and continuous on
first waking, decreased. These troops (Cheatham's and Hood's) did
not seem at all alarmed, rather noisy and in very good humour.
Enemy's line on river remarkably quiet. . . . Near Calhoun, 5.30
P.M. Order given to send wagons back one mile and a half south of
Adairsville. 6.30 P.M. Our wagons parking; saddling.

"Tuesday, May 17. We reached Adairsville just before day, a
little ahead of troops. Cultivated, rolling country from Resaca to
Adairsville."

Edward Gary lay, not in the hospital that was raided, but in a
house in the village. It was a fairly large house, and upstairs and
down it was filled with the wounded. The surgeons and the village
women had their hands full. He lay quite conscious, much weak
ened, but going to recover. There were a number of pallets in this
upper hall where he had been placed. Officers and men occupied
them, some much hurt, others more slightly. A surgeon with a
woman to help went from bed to bed. The more frightful cases were
downstairs, and from that region there came again and again a wail
ing cry from flesh and blood and bone under probe and saw. Out of
doors the sun shone hot, and in at the open, unshaded windows came
a dull sound of firing. The flies were bad. Two girls with palm-leaf
fans, moving from pallet to pallet, struggled with them as best they
might, but in the blood and glare and heat they settled again. The
wounded moved their heads from side to side, fought them away

THE GUNS 283

with their hands. Desiree came up the stairs and into the hall. She
had hanging at her waist a pair of scissors, and in her arms a bolt of
something dusty-white. Unrolled at the stairhead, and cut swiftly
into lengths, it proved to be mosquito netting. " I found it in a little
store here. They did n't know they had it."

The hot, bright morning went on. Outside the firing swelled and
sank and swelled again. Sometimes it sounded far away, sometimes
as though it were in the street below. The less injured, the reason
ably comfortable, listened with feverish interest. "On the right
again! — Stevenson and Stewart have had the brunt. — No! that 's
centre now. — Cleburne, I think. He 's a good one ! Who 's passing
through the street below? Old Joe? Give him a cheer, whoever 's
got a voice!"

The morning wore on to hot noon. The village- women had fur
nished kettlefuls of broth that stony necessity made very thin. Such
as it was, it tasted good to the wounded who could eat and drink.
For those who turned moaningly away their comrades had the divin-
est pity. " Poor fellow ! he 's badly off ! I reckon he 's going to die —
Do you remember, at Baker's Creek, how he fought that gun all
alone?"

Hot noon wore into sultry afternoon. The sun went behind a
smooth pall of greyish cloud. His going did not lessen the heat;
there was no air, a kind of breathless oppression. In the midst of it,
and during what seemed a three-quarter circle of firing, north, east,
and west, surgeons and orderlies appeared in the upper hall. " We Ve
got to move you folk! Yankees marching on Calhoun and so's the
Army of Tennessee. Six miles by rail and the wagons are ready to
take you to the station. Cheer up, now! the whole Western Atlan
tic 's reserved for us!"

The crowded wagons drew off, each in a dust-cloud. They jolted,
the straw was thin in the bottom. The wounded tried to set their
teeth, but many failed and there were groans enough. The surgeon,
riding at the end of the wagon, kept up a low, practised, cheerful
talk, and some of the less hurt helped as best they might the others.
Desiree, because her eyes were so appealing, because she expected to
go and said as much, was given place upon the bed of one of the
larger wagons. She sat, curled up upon the straw, Edward's head
upon her lap, her bent knee and the softness of her skirt easing, too,

284 CEASE FIRING

the position of a grizzled lieutenant with a bullet through his cheek.
The line of wagons jolted through the dust to the station, where was
the weary, rusty engine, and the weary, dingy cars. Six miles over
that roadbed with green wood for fuel, with stalling and hesitations
and pauses for examination, meant a ride of an hour.

From some of the cars all the seats had been removed; others had
seats at one end, while two thirds of the flooring was bare. The
badly hurt were laid in rows upon the planks; those less injured
were given the seats, two, sometimes three, to a bench; others with
bandaged arms and heads must stand. Every box-on-wheels was
crowded, noisy, hot, of necessity dirty, of necessity evil-smelling.
The cars and their burden made the best of it ; there was much suf
fering but no whining. The engine wheezed and puffed, the wheels
moved, the train rolled southward out of Resaca. The more lively
of the passengers, who were by windows, talked for the benefit of
the others. " Troops moving on both roads — everybody getting in
column — quiet and orderly — Old Joe fashion ! Still firing on the
fringe of things — regular battle-cloud over on our right! — Going
to cross the river! Pretty river and pretty name for it. — Rivers
and mountains — I've learned more geography in this war!"

The train creaked and wavered across the Oostenaula. At the
station some one had given a wounded officer a newspaper procured
from headquarters — a three-days' old issue of a Milledgeville paper.
The officer had both eyes bandaged across, and the man beside him
could not read aloud because his wound was in the throat. A third,
sitting on the floor, propped against the side of the car, tried, but
after he had read the headline he said that the letters all ran to
gether. The headline had said "GREAT BATTLE IN VIRGINIA" and
the car — that part of it which was at all at ease enough to listen —
wanted to hear. Desiree, standing beside Edward, took the paper
and read aloud. Her voice was sweet and deep and clear as a
bell.

" From Richmond. There has been a great battle in the Wilderness — "

"The Wilderness! Like Chancellorsville — "

" General Grant crossed on the fourth to the south side of Rapidan.
We met them on the fifth. The battle raged all day with varying success,
but when darkness fell the honours remained with us — "

"Hip — hip — hooray!"

THE GUNS 285

"At dawn the attack was renewed, and this day saw also a bloody
struggle. General Longstreet, we regret to report was severely wounded — "

"Old Pete! How he struck at Chickamauga ! "

"At sunset Gordon of EwelVs attacked the enemy's right flank with
such fury that he drove him for a mile, capturing his entrenchments and
a great number of prisoners. Darkness closed the battle. Our loss very
heavy, the enemy's much greater. As we go to press we learn that on the
eighth Grant began to move toward Spottsyhania Court-Housed

"The eighth! A week ago! Is that all it says?"

"There is nothing more from Virginia. But here is a letter from
Ripley, Mississippi. Forrest has been through that place, the enemy
after him — "

"Read that!"

On creaked the slow train, past the windows unrolled the Georgia
countryside, and where one saw a road one saw grey troops, grey
infantry, grey artillery, grey wagon-trains, all moving with the train
of the wounded, moving deeper into Georgia, moving toward
Atlanta. They moved nor fast nor slow, and if it was an army in
retreat it did not look the role. On went the train, in the heat, with
the wounded. No sun tormented, but the pall of the clouds held in
the heat. There had been two buckets of water to each car, but the
water gave out before they had been fifteen minutes from Resaca.

Hardee's corps, reaching Calhoun, moved by Johnston's orders
out upon the Rome road to where was met the Snake Creek Gap
road to Adairsville, upon which road the enemy was advancing.
Here Hardee deployed, formed a line, and held the blue in check
while the remainder of the grey came up. Joe Wheeler, in the rear,
retarded all advance from Resaca itself. The blue passage of the
Oostenaula met, too, with certain delays. Sherman, moving from
Dalton behind Rocky Face to cut the grey lines at Resaca, found
the Army of Tennessee there before him. Moving now behind
Oostenaula to come upon the rear of the grey at Calhoun, he found
himself, as at Resaca, again face to face.

Back in front of Resaca, under the darkening sky, upon the
mound in front of Stevenson's line, above the ravine which had filled
with a blue host, stood yet the four guns which had been cut off
early in the day. "I covered the disputed battery with my fire,"
says Stevenson, "in such a manner that it was utterly impossible for

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the enemy to remove it, and I knew that I could retake it at any
time, but thought it could be done with less loss of life at night, and
therefore postponed my attack. When ordered to retire I represented
the state of things to the general commanding, who decided to aban
don the guns." And says Hood: "During the attack on General
Stevenson a four-gun battery was in position thirty paces in front
of his line, the gunners being driven from it and the battery left in
dispute. The army withdrew that night, and the guns, without
caissons or limber-boxes, were abandoned to the enemy, the loss of
life it would have cost to withdraw them being considered worth
more than the guns."

These four pieces constituted the only material lost or abandoned
during the seventy days. Now they stood there in a row with their
grey friends and comrades gone, with the blue rear guard not yet
come to take them; stood there in a solitude after throngs, in a
silence after sound. The sky was iron grey, the grass was trampled,
the dead lay upon the slope. The guns were all alone. Their metal
was cold, their lips no longer red; they stood like four sentinels
frozen in death. They stood high, against the wide and livid heaven.
The cloudy day declined; the night came dark and close, and into its
vastness the guns sank and disappeared like the guns of an injured
ship at sea.

CHAPTER XXV

THE WILDERNESS

IT might have been guessed from the first," said Cleave. "Only,
fortunately or unfortunately, mankind never makes such
guesses. Given, with all our talk to the contrary, North and
South, a common stock, with common qualities, common intensities
of purpose; then given the division of the whole into two parts, two
thirds of the mass on that side of the line, one third on this; then,
in addition, push to the larger side manufacturing towns and the
control of the sea — and it ought not to have taken an eagle's vision
to see on which side the dice would fall."

Allan pondered it. "There have been times from the beginning
- from First Manassas on — when we lacked little of winning.
A very little more several times and they would have cried,
Peace!"

"That is true. It was n't impossible, impossible as it looked. It
only was n't at all probable."

"And it is less probable now ?"

"It is not at all probable now."

The two moved on in silence, Cleave riding Dundee, Allan walk
ing beside him. They were in one of the glades of the Wilderness,
the Sixty-fifth bivouacking at hand, Cleave going to brigade head
quarters and the scout joining him from some by-path. It was sun
set, and a pink light touched the Wilderness. "We have come to a
definite turn," said Cleave, "or rather, we came to it at Gettysburg,
-Gettysburg and Vicksburg." He looked about him. "A year
ago, we were in this Wilderness. I had a cloud upon me that I did
not know would ever be lifted — a cloud upon me and a sore
heart." He lifted his hat and rode bareheaded. "But the light
upon this Wilderness was more rosy then than now."

Night fell. Far and wide rolled the Wilderness. An odour rose
from the dwarf pine and oak and sweet gum and cedar, from the
earth and its carpet of the leaves of old years, from the dogwood,

288 CEASE FIRING

the pink azalea, and the purple judas-tree, from rotting logs and
orange and red fungi, from small marshy bottoms where the frogs
were croaking, from the dry, out-worn "poison fields," from dust
and from mould, — a subtle odour, new as to-day, old as sandal-
wood cut in the East ten thousand years ago. Far and wide stretched
the Wilderness. Its ravines were not deep, its hills were not high,
but it had a vastness as of the desert, where, neither, are the ravines
deep nor the hills high. The stars rimmed it, and a low whispering
wind went from cedar covert to sweet-gum copse, from pine to oak,
from dogwood to judas-tree. It lifted the dust from the narrow,
trampled, hidden roads and powdered with it the wayside growth.
It murmured past the Tabernacle Church, and the burned house
of Chancellorsville, and Dowdall's Tavern and the old Wilderness
Tavern, by Catherine Furnace and along the old Turnpike and the
Plank Road. It bore with it the usual sounds of the Wilderness by
night and it bore also, this May as last May, the hum of great armies,
not roused yet, not furiously battling, but murmurous — a dreamy,
not unrestful sound adding itself to the region's natural voice.

A group of officers, sitting by the embers of a camp-fire, listened
to the two voices, and watched the pale light along the northern
horizon. "It's like the lights of a distant city over there."

"A hundred and forty thousand men make a city. . . . Not so
distant either."

"Grant! I never met him in the old Mexican days, — nor after
wards. He went pretty far down. But I have met a man or two
who knew him, and they liked him — a bulldog, reticent, tenacious
kind of person — '

"Very good soldierly qualities — especially when backed by one
hundred and forty thousand men with promise of all reinforcements
needed ! — Heigho ! ' '

"He had a kind of rough chivalry, also, — consideration, sim
plicity. Sincere, too — " He stirred the embers with his scabbard
point. "Well! we've got a job before us now."

"We've won, once before, in this place."

"The fourth of May! Last fourth of May it was Stonewall Jack
son — lying over there by Dowdall's Tavern — with just a week to
live. Stuart—"

"It's come to a question of figures. If they can keep on doubling

THE WILDERNESS 289

us in number, if they can add and add reinforcements and we can
not, if they have made up their minds to stand all the killing neces
sary, then, with a determined general, it is not impossible that after
years of trying they may get between us and Richmond."

"They may eventually. I don't think they will do it this cam
paign."

"No. I reckon not—"

The group fell silent, looking out upon the waves of wooded land
and the light on the horizon. "I was through here," said one at last,
"ten years ago. I was riding with a farmer — a young man — and
I remember that I said it was like a region that had gone to sleep
in its cradle and never waked up, and he said that that was what
was the matter with it — that nothing ever happened here! I
wonder — "

"Don't wonder. What 's the use ?"

"It's a strange world!"

"Strange! That's the thing about the universe I think of most
at night — how queer it is!"

"Unity! That's what they teach — all the philosophers! And
yet a unity that tears its own flesh —

"Sometimes unity does that very thing. I've seen a man do it."

"Yes, when he was distraught!"

"That's what I say. You can nearly go mad at night, thinking
how mad we all are!"

"Don't think. At least not now. You can't afford it."

"I agree with Gary. There's a time to think and a time not to
think. The less the soldier thinks the better."

" Think !" said Fauquier Gary . " No one ever thinks in war. The
soldier looks at his enemy, and then he looks at his murdering piece,
and then instinctively he discovers the best position — or what
seems to him the best position — from which to fire it. And then
he reloads, and he looks again at the enemy, and instinct does the
job for him once more — and so on, ad infinitttm. But he never
thinks" He rose and stood, warming his one hand. "If he did that,
you know, there 'd be no war!"

"And would that be a good thing ? "

"It depends," said Gary, "on what you call a good thing. —
Listen ! Jeb Stuart and his cavalry, moving on the old Turnpike —

290 CEASE FIRING

The grey soldiers, too, had their camp-fires. The light of these
flared, to the eyes of the blue, on the southern horizon. Here like
wise was the effect of the lights of a city — a smaller city, a city of
sixty thousand. But when you were actually back of the pickets,
in the camps, it was not like a city. It was only dusky lights here
and there in the midst of shadows, only camp-fires in the Wilder
ness. The grey men scattered around them, resting after rapid
marching, were in an eve-of-battle mood. Eve-of-battle mood
meant tenseness, sudden jocularity, sudden silences, a kind of added
affectionateness between brothers and intimates, often masked by
brusqueness, a surreptitious consideration, a curious, involuntary
"in honour preferring one another." Even among the still at this
hour very busy people, the generals cogitating orders, the aides and
couriers standing waiting or setting out with their messages, the
ordnance train people, the movers of guns from one point to another,
the ambulance folk, the drivers of belated wagons, the cavalry
patrols, eve-of-battle feeling was apparent. But it was most in force
in the resting army. Eve-of-battle mood had many ingredients.
Among them was to be found in the cup of many the ingredient of
fear. Men hid it, but it was there. It fell on the heart at inter
vals, fell like a cold finger tap, like the icy drop of water falling at
intervals, hour after hour, on the brow of the tortured in an old
dungeon. When the battle was here it would disappear; always the
amount of it lessened in constant ratio to the approach of the firing.
The first volley — except in the case of the coward — dissipated it
quite. With some the drop was heavier and more insistent than
with others, but there were few, indeed, who had not at some time
felt that cold and penetrating touch. It was only a thing of in
tervals; it came and went, and between its comings one was gay
enough. There had long ago ceased the fear of what it could do
to one. It was not pleasant — neither was sea-sickness — but the
voyage would be made. The Army of Northern Virginia knew
that it was going to fight. The world knows that it fought as have
fought few armies.

A company lying upon the earth in a field of cedars began to
sing.

"We're tenting to-night on the old camp-ground!
Give us a song to cheer — "

THE WILDERNESS 291

" That's too mournful!" said a neighbouring company. "Tell
the Louisianians to sing the 'Marseillaise.'"

"Many are the hearts that are weary to-night!

Wishing for the war to cease;
Many are the hearts that are looking for the right,
To see the dawn of peace.

" Tenting to-night, tenting to-night,

Tenting on the old camp-ground. . . ."

As always, eve-of-battle, there was going on a certain redding up.
Those who had haversacks plunged deep within them, gathered
certain trifles together and tied them into a small bundle with a
pencilled direction. Diaries were brought up very neatly and care
fully to date. Entries closed with "Battle to-morrow!" or with
"This time to-morrow night much will have happened"; or some
times with such things as "Made up my quarrel with Wilson
to-day"; or "Returned the book I borrowed from Selden"; or
" Read a psalm and a chapter to-day " ; or " Wrote home." Eve-of-
battle saw many letters written. There was a habit, too, of destroy
ing letters received and garnered. Here and there a man sat upon
a log and tore into little bits old, treasured sheets. The flecks lay
like snow upon the earth of the Wilderness.

"We're tired of war on the old camp-ground
Many are dead and gone. . . .

"We're tenting to-night on the old camp-ground, . . .

Tenting to-night, tenting to-night.
Tenting to-night on the old camp-ground."

All the spirit of this army was graver than it had been a year ago,
than it had been six months ago. During the past winter a strong
religious fervour had swept it. This evening, in the Wilderness, in
many a command there was prayer and singing of hymns. Swaths
of earth, black copses of cedar and gum, divided one congregation
from another. One was singing while another prayed; the hymns
were different, but the wide night had room for all — for the
hymns and for "Tenting to-night," and for the "Marseillaise"
which now Hays's Louisianians were singing. All blended into some
thing piteous, something old and touching, and of a dim nobility.
The pickets out in the deep night listened.

292 CEASE FIRING

"Just as I am, without one plea

Save that thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bid'st me come to thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come!"

A soldier, standing picket and hearing the singing behind a dusky
wave of earth, had his doubts. "If we really come to him — if the
Yankees over there really came to him — if we both came, why, —
there would n't be any battle to-morrow. . . . Seeing that he said,
'Love your enemy' — which if everybody did presently there 'd
be no enemy — no more than an icicle in the sun." He sighed and
shifted his musket. "They think they mean what they're singing,
but they don't—"

Relieved, he sought his mess and the corner of leaves and boughs
in which they meant to sleep. Before lying down he spoke to the
man next him. "John, I've got a letter and a little bit of package
here that I want you to keep. I am going to be killed to-morrow."

"No, you ain't!"

"Yes, lam. I am positively certain of it. I am going to be killed
about noon."

"You've just got one of those darned presentiments, and half
the time they don't come to nothing!"

"This one will. You take the letter and the little bit of pack
age. I am going to be killed to-morrow, about noon." And he was
killed.

Night grew old. The flare of the cities sank away; tattoo beat,
then, after a little, taps. The Wilderness lay awake. She com
muned with her own heart. But the men whom she harboured
slept. Night passed, the stars paled, pure and cool and fresh came
on the dawn — wild roses in the east, in a field of forget-me-not
blue. Shrill and sweet, near and remote, a thousand bugles blew
reveille in the Wilderness.

Ewell and A. P. Hill moved westward, deeper into the Wilderness.
Longstreet, marching from the south side of the James, was not
yet up, though known to be approaching. About breakfast time an
artillery officer came upon a small fire, and bending over it, stiffly,
being wooden-legged, General Ewell, a first-rate cook and proud of
it. He insisted on giving the other a cup of coffee.

"Is there any objection, sir," said the officer, after drinking, "to
our knowing what are orders ?"

THE WILDERNESS

2 93

" No, sir, — none at all, — just the orders I like ! To go right down
the Plank Road and strike the enemy wherever I find him!"

He found him, in the person of the Fifth Corps, near Locust
Grove, at the noon hour. The battle of the Wilderness began, — a
vast infantry battle, fought in thick woods, woods so thick that in
those coverts of dwarf pine and oak artillery could not be used, so
thick that an officer could not see his whole line, so thick that the
approach of troops was often known only by the noise of their move
ment through the scrub, or, as night came down, by the light from
the mouths of the muskets. This was the battle of the first day, and
it was long and sanguinary and indecisive. Corps of Ewell and Hill
— corps of Hancock and Warren and Sedgwick fought it. Ewell
gained and held an advantage, but Wilcox and Heth of Hill's had
a desperate, exhausting struggle with Hancock's men. Poague's
battalion of artillery strove to help, but artillery in the Wilderness
could do little. Six divisions charged Heth and Wilcox. They held
their own, but they barely held it. When darkness fell and the thun
ders were stilled there came a promise that during the night they
should be relieved. Resting upon it, they built a rude breastwork,
and then, worn out, dropped upon the earth and slept.

Lee sent a courier on a swift horse to meet Longstreet and order
a night march. At one o'clock of a starlit night the latter took the
road, and at daylight of the sixth he came to Parker's Store, on the
edge of the Wilderness, three miles behind Hill's line of battle, and
as he came he heard the roar of battle upon this front.

Hancock fell in the grey light on Heth and Wilcox. The Wilder
ness echoed the musketry and the shouting. It wras a furious on
slaught, for a time a furious answer — and then Wilcox's line, ex
hausted, decimated, broke and rolled in confusion down the Orange
Plank Road. When the men reached Poague's artillery they made
a wavering stand. The guns, crashing into battle, did what they
might to help. But Hancock's shouting lines came on. A furious
musketry fire burst in the face of the guns, a leaden rain hard pelt
ing from just across the road, the drops falling thick and fast among
the guns and the gunners and a company of mounted officers
behind. The grey infantry, exposed to volley after volley, broke
again; all the place became a troubled grey sea, cross-waves and
confusion.

294

CEASE FIRING

Lee rode out from the group of officers. "Rally, men, rally!" he
cried. " General Longstreet is coming ! "

" O Marse Robert I 0 Marse Robert /"

The boisterous rain came and came again from the coverts of the
Wilderness. Hancock's men shouted loudly. They saw the grey
overthrow. "Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah !" they shouted.

Lee rose in his stirrups. " Rally, Army of Northern Virginia! — "

"Longstreet! Longstreet!"

Double-column and double-time, Longstreet came down the Plank
Road. Deploying, Kershaw came into line under fire to the right.
Deploying, Field swung across on the left. "Charge, Kershaw!"
ordered Longstreet. Kershaw charged, and flung back the shouting
blue advance; Field, on the left, advancing at a run, swept past the
smoking guns and Lee, sitting Traveller. Gregg's Texans were in
front. "General Lee! General Lee!" they shouted. Lee lifted his
hat, and then he spurred grey Traveller and kept beside the Texans.

" He 's going in with them ! " exclaimed an aide. " He must n't do
that!"

Gregg turned his head. "General Lee, you must n't go with us!
We can't allow that, sir!"

Now the men saw, too. " Do you mean — No, no ! that won't do !
General Lee to the rear /"

"But, men— "

There rose a cry. " We won't go on unless you go back ! General
Lee to the rear!"

A man took hold of Traveller's bridle and turned him.

On dashed the Texans — eight hundred of them. They went now
through open field, now through pines. They struck Webb's brigade
of Hancock's corps. Blue and grey, there sprang a roar of musketry.
Four hundred of the eight hundred fell, lay dead or wounded; then
with a loud and long cry there swept to the aid of Gregg, Benning's
Texans, Georgia, and Alabama. Law and Benning and Gregg pushed
back the blue.

For hours it was the tug of war. Blue and grey they swayed and
swung and the Wilderness howled with the conflict. Smoke mounted.4
The firing waxed until sound was no more discrete but continuous.
Although it was not night the Wilderness grew dark. And beneath
the solid roof of smoke and sound men lay gasping on mother earth,

THE WILDERNESS 295

dyeing the grass with their blood, plucking with their fingers at
strengthless stems, putting out their tongues where there was no
moisture, biting the dust. In the sick brain, to and fro, went the
words "This is the end," and "Why? 0 God, why?"

The blue left rested south of the Plank Road. With four brigades
under Mahone, Longstreet began a turning movement. It suc
ceeded. Mahone struck the blue, flank and rear, while Longstreet
hurled other troops against their front. The blue line crumpled up,
surged in confusion back upon the Brock Road. The noise grew
heavier, the Wilderness darker.

And then occurred one of those things called coincidences. One
year ago a very great general had been given death in the Wilder
ness by a mistaken volley from his own men. Now on this day in
the Wilderness a general, not so great, but able, and necessary that
day to the grey fortunes, rode with a brigade which he was about
to place in line, through the wood alongside the Plank Road. The
wood was thick and the road wound. Longstreet, with him Generals
Jenkins and Kershaw, pressed forward through the oak scrub, torn
and veiled with smoke, and now in many places afire. All the air
was now so thick, it was hard in that wild place to tell friend from
foe. As had done Lane's North Carolinians last year, so this year
did Mahone's men. They saw or felt the approach of a column,
whose colour they could not see; some command parallel with the
moving troops chanced just then to deliver fire; Mahone's men
thought that the shots came from the approaching body, hardly
outlined as it was in the murk. They answered with a volley. Jen
kins was killed, and Longstreet severely wounded.

"What are you doing? What are you doing?" shouted Kershaw;
and at last grey understood that it was grey.

Says the artillery officer, Robert Stiles, who has been quoted
before: "I observed an excited gathering some distance back of the
lines, and, pressing toward it, I heard that General Longstreet had
just been shot down and was being put into an ambulance. I could
not learn anything definite as to the character of his wound, but
only that it was serious — some said that he was dead. When the
ambulance moved off, I followed it for a little way. . . . The mem
bers of his staff surrounded the vehicle, some riding in front, some
on one side and some on the other, and some behind. One, I remem-

296 CEASE FIRING

ber, stood upon the rear step of the ambulance, seeming to desire
to be as near him as possible. I never on any occasion during the
four years of the war saw a group of officers and gentlemen more
deeply distressed. They were literally bowed down with grief. All
of them were in tears. One, by whose side I rode for some distance,
was himself severely hurt, but he made no allusion to his wound,
and I do not believe that he felt it. ... I rode up to the ambulance
and looked in. They had taken off Longstreet's hat and coat and
boots. The blood had paled out of his face, and its somewhat gross
aspect was gone. I noticed how white and dome-like his great fore
head looked and, with scarcely less reverent admiration, how spot
less white his socks, and his fine gauze undervest, save where the
black red gore from his breast and shoulder had stained it. . . . His
eyelids frayed apart till I could see a delicate line of blue between
them, and then he very quietly moved his unwounded arm, and with
his thumb and two fingers carefully lifted the saturated undershirt
from his chest, holding it up a moment, and heaved a deep sigh."

The grey attack, disorganized by Longstreet's fall, hung in the
wind, until Lee came up and led it on. But time had been lost, and
though much was done, it was not that which might have been done.
The blue were behind long lines of log breastworks on the Brock
Road. Again and again the grey beat against these. At times they
took this work or that, but could not hold it. Along the front of one
command the breastwork caught fire. The blue fought to put it out,
but could not ; flame and smoke made a barrier alike to grey or blue.
On the Plank Road, Burnside fell upon Law's Alabamians and a
Florida brigade, but Heth came up and with Alabama and Florida
thrust back Burnside. At sunset, though the sun could not be seen
in the Wilderness, Ewell flung Gordon with Pegram and Hays
against the Federal right. The assault was well planned and deter
mined to desperation. The blue right was driven as had been the
blue left in the morning. The sun sank, black night came, and the
battle closed. There lay in the Wilderness perhaps two thousand
dead in grey and five thousand wounded. There lay in the Wilder
ness more than two thousand dead in blue and twelve thousand
wounded. There were three thousand in blue captured or missing.
There were fifteen hundred grey prisoners.

Night was not so black in all parts of the Wilderness. In parts it

THE WILDERNESS 297

was fearfully red. The Wilderness was afire. Pine and oak scrub
and the dry leaves beneath and the sedge in open places, — they
flared like tow. They flared where the battle had been fought; they
flared where were the wounded. Here and there in the Wilderness
arose a horrible crying. Volunteers and volunteers, blue and grey,
companies of volunteers, plunged into the smoke, among the red
tongues. They did what the fire would let them do. They brought
out many and many and many. But an unknown number of hun
dreds were burned to death.

All day the seventh they skirmished. The night of the seventh
the blue, weary of the Wilderness, moved with swiftness southeast
toward Spottsylvania Court-House. "Get so between him and
Richmond," said Grant, as at Dal ton Sherman was saying, " Get so
between him and Atlanta." But as Johnston moved on inner lines
and with more swiftness than Sherman, so Lee moved on inner lines
and with more swiftness than Grant. Flexible as a Toledo blade
was the grey army. With the noise of the blue column on the Brock
Road sprang almost simultaneously the sound of the grey column
moving cross-country and then by the Shady Grove Road. Grant,
bent on "swinging past" Lee, came to Spottsylvania in the bright
morning light of the eighth of May, to find Jeb Stuart drawn across
the Brock Road; behind him the First Corps.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE BLOODY ANGLE

ROUGHLY speaking, the Confederate position in the three days'
battle of Spottsylvania— -country of Alexander Spottswood,
sometime periwigged Governor of the Colony of Virginia —
was a great reversed V, the apex turned northward, the base laved
by the river Po, the First Corps holding the western face, the Sec
ond Corps the eastern, the Third Corps at first in reserve, but after
wards sufficiently involved, Lee himself at Spottsylvania Court-
House, just within the eastern line. The country was a rough one
of oak and pine, though not so densely wooded as the Wilderness,
the weather upon the ninth and tenth dazzlingly hot and dusty,
the eleventh and twelfth days of fog and streaming rain. It was
a strong position.

On May eighth, the two antagonists entrenched themselves, made
their dispositions and placed their batteries. On May ninth, there
was much skirmishing, heavy enough at times to be called an en
gagement. On this day, on the blue side, there was killed General
Sedgwick. From the beginning of the campaign, Jeb Stuart had
most seriously interfered with the blue host. On the eighth, Grant
ordered Sheridan to strike out independently for Richmond and so
draw Stuart away from the field of Spottsylvania. At sunrise on
the ninth, Sheridan and ten thousand horsemen took the Tele
graph Road that stretched from Fredericksburg to Richmond.
At sundown they came to Beaver Dam Station and the Virginia
Central Railroad. Here they captured a trainload of wounded
and prisoners on the way from Spottsylvania to Richmond. Here
they released three hundred and seventy Federal captives, and
here they set fire to all trains and buildings and tore up the rail
road track and made birds' nests of the telegraph wires. And here
they heard Stuart on their heels. On the tenth, they crossed the
South Anna at Ground Squirrel Bridge, not without skirmishing.
At night Stuart's shells rained into their camps. On the eleventh,

THE BLOODY ANGLE 299

one blue brigade had an encounter with Munford at Ashland while
the main force swept on to Glen Allen. Here they met Stuart's
strong skirmish line, and, driving it in at last, came to Yellow
Tavern, six miles from Richmond.

Back in Spottsylvania, all day the tenth of May there was right
ing, righting by the river Po, between Heth's division and troops of
Hancock, artillery work and skirmishing along all lines; in the after
noon a great blue assault, desperately repelled. The Federal loss
this day was four thousand, the Confederate, two thousand.

The eleventh saw a lull, a still and oppressive pause in things.
The blue made a reconnoissance, much interfered with by grey
sharpshooters, but a reconnoissance big with results. What had been
cloudy knowledge became clear; there sprang into intense light a
thing that might be done. That night the Federal Second and Ninth
Corps slept on their arms in a sheltering wood a thousand yards and
more from the salient that marked the grey centre, from the narrow
part of the V, held by Edward Johnson's division of Ewell's corps.

All day the eleventh the grey had strengthened breastworks and
made inner lines. There was a fine, slow rain, and the mist of it,
added to the smoke from the burning forest and the clouds from the
cannon mouth, made a dull, obscuring atmosphere. In the after
noon came with positiveness the statement of a reconnoitring party.
A blue column, in motion southward, had been observed to cross the
Po. At the same time arrived a message from Early. " Certainly
some movement of the enemy to the left." Now another flank move
ment of Grant's, another attempt to "swing past," another effort
to get between the Army of Northern Virginia and Richmond was
so probable, so entirely on the cards, that Lee accepted the report
as correct and prepared to act accordingly. He prepared to move
during the night that supple, mobile army of his, and in speed and
silence again to lay it across Grant's road. Among other orders he
sent one to his artillery chiefs. All guns on the left and centre that
might be "difficult of access" were to be withdrawn at nightfall.
So, later, they would be ready to come swiftly and noiselessly into
column. Having received the order, Ewell's chief of artillery re
moved all guns from the high and broken ground at the point of the
V. Toward midnight Lee received assurance that the blue move
ment across the Po had been but a reconnoissance. Mahone and

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Wilcox, whom he had sent toward Shady Grove, were recalled, and
the Army of Northern Virginia prepared to meet on this ground the
Army of the Potomac. Certain orders were countermanded, certain
others given. But through some negligence or other the order to
restore to their original position the guns "difficult of access" did
not that night reach the proper officers. When the first pallid light
came into the sky the guns were away from the salient, the point
of the V. And a thousand yards in the forest lay, on their arms,
waiting for the dawn, the Second and Ninth Army Corps.

The salient — for hundreds of yards it thrust itself out toward
the blue, like a finger pointing from a clenched hand. And the finger
nail was the Bloody Angle.

Billy Maydew, rising from the wet earth at four o'clock, found
that the rain was coming down and the world was wrapped in fog.
"Thunder Run Mountain can't see Peaks of Otter this morning!'1
he said. He stood up, tall and lean and twenty-one, and stretched
himself. "Hope grandpap and the dawgs air setting comfortable
by the fire!"

Certainly the Stonewall Brigade, Johnson's division, EwelPs
corps, was not warm and comfortable. Felled wet trees did as well
for breastwork and traverse and abatis as dry, but they were not so
good for camp-fires. The fires this streaming break-of-day were a
farce. The ground behind the breastworks was rough and now very
muddy, and the great number of stumps of trees had a dismal look.
Where a fire was kindled the smoke refused to rise, but clung dark,
thick, and suffocating. The air struck shiveringly cold, and the
woods north and east and west of the sharp salient were as invisible
as a fog-mantled coast. Billy, standing high in the angle's narrowest
part, had a curious feeling. He had never been on a ship or he might
have thought, "I am driving fast into something behind that fog."
As it was, he shook off the slight dizziness and looked about him —
at the thronged deck where everybody was trying to get breakfast,
at the long trenches, each side of the salient and rounding the point,
at the log and earth breastworks and the short traverses, at the
abatis of felled trees, branches outward, much like the swirl of waves
to either side the ship's prow. He looked at the parapets where the
guns had been, and then, brigade headquarters' fire being near,
he listened to an aide from the division commander. "General

THE BLOODY ANGLE 301

Johnson says, sir, that he has sent again for the guns, sent for the
third time. They're coming, but the road is frightfully heavy.
He says the moment they are here, get them into position and
trained. In the mean time keep the sharpest kind of lookout."

Billy had not thought much of it before, but now it came over
him. "We air in a darned defenceless position out here."

He went back to where his mess was struggling with a fire not
big enough to toast hard-tack. He had hardly joined them when a
drum beat and an order rang the length and breadth of the salient.
Fall in!

He was down in one of the trenches, the Sixty-fifth with him,
right and left. Turning his head, he saw Cleave stand a moment
looking at the platforms where the batteries had been and now
were not, then walk along the trenches and speak to the men.
Lieutenant Coffin he saw, too, slight, pale, romantic-looking, and
troubled at the moment because he had unwittingly stepped into a
mud-hole which had mired him above the knee. He had a bit of
scrap iron and with it was scraping the mud away, steadying him
self, shoulder against a tree.

Billy smiled. "Ain't he a funny mixture? Hates a speck of mud
'most as much as he hates a greyback ! Funny when I think of how
I used to hate him ! " He looked along the line and at the companies
in reserve and at the clusters of officers, with here or there a solitary
figure, and at the regiments of the Stonewall Brigade, and the other
brigades of Johnson's division, and then out through a crack between
two logs, to the picket line beyond the abatis and to the misty wood.
"I don't know that I hate anybody now," said Billy aloud.

"Don't you? " asked the man next him. "I would n't be a namby-
pamby like that! I could n't get along without hating, any more
than I could without tansy in the spring-time!"

"Oh, thar air times," said Billy equably, "when I think I hate the
Yanks."

"Think! Don't you know ?"

Billy was counting the cartridges in his cartridge-box. "Why,"
he said when he had finished, " sometimes of course I hate them like
p'ison oak. But then thar air other times when I consider that —
according to their newspapers — they hate me like p'ison oak, too.
Now I do a power of wrong things, I know, but I air not p'ison oak.

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And so, according to what Allan calls 'logic/ maybe they air not
p'ison oak either. Thar was a man in the Wilderness. The fire in
the scrub was coming enough to feel the devil in it — closer and
closer. And his spine was hurt and he could n't move, and he had
his shoulder against a log, one end of which was blazing. He was
sitting there all lit up by that light, and he had his musket butt up
and was trying to beat out his brains. Me and Jim Watts got him
out, and he was from Boston and a young man like me, and I liked
him just as well as ever I liked any man. He put his arms around
my neck and he hugged me and cried, and I hugged him, too, and I
reckon I cried, too. And Jim and me got him out through the scrub
afire. He wa'n't no p'ison oak, no more 'n I were."

"Well, what 're you fighting for?"

"I am fighting," said Billy, "for the right to secede."

Out in the fog a picket fired. Another and another followed.
There arose a sputter of musketry, then a sound of voices and of
running feet, heavy on the sodden earth. In a moment there was
commotion, up and down, within the salient. In fell the pickets —
anyhow — over the breastworks. "They're coming! they're com
ing! All of them! It looked like — !"

They came, Barlow's division in two lines of two brigades each
"closed in mass," Birney's division, Mott's division, Gibbon be
hind. Barlow came over an open space, Birney through a wood of
stunted pines and by a marsh. Together they wrapped with fire
the extended finger that was the salient. There rose a grey shouting,
" The guns ! the guns ! Hasten the guns ! ' ' The guns were coming -
Page's and Cutshaw's — the guns were hastening, coming in two
lines, twenty-two guns, through the tangled, sopping wood — horses
and drivers and cannoneers straining every nerve. The ground was
frightful beneath foot and wheel. Two guns got up in time to fire
three rounds into the looming blue. Then the storm broke, and the
angle became the spot on earth where, it is estimated, in all the his
tory of the earth the musketry fire was the heaviest. It became
the "Bloody Angle."

Billy fired, bit a cartridge, loaded, fired, loaded, fired, loaded,
fired, and all over and over again, then, later, used his bayonet,
then clubbed his musket and struck with it, lifted, struck, lifted,

THE BLOODY ANGLE

THE BLOODY ANGLE 303

struck. Each distinct action carried with it a more or less distinct
thought. "This is going to be hell here, presently," thought the
first cartridge. "No guns and every other Yank in creation coming
jumping!" "Thunder Run!" thought the second; "Thunder Run,
Thunder Run, Thunder Run !" Thought the third, " I killed that man
with the twisted face." Thought the fourth, "I forgot to give Dave
back his tin cup." The fifth cartridge had an irrelevant vision of the
school-house and the water-bucket on the bench by the door. The
sixth thought, "That man won't go home either!" Down the line
went the word, Bayonets ! and he fixed his bayonet, the gun-bore
burning his fingers as he did so. The breastwork here was log and
earth. Now other bayonets appeared over it, and behind the bay
onets blue caps. "I have heard many a fuss," said the first bayonet
thrust, "but never a fuss like this!" "Blood, blood!" said the
second. "I am the bloody Past! Just as strong and young as ever I
was ! More blood ! ' '

The trenches grew slippery with blood. It mixed with the rain
and ran in red streamlets. The bayonet point felt first the folds of
cloth, then it touched and broke the skin, then it parted the tissues,
then it grated against bone, or, passing on, rending muscle and
gristle, protruded, a crimson point. Withdrawn, it sought another
body, sought it fast, and found it. Those men who had room to fire
kept on firing, the blue into breast and face of the grey, the grey
into breast and face of the blue. Flame scorched the flesh of each.
Pistols were used as well as muskets. Where there was not room
to fire, or time to load, where one could not well thrust with the
bayonet, the stock of gun or pistol was used as a club. Where
weapons had been wrested away men clutched with bare hands one
anothers' throats. And all this went on, not among a dozen or even
fifty infuriated beings, but among thousands. Over all was the
smoke, through which, as through a leaky roof, poured the rain.

The blue came over the breastwork, down the slippery side, into
the trenches. Their feet pressed dead bodies or slipped in the bloody
mire. The grey seemed to lift them bodily and throw them back
upon the other side. Then across the parapet broke out again
the storm of musketry. There were four thousand defending the
salient, there were thrice as many pressing to the attack. From the
rear Ewell was throwing forward brigades, but they could not come

304 CEASE FIRING

in time. The twenty-two guns were now here, but only two were
unlimbered, when the blue finally overran the Bloody Angle.

They poured into the salient, they took three thousand grey pris
oners, amongst them Johnson himself and General Steuart; they
took twenty of Page and Cutshaw's twenty-two guns. They swept
on, hurrahing, to the second line across the salient, and here they
met the troops of Hill and Early. Gordon and Rodes, brigades of
Lane and Ramseur and Perrin, brigades of Mississippi and South
Carolina, artillery from any quarter that could be brought to bear,
all crashed against the rushing blue. All day it lasted, the battle
of the broken centre, with movements of diversion elsewhere; an
attack, violently repulsed, upon Anderson of Longstreet's; and
Early's victory over Burnside. But it was over and around the
salient that man's rage waxed hottest. So dense in the rain-laden
air was the smoke, both from the artillery and the enormous volume
of musketry, that although they were neighbours, indeed, neither
side now clearly saw its target. Each side fired at edges and gleams
of humanity. Now a work was captured and held, perhaps for five,
perhaps for twenty minutes. Then it was retaken. Now it was the
Stars and Stripes that waved above it, and now it was the Stars and
Bars. The abatis became a trap to take the living and hold the dead.
It and all the standing trees were riddled by bullets, split into broom-
straw. Trees of considerable diameter, bit in twain by the leaden
teeth, crashed down upon the commands beneath. The artillery,
roaring into the battle from every feasible point, raked the ground
with canister, bringing down the living and dreadfully mangling
the already fallen. The face of the earth was kneaded into a paste
with blood and water. The blood seemed to have gotten upon the
flags. And always from the rear was handed on the ammunition.
. . . The Sixty-fifth was among the uncaptured. Billy had become
an automaton.

Night closed the conflict. The blue had gained the capture of
three fourths of a division, but little since or beside. When total
darkness came down there lay upon the field of Spottsylvania six
teen thousand Federal dead and wounded. The grey loss was not so
great, but it was great enough. And never now with the grey could
any loss be afforded. With the grey the blood that was lost was
arterial blood.

THE BLOODY ANGLE 305

At dawn Lee still held the great V, save only the extreme point,
the narrow Bloody Angle. This was covered and possessed by the
blue, and at the dawn details came to gather the wounded and bury
the dead. The dead lay thronged. The blue buried their own, and
then they came and looked upon the trenches on the grey side of
the breastworks, and the grey dead lay there so thick that it was
ghastly. They lay in blood stiffened with earth, and their pale faces
looked upwards, and their cold hands still clutched their muskets.
A ray from the rising sun struck upon them. " With much labour,"
says a Federal eye-witness, "a detail of Union soldiers buried these
dead by simply turning the captured breastworks upon them."

Back somewhere near the river Po, in the width of the V, a
mounted officer met a mounted comrade. The latter was shining
wet, he and his horse, from a swollen ford. Each drew rein.

"Have you anything to eat?" said the one from across the Po.
"I am dizzy, I am so famished."

"I've got a little brown sugar. Here -

He poured it into the hollow of the other's hand, who ate it
eagerly. "Has anything," asked the first, "been heard from Rich
mond way — from Stuart ?"

The other let fall his hand, sticky with the sugar. He looked at
his fellow with sombre eyes. "Where have you been," he said, "not
to have heard ? — Stuart is dead."

CHAPTER XXVII

RICHMOND

"From lightning and tempest; from plague, pestilence and famine;
from battle and murder, and from sudden death,
" Good Lord, deliver us"

BY most the words were sobbed out. May the eighth, and the
Wilderness vast in the minds of all, and fresh battle impend
ing, now at Spottsylvania! It was a congregation of men and
women, dusky in raiment, bereaved, torn by anxieties, sick with
alternating hope and fear. Only on one's bed at night, or here in
church, could the overladen heart speak without shame or acknow
ledgment of weakness. Outside, one must be brave again. The over
laden heart expressed itself not loudly but very truly. The kneeling
women looked crushed and immobile in that position . Over them was
flung a veil of black, and a hand, potent from the beginning of ages,
seemed yet more heavily to press downward their bowed heads.
The men knelt more stiffly, but they, too, rested their foreheads on
their clasped hands, and the tears came from between their closed lids.
On rolled the service, through to the benediction. Richmond in
Saint Paul's came out of church into the flower-perfumed sunlight.
Here, men and women, they took up life again, and took it up with
courage. And as the proper face of courage is a smiling one, so
with these. Laughter, even, was heard in Richmond — Richmond
scarred and battle- worn; Richmond, where was disease and crowd
ing and wounds and starvation; Richmond ringed with earthworks;
Richmond the city contended for; Richmond between her foes,
Army of the Potomac threatening from the Wilderness, Army of
the James, lesser but formidable, threatening from the river gate;
Richmond, where the alarm bell was always ringing, ringing! Two
days ago it had pealed the news that Butler, bringing up a fleet
from Fortress Monroe, had made a landing at Bermuda Hundred.
Thirty-nine ships there were in all — thirty-eight, when a gunboat,
running upon a torpedo, was blown into fragments. They landed

RICHMOND 307

thirty-six thousand troops and overran the narrow ground between
the Appomattox and the James. Petersburg was threatened, and
from that side Richmond. The bell told it all with an iron tongue.
Pickett was at Petersburg, reinforced by Hagood's brigade, and
troops were coming from the Carolinas — some troops, how many
no one knew save that they could not be many. Yesterday again
the thrilling, rapid, iron tongue had spoken. The enemy had seized
and was wrecking the Petersburg railroad. ... So many words
had come forward in this war, had their day, or short or long, and
gone out of men's mouths! Now the word " Petersburg" came for
ward, it being its turn. The alarm bell called out the militia and the
City Battalion and the clerks from the various departments. They
were all ready if the blue cannon came nearer.

Storm and oppression were in the air — and yet the town on its
seven hills was fair, with May flowers and the fresh green of many
trees in which sang the mating birds. The past winter and early
spring there had existed, leaping like a sudden flame, dying to a
greying ember, and then leaping again, a strange gaiety. It had
seized but a certain number in the heavy-hearted city, but these it
had seized. Youth was youth, and must sing some manner of song
and play a little no matter what the storm. There were bizarre
" starvation parties," charades, concerts, dances, amateur theatric
als, an historic presentation of "The Rivals." It was all natural
enough; it had its place in the symphony of 1864. But now it was
over. The soldiers had gone back to the front, the campaign had
begun, and no one could really sing, watching the wounded come in.

Judith and Unity Gary walked up Grace Street together. They
were not wearing black; Warwick Gary had never liked it. More
over, in this year of the war a black gown and bonnet and veil
would cost a fearful amount, and there were known to be women
and children starving. The day was bright and warm, with drifts
of perfume. An officer of the President's staff lifted his cap, then
walked beside them.

"Isn't it a lovely day? — If I were a king with a hundred
palaces, I should have around each one a brick wall with wistaria
over it!"

"No, dark red roses— "

"I should n't have a wall at all — unless it were one with a num-

308 CEASE FIRING

ber of gates — and only one palace ! A reasonable palace, with an
unreasonable number of white roses — "

A lieutenant-colonel, aged twenty-six, with an arm in a sling,
and a patch over one eye, here joined them. "Good morning!
Is n't it a lovely day! I was just thinking it was n't half so lovely a
day as the days are at Greenwood, and lo and behold! just then it
became just as lovely! — What do you think! It's confirmed that
Beauregard is on his way from North Carolina — "

"Good!"

'"Beau canon, Beauregard! Beau soldat, Beauregard I

Beau sabreur! beau frappeur I Beauregard/ Beauregard!'

Now I've shocked that old lady crossing the street! Harry, tell
her it was a Russian hymn!"

They walked on beneath the bright trees. "The wedding

has been postponed," said Unity. "They thought there was time,
but two days before the day they had set, he had to go. It will be as
soon as he conies back."

"By George! but I was at a wedding out in Hanover!" said the
lieutenant-colonel. "The bride was dressed in homespun, with a
wreath of apple blossoms. The bridesmaids were in black, just taken
as they were from all the neighbouring families. The groom had
lost his arm and a piece of shell at Mine Run had cut away an ear,
just as neat ! The best man was a lame civilian who had somehow
inherited and held fast a beautiful black broadcloth suit, — very
tight pantaloons and a sprigged velvet waistcoat! He had acted,
he told me, as best man at thirty weddings in the last year ' because
he had the clothes.' The wedding guests had come in what they
had and it was a wonderful display. The bride had six brothers and
a father marching on the Wilderness, and the groom was just out
of hospital. There were three wounded cousins in the house, and
in the stable a favourite war-horse being doctored for a sabre cut.
Most of the servants had left, but there was a fiddler still on the
place, and we danced till midnight. There was a Confederate bride
cake, and a lot of things made with dried apples and sorghum. By
George, it was fine! "

" The bell ! "

The iron voice rang through the city. Faces came to the open

RICHMOND 309

windows, questioning voices arose, men passed, walking rapidly,,
the aide and the lieutenant-colonel said good-bye in haste and went
with the rest. The loud ringing ceased; it had not lasted long enough
to mark anything very terrible. Judith and Unity waited by a
honeysuckle-draped gate until the clamour had ceased, and then
until there came reassurance from a passer-by. " Nothing alarm
ing! A slight engagement at Drewry's Bluff, and a feint this way ! "

The kinsman's house where Judith had stayed before sheltered
now the two sisters. Judith was here because, during the weeks of
inaction preceding the opening of the campaign, Cleave could now
and again come to Richmond for a day. Unity was here because of
sheer need of change, so weary long had been the winter at Green
wood. Change was change, even if both plays were tragedies. Now
they went into the house that, like all houses in Richmond, was rilled
with people. Of the three sons, one had died in prison and the others
were with Lee. The house was murmurous with the voices of women
and quite elderly men, across which bubbled the clear notes of
children. So much of the great State was overrun now by the foe,
so many homes were burned, so much subsistence was destroyed, so
impossible was it to stay in the old home region, that always, every
where, occurred a movement of refugees. There was a tendency for
the streams to set toward Richmond; unwise but natural. Almost
every quarter was now threatened; one went into peaceful fields,
to-day, and to-morrow one must move again. Richmond! Rich
mond was surely safe, Richmond would surely never fall. . . .
There was a restless straining, too, toward the heart of things.
So the refugees came to Richmond and, with the troops coming
and going, and Government and the departments and the inmates
of the great hospitals and the inmates of the mournful prisons,
crowded the city.

Judith and Unity had together the small, high-up, white room
behind the tulip tree that had been Judith's before and during and
after the Seven Days. Now they climbed to it, laid away their
things, and prepared for the three o'clock dinner. Judith sat in the
window-seat, her hands about her knee, her head thrown back against
the white wood, her eyes on the shimmering distance seen between
the boughs.

"Once this window faced as it should," she said; " I could watch

3 io CEASE FIRING

the camp-fires each night — and I watched — I watched. But now
I wish it were a northwest window."

Unity, at the mirror, coiled her bright, brown hair. " By the time
it was cut you might need another."

"That is true," said Judith. "The sky reddens all round, and
one needs a room all windows."

They went downstairs. As they approached the cool dining-room,
with its portraits and silver and old blue china, a very sweet voice
floated out. "He said, 'Exactly, madam! You take your money
to market in the market-basket, and you bring home what you buy
in your pocketbook 1 "3

The next day and the next they spent in part at a hospital, in
part breathlessly waiting with the waiting city for news, news, news!
— news from Spottsylvania, where the great fighting was in pro
gress; news from south of the river, where Butler, most hated of all
foes, was entrenched, where there was fighting at Port Walthall;
news, on the tenth, of Sheridan's approach, of much burning and
destroying, news that Stuart was countering Sheridan. "Oh, it is all
right, then!" said many; but yet by day and by night there was
tenseness of apprehension.

All the town was hot and breathless. The alarm bell rang, the
dust whirled through the streets. The night of the tenth, Judith
and Unity were wakened by a drum beating. A minute later a voice
spoke outside their door. "Sheridan is within a few miles of Rich
mond. He is moving on us with eight thousand horse. Your cousin
says you had better get up and dress."

All of the household except the sleeping children gathered on
the porch that overhung the pavement. It was two o'clock. The
drum was still beating and now there came by soldiers. We 're going
out the Brook Turnpike, said the drum. Out the Brook Turnpike.
Meet them! We 're going to meet them! Three or four regiments passed.
The drum turned a corner and the sound died, going northward.
The streets were filled with people as though it were day. They
went up and down quietly enough ; without panic, but seized by a
profound restlessness. Toward four o'clock a man came riding up
the street on horseback, stopping every hundred yards or so to say
in a loud, manly voice, "The President has heard from General
Stuart. With Fitzhugh Lee and Hampton and Munford, General

RICHMOND 311

Stuart has taken position between us and a large cavalry force under
Sheridan. There has been a fight at Ashland in which we were
victors. General Stuart is now approaching Yellow Tavern. The
President says, 'Good people, go to bed, Richmond's got a great
shield before it!'"

The eleventh dawned. Richmond now heard the cannon again,
from the north and from the south. Judith and Unity heard them
from the hospital windows. There was a delirious soldier whom they
had to hold in bed because he thought that it was his battery fight
ing against odds, and Pegram was calling him. "Yes, Major! I'm
coming! Yes, Major! I 've got the powder. I'm coming!" By ten
o'clock ran through the excited ward the tidings that they were
fighting, fighting in Spottsylvania, "Fighting like hell." The sound
of cannon came from the south side. "Butler over there — New
Orleans Butler! ! ! When's Beauregard coming ?"

"General Beauregard has come. He is at Petersburg."

"Miss What 's-your-name, why don't you warm your hands?
That ain't any way to touch poor sick soldiers with them icicles like
that! — O Lord, O Lord! Why 'd I ever come here ?"

" Them cannon 's getting louder all the time. Louder 'n', louder 'n',
louder—"

"Shoo! They can't cross the river. Where 's Jeb Stuart? What's
he doing?"

""He's fighting hard, six miles out, at Yellow Tavern. Uptown
you can hear the firing!"

A young man struggled up in bed, first coughing, then breathing
with a loud, whistling sound. The doctor glanced his way, then
looked at a nurse. " It's come. I '11 give him something so he can go
easily. Let him lean against you. Tell the men to try to be quiet."

Out at Yellow Tavern, six miles north of Richmond, Sheridan
was formed in line of battle. Over against him was Stuart, his men
dismounted. The blue delivered a great volley, advanced, volleyed
again, advanced, shouting. The grey returned their fire. James
Stuart, sitting his horse just behind his battle-line, swung his hat,
lifted his voice that was the voice of a magician, "Steady, men,
steady! Give a good day 's account of yourself ! Steady! Steady!"

The firing became fiercer and closer. There was a keening sound
in the air. Stuart's voice suddenly dropped; he swayed in his saddle.

3 12 CEASE FIRING

A mounted courier pressed toward him. "Go," he said; "go tell
General Lee and Dr. Fontaine to come here." The courier spurred
away and the men around Stuart lifted him from his horse, and,
mourning, bore him to the rear.

That evening they brought him into the city and laid him in the
house of his brother-in-law. His wife was sent for, but she was miles
away, in the troubled, overrun countryside, and though she fared
toward him in haste and anguish, she spoke to him no more alive.
Friends were around him — his mourning officers, all the mourning
city. The President came and stood beside the bed, and tried to
thank him. " You have saved Richmond, General. You have always
been a bulwark to us . . ." He asked for a hymn that he liked —
"I would not live alway." He had lived but thirty-one years. He
asked of ten for his wife. "Is she come?" . . . "Is she come?" She
could not come in time. The evening of the twelfth he died, quite
peacefully, and those who looked on his dead face said that the
sunshine abided.

They buried Jeb Stuart in Hollywood, buried him with no pag
eantry of martial or of civil woe. One year ago there had been in
Richmond for Stonewall Jackson such pageantry. To-day

"We could not pause, while yet the noontide air

Shook with the cannonade's incessant pealing . . .

"One weary year ago, when came a lull,

With victory in the conflict's stormy closes,
When the glad spring, all flushed and beautiful,
First mocked us with her roses —

"With dirge and bell and minute gun we paid
Some few poor rites, an inexpressive token,
Of a great people's pain, to Jackson's shade,
In agony unspoken.

"No wailing trumpet and no tolling bell,

No cannon, save the battle's boom receding,
When Stuart to the grave we bore, might tell,
With hearts all crushed and bleeding ..."

But the people thronged to Hollywood, above the rushing river.
Hollow and hill, ivy-mantled oaks and grass purpled with violets,
the place was a good one in which to lay down the outworn form
that had done service and was loved. Flowers grew there with a
wild luxuriance. To-day they were brought beside from all gardens—

RICHMOND 313

"We well remembered how he loved to dash,

Into the fight, festooned from summer's bowers.
How like a fountain's spray, his sabre flash,
Leaped from a mass of flowers — "

To-day flowers lined the open grave; they covered the coffin and
the flag.

Back in the hospital a man with three wounds wailed all night. " I
had a brother and he was living up North and so he thought that-
er-way. And he wrote that he held by the Nation just as hard as I
held by the State. And so he up and joined the Army of the Poto
mac and came down here. And in the Wilderness the other day —
and in the Wilderness the other day — oh, in the Wilderness the
other day — I was sharpshooting ! I was up in a tree, close to the
bark, like a 'pecker. There was a gully below with a stream running
down it, and on the other side of the gully was an oak with a man
in it, close to the bark like a 'pecker. And we were Yank and Johnny
Reb, and so every time one of us showed as much as the tip of a
'pecker's wing, the other one fired. We fired and fired. And at last
he was n't so cautious, and I got him. And first his musket fell, down
and down, for he was up high. And then the body came and it hit
every bough as it came. And something in me gave a word of com
mand. It said ' Go and look.' I got down out of the oak, for I was
in an oak tree, too, and I went down one side of the gully and up the
other. And he was lying all doubled up. And I got another word of
command, ' Turn him over.' And I did, and he was my brother. . . .
And I'm tired of war."

CHAPTER XXVIII

COLD HARBOUR

THESE were the moves of the following two weeks. Six days,
from the day of the Bloody Angle to the eighteenth of
May, the two armies stayed as they were, save for slight,
shifting, wary movements, as of two opposed Indians in the brush.
On the eighteenth, the blue attacked — again the salient. Ewell,
with thirty guns, broke and scattered the assault. On the nine
teenth, the "sidling" process recommenced. On this day Ewell
came into contact with the Federal left, and in the engagement that
ensued both sides lost heavily. The night of the twentieth, the Army
of the Potomac, Hancock leading, started for the North Anna.
The morning of the twenty-first, the Army of Northern Virginia
struck, by the Telegraph Road, for the same stream. It had the
inner line, and it got there first. At noon the twenty-second it
began to cross the river. That night Lee and his men rested on the
southern bank. Morning of the twenty-third showed on the opposite
shore the head of the blue column.

The blue crossed at Jericho Ford, and by the Chesterfield Bridge,
not without conflict and trouble. It won over, but over in two dis
tinctly separated wings, and that which separated them was Robert
Edward Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia. Here was now
another V, the point now upon the river, unassailable, the sides
entrenched, the blue army split in twain. Followed two days of
unavailing attempts to find a way to crush the V. Then, on the
night of the twenty-sixth, the blue, having fairly effectively hidden
its intention, "sidled" again. The Army of the Potomac left the
North Anna, taking the road for the Pamunkey which it crossed at
Hanover. The V at once became a column and followed.

The two antagonists were now approaching old and famed war
grounds. On the twenty-eighth, grey cavalry and blue cavalry —
Sheridan against Fitz Lee and Wade Hampton — crashed together
at Hawes's Shop. That night Army of the Potomac, Army of North-

COLD HARBOUR 315

ern Virginia, watched each the other's camp-fires on the banks of
the Totopotomoy. In the morning Grant started for the Chicka-
hominy, but when he reached Cold Harbour it was to find Lee
between him and the river.

Two days the two foes rested. There had been giant marching
through giant heat, constant watching, much fighting. The country
that was difficult in the days of McClellan was not less so in the
days of Grant. Marsh and swamp and thicket and hidden roads,
and now all desolate from years of war. . . . The first of June
passed, the second of June passed, with skirmishes and engagements
that once the country would have stood a-tiptoe to hear of. Now
they were nothing. The third of June the battle of Cold Harbour
crashed into history. . . .

The dawn came up, crowned with pale violets, majestical and
still. Upon the old woods, the old marshes, hung a mist, cool and
silvery. There came a sweet cry of birds in the grey tree-tops. Lee's
long grey lines, concave to the foe, stretched from Alexander's
Bridge on the Chickahominy to the upper Totopotomoy. On the
low earthworks hung the gossamers, dewy bright. Grant held the
Sydnor's Sawmill, Bethesda Church, and Old Cold Harbour line,
roughly paralleling the other. But he was north of Lee; Lee was
again between him and Richmond — Richmond so near now, so
very near ! Richmond was there before him — no room now for
"swinging past," and the lion was there, too, in the path.

Grant attacked in column. Deep and narrow-fronted, he thrust
against the grey earthworks like a giant mill-race rather than a wide
ocean, like one solid catapult rather than a mailed fist at every door.
Twenty deep, the Second and Sixth Corps poured into the depres
sion that was the grey centre. Second and Sixth came on with a
shout, and the grey answered with a shout and with every musket
and cannon. Following the Second and Sixth the Eighteenth, pha-
lanxed, dashed itself against a salient held by Kershaw. . . . The
battle of Cold Harbour was the briefest, the direst! Death swung a
scythe against the three corps. They were in the gulf of the grey,
and Fate came upon them from three sides. In effect, it was all
over in a very few minutes. . . . The shattered three corps fell
back to what cover they could find. Here they fired ineffectively
from this shelter and from that. Before them, between them and

3i6 CEASE FIRING

the Army of Northern Virginia, stretched the plain of their dead and
dying, and both lay upon it like leaves in autumn. Orders came that
the three corps should again attack. The more advanced commands
obeyed by opening fire from behind what shelter they had found or
could contrive, but there was no other movement. Put out a hand
and the wind began to whistle and the air over that plain to grow
dark with lead ! Grant sent a third order. Corps of Hancock, Smith,
and Wright to advance to the charge along the whole line. Corps com
manders repeated the order to division commanders; division com
manders repeated it to the brigadiers, but that was all. The three
corps stood still. Statements, differing as to wording but tallying
in meaning, travelled from grade to grade, back to Headquarters.
"It is totally impossible, and the men know it. They are not to be
blamed."

By noon even Grant, who rarely knew when he was beaten, knew
that he was beaten here. The firing sank away. "The dead and
dying lay in front of the Confederate lines in triangles, of which the
apexes were the bravest men who came nearest to the breastworks
under the withering, deadly fire." Dead and wounded and missing,
ten thousand men in blue felt the full force of that hour. Stubborn
to the end, it was two days before Grant would send a flag of truce
and ask permission to bury his dead and gather the wounded who
had not raved themselves to death. " Cold Harbour! " he said, much
later in his life; "Cold Harbour is, I think, the only battle I ever
fought that I would not fight over again under the circumstances!"

"In the opinion of a majority of its survivors," comments a
Federal general, "the battle of Cold Harbour never should have
been fought. It was the dreary, dismal, bloody, ineffective close of
the Lieutenant-General's first campaign with the Army of the Poto
mac, and corresponded in all its essential features with what had
preceded it. The wide and winding path through the tangled Wild
erness and the pines of Spottsylvania, which that army had cut
from the Rapidan to the Chickahominy, had been strewn with the
bodies of thousands of brave men, the majority of them wearing
the Union blue."

The Campaign of the Thirty Days was ended. Fifty-four thou
sand men was the loss of the blue; something over half that number
the loss of the grey. Eighty thousand men lay dead, or writhing in

COLD HARBOUR 317

war-hospitals, or sat bowed in war-prisons. From the Atlantic to
the Far West the current of human being in these States was
troubled. There grew a sickness of feeling. The sun seemed to
warm less strongly and the moon to shine less calmly. As always in
war, the best and bravest from the first were taking flight; many
and many of the good and brave were left, but they began to be
conscious of a loneliness. " All, all are gone — the old, familiar faces I "
And over the land sounded the mourning of homes — the mourning
of the mothers and daughters of men. In the South life sank a
minor third. The chords resounded still, but the wrists that struck
were growing weak. Largo . . . Largo.

For a week Army of Northern Virginia, Army of the Potomac,
stood opposed on the old lines. They entrenched and entrenched,
working by night; they made much and deadly use of sharpshooters,
they engaged in artillery duels, in alarums and excursions. On both
sides life in the trenches was very frightful. They were so crowded,
and the sharpshooters would not let you sleep. The water was bad,
and little of it, and on the grey side, at least, there was hunger. The
sun in heaven burned like a fiery furnace. Far and wide, through
the tangled country, lay the unburied bodies of men and horses.
Sickness appeared, — malaria, dysentery. Hour after hour, day
after day, you lay in the quivering heat, in the unshaded trench. Put
out arm or head — some sharpshooter's finger pulled a trigger.

In these days there began in the Valley of Virginia a movement
of vandalism under Hunter who had succeeded Sigel. On the fifth
of June, Lee sent thither Breckinridge with a small force. On the
twelfth, with his calm, reasoned audacity, acting under the shadow
of Grant's continually reinforced army, he detached Jubal Early,
sent him with Stonewall Jackson's old Second Corps, by way of
Charlottesville to the old hunting-grounds of the Second Corps,
to the Valley of Virginia.

The night of the twelfth of June, Grant lifted his tents and pushed
to the eastward away from Richmond, then to the south, to Wilcox
Landing below Malvern Hill, on the James. Here, where the river
was seven hundred yards in width, fifty feet in depth, he built a
very great bridge of boats, and here the Army of the Potomac
crossed to the south side of the James. Grant turned his face
toward Petersburg, twenty miles from Richmond.

318 CEASE FIRING

The forces of the North were now where McClellan had wished
to place them, using the great waterway of the Chesapeake and the
James, something more than two years ago. They were in a position
to mate. The Federal Government had worked the problem by the
Rule of False.

At dawn of the thirteenth, Lee left the lines of Cold Harbour and,
passing the Chickahominy, bivouacked that night between White
Oak Swamp and Malvern Hill. The next day and the next the Army
of Northern Virginia crossed the James by pontoon at Drewry's
Bluff, and pressed south to the Appomattox and the old town of
Petersburg. Here was Beauregard, and here, on the fifteenth,
Butler, by Grant's orders, had launched an attack from Bermuda
Hundred, heroically repulsed by the small grey force at Petersburg.
Now on the sixteenth and the seventeenth came Lee and the Army
of Northern Virginia, entering the lines of Petersburg while drum
and fife played "Dixie." Of the Army of the Potomac the Second
and Ninth Corps were up and in position, the Fifth upon the road.
Face to face again were Hector and Achilles, Army of Northern
Virginia, Army of the Potomac, but the first again held the inner
line. South of Richmond as north of Richmond, Grant found Lee
between him and Richmond.

There was a garden behind the kinsman's house in Richmond.
Cleave and Judith, coming from the house, found it empty this
afternoon save for its roses and its birds. A high wall, ivy-covered,
cloistered it from the street. Beneath the tulip tree was a bench and
they sat themselves down here. He leaned his head back against
the bark and closed his eyes. It was several days before the lifting
of the warring pieces across the river. With the Second Corps he
was on his way to the Valley. "I did not know," he said, "that I
was so tired. I have not slept for two nights."

"Sleep now. I will sit here, just as quietly — "

He smiled. "It is very likely that I would do that, is it not ?"
Bending his head, he took her hands and pressed his forehead upon
them. "Judith — Judith — Judith— "

The birds sang, the roses bloomed. From the south came a dull
booming, the cannon of Beauregard and of Butler, distant, continu
ous, like surf on breakers. The two paid it no especial attention.

COLD HARBOUR 319

Life had been set now for a long while to such an accompaniment.
There was something at least as old as strife, and that was love; as
old and as strong and as perpetually renewed.

The shadows lengthened on the grass. There came a sound of
bugles blowing. The lovers turned and clung and kissed, then in the
violet light their hands fell apart. Cleave rose. "They are singing,
'Come away!'" he said.

There were stars in a wreath now upon the collar of his coat.
She touched them, smiling through tears. "General Cleave. . . .
It comes late but it comes well. . . . Oh, my general, my gen
eral!"

" Little enough of the Stonewall Brigade remains," he said. "For
the most part what was not killed and was not captured at Spott-
sylvania has been gathered into Terry's brigade, and goes, too,
to the Valley. But the Sixty-fifth goes with me and the Golden
Brigade. The Golden Brigade cares for me because I am Warwick
Gary's kinsman."

"Not alone for that," she said, "but for that also . . . Oh, my
father — my father!"

From the street outside the garden wall came a sound of marching
feet. Above the ivy showed, passing, the bayonet points. It was
sunset and the west was crimson. Swallows circled above the house
and the gold cups of the tulip tree. The marching feet went on, and
the gleaming bayonet points. There came a flag, half visible above
the ivy, silken, powder-darkened, battle-scarred. Cleave raised his
hand in salute. The flag went by, the sound of the marching feet
continued. High in the tree, against the rosy sky, a bird with a
lyric throat began to sing, piercing sweet and clear.

"Judith," said Cleave, "before I go, there is a thing I want to
tell you. Two days ago I was riding by A. P. Hill's lines. There was
a marshy place, on the edge of which the men were raising a breast
work. Judith, I am certain that I saw Stafford. He has done as I
did — done what was and is the simple, the natural thing to do.
Whether under his own name or another, he is there, heaping breast
works as a private soldier."

" He could not do as you did! You went clear and clean, and he — "

"I do not know that there is ever any sharp line of difference.
It is a matter of degree. I have come," said Cleave simply, "to

320 CEASE FIRING

understand myself less and other people more. I did not show that
I recognized him, for I could not tell if he would wish it ... I
thought that you should know. It is not a time now for enmities."
"God knows that that is true," said Judith, weeping.

CHAPTER XXIX

LITTLE PUMPKIN-VINE CREEK

SE log cabin looked out upon a wooded world, a world that
rolled and shimmered, gold-green, blue-green, violet-green,
to horizons of bright summer sky. In the distance, veiled
with light, sprang Lost Mountain and the cone of Kennesaw. Far or
near there were hamlets— Powder Spring, Burnt Hickory, Roxanna
—north, there was the village of Allatoona, and south, that of Dallas;
but from the log cabin all were sunk in a sea of emerald. New Hope
Church was somewhere near, but its opening, too, was hardly more
than guessed at. But Pumpkin- Vine Creek might be seen in its
meanderings, and the rippling daughter stream that the soldiers
called "Little Pumpkin- Vine " flashed by the hill on which stood
the cabin.

It was a one-room-and-a-lean-to, broken-down, deserted, log-
and-clay thing. Whoever had lived in it had flown, leaving ashes
on the hearth, and a hop-vine flowering over a tiny porch. A mon
ster pine tree, scaled like a serpent, sent its brown shaft a hundred
feet in air. Upon the sandy hilltop grew pennyroyal. Pine and
pennyroyal, the intense sunshine drew out their strength. All the
air was dryness and warmth and a pleasant odour.

Steadying himself by the lintel Edward Cary rose from the log
that made the doorstep. A stick leaned against the wall. He took
this, and proceeded, slow-paced, to make his way to the pine tree
and the low brink of the hill above the creek. The transit occupied
some minutes, but at last he reached the pine, tired but happy.
There was a wonderful purple-brown carpet beneath. He half sat,
half reclined upon it, and leaning forward watched Desiree on her
knees before a little shallow bay of the creek. It was washerwoman's
day. There were stepping-stones in the clear brown water, and she
was across the stream, her head downbent, very intently scrubbing.

"0 saw ye bonny Lesley," —
sang Edward, —

CEASE FIRING

"As she gaed o'er the Border ?
She 's gane like Alexander,
To spread her conquests further."

Desiree straightened herself. "How did you come there ? I left
you asleep. Ah, a wicked patient — a malingerer!"
"The cabin was cold, so I came out into the sun."
She rose from her knees, took up the small heap of her washing,
and, stepping lightly from stone to stone, came to his side of the
water. Here, in a square of absolute gold, she spread the washing
out to dry. Her sleeves were rolled up to her shoulders, her thick
and beautiful hair hung braided to her knee, she looked in that
quaint place like an enchanted princess out of a rosy fairy tale.

"O my Luve's like a red, red rose," —
sang Edward, —

"That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodic,
That's sweetly played in tune! — "

Desiree turned, came up the pennyroyal bank, and sat beside him
on the pine-needle carpet. Bending, he pressed his lips on her bare
arm.

"As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I — "

In the distance they heard the sound of axes against the trees.
Breastworks and rifle-pits were in the making over there. Light
curls of smoke told where were camp-fires. Not far away the creek
was crossed by a wood road. Now a score of horses with three guard
ian men came down to the ford to drink. Somewhere a bugle
sounded. Brown and black and grey, the horses pricked their ears;
then, satisfied that it was not battery bugle, dropped again to the
cool water. Out of the forest across Little Pumpkin-Vine came a
steady, dreamy humming — voices of the Army of Tennessee, en
camped here, encamped there, in this region south of the Etowah.

"I should like to die on a day like this," said Desiree. "Just such
a day — and life so strong and sweet ! To touch, taste, smell, hear,
see, feel, and know it all — and then to go, carrying the flavour with
you!"

"With which to set up housekeeping again ?"

LITTLE PUMPKIN-VINE CREEK 323

"With which to set up housekeeping again — in a larger, better
house."

"But with old comrades?"

She let the pine needles stream through her hands. "Certainly
with old comrades. Father . . . Louis . . . People who used to
come to Cape Jessamine, people I have known elsewhere. ... All
people, in fact, and all in better, larger houses ... all old com
rades" — she turned and kissed him — "and one lover."

"In a better, nobler house," said Edward. " But don't die, Desiree
— not yet — not yet — "

The creek murmured, the wind whispered, the wild bees hummed
above the flowers. Somewhere down the stream was an army forge.
Clink ! clink ! went hammer against iron. On some hidden road, too,
guns were passing — you heard the rumble and the whinnying of
the horses. In another direction wagons were parked; there was a
sense, through vague openings in a leafy world, of the white, bubble-
like tops. More horses came to the ford to be watered. The sun
grew brighter and brighter, climbing the sky, the pine and penny
royal more pungently alive, the voices in the wide woods distincter,
less like a dreamy wash of the sea. The hazel bushes across the
stream parted and two men appeared with water-buckets. They
dipped for their mess, adjusted their heavy wet burdens and went
awray, sociably talking.

" 'T was while we was fighting at Cassville. Jake thought he was
killed, but he wasn't! Funny fellow, but you can't help liking
him!"

"That's so! He 's got converted. Converted last meeting. Says
he don't know but one prayer and wras kind of surprised he re
membered that. Says it now before every little fight we go into.
Says —

11 'Now I lay me down to sleep,

Pray the Lord my soul to keep — '"

"Sho! Everybody remembers that! Taught it to us most be
fore we could talk!

" 'Now I lay me down to sleep,

Pray the Lord my soul to keep,
If I should die before I wake

Pray the Lord my soul to take — '"

324 CEASE FIRING

The hazel bushes closed and the voices died like a ripple out of
water. The light grew more golden, the shadows shorter. Late
May in Georgia was more hot than a Northern midsummer, but
to-day a crisp breeze made the heat of no moment. The air was very
dry, life-giving. A soldier with a fishing-pole made his appearance.
He came along beneath the bank and the pine tree, chose a deepish
pool and a rock to sit on, placed a tin cup with bait beside the latter,
and had baited his hook and cast the line before he observed his
neighbours. He rose and saluted, then made a movement to take up
his bait-cup and proceed downstream.

" No, no!" said Edward. "Fish ahead! But are there any fish
there?"

The fisherman sat down upon the rock. "I 'm not really expecting
any. But catching fish is not all there is in fishing."

" Quite true," said Edward, and lay back upon the purple-brown
carpet. Desiree sat with her hands about her knee, her eyes upon
a vast castle of cloud, rising pearl-bright, into the azure sky.

The fisherman fished, but caught nothing. "I expect," he said,
"that there is good fishing in the Etowah. Looked so the day we
crossed it."

"That was a hard crossing," said Desiree.

"Hard enough!" answered the fisherman. "But Old Joe got us
across. I am not one of the grumblers."

"There was n't much grumbling."

"That's so! Army of Tennessee's a right fine body of men."

He cast again. "It's quieter than Sleepy Hollow this morning!
There was a considerable rumpus yesterday. They say, too, that
General Wheeler got in on their rear and beat a brigade and cap
tured two hundred and fifty wagons. I reckon we '11 hear raindrops
on the roof before night!"

"I should n't be surprised."

"These pesky little battles," said the fisherman. "I've stopped
counting them — Thought I had a bite!"

" Many a little makes a mickle."

"That's true! We've been fighting for a month, and we 're walk
ing round to-day like a game-cock looking at his spurs. Army of
Tennessee and Joseph E. Johnston."

He bent his eyes upon his pole. The wind sung in the pine tree,

LITTLE PUMPKIN-VINE CREEK 325

dink ! clink 1 went the forge downstream. The pearly cloud castle
rose higher. Off on the left, where was Hardee's corps, a bugle trilled
as sweetly as a bird. There were a million forest odours, with the
pine, played upon by the sunshine, for dominant. The dry pure air
was life-giving.

"I gather," said the fisherman, "that there are, on our side, two
theories as to the conduct of this war. The one wants great crash
ing battles that shall force the foe to cry, 'Hold, enough!' — 'Fight
him on sight, and without regard to odds.' The other says, 'We
have n't got many men, and when they're gone, we have no more.
There's only one set of chessmen in this establishment. So spare
your men. We 've got a Goliath to fight. Well, don't rush at him!
— Fence with him; maybe you'll prove the better fencer. Don't
strike just to be striking; strike when you see an advantage to follow!
You can't thrash him outright; he 's too big. But you may wear him
out. Giants sometimes lack a giant patience. This one has a con
siderable clamour for peace behind him at home. Save your men,
strike only when there 's sense in striking, and take Time into your
councils! You may not win this way, but you certainly won't the
other way.' The first's the Administration and a considerable part
of the press, and the last's Joseph E. Johnston."

" ' There was a general named Fabius,' " said Edward. — "You 're
a good observer."

"I'm a better observer than I am a fisherman," said the disciple
of Walton.

Desiree stepped down the bank into the square of gold and gath
ered up her washing. With it over one arm she returned and gave
her hands to Edward. They said good-day to the fisherman, and
went away, up the slight hill, Edward doing well with his stick
and an arm over her shoulder. They laughed like children in the
sunshine.

They had what she called "tisane" for dinner — "tisane" with
hard- tack crumbled in. A drummer-boy, straying by, was given his
share. They sat on billets of wood underneath the hop-vine, ate and
drank and were happy. The boy was fourteen and small for his age.
He had a shock of sunburnt hair and a happy, freckled face, and
he said that he hoped the war would never stop. When every crumb
and drop was gone, he volunteered to "wash up, "and went whistling

326 CEASE FIRING

down to Little Pumpkin- Vine with the tin cups and spoons and small,
black kettle.

Other soldiers strayed past the cabin. An orderly appeared, sent
by officers' mess of the th Virginia. He bore, together with en
quiries and messages, to-morrow's rations. A picket detail went
marching over the hilltop. About three o'clock came a clattering of
horses' hoofs. The hill was a fair post of observation, and here was
the commanding general with his staff. All stopped beneath the
pine; Johnston pointed with his hand, now here, now there; his chief
of staff beside him nodding comprehension.

Then the General, dismounting, came over to the cabin. "No,
no! don't stand!" he said to Edward. "I only want to ask Mrs.
Gary for a cup of water. How is the wound to-day ?"

"Very much better, sir. I'll report for duty presently."

"Don't hurry," said Johnston, with kindness. "It's a mistake to
get well too quickly." He had much warm magnetism, tenderness
with illness, an affectionate deference always toward women. He
took the cup of water from Desiree, thanked her, and said that evi
dently the campaign had not harmed her. "Women always were
the best soldiers."

General Mackall had ridden up. "There's many a true word
said in jest," he remarked.

"I didn't say it in jest, sir," said Johnston. He mounted and
gathered up the reins, an erect and soldierly figure. "General
Hood," he said, "is moving from Allatoona, and I have ordered
Hardee's corps back from the Dallas and Atlanta road. There may
come a general battle on this ground. If it arrives, my dear," — he
spoke to Desiree, — "you apply for an ambulance and leave this
cabin!"

Off he rode in the golden light. At sunset came marching by the

th Virginia, going toward New Hope Church. The road ran

behind the cabin. Desiree helped Edward out to it, and they stood
in a little patch of sunflowers and greeted the regiment. The regi
ment to a man greeted back. The colonel stopped his horse and
talked, the captains smiled and nodded, the men gave the two a
cheer. It was one of the friendly, sunshiny moments of war. The
regiment was like a dear and good family; everywhere in and out
ran the invisible threads of kindliness. The regiment passed, the

LITTLE PUMPKIN-VINE CREEK 327

rhythmic beat of feet dying from this stretch of the road. Desiree
and Edward went back to the cabin through the languorous, South
ern dusk, with the lanterns of the fire-flies beginning, and the large
moths sailing by. There was a moon, and all night, in the wood
behind the cabin, a mocking-bird was singing.

The next day and the next and the next there was fighting — not
"a great, crashing battle," but stubborn fighting. It waxed furious
enough where Hooker struck Stewart's division of Hood's at New
Hope Church, and where, on the twenty-eighth, Cleburne and
Wheeler met and forced back Palmer and Howard; but when calm
came again only a couple of thousand of each colour lay dead or
wounded around New Hope Church.

The calm fell on Sunday. Edward and Desiree, sitting beneath
the pine tree, marked the cannons' diminuendo. It was a hot and
heavy day and the dead and wounded were on their hearts. Yet to
them, too, it was fearfully an everyday matter. The time to visual
ize what will fall under the harrow of war is before the harrow is
set in motion. Afterwards comes in Inevitableness with iron lips,
and Fatalism with unscrutinizing gaze, and Use with filmed eyes,
and Instinct with her cry, "Do not look too closely, seeing one must
keep one's senses!" and Old Habit with her motto, "True children
do as their fathers did." — And so at last, on both sides, from the
general to the drummer-boy, from the civil ruler to the woman
scraping lint, no one looks very closely at what falls beneath the
harrow. Madness lies that way, and in war one must be very sane.
No one escaped the taint of not looking, not even the two beneath
the pine tree.

Off in the horizon clouds were piling up. Presently there was heard
a mutter of thunder. Edward and Desiree watched the sky darken
and the big pine begin to sway. In the distance there was yet an
occasional boom of cannon. "That is toward Dallas," said Edward.
"Earth thunder and heaven thunder."

The lightning flashed. The earth voices began to lose out, the
aerial ones to gather strength. A wind lifted the dust and the small
dry debris of grass and herb. The old pine cones came shaking
down. The thunder began to peal. Desiree rose. "We must go
indoors. It has the right of way now — the old, old storm."

As they reached the cabin the thunder grew loud above them.

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The dust of the earth went by in a whirlwind. Rain was falling, in
heavy pellets like lead, but as yet it had not lightened the oppression.
The two leaned against the doorway and watched. A blinding flash,
a sound as of falling battlements of the sky, and the pine tree was
blasted before them.

CHAPTER XXX

KENNESAW

THE blue army was massed beyond Noonday Creek, in front
of Pine Mountain, and on the Burnt Hickory road. The
grey held a line from Gilgal Church to a point beyond the
Marietta and Ackworth road. It was the fourteenth of June —
news just received by way of Atlanta of Grant's movement toward
the James. On the crest of Pine Mountain was a grey outpost —
Bates's Division of Hardee's corps. At Gilgal Church, Johnston, on
his chestnut horse, was in conversation with that churchman-mili
tant with a Spartan name — Lieutenant-General Leonidas Polk.
Hardee rode up. " General, I should be grateful if you would come
with me to the top of the mountain yonder. Bates there is too
exposed."

The three, Johnston with Hardee and Polk, rode through the
thick brush, by a narrow and rough bridle-path, up to the crown of
the low mountain. Dismounting in the rear of Bates's works they
went forward on foot, the men saluting where they lay behind heaped
logs. Overhanging the slope was a parapet, and the three walked
here, opening their field-glasses as they walked. Before them
stretched the wooded country, and full in sight, the heavy lines of
the foe. Not a thousand feet away a field-battery held a hilltop.

"Wait till nightfall," said Johnston, "then let Bates join you at
Gilgal."

He lowered his field-glass. Out of the mouth of one of the blue
cannon on the hilltop came a puff of white smoke. The shot cut
away a bough of the oak under which the three were standing. " Cer
tainly this parapet is too exposed," said Hardee. "Come this way,
General." As they moved diagonally across the spur, the blue guns
opened full pack. A shot passed through the breast of Leonidas
Polk, sometime Bishop of Louisiana. He fell, lying at full length
upon the summit, dead, with a pleasant look upon his face.

On the sixteenth, grey left and blue right shifted positions, coming

330 CEASE FIRING

again to face each other. There was skirmishing and cavalry right
ing. On the nineteenth, the two fencers again changed ground. The
grey left, Hardee, now stretched across the Lost Mountain and
Marietta road; the grey right, Hood, lay beyond the Canton road;
and Loring, who had succeeded Polk, held flank and crest of Kenne-
saw Mountain. At once, grey and blue, the interminable entrench
ing began again, the grey throwing up earthworks and defences, the
blue making lines of approach. Throughout the latter half of June,
hour after hour, day after day, night after night, there was fighting.
The first half of the month it had poured rain. Torrent after torrent
had successfully interfered with man's operations. Under streaming
skies, with the earth semi-liquid, the roads bottomless, the unend
ing forest like oozy growths of an ocean floor, entrenching, ma
noeuvres for advantage of position, attack and parry — one and
all had been attended with difficulties. General Rain and General
Mud had as usual put their unrecorded fingers into the current of
events. But now, though sun and cloud still fought, the roads were
drying and there was fighting every day.

Up on the crest of Kennesaw, Edward Gary, lying with his men
behind a work of earth and logs, saw the sun rise and the sun set, and
often in the dead of night the solemn pomp of stars. All around
him, beneath the stars, were the shadowy forms of sleeping men.
The footfall of the pickets could be heard, that and the breathing
of the sleepers. Slowly came on the grey dawn; reveille sounded
and the day's work was before you. Night came again and the stars
and the shadowy forms of men — though not all, who were breath
ing the night before, breathed now where they slept.

Gary's mind ranged far from the comfortless top of Kennesaw.
First of all and oftenest it looked southward, across the forest, to
where, in a farmhouse near Smyrna Church, De*siree slept or waked.
It paused there, suspended, watching her where she lay, then passed
from the quiet room and swept in widening circles around the core
of life. . . . This Georgian battle-ground! Fifty days now of a
great strategic campaign — Dalton and the spring-time far behind
— Atlanta and the pitched battle that must toss victory into this
camp or into that drawing nearer. The Army of Tennessee, stanch
and cheerful even in the rain-filled rifle-pits on Kennesaw; gaunt,
heroic, like its brother the Army of Northern Virginia. . . . Not

KENNESAW 331

the Georgia battle-grounds alone; — all battle-fields — all the South
one battle-field, fringed and crossed with weary, weary, weary
marches! Suddenly he saw how red were the rivers and how many
houses were blackened ruins. There was a great loneliness, and he
thought he saw children straying, lost, across the plain. Edward
sat up and rested his forehead on his hands. " What is it all for ? "
he thought. "It is absurd." The sky was clear to-night. He looked
up at the Great Bear and the Dragon. "We are in a world of
contradictories. There is the heroic, the piteous, and the beautiful,
there is a loud and sweet music, — and yet it is all in the service of
the King of the Dwarfs, of a gnome with a gnome's brain. . . . How
to change the service ?"

In the cold hour before the dawn, he slept, to be presently awak
ened by the sound of the pickets' pieces and a night attack. Half
an hour's fighting rolled it back, down Kennesaw, but when it was
done the men were kept awake lest the wave should return.

They talked, behind the breastworks, while the stars faded.
"Wish it was a false alarm! Wish I'd wake up and find myself
asleep."

"O God, yes! In my bed at home."

" Talking about false alarms — Did you ever hear about Spauld-
ing?"

"WhatSpaulding? — No."

"It was in Mississippi; — Grant somewhere near, but nobody
knew how near; — all of us scattered over a few hills and marshes,
keeping pretty good lookout, but yet knowing that nobody could be
within a day's march of us. In comes Spaulding in haste to head
quarters, to the general's tent. In he comes, pale and excited, and
he brings a piece of news that was indeed alarming! He had been
on a hill overlooking the river — I forget its name — there 's such an
infinity of rivers in this country! Anyhow he had seen the most
amazing thing, and that was what he had come like lightning back
to the camp to tell the general about. A column of the enemy was
crossing the river — they had laid pontoons and they were crossing
by them and by a ford as well. It was a large force — a division
undoubtedly, possibly a corps. Artillery was crossing as he looked.
The ford was black with infantry, and there was cavalry on the far
ther bank. A man on a great black horse was directing. On this

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side was a man on a very tall grey horse, a man with a bloody hand
kerchief tied round his head under his hat. The troops saluted him
as they came out of the water. All were crossing very silently and
swiftly. Spaulding had run all the way from the hill; he had to put
his hand to his side as he talked, he was so breathed. — Well, im
mediately there was activity enough at headquarters, but still activ
ity with a doubt, it was so amazing! What were the pickets doing
— to say nothing of the cavalry? Well, the long roll was beaten, and
everybody scurried to arms, and off went two aides at full speed to
the hilltop to examine that thief in the night-time crossing, and
Spaulding went behind the one on the strongest horse. He was just
as calm and sure. 'Yes, it's amazing, but it's so! I think the man
on the black horse is Grant. I could n't see the face of the man on
the grey horse — only the bloody cloth around his head.' Well, they
got there, all the fuss behind them of the regiments forming — they
got to the hilltop and there was the river sure enough before them,
just as the aides knew it would be. 'Now, you see! ' says Spaulding,
for he had been hurt by the way everybody, even the general, said,
* Impossible!' — 'See what?' say the aides. 'Are you mad?' asks
Spaulding impatiently. 'The bridge and the ford and the crossing
guns and infantry, the man on the black horse and the man on the
grey with the cloth around his head.' — One of the aides rides down
the hillside toward the river and finds a picket. 'Have you seen any
thing unusual up or down or across the river ? ' ' No,' says the picket,
or words to that effect. 'Have you?" — Well, that aide goes back
and he takes Spaulding by the shoulders and shakes him. And then
the two, they stand on either side of him, and the one says, 'Look
now, and pretty quick about it, and tell us what you see!' — 'You
damned fools,7 says Spaulding, 'I see a column crossing, infantry
and artillery, a man on a black horse directing, and a man on a grey
horse with a bloody cloth — ' And then he stopped speaking and
stared, the colour going out of his face and his eyes starting from
his head. And presently he just slipped like water down between
them and sat upon the earth. 'Great God!' he said, 'there is n't
anything there ! ' — So they took him back to headquarters, the
drums still beating and everybody getting into ranks — "

"What did they do to him ?"

"Well, if he'd been a drinking man he'd have been drumhead

KENNESAW 333

•court-martialled and shot. But he was n't — he was a nice, clean,
manly kind of young fellow, a great mathematician, and the boys all
liked him, and his officers, too. And he was so covered with confu
sion 't was pitiful. The general's a mighty good man. He said those
things happened sometimes, and he quoted Shakespeare that there
are more experiences in heaven and earth — or words to that effect.
Spaulding was put under arrest, and there was enquiry and all that,
but at the last he was given a caution and sent back to his regiment.
But he kind of pined away and took to mooning, and in the next
battle he was killed — and killed, that was the funny thing, by a
pistol shot from a man on a grey horse with a bloody handkerchief
tied round his head! He shot Spaulding through the brain."

The sun pushed a red rim above the eastern horizon. The day's
work began. Fighting— and fighting — and righting again on Ken-
nesaw and over the rolling country from which Kennesaw arose!
On the twentieth, Wheeler with a thousand horsemen crashed
against and drove a force of blue cavalry. On the twenty-second,
on the Powder Spring road, Hood struck Schofield and Hooker. The
divisions of Hindman and Stevenson were engaged here, advancing
with heroism under a plunging fire, musketry and artillery, and
driving the blue from their first to their second line of entrench
ments. The ground was fearfully difficult. The blue had every
where epaulements from which they brought to bear upon the
charging grey a terrible raking fire of grape and canister. Steven
son's men fell thick and fast; when night laid her stilling hand upon
the guns, he had lost in killed and wounded eight hundred and
seventy men. On the twenty-fourth, the blue came in line of battle
against Hardee, and were repulsed. On the twenty-fifth, they again
struck Stevenson, and were repulsed. All day the twenty-sixth
there was bitter skirmishing. On the twenty-seventh, upstormed
the battle of Kennesaw Mountain.

It began in the early morning with all of Sherman's guns. They
shelled the crest and sides of Kennesaw; roaring, they poured fierce
death into the air, hoping that he would find many victims. He
found many, though not so many as the blue hoped. The atmosphere
rocked and grew smoky; it was a fierce, prolonged cannonade. Dur
ing the furious overture, behind the tall, fretted screen of smoke,
the blues were forming in two lines of battle, long and thick.

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The grey position was exceedingly strong. The grey said as much,
contemning the shells that shrieked and dropped.

"We're pretty well fixed! W. T. Sherman '11 find there ain't no
buried treasure on Kennesaw! General Joe's going to win out on
this campaign."

"We're going to have a battle here. But I don't think it's going
to be the big battle. I think the big battle 's going to be at Atlanta."

"Maybe so. Anyhow he'll win out, and that's all I'm caring
about! — This place's a regular sea-beach for shells."

There were in the company a father and son — a tall, lean,
lantern-jawed, silent man of sixty and a tall, lean, lantern-jawed,
silent man of thirty-five. Except that they messed and foraged
together they did not seem to have much to say to each other.
They were near Edward where he stood behind the rifle-pit.

"I reckon," said the elder, "that the cotton air blooming mighty
pretty, 'long about now."

"I reckon it air," said the younger.

The cannonading did not cease, but now, while all the guns thun
dered, the blue pushed forward a thick line of skirmishers. Behind
them showed, between the trees, wide and long and dark, two bands
of infantry. The grey batteries that had been sparing ammunition
now ceased to spare it. They opened full cry. Grey and blue, the
noise was appalling.

"I reckon," said the elder tall man, "that the mill wheel air turn
ing to-day."

"I reckon it air," said the younger.

The blue moved forward to the assault, — Schofield and Mc-
Pherson and Thomas. They came on boldly and well, cheering, with
waved banners, now lost amid the trees, now seen as clearly as aught
could be seen under and in the sulphurous battle-cloud. They were
striking right and left and centre. On they came — larger — larger
- Full in their faces sprang the fire of the trenches.

The attack just here was desperate. The blue swarmed through
the felled trees, seized an advanced breastwork, swarmed on toward
the second and stronger line. This line beat them back, burst from
the trenches, rushed forward and down, retook the captured work,
struck a flag there upon the parapet, and, hurrying on, fell upon the
backward-sinking foe. There followed hand-to-hand fighting, with

KENNESAW 335

much carnage. The two tall men were in front. A minie ball cut
the father down. He lay across a hummock of earth from behind
which two or three grey men were firing. The son fought on above
the dead body. The face looked at him each time he brought rifle
to shoulder. The plain gravity of it, living, was gone; now it was
contorted like a gargoyle. A third line of blue came shouting up to
reinforce the other two; there ran a grey order to fall back to the
earthworks. The tall, lean man, his musket yet in hand, stooped,
put his arms under the elder's body, lifted it, and with it across his
shoulder started up the mountain-side. An officer ordered him to
put the body down, but he shook his head. "I could n't do that, sir.
It's father." Just outside the breastwork an exploding shell killed
him, too.

Up and over the slopes of Kennesaw rushed another charge.
The grey clutched with it, locked and swayed. Down it went, down
the slopes of Kennesaw. Mountain and surrounding foot country
were wrapped in smoke. For three hours the clamour held; — with
onslaught and repulse and heavy loss to the blue. At last, in the hot
and heavy noon, the North drew sullenly back, beaten on Kenne
saw.

The th Virginia moved from the line it had successfully held

to a point on the southern face it was ordered to entrench and
hold. Moving so, it passed over ground where lay many dead and
injured. This had been the rear of the position. Shells had not
spared it. They had exploded among ammunition wagons and am
bulances, setting afire and consuming the hut that had been divis
ion headquarters, injuring various noncombatants, working wrack
and ruin here as among the trenches. The regiment halting for a
moment, Edward had time to observe the corpse of a drummer-boy,
lying in the briar and grass beneath a splintered tree. The shell had
struck it full in the breast, tearing the trunk asunder. Above the
red ghastliness rose a young face round and freckled. Edward knew
it for that of the drummer-boy who wanted the war never to stop.

Two men in the rank nearest him were talking of money. " You
have paper money and you have war, and in war you always over
issue. We did it in the old Revolution — and there were the French
assignats — and Great Britain did the same thing when she was
fighting Napoleon. You over-issue and over-issue and the whole

336 CEASE FIRING

thing depreciates. Sometimes it's slow and sometimes it's hand
over hand. And then you can't redeem, and the whole bottom
drops out — "

The regiment moved forward. The woods on Kennesaw were
afire.

That night, from the house near Smyrna Church, Desiree watched
the line of flame. She stood with three women in a cotton-field and
watched. One of the women was old, and her sons were there where
the flame was. She rocked herself to and fro, and she beat her hands
together and she cursed war. One of the women had a babe in her
arms. It wailed, and she opened her dress, and put her breast to its
mouth. The wind loosened her hair. It blew about her, framing her
brooding young face. Simple and straight she stood amid the cotton,
giving life more life, while her dark eyes were filled with the image
of death. The wind blew the smoke over the cotton-fields; to the
women's ears it brought alike the groaning.

Two days later, Sherman in Georgia, like Grant in Virginia, re
sorted again to a turning movement. South and east he pushed his
right, until it threatened to crook between Johnston and Atlanta.
Johnston lifted the Army of Tennessee from Kennesaw and set it
down at Smyrna Church. In its rear now was the Chattahoochee,
its bridges covered by the Georgia militia. A very few miles behind
the Chattahoochee was Atlanta, fairly fortified. Smyrna Church
and Station saw heavy, continued skirmishing. On the fourth, Sher
man pushed Schofield and McPherson yet farther south, curving like
a scimitar upon the Smyrna position. His advance thrust the Georgia
militia back to Nickajack Ridge, baring the approach to the river.
That night Johnston moved from Smyrna and took up position on
the north bank of Chattahoochee. Here were works prepared in ad
vance, and here for several days the hours were filled with skirmish
ing. Sherman had brought up, hot foot, the remainder of the blue
army from Kennesaw. "We ought," he says, "to have caught
Johnston on this retreat, but he had prepared the way too well."

The Chattahoochee was a fordable stream. On the eighth, some
miles above the grey entrenchments, Sherman crossed over two
army corps. On the ninth, the Army of Tennessee crossed the Chat
tahoochee, and took up position behind Peach Tree Creek, a bold

KENNESAW 337

affluent of that river. The ground was rough, seamed with ravines.
It was high and convex to the foe. Behind it was a fortified town, fit
base for a culminating battle. "About the middle of June," says
Joseph E. Johnston, " Captain Grant, of the Engineers, was in
structed to strengthen the fortifications of Atlanta materially, on
the side toward Peach Tree Creek, by the addition of redoubts and
by converting barbette into embrasure batteries^ T also obtained
promise of seven seacoast rifles from General D. H. Maury, to be
mounted on that front. Colonel Presstman was instructed to join
Captain Grant with his subordinates, in this work of strengthen
ing the defences of Atlanta, especially between the Augusta and
Marietta roads, as the enemy was approaching on that side. For
the same reason a position on the high ground looking down into
the valley of Peach Tree Creek was selected for the army, from
which it might engage the enemy if he should expose himself in the
passage of the stream. The position of each division was marked
and pointed out to its staff officers." "And," says the Federal
General Howard, "Johnston had planned to attack Sherman at
Peach Tree Creek, expecting just such a division between our wings
as we made."

For a week Sherman made feints and demonstrations. The end
of that time found the two armies actually confronted. Behind the
two there had fallen into the abyss of time seventy days of hard and
skilful fencing. Each had felt the rapier point, but no vital spot
had been reached. Each had lost blood; thousands lay quiet forever
in the dark woods and by the creeks of that hundred and twenty
miles. Each had been at odd times reinforced; the accession in
strength had covered the loss. On the last day of June the Fed
eral "effective strength for offensive purposes" is given as one
hundred and six thousand, nine hundred and seventy men. On
the same day Johnston's effective strength is given as fifty-
four thousand and eighty-five men. General Sherman states that
throughout the campaign he knew his numbers to be double those
of Johnston. He could afford to lose two to one without disturbing
the relative strength of the armies.

On the evening of the seventeenth of July there was delivered
to the commander of the Army of Tennessee a telegram from
Richmond. It read, —

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"Lieutenant- General J. B. Hood has been commissioned to the
temporary rank of general under the late law of Congress. I am di
rected by the Secretary of War to inform you that, as you have failed
to arrest the advance of the enemy to the vicinity of Atlanta, and
express no confidence that you can defeat or repel him, you are
hereby relieved from the command of the Army and Department of
Tennessee, which you will immediately turn over to General Hood.
"S. COOPER, Adjutant and Inspector-General"

Hardee, coming presently to headquarters, was shown the tele
gram. Johnston sat writing. Several of his staff were in waiting,
one with pale face and set lips, another with eyes that winked back
the tears.

Hardee read. "I don't believe it," he said.

"A thing may be both unbelievable and a fact," said Johnston,
writing. " Well, I Ve got my wound. It 's pretty deep — so deep that
I scarcely feel it."

He rose from the table and going to the window stood looking out
at Antares, red in the heavens. "I have sent out the orders trans
ferring the command," he said. "It's a strange world, Hardee."

"Sometimes I think it's a half-crazy one, sir," said Hardee, with
a shaking voice. "I know what the army's going to think about
it-

"I wish as little said as possible," said Johnston. "It is the only
way to take — wounds."

He came back to the table, sat down, and began to write. "There
are certain memoranda of 'plans — " Through the window came a
sound of horses stopping at the door, followed by a noise of steps in
the hall. "Here is General Hood," said Johnston, and rose.

One of his colonels, in his official report, speaks as follows: "On
the seventeenth of July the commanding general published an
address to the army and announced that he would attack General
Sherman's army so soon as it should cross the Chattahoochee. It
was understood that the enemy was crossing at Roswell Factory
beyond the right flank of the army and east of Peach Tree Creek.
. . . The order of battle was received with enthusiasm and the most
confident spirit prevailed. Next day, the eighteenth, while we were
forming to march from our bivouac to the right, a rumour prevailed

KENNESAW 339

that General Johnston had been removed from command, and after
we had marched some distance on the road to Atlanta a courier
handed me a circular order from General Hood, announcing General
Johnston's removal and assuming command. Shortly after, the
farewell address of General Johnston was received and read to the
regiment. It is due to truth to say that the reception of these orders
produced the most despondent feeling in my command. The loss of
the commanding general was felt to be irreparable. Continuing the
march and passing by his headquarters, Walker's division passed
at the shoulder, the officers saluting, and most of the latter and hun
dreds of the men taking off their hats. It had been proposed to halt
and cheer, but General Johnston, hearing our intention, requested
that the troops pass by in silence."

"The news," said Fighting Joe Hooker, — "the news that Gen
eral Johnston had been removed from the command of the army
opposed to us was received by our officers with universal rejoicing."

"Heretofore," said Sherman, "the fighting has been as Johnston
pleased, but now it shall be as I please."

CHAPTER XXXI

THUNDER RUN

YES, Mr. Cole," said Christianna, in her soft, drawling voice;
"it's just like you say. Life's dead."
Sairy, sitting in the toll-house door, threaded her needle.
"You an' Tom, Christianna, air awful young yet! Life ain't dead.
She's sick, I'll allow, but, my land! she's stood a power of sick
nesses!"

"It seems right dead to me," said Christianna.

She leaned her head against the pillar of the toll-house porch,
her sunbonnet fallen back from her fair hair. The wild-rose colour
still clung, but her face had a wistf ulness. The little ragged garden was
gay with bloom, but it was apparent that there had been no garden
ing for a very long time. The yellow cat slept beneath the white
phlox. Thunder Run Mountain hung in sunshine, and Thunder
Run's voice made a steady murmur in the air. Tom, with his tremb
ling old hands, folded a newspaper and put it beneath the empty
toll-box. He knew every word of it; there was no use in going over
it any more.

"They don't go into details enough," said Tom; "I want to know
how the boys look, and what they're saying."

"New Market! " said Sairy. "All them children. I can't get New
Market out of my head."

"I've been down to Three Oaks for a day," spoke Christianna.
"Mrs. Cleave would n't talk about New Market, but it seemed like
Miss Miriam could n't keep away from it. Lexington — an' the ca
dets marchin' at dawn — marchin' with their white flag with Wash
ington on it — marchin' so trim down the Valley Pike — "

"Fawns fighting for the herd," said Tom.

"An' General Breckinridge welcomin' them — an' some troops
that wanted to make fun singin', 'Rock-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top' —
an' Sunday mornin' comin', an' the battle —

"And that was a hard field," said Tom, "to plough on a Sunday
morning."

THUNDER RUN 341

"Mrs. Cleave said that once before there was a Children's Cru
sade an' that no good came of it. She said that when the old began
to kill the young Nature herself must be turning dizzy. An' Miss
Miriam read every paper an' then lay there, lookin' with her big,
burnin' eyes."

Sairy rose, went into the kitchen, and returned with a pan of
apples which she began to pare. The sun was over the shoulder of
Thunder Run Mountain and in its heat and light the flowers in the
garden smelled strongly, the mountain-head lay in a shimmering
haze, and a pool of gold touched Christianna's shoe. It was late in
May, the Wilderness and Spottsylvania over — Cold Harbour not
yet — in Georgia the armies lying about New Hope Church.

"Mother came up the mountain yesterday," said Christianna.

" I hope she 'swell?"

"Yes, ma'am, she's real well. Mother's awful strong. It's one
of the hospital's half-empty times, so she's come home for a week.
She 's cuttin' wood this mahnin'. It 's mighty good to have her home
— she's so cheerful."

"That's where she shows her strong mind."

"Yes, ma'am. She says that when summer comes you don't have
smallpox, and when winter comes, typhoid eases off. Mrs. Cleave
says the soldiers all like mother."

"Allan," remarked Sairy, — "Allan always said Mrs. Maydew
was an extraordinary woman. Talkin' of Allan —

A lean, red-brown hand came over the gate to the latch. The yel
low cat rose, stretched himself, and left the path. The hand opened
the gate and Steve Dagg, entering, limped the thirty feet between
gate and porch.

" Mornin', folks! " he said, with an ingratiatory grin.

"Mornin'."

Steve sat down upon the step, carefully handling, as he did so,
the treasure of his foot. " It 's awful hard to be lamed for life ! But if
you 're lamed in a good cause, I reckon that 's all you ought to ask ! "

Sairy eyed him with disfavour. "Land sake, Steve, the war ain't
goin' to last that long!"

" We were talking about New Market," said Tom. "Since Mon
day there ain't any news come from Richmond way."

"That's so," said Steve, "but I reckon we're fightin' hard some-

342 CEASE FIRING

where 'bout the Chickahominy. Gawd knows we fought there in '62
like lions of the field! Did I ever tell you about Savage Station, V
a mountain o' dirt 'n' stuff the Yanks had prevaricated the railroad
with — 'n' how we cleared it away — me 'n' an artilleryman of
Kemper's 'n' some others — so that what we called the railroad gun
could pass — "

"Yes, you've told it," said Tom, "but tell it again."

" 'NJ the railroad gun — that was a siege-piece on a flatcar, Miss
Christianna — come a-hawkin' 'n' a-steamin' up 'n' I 'n' the others
piled on. Gawd! it was sunset 'n' the woods like black coal ag'in'
it ... 'n' we came on the railroad bridge 'n' the Yanks began to
shell us." Steve shivered. " Them shells played on that gun like the
rain on Old Gray Rock up there; 'n' jest like Old Gray Rock we
looked at 'em 'n' said, 'Play away!' — 'n' we rumbled 'n' roared off
the bridge, 'n' got into position on top of an embankment, 'n' three
batteries begun to shell us, 'n' we shelled back; 'n' those of us who
were n't at the guns, we took off our hats 'n' waved 'n' hurrahed — "

"If there ain't any top to truth," said Sairy, sotto wee, "neither
air there any bottom to lyin'."

"'N' I reckon we saved the day for General Magruder! The ar
tilleryman was a cowardly kind of fellow, 'n' he left us pretty soon,
but the rest of us — Gawd! we 'n' that railroad gun did the business!
Naw," said Steve mournfully, "they may think they're fightin'
hard down 'roun' Richmond, but it ain't like it used to be! We ain't
never goin' to see fightin' ag'in like what we fought in '62. The best
men in this here war air dead or disabled. — Of course, of course,
Mrs. Cole, thar air exceptions!"

"A man from Lynchburg passed this way yesterday," said Sairy.
"He was tellin' us that Crook and Averell air certainly goin' to join
Hunter at Staunton an' that Lynchburg 's right uneasy. He said
there was a feelin' in the air that this end of the Valley was n't going
to be spared much longer. He said that General Smith at Lexington
told him that the storm was comin' this way, and in that case Thun
der Run might hear some thunder that was n't of the Lord's manu
facturing! Of course, if we do," said Sairy, "we'll have the benefit
of your experience an' advice an' aid."

Christianna spoke in her drawling voice. "Mother says there's
talk of maybe havin' to move the hospital. She says they all say

THUNDER RUN 343

Hunter's one of the worst. He's one of the burnin' kind, an' he's
got a lot of men who can't understand what you say to 'em — Ger
mans."

"I think we ought to be organizing a Home Guard," said Tom.
"There's your grandpap, Christianna, and the doctor and Charley
Key and the boy at the sawmill — "

"An' Steve," said Sairy.

Steve squirmed upon the step. "I've seen a lot of Home Guards,"
he said gloomily, " 'n' they don't do a danged bit of good! They're
jest ridden over! Gawdl Thunder Run ain't got a reception of what
war is! General Lee oughtter send a corps -

"Maybe he will," said Tom hopefully. "Maybe he'll send the
Second Corps!"

" The Second Corps ! " Steve grew pale. " He can't send the Second
Corps — it was all cut to pieces at Spottsylvania Court-House -
Johnson's division was, anyhow! The Second Corps ain't — ain't
the fightin' corps oncet it was. He'd better send the First or the
Third. . . . Ouch! Do you mind ef I just loosen my shoe for a bit,
Mrs. Cole ? My foot's awful bad this mornin'."

"You'd better telegraph him about the corps," said Sairy, "right
away. Otherwise he might think 't was good enough for us — Valley
men an' all, an' some of them even livin' on Thunder Run. I could
ha' guessed without bein' told that your foot was bad this mornin'."

Steve blinked. "I don't want you to think, Mrs. Cole, that Steve
Dagg would n't be glad to see the division 'n' the brigade 'n' the
Sixty-fifth — what's left of them. I'd be glad enough to cry. It's
funny how fond soldiers get of each other — marchin' 'n' sufferin'
'n' fightin' together 'n' helpin' each other out of Devil's Holes 'n'
Bloody Angles 'n' Lanes 'n' such. No, 'm, 't is n't that. I'd be jest
as glad to see the boys as I could be. I was jest a-thinkin' of the good
of us all, 'n' them Marse Robert could spare 'n' them he could n't."
He rose, holding by the sapling that made the porch pillar. "I
reckon I'll be creepin' along. Old Mirny at the sawmill's makin'
me a yarb liniment."

He went. Tom took for the twentieth time the newspaper from
beneath the toll-box. Christianna sat absently regarding the great,
sun-washed panorama commanded by Thunder Run Mountain.
The yellow cat came back to the path.

344 CEASE FIRING

Sairy sighed. "It was always a puzzle to me what the next world
does with some of the critturs it gets! "

"It don 't seem noways anxious to get Steve," said Tom, and
began to read again about Spottsylvania.

An hour later Christianna in her blue sunbonnet went up the moun
tain road toward the May dew cabin. Rhododendron was in bloom;
pine and hickory and walnut and birch made a massive shadow
through whose rifts the sun cast bright sequins. Thunder Run, near
at hand now, was uttering watery violences. The road, narrow
and bad for wheels, was pleasant under the foot of a light walker,
untrammelled, elastic, moving with delicate vigour. Christianna
loosened her sunbonnet, and the summer wind breathed upon her
forehead and ruffled her hair. She was dreaming of city streets and
houses, of Richmond, and the going to and fro of the people there.
Old Grey Rock rose before her to the right of the road. As she came
abreast it, Steve Dagg rose from behind one of its ferny ledges.

He grinned at her violent start. "Laid an avalanche for you,
did n't I? You ain't really frightened? Did you think it was a bear? "

"No! I thought it was a snake an' a cat-o-mount an' a — a
monkey! " said Christianna, with spirit. "Friendly an' polite people
don't do things like that!"

Steve's whine came into his voice. "Why don't you like me, Miss
Christianna ? I don't see why — "

"If you don't see that, you won't never see anything!" said
Christianna. "An' I'd like to walk home in peace an' quietness, Mr.
Dagg!"

Steve kept beside her. " I got a good cabin — thar ain't any better
on the mountain ! I got " — his voice sank — "I got a little money,
too, 'n' it ain't Confederate money that's worth jest about as much
as so' many jimson leaves! // }s gold. I've got it hid." He glanced
about him. "I didn't mean to tell that. You won't mention it,
Miss Christianna ? "

"No," said Christianna; "it ain't worth mentionin'."

Steve touched her sleeve with persuasive fingers. "I never loved
a lady like I love you. Gawd! we'd be jest as happy — "

Christianna walked faster. Ahead, in the light and shadow, a wild
turkey crossed the road. Pine and hemlock showed dark and thick
against the intense mid-day sky. Thunder Run, now much below

THUNDER RUN 345

the road, spoke with a lessened voice. Butterflies fluttered above
wild honeysuckle in bloom, and high in the blue a hawk was sailing.
Steve, keeping beside her, tried to put his arm around her waist.
She broke from him and ran up the road. Long-legged and light of
weight he ran after her, caught up with her, and began afresh to
press his suit.

"Why don't you like me, Miss Christianna ? Lots of women in
the Valley V down about Richmond have ! There was one up near
Winchester that was so fond of me I could n't hardly git away. —
There ain't no reason that I kin see — I'd be jest as good to you as
any man on this mountain. Most of the men have died off it, any
way, 'n1 I'm here! Why don't you try to like me? Ain't Daggs
as good as Maydews ? 'N' as for Allan Gold, if you 're thinkin' of
him—"

Christianna turned. "From now right on I'm goin' to bear wit
ness that there is n't a crittur on Thunder Run that uses its feet
any better or faster than Steve Dagg can! You can walk an' you
can run, an' when the army comes this-a-way I'm goin' to bear
witness that you can march! I 'm goin' to stand up just the same as
in an experience meetin' an' bear witness! An' if the army takes you
away with it — "

Steve gasped. "It can't! I got a doctor's certificate. — It ain't
any way from Grey Rock, 'n' love made me run. It was jest a
moment 'n' I '11 pay for it to-morrow. I could n't march on that foot
if Glory itself was there, hollerin' me on ! — Who 'd believe you,
either ? A woman's word ain't countin' much. Besides," - - he
grinned, confidence returning, — "besides, you wouldn't tell the
regiment I'd run after you 'n' - - 'n' kissed you — '' His arm darted
around her again. Christianna smote him on the cheek, broke away,
and fled up the mountain.

Around a turn of the road appeared, pacing stately, Mrs. May-
dew. She was tall and strong, and she carried an axe in the hollow
of her arm.

Christianna stopped short with a sound between a sob and a
laugh. She looked back. "Are n't you comin' on to the cabin, Mr.
Dagg?"

"Naw," said Steve, "not to-day," and, turning, went, elaborately
limping, down the mountain.

346 CEASE FIRING

Some days later, being at the unworked sawmill at the foot of the
mountain, he heard news. Crook and Averell had made a junction
with Hunter at Staunton. Hunter had now an army of eighteen
thousand men. Hunter was marching up the Valley, burning and
destroying as he came. Hunter certainly meant to strike Lexington.
Hunter —

"Reckon we'd better rest right quiet here, don't you?" asked
Steve. "Even if they came into the county, they wouldn't be
likely to take a road this-a-way ? "

"I would n't put it beyond them," said the sawmill man darkly.
"There's a lot of valuable property on this mountain."

Steve grew profoundly restless. Each day now for a long time
there was news. Breckinridge was at Rockfish Gap barring with a
handful of troops Hunter's direct road to Lynchburg. Hunter there
upon came on up the Valley with the intent to cross the Blue Ridge
and pounce on Lynchburg from the west. He was a destroyer was
Hunter and a well-hated one. The country was filled with sparks
from his torches and with an indignant cry against his mode of war
fare. Breckinridge marched to Lynchburg, but he detached Mc-
Causland with orders to do the best he could to harry and retard the
blue advancing host. Down upon the Chickahominy, Lee was about
to send Early, but days of fighting and burning must elapse before
Early could reach Lynchburg. On the twelfth of June Hunter came
to Lexington.

CHAPTER XXXII
HUNTER'S RAID

VIRGINIA Military Institute cadets were younger than they
used to be. To suit the times the age of admittance had
been dropped. Even so, steadily from the beginning there
was a road of travel from the V. M. I. to the battle-fields. Out upon
it went many a cadet in his trig white and grey, never to return.
In May, 1864, the entire two hundred and fifty had travelled
it, travelled down the Valley to New Market to help Breckinridge-
fight and win that battle. In dead and wounded, V. M. I. lost sixty
boys. Now after a time of wild and blissful excitement the lessened
corps was back in Lexington, back at the V. M. I., back to the old
barracks, the old parade ground, the old studying. To the cadets it
seemed hard lines.

Hunter and his eighteen thousand came up the pike from Staun-
ton, thirty-five miles away. McCausland and a cavalry brigade,
drawn across his front at Midway, did all that could be done in the
way of skirmishes for delay. Breckinridge was guarding Lynch-
burg, an important centre of communications, a place of military
stores and hospitals, and filled with refugees. Early and the Second
Corps were yet in Tidewater Virginia. There was no help anywhere.
V. M. I. received orders to withdraw from Lexington.

McCausland had the bridge across North River lined with hay,
saturated with turpentine. An alley through was left for his men
when, at the last, they must fall back before the blue advance. The
night of the eleventh passed, the people of Lexington sleeping little,
the cadets under arms all night. Dawn came up in rose and silver.
House Mountain had a roof of mist; all the lovely Rockbridge coun
try was as fresh and sweet as any Eden. Out the Staunton road
came a burst of firing; then with a clattering of hoofs, with shouts,
with turning in saddles and emptying of pistols and carbines, Mc
Causland and his troopers appeared, pressed back upon the bridge.
They crossed, horsemen and a section of artillery, then struck a

348 CEASE FIRING

torch into the turpentine-soaked hay. Up roared a pillar of flame,
reddening the water. With a great burst of noise Hunter's van
guard appeared. They galloped up and down the north bank of the
river shouting and firing. McCausland answered from the hills
across. The bridge burned with a roaring noise and a great cloud of
smoke. A Federal battery coming up got into position on a great
rise of ground commanding the town, and from it began to shell the
most apparent mass of buildings. This was the Virginia Military
Institute.

The grey and white cadets were drawn up on the parade ground.
They stood there with their colours, with their tense young faces.
The first shell struck the hall of the Society of Cadets, struck and
exploded, working ruin. After this there began a bombardment of
the corner towers, and a heavy rain upon the parade ground.

"Attention! Right face/ Forward! March!"

Drum and fife played "Dixie." Away from the old V. M. I.,
coming down in ruin about them, marched the cadets. They
marched to a fierce bright music, but their faces were flushed and
quivering. It needed all their boy pride to keep the tears away.
Lexington, anxious-hearted, saw them go. Behind them the bat
teries were thundering, and Hunter's thousands were gathering like
locusts. Colonel Shipp and the cadets took the Balcony Falls road
— Balcony Falls first and then Lynchburg, and active service some
where if not at Lexington. . . .

They came to a high hill, several miles south of the town. " Halt ! "
and the two hundred and fifty halted, and resting on their pieces
looked back. The Virginia Military Institute was on fire. Tower
and turret, arsenal, mess hall, barracks, houses of the professors, all
were burning down.

Hunter made no long tarrying in Lexington. He waited but to
burn the house of the Governor of Virginia and swept on toward the
pass in the Blue Ridge he had in mind. His line of march brought
him and his thousands into a country as yet uncharred by war.

At Three Oaks there was a wounded soldier — a kinsman of
Margaret Cleave's, wounded in a skirmish in southwest Virginia
and brought in an ambulance by his servant back to his native
county. Here he found his own home closed; his mother gone to

HUNTER'S RAID 349

Richmond to nurse another son, his sister in Lynchburg with her
husband. The ambulance took him on to Three Oaks, and here he
had been for some days. Exposure and travel had not been good
for him, and though his wound was healing, he lay in a low fever.
He lay in Richard's room, nursed by Margaret and an old, wrinkled,
coloured woman.

Tullius was at Three Oaks. Cleave had sent him back, months
before, to be a stay to the place. Now Margaret, coming through
the hall, found him on the back porch, standing on the step between
the pillars like a grave old Rameses. It was a hot June day, with
clouds that promised a storm.

"What is it, Tullius ?" asked Margaret. She took an old cane-
seat chair and faced him. There were threads of grey in her hair.
The old man noticed them this morning.

"Miss Miriam ain' nowhere 'roun', is she?"

"No. She is out with her book under the oaks. What is it?"

"They've flowed over Buchanan, Miss Margaret. I done took
the horse an' went down as far as Mount Joy. I met a man an' he
say they tried to cross by the bridge, but General McCausland
done burn the bridge. Hit did n't stop 'em. They marched up the
river to the ford an' crossed, an' come hollerin' an' firm' down on
the town. An' a house by the mouth of the bridge caught an' a heap
of houses were burnin', he say, when he left. An' he say that some
of the Yankees were those foreigners that can't understand a word
you say, an' a lot of them were drunk. I saw the smoke an' fire
an' heard the shoutin'. An' then I come right home."

"Do you think that they will march this way?"

"There ain't any tellin', Miss Margaret. They've got bands out,
'flictin' the country."

Margaret rested her forehead upon her hands. " Captain Yeard-
ley — it will put his life in danger to move him . . . and then,
move him where ? Where, Tullius, where ?"

"Miss Margaret, I don' know. Less 'n 't was somewhere in the
woods or up on the mountain-side."

Margaret rose. "Get the wagon, then. We'll make a bed for
him, and do all we can, and then pray to God. . . . You 'd better
go by the old Thunder Run road and turn off up one of the

350 CEASE FIRING

"Miss Margaret, Jim's got a good head, an' he kin tek the Cap
tain away an' tek care of him. I'se gwine stay at Three Oaks. I'se
gwine stay with you an' Miss Miriam."

Miriam's startled voice came through the hall from the front
porch. "Mother! mother, come here! Here's a boy who says the
Yankees are burning Mount Joy!"

She did not wait for her mother, but came down the hall, at hex
heels a white-lipped, wild-eyed youngster of twelve. News came
from him in gulps, like water from a bottle. He had been taking his
father's horse to be shod, and down near Mount Joy he had seen the
Yankees coming up the road in time to get out of their way. He
had gone through a gate into an orchard and had got down and hid
den with the horse below a bank with elder growing over it. From
there he had seen how the Yankees came through the big gate and
over the garden and to the house. . . . After a while, when it was
all on fire and there was a lot of noise and he could n't see much for
the smoke, a little coloured girl had come creeping through the
orchard grass. She told him the Yankees said they were going to
burn every house in the country they could get at. And she said he
had a horse, and why did n't he go and tell people, so's they could
get their things out — and he thought he 'd better, and so he had
been telling them —

How long since he had left the orchard ?

He did n't know — he thought about three hours.

Mahalah came running in. "O my Lawd, Miss Margaret! O my
Lawd, de Yankees comin' up de big road lak er swarm o' bees! O
my Lawd, dey kills an' eats you!"

"Nonsense, Mahalah! Be quiet! Tullius, go upstairs to the east
room window and see how near they are."

Tullius returned. "They've got a mile an' a half yit, Miss Mar
garet, an' they ain't marchin' fast. Just kind o' strollin'."

"How many?"

"Hundred or two."

" Get the wagon as quickly as you can. If Jim can get down the
farm road to the woods without their seeing him, the rest may be
done. Tell Jim to hurry. Then you and he come and lift Captain
Yeardley."

She turned and went upstairs toward Richard's room. Going,

HUNTER'S RAID 351

she spoke over her shoulder to her daughter. "Miriam, get every
body together and make them take it quietly. Tell them no one 's
going to harm them!"

"Everybody" was not hard to get together. Counting out Tul-
lius and Jim, there were only Aunt Ailsey and Mahalah, old Peggy,
Martha and young Martha, William and Mat and Rose's Husband.
They were already out of cabin and kitchen and in from the
home fields. Miriam gathered them on the side porch. They all
adored her and she handled them with genius. Her thin cheeks had
in each a splash of carmine, her eyes were unearthly large, dark and
liquid. All that she said to them was that it was good manners to
do so and so — or not to do so and so — in a contingency like the
present. Ladies and gentlemen keep very quiet and dignified —
and we are ladies and gentlemen — and that is all there is about it.
"And here is the wagon, and now we '11 see Captain Yeardley off, and
wish him a good journey, and then we 'II forget that he has ever been
here. That's manners that every one of us must show!"

Tullius and Jim brought the wounded officer downstairs on his
mattress and laid him in the wagon. Old Patsy followed to nurse
him, and they placed beside him, too, his uniform and hat and
sword. He was flushed with fever and light-headed.

"This is no way to do it!" he insisted. "Inconsiderate brutes to
take advantage ! — Ladies, too ! Must stay and protect. — Lovely
day for a drive! See the country at its best! — New fashion, driv
ing lying down ! driving in bed ! — Time for new fashions, had old
fashions long enough! — Bring the ladies home something pretty —
scarf or feather! — saw a man once show the white feather — it
was n't pretty. — Pretty, pretty -

'Pretty Polly Watkins — '"

Jim drove him away, trying to sing. It was not far to where the
farm road dipped into a heavy woodland. The rumble of the wagon
died from the air.

Mother and daughter turned and looked at each other. Margaret
spoke. "The hair trunk with Will's things in it, and the portraits
and silver and your great-grandfather's books and letters — we
might hide them in the hollow behind the ice-house. No one can
see it for the honeysuckle."

352 CEASE FIRING

"Very well. I'll get the books and papers."

Tullius and Mat carried out the small hair trunk and took down
the two or three oil portraits and the Saint Memin. Miriam, with
Peggy to help, laid a sheet on the floor and heaped into it a treasured
shelf of English poetry, essay, philosophy, and drama, old and mel
low of binding, with quaint prints, and all annotated in her great
grandfather's clear, firm writing. To them she added a box filled
with old family, Revolutionary, and Colonial letters. William and
Rose's Husband took up the bundle, Martha and young Martha
and Mahalah filled their aprons with the silver. All hurried through
the flower garden, between the sweet william and canterbury bell
and hermosa roses, to the mossy-roofed ice-house and a cavity,
scooped by nature in the bank behind and veiled by a mass of vines.
Will and Miriam had always used it when they played Swiss Family
Robinson. Now they leaned the portraits against its damp walls
and set the hair trunk and the silver and the books and papers on
the earth that glistened where snails had traversed it. The honey
suckle did not hide the place perfectly, but it would take a deliber
ate search and sharp eyes to discover it, and beggars must not be
choosers. The movements of all had been swift; they were back
through the flower garden to the house in the shortest of times. As
mother and daughter reentered the hall they heard through the
open front door a hum of voices and a sound of oncoming feet.

"We had best meet them here," said Margaret.

"I am going upstairs to get my amethysts," said Miriam. "I
am going to put them around my neck, inside my dress."

Three Oaks was burned. Porch and pillars, doors and windows,
hall and chambers, walls and chimneys submitted, since they could
not help it, to a shroud of fire, and crumbled within it. The family
was allowed to take nothing out. Matters that they prized were
taken out, indeed, but not by them nor for them. At the eleventh
hour soldiers, searching the garden, found the little cavern and its
contents. The silver was reserved, but the hair trunk, the portraits,
books and papers were thrown into the flames.

Margaret Cleave and her daughter and the coloured people
watched destruction from the knoll beneath the three oaks. It was
home that was burning — home that had been long lived in, long
loved. The outdoor kitchen and the cabins also caught — all Three

HUNTER'S RAID 353

Oaks was burning down. In the glare moved the band of the foe
sent out to do the work. The sun had set and the night was at hand
— at hand with storm. Already the lightnings were playing, the
thunder pealing. Three soldiers came up to the cluster beneath the
oaks. They rolled in their gait like sailors.

"Look here! Rebel women ain't got any need of watches and
rings! If you've got any on, hand them over!"

"Miss Margaret," demanded Tullius, "what '11 1 do ?"

Margaret looked at him with her beautiful, friendly eyes. "No
thing in the world, Tullius. Stay perfectly still!" — She explained
to the soldiers. "I gave my watch and some rings that I had to the
Confederacy long ago. My daughter has neither."

"She's got a chain around her neck this minute. If you don't
want—"

"Exactly. Give the gentleman the necklace, Miriam."

Miriam unclasped and gave it. The three looked at Mahalah's
hoop earrings, but at that moment an officer came up and they per
force fell back. "The men are — er — exhilarated, and not well in
hand," he said. "I would advise you ladies to leave the place."

They went, Margaret and Miriam leading, Tullius and the others
pressing behind them. Save for the lightnings it was dark when
they passed through the big gate out upon the open road. Behind
them the three oaks stood up like giant sea fans in an ocean of fire.
A moment later the storm broke in a wild clamour of wind and rain.

CHAPTER XXXIII

BACK HOME

EIGHT thousand strong the Second Corps, Jubal Early at its
head, left the region of the Chickahominy on the thirteenth
of June, marched eighty-odd miles in four days, boarded at
Charlottesville the Orange and Alexandria and so came south to
Lynchburg. Here, Breckinridge being wounded, D. H. Hill, brought
to this town on some duty, was found in command. He had earth
works and a motley force — Breckinridge 's handful, cavalry ready
to fight dismounted, home guard, hospital convalescents, V. M. I.
cadets. Noon of seventeenth in came Early with Ramseur's divi
sion, Gordon's following.

Hunter, having burned and harried Rockbridge and a corner of
Botetourt, crossed the Blue Ridge and swept through Bedford
toward Lynchburg, Imboden and McCausland skirmishing with
him at New London, and again and heavily at the Quaker Meeting-
House. From this point, cavalry fell back to Lynchburg, where
with Breckinridge's men they held the Forrest road. On came the
eighteen thousand and found breastworks across their path, and
Ramseur and Gordon with artillery. Hunter halted, deployed,
brought up artillery and thundered for an hour, then, night appear
ing in the east, went into camp over against the grey front. The
next day and the next there was thunder of cannon and cavalry
skirmishing,tbut no battle. Suddenly, on the night of the nineteenth,
Hunter broke camp, and, facing about, marched away to the west
ward. His army doubled in numbers the grey force in his front. Why
he went so hastily after nothing but a glancing blow or two the grey
could not tell — though Gordon states, "If I were asked for an
opinion as to this utterly causeless fright and flight I should be
tempted to say that conscience was harrowing General Hunter,
and causing him to see an avenger wrapped in every grey jacket
before him." Be that as it may, Hunter was gone at midnight, and
the grey column took up the pursuit at dawn, moving by the Lib-

BACK HOME 355

erty turnpike. Behind the Second Corps lay the giant labour, giant
weariness of Wilderness to Cold Harbour, and on this side of that
the forced marching from Tidewater, and now, rolling on in a dream
of weariness, the pursuit after Hunter, sixty miles in two days and
a half.

It was a weary dream and yet it had its interest, for this was new
country to the Second Corps, thrown this way for the first time in
all the war. It knew much of Virginia so exceedingly well — and
here was a new road and the interests of a new road ! Here and there
in column it was not new country, it was to soldiers here and
there land of old time, their part of Virginia. Some had had fur
loughs and had come back to it, once or twice or thrice; others had
missed furloughs, had not seen these mountains and waters for so
long a time that now they looked at them wistfully as we look with
closed eyes at the landscapes of childhood. The thickness of a life
seemed to lie between them and the countryside; one could not
reckon all that had happened since they had marched from these
blue mountains and these sunny fields — marched to end in one
battle the trouble between North and South!

Richard Cleave rode at the head of the Golden Brigade. There
were now no full grey brigades, no complete grey regiments. All
were worn to a wraith of their former seeming. They took not a
half, often not a third, of the space of road they once had covered.
The volume of sound of their marching was diminished, the flags
were closer together. Had the dead come to life, taken their old
places, there would have passed on the Liberty pike a very great
army. But scattered like thistledown from the stem lay the dead
in a thousand fields.

The living Sixty-fifth moved with jingle and clank through the
heat and dust and glare. It had men and officers who were at home
in this landscape seen through clefts in the dust cloud. What was
left of the old Company A were all from the rolling hills, the vales
between, the high blue mountains now rising before the column.
Thunder Run men pointed out the Peaks of Otter; there ran a low
talk of the James, of North Mountain and Purgatory, of Mill
Creek and Back Creek and Craig Creek, of village and farm and
cabin, smithy and mill. Company A did not feel tired, it was glad
when the halts were ended, glad to hear the Column forward!

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Matthew Coffin had been home twice since First Manassas; other
men of the region had been home, Thunder Run had seen a furlough
or two, but many of the living of Company A had not returned in
four years' time. Allan Gold had not .been back nor Dave and Billy
Maydew.

The column was moving rapidly. Hunter had a few hours' start,
but this was the " foot cavalry" that was pursuing him. The road
was rough, the dust blinding, the heat exhausting, but on pressed
the " foot cavalry." " Hot I Hot ! Hot ! " said the rapid feet, so many
of them half-shoeless. " Heat and dust ! Heat and dust ! There used
to be springs in this country, — springs to drink and creeks to wade
in. ... Then we were boys — long ago — long ago — "

Mouth furred with dust, throat baked with dust and cracked
with thirst, much ground to cover in short time, the column for the
most part kept its lips closed. It went steadily, rhythmically, bent
on getting its business done, no more forever aught but veterans,
seasoned, grey, determined. But in the short halts granted it be
tween long times it spoke. It lay on the ground beside welcome
waters and babbled of heaven and earth. That portion of the Sixty-
fifth whose shores these were spoke as soldiers immemorially speak
when after years the war road leads past home. The rests were
short. Fall in I Fall in! — and on after Hunter swung the Second
Corps.

In the hot June dusk, in the small town of Liberty, twenty-five
miles from Lynchburg, they found his rear guard. Ramseur charged
and drove it through the place and out and on into the night. There
sprang a sudden shriek of shells, rear guard joining main body, and
the batteries opening on the grey, heard coming up in the night.
The grey line halted; grey and blue, alike exhausted with much and
sore travel, fell upon the warm earth and slept as they had been
dead, through )the short summer night. Grey was in column as the
candles of heaven were going out — on before them they heard the
blue striking the flints on the Liberty and Salem turnpike.

The sun came up hot and glorious. Full before the column rose
the Blue Ridge. The men, moving in a huge dust cloud, talked only
between times. "Hunter's a swift Hunter or he wants to get away
mighty bad! 'Burner' Hunter!" — " I could get right hot of heart
— but what 's the use ? " — " I don't bother about the use. You Ve

BACK HOME 357

got to have a heart like a hot coal sometimes, with everything blow
ing upon it!" — " That's so! Life's right tragic." — Press forward,
men! — "Peaks of Otter! Boys from hereabouts say there's an
awful fine view from the top." — " Awful fine view ? Should think
there was ! When you 're up there — if you go alone — you feel like
you're halfway upstairs to God! Don't do to go with anybody —
they make a fuss and enjoy it." — "We're going straight into the
mountains." — "Yes, straight into the mountains. Thunder Run
Mountain's over there."

The road was now a climbing road. The column moved upon it
like a gleaming dragon — the head in thick woods lifting toward the
heights, the rear far back in the rolling green land just north of Lib
erty. The Golden Brigade was near the head. The Sixty-fifth felt
the world climb beneath its feet. Allan and Billy were thinking of
Thunder Run; Matthew Coffin was thinking of the pale blue letter-
paper girl. Allan's vision was now the toll-gate and now the school-
house, and now, and at last persistently, the road up Thunder Run
Mountain and Christianna Maydew walking on it. Blended with
this vision of the road was a vision of the hospital in Richmond after
Gaines's Mill. He lay again on a blanket on the floor in a corner of
the ward, thirsty and in pain, with closed eyes, and Christianna
came and knelt and gave him water. . . .

The road climbed steeply. Above ran on to the sky long, wooded,
purple slopes. At one point showed a break, a "gap." "That's
where we 're going ! That 's Buford's Gap ! " On and on and up and
up — Halt ! rang out from the head of the column, and Halt I — Halt 1
— Halt! ran from segment to segment of the mounting length.

Hunter, a week before, had not appeared on Thunder Run Moun
tain. No torch came near its scattered "valuable property." The
few men left upon the mountain were not pressed or shot or marched
away to Yankee prisons. Thunder Run Mountain saw burning
buildings in the valleys below and heard tales of devastation, even
heard wind of a rumour that Hunter's line of march lay across it, in
which case it might expect to be burned with fire and sowed with
salt. It was this rumour that sent Steve Dagg on a visit to a long-
forgotten kinswoman in Bedford. . . . And then the line of march
had proved to be by the kinswoman's house !

Steve broke from a band of Federals speaking German and some-

358 CEASE FIRING

what blindly plunged into the woods toward the Peaks. "Gawd! I
reckon they ain't comin' to the top of Apple Orchard!"

With occasional descents to a hermit's cabin for food he lay out on
Apple Orchard until he had seen the last horseman of the Federal
column disappear, Lynchburg direction. It was warm and pleasant
on Apple Orchard and the hermit was congenial. Steve stayed on
to recuperate. And then, with suddenness, here again in the dis
tance appeared the head of the Federal column — coming back !
Steve felt the nightmare redescending.

The hermit, who was really lame, went to the nearest hamlet and
returned with news. "We got army at Lynchburg — big army.
Hunter's beaten stiff and running this way ! He '11 cross at Buford's
again, and I reckon then he '11 keep to the woods and go west. You 'd
better wait right here — "

" Thank you, I thought I would," said Steve. " A man can have a
fightin' temper, V yet back off from a locomotive — "

Hunter's thousands disappeared, the last rear guard horseman of
them. Steve was content. And then of a suddenness, there burst a
quarrel with the hermit. He had a gun and a dog and Steve found it
advisable to leave. It came into his head, "The Yanks ain't goin'
to make any stop this side of Salem, if there! 'n' if the Second Corps
comes along, it's goin' to hurry through. If it's after Hunter it
won't have no time to come gallivantin' on Thunder Run! Old
Jack would ha' rushed it through like greased lightning, 'n' I reckon
Old Dick or Old Jube, or whatever darn fool 's riskin' his skin
leadin', '11 rush it through too! — I'll go back to Thunder Run."

He began to put his intention into execution, moving across miles
of woodland with a certain caution, since there might just possibly
be blue stragglers. He found none, however, and came in good
spirits to a high point from which he could discern distances of the
Liberty pike running southeast to Lynchburg. Upon it, quite far
away, was a moving pillar of dust, moving toward him. Steve
knew what it was well enough. "Second Corps," he grinned.
" Yaaihl Yaaaihh! Reckon I'll be travelling along!"

So sure was he that the road before him was clear, and he was in
such good spirits from the consideration that the "foot cavalry"
would hurry incontinently after Hunter, that he quite capered along
the road that now climbed toward Buford's Gap. It was afternoon,

BACK HOME 359

warm, with a golden light. And then, suddenly, being almost in the
gap, he observed something which gave him pause. It was nothing
more or less than trees cut away from a rocky height overhanging
the gorge through which passed the road, and some metal bores pro
jecting from the ledges. Steve's breath came whistlingly. "Gawd!
Yankee battery!" In a moment he saw another, perched on a fur
ther ledge and masked by pine boughs. Steve panted. " Avalanche!
Another minute V they'd ha' seen me."

He was already deep in the woods beside the road, his face now
turned quite away from his projected path. Indeed, when he came
to himself he found that he was moving southward, and due, if he
kept on, to meet that dust cloud and the Second Corps. His heart
beating violently, he drew up beneath a hemlock, the vast brown
trunk and a mile or so of blue air between him and the cannon-
fringed crags. Here he slid down upon the scented earth and fell to
thinking, his hand automatically beating to death with a small stick
a broken-winged moth creeping over the needles. Steve thought at
first with a countenance of blankness, and then with a strange,
watery smile. His eyes lengthened and narrowed, his lips widened.
"I got an idea," he whispered. "Make 'em like me."

Sitting there he rolled up his trouser leg, removed a rotten shoe
and ragged sock, then took a knife from his pocket and after a shiver
of apprehension scraped and abraded an old, small wound and sore
until it bled afresh. Out of his pocket he took a roll of dirty band
age kept against just such an emergency as this. Having first care
fully stained it with blood, he rolled it around foot and shin, pinned
it with a rusty pin, donned again sock and shoe, stood up and gave
three minutes to the practice of an alternate limp and shuffle. This
over he broke and trimmed a young dogwood for a staff, and with it in
hand he went southward a considerable distance through the woods,
then crossed to the road. Behind him, a good long way off, showed
the gap where was planted the " avalanche." Before him came roll
ing the road from Liberty. The dust cloud on it was rapidly grow
ing larger. Steve, leaning heavily on his stick, limped to meet it.

Cavalry ahead took his news, halted and sent back to Jubal Early.
That commander spurred forward. " 'Avalanche? ' What d' ye mean?

Guns? Where? Up there? ! All right. Two can play at

that game — Battery forward! "

360 CEASE FIRING

Steve conceived himself to be neglected. Carefully propped by
his stick and a roadside boulder he hearkened to orders and marked
manoevres until he was aweary. He had saved the Second Corps
and it was n't noticing him ! He grew palely dogged. " They got ter
notice me. Gawd ! I ' ve seen a man thanked in General Orders 'n'
promoted right up for less'n I've done!" In addition to a sense of
his dues a fascination kept him where he was. The unwonted feel
ing of superiority protected him from fear; no army would too
closely question its saviour! The rag about his foot, as he assured
himself every now and then with a glance, was good and bloody. So
well fixed and with such a vantage-point, [he gave way to a desire
just to see how the boys looked after so long a time. Vanguard and
artillery had gone forward; down the road he saw coming at a dou
ble an infantry brigade; further back the main body had been halted.
He gathered from a comment of officers passing that there was a
conviction that it was only Hunter's rear guard before them in the
pass. Cavalry scouts spurring back, clattering down dangerous
paths from adjoining crests, justified the conviction. The Federal
main body was pressing on upon the Salem road while the rear
guard gained time. And here the blue rear guard, observing from
its crags that the ambuscade had been discovered, opened fire. The
grey guns now in battery on a knoll of hemlocks answered. The
Blue Ridge echoed the thunders.

It was near sunset and the brigade coming up was bathed in a
slant and rich light. With a gasp Steve recognized the horse and
rider at its head. He raised and bent his arm and hid his face, only
looking forth with one frightened eye. Cleave and Dundee went by
without recognizing him, without, as far as he could tell, glancing
his way. Steve chose again to feel injury. " Gawd, Colonel! if I did
try to get even with you once, ain't you a general now, 'n' ain't I
jest saved your life 'n' all your men? — 'n' you go by without lookin'
at me any more'n if I was dirt! If you'd been a Christian 'n'
stopped, I could ha' told you you were goin' home to find your
house burned down 'n' your sister dyin' ! I jest saved your life 'n'
you don't know it! I jest saved this army 'n' don't any one know
it. ... O Gawd! here's the Sixty-fifth!"

Steve could not stand it. " Howdy, boys!" he said. " Howdy,
howdy! " The water came into his eyes. He saw through a mist the

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colours and the slanted bayonets and the ragged hats or no hats and
the thin, tanned faces. A drop gathered and rolled down his cheek.
There was a momentary halt of the Sixty-fifth, the last rank
abreast of the boulder by the road. Forward I and the regiment
moved on, and Steve marched with it. " Yaas, you did n't know it,
but I jest saved you boys V the army! I was comin' along the road

— I got a sore foot — V I looked up V seed the guns —

The sun went down and the night came, with the guns yet baying
at one another, and the well-posted blue yet in possession of the
rocks above the gorge. But in the middle of the night the blue with
drew, hurrying away upon the Salem road. McCausland, pursuing,
captured prisoners and two pieces of artillery. But the great length
of Hunter's column, wheeling from Salem toward Lewisburg, plunged
into the mountains of western Virginia. From the grey admin
istration's point of view it was better there than elsewhere. Early,
under orders now for the main Valley, rested in Botetourt for one
day, then took the pike for Staunton.

One day! Matthew Coffin spent it with the blue letter-paper
young lady. Allan Gold and Billy and Dave Maydew covered with
long strides the road to Thunder Run. Making all speed up and
down, they might have the middle of the day for home-at-last.
Richard Cleave rode to Fincastle and found in a house there his
mother and sister. Miriam was sinking fast. She knew him, but
immediately wandered off to talk of books, of Hector and Achilles
and people in the " Morte d'Arthure." He had but two hours. At
the end he knelt and kissed his sister's brow, then came out into the
porch with his mother and held her in a parting embrace. She clung
to him with passion. " Richard — Richard! — All is turned to iron
and clay and blood and tears! Love itself is turning to pure pain —

Riding back to his troops he went by Three Oaks. There was
only a great blackened chimney stack, a ragged third of a wall, a
charred mass behind. He checked Dundee and stood long in the
ragged gap where the gate had been and looked, then went on by
the darkening road to the Golden Brigade.

Up on Thunder Run, throughout the morning, there was great
restlessness at the toll-gate. Tom knew they could n't come this way

— yes, he knew it. Their road lay along other mountains — he
wished that he had the toll-gate at Buford's. Yes, he knew they

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would n't be likely to stop — he knew that, too. He did n't expect
to see any one. He could have borrowed the sawmill wagon and
gone down the mountain and over to the Salem road and seen them
pass just as well. — No, he was n't too weak. He was n't weak at
all — only he wanted to see the army and Allan. He had n't ever
seen the army and now he did n't reckon he would ever see it. Yes,
he could imagine it — imagine it just as well as any man — but he
did n't want to imagine it, he wanted to see it ! And now he would n't
ever see it — never see it and never see Allan.

"Sho! you will," said Sairy. " You '11 certainly see Allan."

But Tom did not believe it, and he wanted intensely to see the
army. "I see it when I dream, and I see it often and often when
I'm sitting here. I see it marching, marching, and I see it going into
battle, and I see it bivouacking. But it won't look at me, and though
sometimes I take the boys' hands there ain't any touch to them, and
I can see the drums beating, but they don't give any sound — "

Sairy looked away, out and over the great view below the toll-
gate. "I know, Tom. Sometimes in the night-time I sit up an' say,
cThat was a bugle blowing.' An' I listen, but I can't hear it then.
— But the Lord tells us to be content, an' you 'd better let him see
you're tryin' to mind him! What good '11 it do Allan or the army if
I have to set up with you to-night an' your heart gives out? You'd
better save yourself so's to see him when he does come home. My
land! the lot of things he'll have to tell, settin' on the porch an' the
war over, an' school takin' in again — "

"Sairy," said Tom wistfully, "sometimes I get an awful fear that
we ain't going to beat — "

"Sho!" said Sairy. "If we don't beat one way we will another)
I ain't a-worryin' about that. Nothing's ever teetotally beaten, not
even eggs when you make cake. It 's an awful safe universe."

"It ain't your day," said Tom, "for a clean apron, but you've
got one on."

"I ain't never denied that there was a Sunday feel in the air! We
may n't see the army and we may n't see Allan, but they're only a
few miles from us."

"What 's that I smell ? — It's gingerbread baking!"

"I had a pint of molasses saved away an' a little sugar. I just
thought I might as well make gingerbread. If Allan came he'd like

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it, an3 if he did n't we could eat it talkin' of him an' sayin' we were
keepin' his birthday."

She went into the kitchen. Tom rested his forehead on the knob
of his cane. His lips moved. The wind rustled the leaves of the
forest, the sun shone. Thunder Run sang, the bees hummed above
the old blush roses, the yellow cat came up the path and rubbed
against Tom's ankle. The smell of the gingerbread floated out hot
and strong, a redbird in a gum tree broke into a clear, high carolling.

"O Lord, I'm an old man," whispered Tom. "I ain't got much
fun or pleasure before me — "

Sairy, coming back to the doorstep, stood a moment, then struck
her hands together. "Allan 's coming up the road, Tom!"

An hour of happiness had gone by. Then said Allan: "I've two
hours yet and the last part of it I'm going to spend telling about the
Wilderness and Spottsylvania and Cold Harbour. But now I want
to go up the mountain and say 'how d' ye do' to the Maydews."

"Yes, I reckon you'd better," said Tom. "Only don't stay too
long. They've got Billy and Dave."

"Bring Christianna down the mountain with you," said Sairy.
"Billy and Dave can tell her good-bye here just as well as there."

Up on the mountain Mrs. May dew made a like suggestion. "Al
lan, I'd like to talk to you, but I've got to talk to Billy an' Dave.
Violetta and Rosalinda they 're gettin' somethin' for those boys to eat,
they look so thin an' starved, an' grandpap an' the dawgs air jest
sittin' gazin' for pure gladness! — Christianna, you entertain Allan."

"I've got time," said Allan, "to go look at the school-house.
That 's what I'd like to do."

The school-house was partly fallen down and the marigolds and
larkspur that Allan had planted were all one with the tall grass, and
a storm had broken off a great bough of the walnut tree. Allan and
Christianna sat on the doorstep, and listened to a singing that was
not of Thunder Run.

Allan took her hand. " Christianna, I was the stupidest teacher—

That night the Second Corps lay by the James, under the great
shadow of the Blue Ridge, but at dawn it took the road for Staunton
and thence for the lower Valley. It went to threaten Washington
and to clutch with Sheridan, who was presently sent to the Valley
with orders to lay it waste — orders which he obeyed to the letter.

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE ROAD TO WASHINGTON

STEVE had had no intention whatever of rejoining the army.
And yet here he was, embodied again in the Sixty-fifth, and
moving, ordinary time, on Staunton! How it had happened
he could hardly have related. Weariness of life on Thunder Run,
where of late he had begun to dislike even Christianna Maydew, —
uncertainty as to whether the Yankees might not return and sweep
it clean, in which case his skin might be endangered, — a kind of
craving hunger for company and variety and small adventure,
coupled with memories of much of the same, — a certain pale home
sickness, after all, for the regiment, — a conviction that battles
were some distance off, probably clear to the other end of the Val
ley, and that straggling before such an event was only a matter of
watching your opportunity, — all this and a ragged underweb of
emotionalism brought Steve again to follow the drum. It is doubt
ful, however, if anything would have done so had he not by purest
accident encountered his sometime colonel.

Cleave, riding along the forming brigade in the first light, reached
the Sixty-fifth. The regiment cheered him. He lifted his hat and
came on down the line, an aide behind him. Steve, on the rim of a
camp-fire built by recruits of this year who knew not the Sixty-
fifth of the past, tried to duck, but his general saw him. He spoke
to the aide. "Tell that man to come here."

Steve limped forward with scared eyes, a cold dew upon hands
and forehead. And after all, all that the general said was, "You are
nettle and dock and burr by nature and anger has no meaning in
dealing with you! Are you coming again with the Sixty-fifth?"

"Gawd, General! not if you think I'd better not, sir,—"

"I?" said Cleave, "I will speak to your colonel about you. For
the rest you can fire a musket." He smiled grimly. " Still that sore
foot ? Has it been sore all this time ?"

"General, it's been sorer!— V if you'd tell the men that they

THE ROAD TO WASHINGTON 365

shan't act some of them so cold 'n' some of them so hot toward me? —
V I saved the life of them all only day before yesterday," Steve
whimpered, "'n' yours, too, General."

"Thank you," said Cleave with gravity. "Fall in, now — and
remember that your Captain's eye will be on you."
Fall in I — Fall in ! — Fall in! . . . Column forward 1
Down the Valley Pike marched the Second Corps. Lexington —
Staunton — Harrisonburg — on and on upon the old, familiar road.
"Howdy, Valley Pike," said the Second Corps. "Howdy, Old
Lady! Missed us, haven't you? We've missed you. We've
thought of you — thought of you in all kinds of tight places ! —

"'Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And days of auld lang syne — '"

"Don't seem to us you're looking well — ragged and lonely and
burned up and hewed down — cheer up!

" 'We'll take a cup of kindness yet — '"

Miles and miles and miles of old-time heat and dust and thirst !
Tramp, tramp ! — Tramp, tramp ! Miles and miles. " There never
were enough springs and streams on this road and old Miss War 's
done drunk those up! — O Lord, for a river of buttermilk! — "

The dust weighted down pokeberry and stickweed, alder, black
berry and milkweed. The old trim walls bounding the Valley Pike
were now mere ruinous heaps of stones. The thousands of marching
feet, the wheels, the hoofs furred these with dust. There were no
wooden fences now of any description; there were few wayside trees,
few wayside buildings. There were holes where the fence posts had
been, and there were stumps of trees and there were blackened
foundations where houses had been, and all these were yellowed
and softened with dust. A long, thick, and moving wall, the dust
accompanied the Second Corps.

The Second Corps was used to it, used to it in its eyes, its throat,
down its neck, in its shoes, all over. The Second Corps was used to
poor shoes and to half shoes — used to uniforms whose best day was
somewhere in past ages — used to hunger — used to thirst, thirst,
thirst — used to twenty miles, twenty miles in heat and glare, or in
mud and rain, or in ice or snow — used to the dust cloud, used to

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the storm, used to marching and marching, used to battling, used
to a desperate war in a desperate land, used to singing, used to
joking, used to despairing, used to hoping — used to dusty marches!
It was a long time since the dusty march by Ashby's Gap across to
First Manassas. New Market, Mount Jackson, Edenburg, Wood
stock, Strasburg, Middletown, Kernstown — on the second of July
they came to Winchester. Sigel was at Martinsburg beyond.

Winchester was haggard, grey, and war-worn. How many times
she had changed hands, passed from grey lover to blue master, it
would be hard to tell. They were very many. Winchester had two
faces, a proud and joyful and a depressed and sorrowful face. To
day she wore the first.

On through Winchester, out upon the Pike to Martinsburg!
There was skirmishing and Sigel quit the place, leaving behind him
a deal of stores. That night he retired across the Potomac, to Mary
land Heights by Harper's Ferry, and the next day he burned the
railroad and pontoon bridges at that place. The fifth and sixth of
July the Second Corps crossed the river at Shepherdstown, crossed
with loud singing.

"Come! Tis the red dawn of the day,-
Maryland!"

Steve was with the Sixty-fifth still. He had meant to leave before
they got to Martinsburg, but the occasion did not arise and the
Sixty-fifth swept him on. He had meant to hide in Martinsburg and
soberly wait until the Second Corps had disappeared in the direc
tion of the Potomac, when he would emerge and turn his face home
ward. But in Martinsburg were the stores that Sigel had aban
doned. Coffee, sugar, canned goods, wheat bread — Steve supped
with the regiment on the fat of the land. But it was his intention
not to be present at roll-call next morning, and in pursuance of it he
rolled, in the dark hour before dawn, out of the immediate encamp
ment of the Sixty-fifth, down a little rocky lane and under the high-
built porch of a small house of whitewashed stone. Here he lay until
the first light. . . . It showed through the lattice of his hiding-place
an overturned sutler's wagon. Steve, creeping out, crept across and
with his arms that were lean and long, felt in the straw. The wagon
had been looted and the tears nearly came to his eyes on finding it

THE ROAD TO WASHINGTON 367

so. And then he came upon a bottle fallen from a case that had been
taken away. It was champagne.

Reveille sounding, the Sixty-fifth rose in the dim light and while
making its cursory toilette thought of breakfast with coffee — with
coffee — with coffee ! Mess-fires burst into saffron bloom, the good
smell of the coffee and of the sizzling bacon permeated the air, the
Sixty-fifth came most cheerfully to breakfast. It sat down on the
dewy earth around the fires, pleasant at this hour of the morning, it
lifted its tin cups, blew upon the scalding coffee, sipped and sipped
and agreed that life was good. Everybody was cheerful; at roll-call
which immediately followed, everybody was present, in a full, firm
tone of voice. Steve Dagg, filled with French courage, was most
present.

French courage was still unevaporated when the column moved
forward. Then, with a shock, it was too late — he could n't get
away — they were crossing the Potomac —

"I hear the distant thunder-hum,

Maryland!

The Old Line bugle, fife, and drum,
Maryland! "

"Gawd! "thought Steve. "They got me at last! I can't get away —
I can't get back 'cross the river! Why 'd I drink that stuff that was
like cider V whistled me back jest as easy? Why 'd I leave Thun
der Run ? They got me in a trap — "

Maryland Heights was strongly fortified, too strongly for Breck-
inridge and Gordon, demonstrating against it, to drive out the blue
forces. After a day Early swept on through the passes of South
Mountain, toward Frederick, east and south of which town runs the
Monocacy. On this stream there formed to meet the grey a portion
of the blue Eighth Army Corps and Rickett's division of the Six
teenth Corps, six thousand men under General Lew Wallace.

There were earthworks and two blockhouses and they over-
frowned the two bridges that crossed the Monocacy. Beyond these
and on either side the blue lines, strongly seen in the clear, hot fore
noon, were fields with board fences and straw stacks, much stout
fencing and many and closely ranged straw stacks. Through these
fields ran the clear road to Washington, blocked now at the river by
Wallace and his men.

368 CEASE FIRING

Jubal Early sent McCausland across, who dismounted his caval
rymen and with them fell so furiously on the enemy's left flank that
it broke. It gathered again and pushed McCausland back, where
upon Early sent across by the same ford Breckinridge with Gordon's
division, Ramseur in the mean time skirmishing on the western bank
with the blue's advanced front. Gordon attacked with his usual
gallantry, King's and Nelson's artillery supporting. The blue cen
tre broke and rolled back from the banks of Monocacy. Ramseur
and Rodes now crossed with a shout, and at a double all grey troops
swept forward.

Steve crossed Monocacy because he must, and climbed several
fences because he saw that if he did n't he would be trampled. But
in the straw field he fell, groaning. "Hit?" asked the man beside
him and was immediately gone, the regiment rushing forward.

Steve drew himself well behind a great straw stack, splitting the
advance like a spongy Gibraltar. Here he found a more or less like-
minded private from one of the Georgia regiments. This one had
quite deeply burrowed, and Steve, noting the completeness of his
retirement, tore out for himself a like cavern in the straw. Outside
was shouting and confusion and smoke ; in here was space at least in
which to have a vision of the clear security of Thunder Run Moun
tain. "You wounded, too?" proffered from behind a straw parti
tion his fellow retirer.

"Yaas," answered Steve. "In the foot."

"I got hurt in the hip," said the other. "It's an old strain, and
sometimes, when we're double-quicking, I'm liable to give out. The
boys all know about it and make allowance. They all know I fight
like the devil up to that point."

"Same here," said Steve. "I fight like a tiger, but now V then
comes along a time when a man 's under a moral necessity not to.
When your foot gives under you you can't go on charging — not
if Napoleon Caesar himself was there shoutin' about duty!"

"Them's my sentiments," said the other. "We're going to win
this battle. I see it the way we looked going in. How do you feel
about going on to Washington?"

"I've had my doubts," said Steve. "How do you feel ?"

"It's powerful rich and full of things to eat and drink and wear.
But there 'd be awful fighting getting in."

THE ROAD TO WASHINGTON 369

"That's the way I feel," said Steve. "Awful fightin' V I
don't—"

An officer's sword invaded their dwelling-place. "Get out of
here ! What are you doing hiding here? Tie you in this rick and set
fire to it, you damned skulkers! Get out and march ahead!" The
flat of the sword descended vigorously.

Steve yelped and rubbed. " Gawd, Captain! don't do that! I got
a hurt foot—"

Much later, having been carried on — the whole wagon train now
crossing — in a commissary wagon travelling light, he rejoined his
brigade and regiment. He found the Sixty-fifth in a mood of jubila
tion bivouacked in the dusk Maryland countryside, with a glow yet
in the west and the fireflies tinselling all the fields. Steve came in for
supper, and between slow gulps of "real" coffee related an adven
ture in the straw field, marvellous as the "Three Turks' Heads."
His mess was one of "left-overs," seven or eight of the stupid, the
ne'er-do-weel or the slightly rascally sort, shaken together in the
regiment's keen sifting of human nature. Totally incredulous, save
for a deficient one or two, the mess yet found a place for Steve, if it
were only the place of a torn leaf from a rather sorry jest-book. The
ne'er-do-weel and the slightly rascally, most of whom were courage
ous enough, began to describe for his benefit the chevaux-de-frise of
forts around Washington. They made Steve shiver. He went to
bed frightened, and arose under the stars, still frightened.

This day, the tenth of July, the Second Corps marched twenty
miles. The day was one of the hottest of a hot summer. Not the
lightest zephyr lifted a leaf or dried the sweat on a soldier's brow.
The dust of the Georgetown Pike rose thick and stifling until it
made a broad and deep and thick and stifling cloud. There was
little water to be had throughout the day. The Second Corps suf
fered profoundly. That night it lay in the fields by the roadside
near Rockville. The night was smoking hot, and the men lay fever
ishly, moving their limbs and sighing, troubled with dreams. The
bugles sounded under a copper dawn and they rose to an eleventh
of July, hot, dust-clogged, and thirsty as had been the tenth.

There were sunstrokes this day, exhaustion from heat, a trail of
involuntary stragglers, men limping in the rear, men sitting, head
on knees, beneath the powdered wayside growth, men lying motion-

370 CEASE FIRING

less in the ditch beside the road. Horses fell and died. There were
many delays. But through all heat, great weariness, and suffering,
Early, shrill-voiced and determined, urged the troops on upon the
road to Washington. The troops responded. Something less than
eight thousand muskets moved in the great dust of the pike, forty
guns, and ahead, the four small cavalry brigades of McCausland,
Imboden, W. L. Jackson, and Bradley Johnson. "— — !" said
Early. "If we can't take it, at least we can give it a quaking fit! —
increase the peace clamour! It 's worth while to see if we can get to

the outer fortifications before they pour their numbers into

them!"

The Second Corps marched fast, now by the Silver Spring Road,
Imboden's cavalry ahead, Jackson's on the flank, full before them
Fort Stevens, very visible in the distance, Washington. The men
moistened their lips, talked, for all the dust in their throats, the
blood beating in their temples, and the roaring in their ears. "Take
it ! Could we take it ? " — "By supernal luck — a chance in a million
— if they were all asleep or dazed ! " — " Take it and end the war —
O God, if we could!" — "Run up the Stars and Bars — Play
* Dixie' everywhere — Live! at last live after four years of being
born!" — "Take Washington — eight thousand of us and the cav
alry and the twelve-pounder Napoleons — " From the front broke
out a long crackling fire. "Cavalry in touch — cavalry in touch."
Rodes's division, leading, came into line of battle. As it did so rose
in the south between Fort Stevens and the city a great dust cloud.

" F'said Early. "There isn't apian or a cannon numbers

won't spike! — Skirmishers to the front!"

"Every prominent point," says a Federal officer, speaking of the
Washington fortifications, — "every prominent point, at intervals
of eight hundred to one thousand yards, was occupied by an enclosed
field fort; every important approach or depression of ground, un
seen from the forts, was swept by a battery for field-guns; and the
whole connected by rifle trenches which were in fact lines of infantry
parapets, furnishing emplacement for two ranks of men, and afford
ing covered communication along the line, while roads were opened
wherever necessary, so that troops and artillery could be moved
rapidly from one point of the immense periphery to another, or
under cover, from point to point along the line. The counterscarps

THE ROAD TO WASHINGTON 371

were surrounded by abatis; bomb-proofs were provided in nearly all
the forts; all guns, not solely intended for distant fire, placed in em
brasures and well traversed. All commanding points on which an
enemy would be likely to concentrate artillery . . . were subjected
not only to the fire, direct and across, of many points along the line,
but also from heavy rifled guns from points unattainable by the
enemy's field-guns." There were twenty thousand blue troops, gar
rison and reserves, and in addition, at two o'clock of this day, began
to arrive Ricketts's and Emory's divisions of the Sixth and Nine
teenth Corps, sent by Grant.

The eleventh and the twelfth there was heavy skirmishing. Dur
ing these days the Second Corps saw that it could not take Washing
ton. The heat continued; now through quivering air, now through
great dust clouds they saw the dome of the capitol. It was near,
near! The Second Corps was closer to Washington than ever in this
war had been the North to Richmond; it was very near, but there is
the possible and there is the impossible, and it was not possible for
the Second Corps to make entry. On the night of the twelfth it
withdrew from before Washington and marching to the Potomac
crossed by White's Ford into Loudoun County. Fifteen thousand
blue troops pursued, but the grey crossed the river in safety. They
crossed singing "Swanee River." It was the last sally of the be
leaguered South forth upon the beleaguerer's ground. Henceforth,
the battle thundered against the very inner keep of the fortress.

Marching through great dust and heat and glare and weariness
back through Maryland to the Potomac, the Second Corps gath
ered up from the roadside and the byways and the hedges its strag
glers, involuntary or otherwise. A dozen hours from Washington
it gathered out of a cornfield Steve Dagg.

CHAPTER XXXV

THE CRATER

A Petersburg, on the Appomattox, twenty miles south of
Richmond, June went by in thunder, day and night, of
artillery duels, with, for undersong, a perpetual, pattering
rain of sharpshooters' bullets, torn across, at intervals, by a sharp
and long sound of musketry. In the hot and sickly weather, under
the hovering smoke, engineers of the Army of Northern Virginia,
engineers of the Army of the Potomac worked like beavers. The
grey line drawn by Beauregard early in the month was strengthened
and pieced out. Over against it curved a great blue sickle of forts,
with trenches and parapets between. Grey and blue alike had in
the rear of their manned works a labyrinth and honeycomb of
approaches, covered ways, pits, magazines, bomb-proofs, traverses.
The blue had fearfully the advantage in artillery. Grey and blue,
the lines, in part, were very close, so close that there would be little
warning of assault. The Army of Northern Virginia, now, in num
bers, not a great army, had to watch, day and night. It watched with
an intensity which brought a further depth into men's eyes, deep
enough now in all conscience, deep enough in the summer of 1864!
On the twenty-second, Grant attempted to extend his flank upon
the left toward the Weldon Railroad. Lee sent A. P. Hill out against
this movement. Hill, in his red battle shirt, strong fighter and
prompt, swung through an opening left unaware between the two
corps, the Second and Sixth, and, turning, struck the Second in the
rear. After the fiercest fighting the blue, having lost four guns and
several stands of colours, and seventeen hundred prisoners, drew
back within their lines.

Grant dispatched two divisions of cavalry with orders to tear
up the Lynchburg and Danville Railroad. They spread ruin south
to the Staunton River, but here W. H. F. Lee, who had followed,
attacked them at Blacks and Whites. Retiring they found them
selves between two fires. Wade Hampton and Fitzhugh Lee, back

THE CRATER 373

from the fight at Trevillian's Station, fell upon the two divisions at
Sapony Church. Infantry of Mahone's came up also and aided.
After a running fight of a day and night, in which the blue lost, in
killed and wounded and taken, fifteen hundred men, twelve guns,
and a wagon train, they escaped over the Blackwater, burning the
bridge between them and the grey, and so returned to Grant at
Petersburg.

On the first of July, General Alexander, Longstreet's Chief of
Artillery, wounded and furloughed home, was driven, before quit
ting the lines, to Violet Bank, where were Lee's headquarters. About
the place were small, much the worse for wear, Confederate tents.
The commanding general himself had a room within the house. The,
wounded officer found him standing, with several of the staff, upon
the porch steps. He had his field-glasses open, and he was listening
to the report of a scout. When at last the man saluted and fell back,,
Alexander stated the conviction that was in him. He felt a certainty
that the enemy was engaged in driving a mine under the point known
as Elliott's Salient.

"Why do you think so, General ? "

" Their sharpshooters keep up a perpetual, converging fire, sir,,
upon just that hand's-breadth of our line. On the other hand, they
pay so little attention to the works to right and left that the men
can show themselves with impunity. They are not clearing the
ground for surface approaches — well, then, I think that they are
working underground. If you were going from that side to explode
a mine and assault immediately afterward, that would be the place
you would choose, I think."

"That is true," said Lee. " But you would have to make a long
tunnel to get under that salient, General."

"About five hundred feet, sir."

Mr. Francis Lawley, of the London Times, was of the group upon
the steps. "In the siege of Delhi, sir, we drove what was, I believe,
considered the longest possible gallery. It was four hundred feet,
Beyond that it was found impossible to ventilate."

"The enemy," said Alexander, "have a number of Pennsylvania
coal-miners, who may be trusted to find some means to ventilate.
This war is doing a power of things that were not done at Delhi."

"I will act on your warning, General," said Lee.

374 CEASE FIRING

The next day the grey began to drive two countermines. Later in
the month they started two others. Pegram's battery occupied the
threatened salient, with Elliott's troops in the rifle-pits. The grey
miners drove as far and fast as they might, but they tunnelled out
ward from either flank of the salient, while the Pennsylvania coal-
miners, twenty feet underground, dug straight toward the apex.
The days passed — many days.

On the eighteenth was received the news of the removal of Joseph
E. Johnston from the command of the Army of Tennessee. Wade
Hampton, being at headquarters, heard Lee's expression of opinion
and wrote it to General Johnston. . . . "He expressed great regret
that you had been removed and said that he had done all in his
power to prevent it. He had said to Mr. Seddon that if you could
not command the army we had no one who could." Later came the
tidings of Hood's lost battle of Atlanta and all its train of slow dis
aster. On the twenty-fifth, news of Jubal Early's victory at Win
chester the day before was cheered to the echo. In the last days of
the month came news of Stoneman and McCook's raiding in Geor
gia and of the scattered fighting in Arkansas.

North and South, away from the camps, there was flagging of
spirit and sickness of soul. In the North the war was costing close
upon four millions of dollars a day. Gold in July went to two hun
dred and eighty-five. The North gained now its fresh soldiers by
bounties, and those heavy. All the northern tier of states, great
as they were, untouched by invasion, and the ocean theirs — all
the North winced and staggered now under the burden of the war.
But the South — the South was past wincing. Bent to her knees,
bowed like a caryatid, she fought on in her fixed position.

At Petersburg, Grant meant to explode a great mine and to fol
low it, in the confusion, by a great and determined assault. More
over, in order to weaken the opposition here and the more to dis
tract and appall, he detached Hancock with twenty thousand men
for a feint against Richmond. Hancock marched to Deep Bottom,
where Butler, having ironclads on the river and a considerable force
encamped on the northern bank, guarded two pontoon bridges
across the James. Between this place and Richmond was Conner's
grey brigade and at Drewry 's Bluff, Willcox's division. Moving with
Hancock was Sheridan and six thousand horse.

THE CRATER 375

Lee, watchful, sent Kershaw's division to join with Willcox and
Conner and guard Richmond. Hancock crossed on the twenty-
seventh, and that morning Kershaw came into collision with Sheri
dan, losing prisoners and two colours. Lee further detached W. H.
F. Lee's cavalry and Heth's infantry. The alarm bell rang rapid
and loud in Richmond and all the home defences went out to the
lines. But Hancock, checked at Deep Bottom, only flourished before
Richmond; on the twenty-ninth, indeed, drew back in part to the
Petersburg lines, in order to take part in the great and general as
sault. When the thirtieth dawned, with Willcox, Kershaw, Heth,
and the cavalry away, Lee was holding lines, ten miles from tip to
tip, with not more than twenty thousand men.

It was a boding, still night, hot [in the far-flung wild tangle of
trenches, pits, and approaches, hot in the fields, hot in Poor Creek
Valley where the blue were massing, hot amongst the guns of
Elliott's Salient. The stars were a little dimmed by dust in the air
and the yet undissipated smoke from the artillery firing that had
ceased at dusk.

In the blue lines" there was between generals a difference of opinion
as to what division should lead in the now imminent assault. Burn-
side advised the use of Ferrero's coloured division. Meade dissented,
and the point was referred to Grant. He says: "General Burnside
wanted to put his coloured division in front, and I believe if he had
done so it would have been a success. Still I agreed with General
Meade as to his objections to that plan. General Meade said that if
we put the coloured troops in front (we had only one division) and
it should prove a failure, it would then be said, and very properly,
that we were shoving these people ahead to get killed because we
did not care anything about them. But that could not be said if
we put white troops in front."

This settled it, and Ledlie's division was given the lead. It formed
behind earthworks full in front of Elliott's Salient, in its rear two
supporting divisions; its objective Cemetery Hill, commanding the
town; its orders, as soon as the mine should explode, to pass over
and through the grey's torn line, take the hill, and pass into Peters
burg. It was midnight when Ledlie's line was formed, the support
ing divisions drawn up. The night was hot and exceedingly close;
the men stood waiting, feverish, every sense alert. One o'clock —

376 CEASE FIRING

two o'clock — three o'clock. Ledlie moved forward, taking position
immediately behind the breastworks. Again a wait, every eye upon
where, in the darkness, should be Elliott's Salient.

On the grey side there was knowledge that a mine was digging,
but ignorance of the day or night in which it would be fired. Lee
slept, or waked, at Violet Bank; far and near in its trenches the
Army of Northern Virginia lay, well-picketed, in a restless sleep.
The nights were hot, and there was much misery and frequent night
firing. All sleep now was restless, easily and often broken. There
were South Carolina troops in and about Elliott's Salient. Reveille
would sound and the sun would rise shortly before five o'clock.

The stars began to pale. Ledlie sent to General Burnside to ask the
cause of delay. The men had been in ranks for four hours. Burn-
side answered that the fuse had been lit at a quarter-past three
but evidently had not burned the sufficient distance. A lieutenant
and a sergeant had volunteered to enter the tunnel, find out what
was the matter and relight the fuse. Ledlie's aide returned and re
ported, and the division stood tense, gazing with a strained inten
tion. It was light enough now to see, beyond their own advanced
works, the grey line they meant to send skyward. Beyond the line
was Petersburg, that they meant to take; beyond Petersburg, a day's
march, was Richmond.

The light strengthened, pallor in the north and south and west,
in the east a cold, faint, upstreaming purple. Somewhere in the
cavalry lines a bugle blew, remote, thin, of an elfin melancholy. As
though it had been the signal, the mine exploded.

The morning light was darkened. The earth heaved so that many
of the blue staggered and fell. A mass sprang into the air, mounted
a hundred feet and spread out into an umbrella-shaped cloud. As
it began to descend, it was seen that earth and rock might come upon
the blue themselves. The troops gave back with shouts.

In that cloud of pulverized earth, smoke, and flame were mam
moth clods of -clay, one as large as a small cabin, timber of salient
and breastworks, guns, carriages, caissons, sandbags, anything and
everything that had been upon the mined ground, including some
hundreds of human beings. The hole it left behind it was one hun
dred and seventy feet long, sixty wide, and thirty deep. Back into
this now rained in part the lumps of earth, the logs of wood, the

THE CRATER 377

pieces of iron, the human clay. The trembling of the earth ceased,
the sound of the detonation ceased. There came what seemed an
instant of utter quiet, for after that rage of sound the cries of
the yet living, the only partially buried in that pit, counted as
nothing. The instant was shattered by the concerted voice of one
hundred and fifty blue guns and mortars, prepared and stationed
to add their great quota of death and terror. They brought into
that morning of distraction one of the heaviest cannonades of all
the war.

Through the rocking air, in the first slant beams of the sun the
blue troops heard the order to advance. They moved. Before them
were their own breastworks over which they must swarm, thus
sharply breaking line. Beyond these, one hundred and fifty yards
away, were curious heaps of earth, something like dunes. The air
above was yet dust and smoke. On went the Second Brigade, lead
ing. It came, yet without just alignment, to the crest of the dunes,
and from these it saw the crater. . . . There was no pausing, there
could be none, for the First Brigade, immediately in the rear, was
pressing on. The blue troops slid down the steep incline and came
upon the floor of the crater, among the debris and the horribly
caught and buried and smothered men.

There followed a moment's hesitation and gasp of astonishment;
then the blue officers shouted the brigade forward. It overpassed the
seamed floor and reached the steep other side of the excavation.
Behind it it heard, or might have heard if anything could have been
heard in the roar of one hundred and fifty guns, the First Brigade
slipping and stumbling in its turn down the almost perpendicular
slope into the crater. The Second Brigade climbed somehow the
thirty feet up to the level of the world at large. On this side the
hole it was a grey world.

If the explosion had stunned the grey, they had now regained
their senses. If the force of the appalling blue cannonade caused an
end-of-the-world sensation, even in such a cataclysm there was room
for action. The grey acted. Into the ruined trenches right and left
of and behind the destroyed salient poured what was left of Elliott's
brigade. Regiments of Wise and Ramseur came at a run. Lee, now
with Beauregard at the threatened front, sent orders to Mahone
to bring up two brigades with all speed. A gun of Davidson's

378 CEASE FIRING

battery in a salient to the right commanded at less than four hun
dred yards what had been Elliott's Salient and was now the crater.
Wright's battery on the left, HaskelPs Coehorn mortars fringing a
gorge line in the rear, likewise could send death into that hollow. In
fantry and artillery, the grey opened with a steady, rapid fire. And
all the time, behind the blue Second Brigade, now forming for a rush
on the greyward edge of the crater, came massing into that deep and
wide and long bear-pit more blue troops, and yet more. And now
the Second Brigade, checked and disconcerted by the unexpected
strength of the resistance, wavered, could not be formed, fell back
into the crater that was already too filled with men.

Here formation became impossible. An aide was sent in hot haste
to General Ledlie, for his own fame somewhat too securely placed
in the rear. Ledlie sent back word to Marshall and Bartlett, lead
ing, that they must advance and assault at once; it was General
Burnside's order. The aide says: "This message was delivered. But
the firing on the crater now was incessant, and it was as heavy a
fire of canister as was ever poured continuously upon a single ob
jective point. It was as utterly impracticable to re-form a brigade
in that crater as it would be to marshal bees into line after upset
ting the hive ; and equally as impracticable to re-form outside of
the crater, under the severe fire in front and rear, as it would be to
hold a dress parade in front of a charging enemy."

So far from the pit being cleared, it received fresh accessions.
Griffin's brigade, coming up, tried to pass by the right, but entangled
in a maze of grey earthworks, trenches, traverses, and disordered by
the searching fire, it too fell aside and sank into the hollow made by
the mine. ''Every organization melted away, as soon as it entered
this hole in the ground, into a mass of human beings clinging by
toes and heels to the almost perpendicular sides. If a man was shot
on the crest he fell and rolled to the bottom of the pit."

The blue Third Division, arriving, attacked the manned works
to the left, took and for a little held them, then was driven back.
Haskell's grey battery of sixteen guns on the Jerusalem Plank Road
came greatly into action. Lee and Beauregard were watching from
the Gee house. Mahone, of A. P. Hill's Corps, was coming up with
three brigades, coming fast. . . .

The coloured division of the Ninth Army corps had a song, —

THE CRATER 379

" We looks lak men er-marchin' on,
We looks lak men ob war — "

They had sung it sitting on the ground around camp-fires the
night before when they had been told that they would lead the
charge — the great charge that was going to take Blandford Church
and Cemetery, and then Petersburg, and then Richmond, and was
going to end the war and make all coloured people free, and give
to every one a cabin, forty acres, and a mule, and the deathless
friendship of the Northern people.

", We looks lak men er-marchin' on,
We looks lak men ob war — "

They had not led that grotesquely halted charge, but now they,
too, were required for victims by the crater. Burnside sent an order,
"The coloured division to advance at all hazards."

It advanced, got somehow past the crater and came to a bloody,
hand-to-hand conflict with the grey. The fighting here was brutal,
a maddening short war in which, black and white, the always ani
mal struggle of war grew more animal yet. It was short. The coloured
division broke and fell back into the crater. ... All the grey bat
teries, all the grey infantry poured fire into this place where Burn-
side's white and coloured troops were now inextricably mixed. At
ten o'clock up came Mahone with three brigades and swept the
place.

By two o'clock the Confederate lines were restored and the battle
of the crater ended. This day the blue had been hoist by their own
petard. The next day Grant sent a flag of truce asking a cessation
of hostilities until he could gather his wounded and bury the dead.
Lee gave four hours.

During this truce grey soldiers as well as blue pressed to the edge
of the crater to observe and wonder. They were used to massacre
and horror in great variety, but there was something faintly novel
here. They came not ghoulishly, but good-naturedly — " just want
ing to see what gunpowder could do!" They fraternized with the
blue at work and the blue fraternized with them, for that was the
way the grey and blue did between hostilities. They spoke the same
language, they read the same Bible, they had behind them the same
background of a far island home, and then of small sailing-ships at

380 CEASE FIRING

sea, and then of a new land, huge forests, Indians, wolves; at last
towns and farms, roads, stages, packet-boats, and railway trains.
They had to an extent the same tastes — to an extent like casts of
countenance. Theoneused "Iguess"and the otherused "Ireckon,"
and they differed somewhat in temperament, but the innermost
meaning was not far from being the same. At the worst an observer
from a far country might have said, "They are half brothers." So
they fraternized during the truce, the grey this afternoon, the more
triumphant, and the blue the more rueful. . . . "Hello, Yanks!
You were going to send us to Heaven, were n't you? and instead you
got sent yourselves!" — "Never mind! better luck next time! You
certainly made a fuss in the world for once ! " — " How many pounds
of gunpowder? 'Eight thousand.' Geewhilikins ! That was a siz
able charge!" — "If you'd been as flush of gunpowder as we are,
you might have made it twenty, just as easy!" — "There's a man
buried over there — see, where the boot is sticking up!" — "Yes,
you blew some of us into Heaven — twenty-two gunners, they say,
and about three hundred of Elliott's men — just enough to show your
big crowd the way!" — "That junk-heap over there's Pegram's
guns." — "Such a mess! White men and black men and caissons
and limbers." — "I thought that body was moving; but no, it was
something else." — " Got any tobacco? " — " We 'd like first-rate to
trade for coffee." — "There 's a man crying for water. Got your can
teen? — mine is n't any nearer than a spring a mile away. I '11 take it
to him — know what thirst means — been thirsty myself and it means
Hell! " — "Well, it was a fine mine, if it did go a bit wrong, and you
deserve a lot of credit — though I don't think some of your generals
do!" — "Yes, that's so! People stay what they always were, even
through war. Lee stays Lee and Grant stays Grant, and Meade
stays Meade, and A. P. Hill stays A. P. Hill. And some others
stay what they always were, too, — more's the pity!" - "Here,
we'll help cover this row." — "Did you see little Billy Mahone
charging? Pretty fine, was n't it? " — " Saw your Colonel Marshall
and General Bartlett when they were taken prisoner. They seemed
fine men. Yes, that's so! We ain't got a monopoly, and you ain't
got a monopoly."

The truce would last until full dark. Now, as the sun went down
in a copper sky, most of the work was done. In great numbers the

THE CRATER 381

wounded had been lifted from the floor and sides of the crater;
in great numbers the dead had been lowered into trenches, shallow
trenches, the earth just covering the escaped from life. There were
yet blue working-parties, a faint movement of blue and grey watch
ers, but the crater was lonely to what it had been. Only the wild
debris remained, and the mounds beneath which life had gone out
and been buried. There seemed a silence, too, heavy with the ap
proaching night. A grey pioneer detail that had been engaged in
repairing a work that flanked the vast excavation rested on spade
and pick and gazed into the place. An infantry company of A. P.
Hill's, marching to some assigned post, was halted for five minutes
and allowed to break ranks. Officers and men desired to look at the
big hole in the ground.

In groups or singly they peered over the edge or scrambled half
way down the loose earth of the sides. The sun's rim had dipped;
the west showed a forbidding hue, great level washes of a cold and
sickly colour. Steadily this slope of the great earth wheeled under,
leaving the quenchless hearth of the sun, facing the night without
the house of light. It was all but dusk. One of the soldiers of this
company was Maury Stafford. He stood alone, his back to a great
projecting piece of timber and looked into the pit and across to the
copper west. "Barring prison," he thought, "for simple horror I
have never seen a worse place than this."

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE VALLEY

EARLY'S task in the Valley throughout this summer and au
tumn was to preserve a threatening attitude toward blue
territory on the other side of the Potomac, to hinder and
harass Federal use of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal and the Balti
more1 and Ohio Railroad, and to render the Northern Capital so
continuously anxious that it might at any time choose to weaken
Grant in order to add to its own defences. In addition he had pre
sently Sheridan to contend with, Sheridan strengthened by Hunter,
returned now from the Kanawha Valley to the main battle-grounds.
Sheridan's task in the Valley was to give body to the Northern
reasoning as to the uses, at this stage of the game, of that section.
With war rapidly concentrating as it now was, the Northern Govern
ment saw the Valley no more as a battle-ground, nor as of especial
use to the blue colour on the chessboard. But it was of use to the
grey, especially that rich portion of it called the Shenandoah Val
ley. Moreover it was grey; scourge it well and you scourged a grey
province. Make it untenable, a desert, and the loss would be felt
where it was meant to be felt. Sheridan, with Hunter to aid, de
vastated as thoroughly as if his name had been Attila. McCaus-
land made a cavalry raid into Pennsylvania and, in reprisal for
Hunter's burnings, burned the town of Chambersburg. It did not
stop the burnings across the river; they went on through the length
and breadth of the Valley of Virginia. Over the mountains, in
Northern Virginia, in the rolling counties of Fauquier and Loudoun,
was "Mosby's Confederacy," where the most daring of all grey
partisan leaders "operated in the enemy's lines." Mosby did what
lay in man to do to help the lower Valley. He "worried and har
assed" Sheridan by day and by night. But the burning and lifting
went on. When late autumn came, with winter before it, a great
region lay bare, and over it wandered a vision of drawn faces of
women and a cry of small children.

THE VALLEY 383

Sheridan in person did not come until the first week in August.
Late in July Early fought the Army of West Virginia, Crook and
Averell, at Winchester — fought and won. Here the Golden Brig
ade did good service, and here the " Fighting Sixty-fifth" won
mention again, and here Steve Dagg definitely determined to re
nounce the Confederate service.

Life had taken on for Steve an aspect of '62 in the Valley — only
worse. In a dreadful dream he seemed to be recovering old tints,
repeating old experiences from Front Royal to Winchester — but
all darkened and hardened. In '62 the country was still rich, and
you could forage, but now there was no foraging. There was no
thing to forage for. Then the old Army of the Valley had been ill-
clad and curiously confident and cheerful, with Mr. Commissary
Banks double-quicking down the pike, before Old Jack! Now the
Second Corps was worse-clad, and far, far from the ancient careless
cheer. It still laughed and joked and sang, but less often, and al
ways, when it did laugh, it was with a certain grimness as of Despair
not far off. On night and day marches, you heard song and jest,
indeed, but you heard heavy sighs as well — a heavy sighing in the
night-time or the daytime, as the army moved on the Valley Pike.
Now confident good cheer in others was extraordinarily necessary
to Steve. When it flagged, it was as though a raft had sunk from
beneath him. Yes, it was '62 over again, but a homesick, strange,
far worse '62 ! Daily life grew to be for him a series of shocks, more
or less violent, but all violent. Life went in magic-lantern slides —
alternate blackness and frightful, vivid pictures in which blood red
predominated. Steve developed a morbid horror of blood.

August came. At Moorefield occurred a cavalry fight, Averell
against McCausland and Bradley Johnson, the grey suffering defeat.
On the seventh came Sheridan with the Sixth and the Nineteenth
Army Corps and Torbert's great force of cavalry. The blue forces
in the Valley now numbered perhaps forty-five thousand, with some
thousands more in garrison at Martinsburg and Harper's Ferry.
Lee sent in this month Kershaw's division and Fitzhugh Lee's cav
alry, but in a few weeks, indeed, Kershaw must be recalled to Peters
burg, where they needed every man — every man and more ! In the
Valley August and the first third of September went by in marchings
and counter-marchings, infantry skirmishing and cavalry raids. The

384 CEASE FIRING

third week of the latter month found the grey gathered behind the
Opequon.

Mid-September and the woods by the Opequon turning red and
gold. "Ah," said the Sixty-fifth, "we camped here after Sharps-
burg, before we went over the mountains and fought at Fredericks-
burg! But it is n't as it was — it is n't as it was — "

Gordon and Breckenridge and Ramseur and Rodes, with Fitz Lee's
cavalry sent up from Tidewater, all camped for a time beside the
Opequon. The stream ran with an inner voice, an autumn colouring
was on the land. " But it is n't bright," said the men, "it is n't bright
like it was that fall!" — "Is n't time yet for it to be bright. Bright
in October." — "Yes, of course — but that fall it was bright all the
time! The seasons are changing anyhow." — "What's that the
Bible student 's saying? ' The lean kine and the lean ears of corn — ' "
Opequon flowed on, brown and clear, but much of the woodland by
Opequon had been hewed away, and the bordering lands were not
now under cultivation. All were bare and sorrowful. There were no
cattle, no stock of any kind. The leaves turned red and the leaves
turned yellow and the wind murmured through the hacked and
hewed forest, and the nights were growing chill. "Do you remem
ber," said the men, "the day that Heros von Borcke brought Old
Jack the new uniform from Jeb Stuart ?" — "Do you remember
the revival here?"

" We 're tenting to-night on the old camp-ground.
Give us a song to cheer — "

The seventeenth and eighteenth all divisions moved nearer to
Winchester. The nineteenth the battle of Winchester had its mo
ment in time, — a battle very fortunate for the Confederates early
in the day, not at all so fortunate later in the day, — a fierce, drama
tic battle, in which the blue cavalry played the lion's part, — blue
cavalry very different, under Sheridan in '64, from the untrained
and weakly handled blue cavalry of the earlier years, — a battle
in which Rodes was killed and Fitzhugh Lee wounded, in which
killed and wounded and missing the blue lost upward of five thou
sand, and in killed and wounded and captured the grey lost as many
— a bitter battle!

Steve had to fight — he could not get out of it. He was out on the

THE VALLEY 385

Berryville road — Abraham's Creek at his back. The Sixty-fifth
was about him; it was steady and bold, and he got some warmth
about his heart out of the fact. In the hopeful first half of the day,
with a ruined stone wall for breastwork, with Nelson's and Brax-
ton's guns making a shaken grey rag of the atmosphere, with Ram-
seur standing fast, with Gordon and Rodes sweeping to Ramseur's
aid, with Breckenridge, the " Kentucky Gamecock," fighting as
magnificently as he looked, with Lomax and Fitz Lee, with the storm
and shouting, and the red field and blue and starry cross advanced,
with about him the strength of the Golden Brigade and the un
troubled look of the Sixty-fifth, Steve even fought as he had never
fought before. He tore cartridges, loaded and fired, and he grinned
when the wind blew the smoke, and the opposite force was seen to
give way. When the Golden Brigade went forward in a charge, he
went with it a good part of the way. But then he stumbled
over a stone and fell with an oath as of pain. The Golden Brigade
and the Sixty-fifth went on and left him there near a convenient
cairn of stones with a reddened vine across it. His action had been
largely automatic; he had no longer in such matters the agony of
choosing; as soon as fear entered his heart his joints acted. Now
they drew him more securely behind the heap of stones. Far ahead,
he heard, through the thunder of the guns, the voice of the Golden
Brigade, the voice of the Sixty-fifth Virginia charging the foe. He
looked down, and to his horror he saw that he was really wounded.
This was high noon, and at high noon the grey thought with
justice that they had the field, had it, despite the fall of Rodes, a
general beloved. Now set in a level two hours of hard fighting to
hold that field. . . . And then wheeled on the afternoon, and the
tide definitely turned. Crook's corps, not until now engaged, struck
the left on the Martinsburg Pike, and the blue cavalry, disciplined
now and strong, came in a whirlwind upon the rear of this wing,
pushing it and a cavalry brigade of Fitz Lee's back — back — back
through Winchester — back on the centre and right, now furiously
attacked by all three arms. The tide raced to its ebb with the
grey. . . . Gordon found his wife in the street in Winchester,
pleading with Gordon's men to go back and strike them anyhow.
Her tears were streaming. "The first time I ever saw Confederate
lines broken, and I hope it will be the last!"

386 CEASE FIRING

They were broken. It was not wild panic nor rout, but it was a
lost battle, known as such at last by even the most stubbornly de
termined or recklessly brave. By twilight the Second Corps was
in retreat, moving in order up the Valley Pike, sullen and sorrowful,
torn and decimated and weary, heartsick with the dead and wounded
and captured left behind. Kernstown ! They looked at the old field
with unseeing eyes.

Steve, behind his cairn of stones, had viewed with agony a blue
cavalry charge coming. It passed him in dust and thunder, the hoof
of a great chestnut actually striking his shoulder. It passed, but
the dust had not settled before infantry of Rodes, pressed this way,
overran his fraction of the field, behind them another wild cavalry
dash. It was sickening to see the horses ride men down, ride them
down and strike them under! It was sickening to see the sabres
flash, descend all bright and rise so red! It was sickening to hear
cries, oaths, adjuration, and under all a moaning, moaning! And
the smoke, so thick and stifling, and a horror even of taste and
smell . . . Steve, with a flesh wound across his thigh where a bul
let had glanced, got up and ran, dropping blood.

As he went he found about him the wildest confusion. Units and
groups of cavalry, infantry, and artillery were shaken together as in
a glass. Here infantry preponderated, here mad horses, larger than
nature, appeared to rear in the smoke, and here panting men tried
to drag away the guns. Here were the wounded, here were shouting
and crying, here were officers, impassioned, rallying, appealing,
coercing, and here were the half-sobbing answers of their men.
"Lost, lost! "said in effect the answers of the men. "Lost, lost! You,
the leaders, know it, and we know it. You would lead us to noble
death, but we must keep to life if we can. We have fought very
well, and now we are tired, and there is something to be said for
knowing when you are beaten and trying another tack."
"Lost, lost!" said the shot and shell. "Lost, lost!" said the wind
whistling from the sabres of Merritt's charging cavalry. "Lost,
lost!" said the autumn night. "Lost, lost!" said the dust on the
Valley Pike.

Steve tried to get taken on in an ambulance, but the surgeon in
charge first laid practised fingers around his wrist, and then told
him to go to hell — in short to walk to hell — and leave ambulances

THE VALLEY 387

for hurt folks. " Gawd! " thought Steve, " V I saved this army on
theroadtoBuford's!"

Night came on, night without and night within. The outer night
was a night of stars. Myriads and myriads, they showed, star clouds
in the Milky Way, and scattered stars in the darker spaces. The
air was very clear, and the starshine showed the road — the long,
palely gleaming, old, old, familiar road. Within, the night was dark,
dark ! and peopled with broken hopes. Tramp, tramp ! on the Valley
Pike. Tramp, tramp 1 with sore and tired feet, with hot and tired
hearts. Tramp, tramp! and all the commands were'broken, officers
seeking for their men and men for their officers, a part of one regi
ment marching with a part of another, all the moulds cracked.
Tramp, tramp / Tramp, tramp I and fathers were weeping silently for
sons, and sons for their fathers, and brothers for brothers, and many
for their country. Tramp, tramp ! and there came a vision of the
burning Valley, and of Atlanta burning, burning, for not one house,
said the dispatches, had Sherman left standing, and a vision of the
trenches at Petersburg, and a vision of Richmond, Richmond per
haps crashing down in ruin to-night, wall and pillar, and the flames
going up. Tramp, tramp I and a flame of wrath came into the march
ing hearts, welcome because it warmed, welcome because anger and
hate gave at least a strength, like a pale reflex of the strength of love,
welcome because before it fled the shadows of weakness, and in it
despair grew heroic. Now the men, exhausted as they were, would
have turned, and gone back and struck Sheridan. Tramp, tramp!
Tramp, tramp I and there came a firmness into the sound. Through
out the night, now it came and now it went, and now it came again.

The night went by, though it was long in going. Dawn came,
though it was slow in coming. When it was light we saw Massa-
nutten, and the north fork of Shenandoah, and Fisher's Hill. "This
is a good place to stand," said Early, and began to build breastworks.
In the afternoon up came Sheridan, something over twice as many-
numbered as the grey, and all flushed with victory, and took his
stand on Cedar Creek, several miles from Fisher's Hill. All day the
twenty-first and part of the twenty-second he reconnoitred, and in
the night-time of the twenty-first he placed Crook and the Army of
West Virginia in the deep forest between Little North Mountain
and the Confederate left. They stayed there hidden until nearly

388 CEASE FIRING

sundown of the twenty-second. Then he brought them out in a
flank attack, so sudden and so swift ! . . . And at the same moment
all his legions struck against the centre.

Steve heard the cry, " Flanked ! — We are flanked ! " He witnessed
the rush of arms, and then he waited not to see defeat — which
came. He fled at once. Halfway to Woodstock he stopped at a
Dunkard's house, where an old, long-bearded man gave him a piece
of bread and asked no questions, but sat looking at him with dreamy,
disapproving eyes. "Yes, the soldier could sleep here, although to
be a soldier was to be a great sinner." Steve did not care for that.
He slept very well for an hour on the floor of a small bare room above
the porch. At the end of that time he was awakened by a sound
upon the pike. He sat up, then went on all fours across to the win
dow and put out his head. "Gawd! they're comin' up the pike —
retreatin'!" He felt a wild indignation. "The Second Corps ain't
any more what it used to be! Retreatin' every whipstitch like it's
beendoinV Tramp, tramp! Tramp, tramp! He heard them through
the dark, clear night, growing loud now upon the limestone pike.
"Well, I ain't a-goin' along! I'm tireder than any dawg! — 'n'
hurt besides." He lay down beneath the window and shut his eyes.
But he could not keep the sound out, nor a picture of the column
from winding through his brain. "They ain't got any shoes, 'n'
they're gettin' so ragged, 'n' hunger-pinched. They're gettin'
hunger-pinched. They've fought 'n' fought till they're most at a
standstill. They 've fought mighty hard. Ain't anybody ever fought
any harder. But now they're tired — awful tired. No shoes, 'n'
ragged, 'n' hunger-pinched — Coffin, 'n' Allan, 'n' Billy, 'n' Dave,
'n' Jim Watts, 'n' Bob White, 'n' Reynolds, 'n' all of them. Even
Zip the coon'shunger-pinched. They 've all got large eyes, 'n' they've
fought most to a standstill, 'n' the flags are gettin' heavy to
carry. . . ." Tramp, tramp! Tramp, tramp! He dozed and heard
the gun-wheels in a half dream, crossing a bridge with a hollow sound.
Wheels and wheels and a hollow sound. Memory played him a trick.
He was lying in a miry, weedy ditch under a small bridge on the road
between Middletown and Winchester. The guns were passing over
his head, rumble, rumble, rumble! And then a plank broke and a gun-
wheel came down and tried to knock him in to Kingdom Come. . . .
He woke fully with a violent start and the sweat cold upon his

THE VALLEY 389

body. . . . The column was directly passing, — he heard voices,
marching feet, officers' orders, wheels, hoofs, marching feet, voices,
— all distant, continuous sound broken, become a loud, immediate,
choppy sea. "Go on!" whispered Steve. "Go on! I ain't a-goin'
with you."

The column went on, marching by the little dark and silent house,
on up the pike, beneath the stars, toward Woodstock, and some
pause perhaps beyond. It moved so near that Steve heard at times
what the soldiers said. He gathered that Fisher's Hill was a word
of gloom and would remain so. On it went, on it went, until from
van to rear ten thousand men had passed. And then, as the sound
of the sea was lessening, a knot of officers drew up almost beneath
the window. They spoke in slow, tired, dragging voices. "Orders
are no halt until we Ve passed Woodstock. — Six miles yet. Where
then? I do not know. — Fight again? Yes, of course — fight to the
bitter end! I don't suppose it's far off. — Here's Berkeley. Well,
what's the news, Captain?"

" Sheridan 's after us, sir. . . . Listen!"

They listened. "Yes. . . . Coming up the pike. . . . I should
say he has thirty thousand infantry and as many horse as we have
of all three arms. Well ! let the curtain ring down. We Ve made good
drama."

When they were gone, Steve rose and leaned cautiously out of
the window. Yes, he could hear the Yankees, he could hear them
coming. They were far off, but they were coming, coming.—
A light burst forth in the night, in the north, then another
and another. "They're firm' barns and houses as they pass." •
Below him rose a final clatter of horses' hoofs, voices, curt orders,
oaths — the grey rear guard drawing off, following the main body.
Steve ran downstairs and out into the road. He stopped a horseman.
" For Gawd's sake, comrade, take me onbehind you ! I marched with
the boys till I just dropped, 'n' I said, ' Go on, V maybe a horse or
a wagon '11 be good to me.' — I got a sore hurt in the leg —

"All right," said the horseman. "Get up!" and they went on up
the pike with the sky red behind them, and night before. " It 's most
the end, I reckon."

Woodstock — and a halt below at Narrow Passage — then on a
windy, dusty day to New Market, while Sheridan paused and fin-

390 CEASE FIRING

ally went into camp at Mount Jackson — then aside from the Valley
Pike, eastward by the Port Republic road — then into the great
shady amphitheatre of Brown's Gap — and here quiet at last, quiet
and rest. Again it was an old, old camping-ground. The Second
Corps stared, sombre-eyed, with faces that worked. "Old Jube is
all right — but, O God, for Stonewall Jackson!"

Weeks went by. The woods changed, indeed. The leaves bright
ened and brightened, and now they began to fall in every wind. To
and fro, forth from the gaps of the Blue Ridge and back to their
shelter, moved the Army of the Valley, to and fro — to and fro. In
these days came Kershaw, sent by Lee — twenty-seven hundred
infantry and Cutshaw's battery. The Second Corps welcomed
South Carolina. " You 're the fiery boys! 'Come, give us a song
to cheer ! ' — Never have forgotten how you taught us to cook rice !
— in the first century, along about First Manassas. Never have
forgotten, but the commissary's out of rice."

In these days Sheridan, keeping his main force between New Mar
ket and Woodstock, began with that great force of Torbert's cavalry
to harry the Valley as it had not yet been harried. He wrecked the
Central Railroad and burned bridges and sent the Confederate
stores at Staunton up in flames. That was all right; that was un
derstood — but Sheridan stopped there as little as would Attila have
done. Before winter came, he swept the Valley bare as Famine's
hand; he made it so bare that he said himself, "A crow, flying
over the Valley of Virginia, would have had to take his rations with
him."

A little past the middle of October Early determined to attack.
With Kershaw and with Rosser's small reinforcement of cavalry, he
could bring into the field a force little more than a third the size of
the blue army now lined up behind Cedar Creek. But forage and
supplies were gone ; it was risk all or lose all. " ' Beggars must not be
choosers,' " said Early, and the Second Corps went back to the Val
ley Pike and marched toward Fisher's Hill. It marched through a
country where all was burned, — houses, mills, barns, wheat and
straw and hay, wagons and farm implements, smithies, country stores
and hostelries, — all, all charred and desolate. It saw women and
children, crouching for warmth against blackened chimney-stacks.

It marched hungry itself and now with tattered clothing — all

THE VALLEY 391

the small divisions, the small brigades, the small regiments — all
the defenders of the Valley, taking now so little room on the Valley
Pike. It marched with a fringe of stragglers, with a body of the sick
and straggling bringing up the rear. Nowadays men straggled who
had never done that before ; nowadays men deserted who were not
deserters by nature. And mostly these deserted because a cry, in
sistent and wild, reached them from home. "Starving! We are
starving and homeless. I, your mother, am crying for bread! —
I, your wife, am crying for bread! — We, your children, are crying
for bread! We are sick — we are dying — we will never see you
again — "

CHAPTER XXXVII ,

CEDAR CREEK

ON the eighteenth of October, the grey being again drawn up
at Fisher's Hill, Gordon , with General Clement Evans and Jed
Hotchkiss and Major Hunter of Gordon's staff, climbed Mas-
sanutten, overhanging the Confederate right. Up here, on the craggy
mountain brow, high in the blue air, resting a moment amid red
scrub oak and yellow hickory, they looked forth. They saw the
wonderful country, the coloured forest falling, slope after slope,
from their feet, the clear-flowing Shenandoah, Cedar Creek wind
ing between hills, and on these hills they saw with their field-glasses
Sheridan's army. "Not only," says Gordon, " did we see the general
outlines of Sheridan's breastworks, but every parapet where his
heavy guns were mounted, and every piece of artillery, every wagon
and tent and supporting line of troops. ... I could count, and
did count, the number of his guns. I could see distinctly the three
colours of trimmings on the jackets respectively of infantry, artil
lery, and cavalry^ and locate each, while the number of flags gave a
basis for estimating approximately the forces with which we were
to contend in the proposed attack."

Down went Gordon and reported to Early. "We can turn his
flank, sir. We can come with one spring upon his left and rear.
Demonstrate right and centre where he is formed to repel us, but
strike him on the left where he is n't! He thinks he's got there for
shield an impassable mountain and a river."

Early swore. "Well, is n't the mountain impassable? It looks it.
It's precipitous."

"No. There's a very narrow path. Start at nightfall and we can
cross the corps, single-file, by dawn."

Early swore again, but in the end approved. " ! It's a des
perate game, but then we're desperate gamesters! ! All right,

General! Get your men ready."

The red-gold day drew to a close. Through all the Second Corps

THE SCOUT

CEDAR CREEK 393

there ran an undefined tremor, a beat of hope, a feeling as of, per
haps, — God knew ! — better things at last ! Supperless men looked
almost fed. With the shining-out of the evening star the Second
Corps began to move across the face of Massanutten. The way was
narrow. Above sprang the mountain heights, below rolled the
Shenandoah. Soldier followed in soldier's footsteps, very silently,
sure-footed, under orders not to speak. Ragged and grey and silent,
their gun-barrels faintly gleaming, they went along, high on the side
of Massanutten, along, thin, moving thread, moving all night in the
autumn wind. Steve was of it, of it because he could not help him
self. He had tried — he certainly had tried hard, as he told himself
with water in his eyes — but Dave May dew had adopted him, and
would n't let him out of his sight. Now he was moving between
Dave and Jim Watts — and he was n't let to speak — and he heard
Shenandoah brawling, brawling down below — and the world was
lonesomer than lonesome ! There were to-night a number of shoot
ing stars. There was something awful in the height of the sky and
in the appearance and disappearance of these swift lights. Steve
felt an imaginative horror. The end of the world began to trouble
him, and a query as to when it was going to happen. " Maybe it 's
goin' to happen sooner 'n we think!"

Ahead, where there was a buttress of cliff, very evident from where
the Sixty-fifth moved in a concave filled with shadow, occurred a
gash across the footpath which made it dangerous. This side of the
shoulder was well hidden from any blue picket across the water. A
torch had been lighted and was now held close to the earth, so that
eyes might read and feet might safely cross the gash in the way.
The red, smoky, upstreaming light just showed each passing soldier.
The Golden Brigade moved forward, regiment by regiment. The
Sixty-fifth yet halted in the hollow of the mountain, recognized
Cleave as he stood a moment bathed in the red light. There was a
sound of satisfaction. "We're all right. We're going to win some
more."

Over the face of Massanutten went the Second Corps — over in
silence and safety — over and on to the woods beside Shenandoah.
Here the divisions were halted, here they lay down on the fallen
leaves and waited. They heard the river, they heard the voices of
the blue vedettes upon the farther side. They waited — all the

394 CEASE FIRING

ragged grey troops — lying on the leaves, in the cold hour before the
dawn. They were very hungry, very tired. Some of them slept;
others lay and thought and thought, or looked at pictures in the
dark. Steve still watched the shooting stars, still thought of the
Judgment Day. He was conscious of a kind of exaltation. "I'm
gettin' to be a fighter with the best of them!"

The lines of grey rose from the moss and leaves. A cold and pallid
light was in the forest. Ahead broke out shouting, and then a rapid
carbine firing. Payne and his cavalry were on the bank of Shenan-
doah, midstream in Shenandoah, — on the farther bank, — in touch,
like lightning before the storm, with the blue vedettes and mounted
supports ! Fall in ! Fall in ! — Forward !

How cold was the water of Shenandoah! North Carolina and
Georgia troops and Terry's brigade, that held within it most of the
fragments of the old Stonewall Brigade, were the first to enter. Be
hind came all the others, the mass of the Second Corps. Cold was the
October water, — cold, deep, and rushing fast to the sea. Over it,
holding high every musket, went the Second Corps, and made no
tarrying, formed in the thickening light in the woods where the blue
outposts had been, formed and went forward at a run, led by the din
of the cavalry ahead. Not only the cavalry, for now they heard
Kershaw thundering upon the front. Everywhere noise arose and
tore the solemn dawn. The woods opened, there came a sense of
cleared spaces, and then a vision of a few breastworks, — not many,
for Sheridan had not thought his army could be turned, — of ser
ried tents, of a headquarters flag, of a great park of bubbly, white-
topped wagons, of the rear, in short, of the Army of the Shenandoah.
It showed a scene of vast and sudden confusion and noise; it buzzed
like an overturned hive. " Yaaihhh I Yaaiihhh ! Yaaaaiiiihhh!"
rang the yell of the Second Corps.

It struck so fierce and it struck so fell, while in front Kershaw
and Rosser aided so ably — the bees all left the hive and, save
those who were struck to the ground and they were many, and those
who were captured and they were many, streamed to the northward
in a strange panic. They dashed from the tents where they had been
sleeping; with the sleep yet in their eyes they poured across the fields.
They left the wide camp, left arms, knapsacks, clothing, and their
huge supplies. They "possessed not even a company organization,"

CEDAR CREEK 395

but crying, as the grey had cried, hereabouts, a month before,
"Flanked! We are flanked! "the Eighth and Nineteenth Corps, taken
with madness, hurried northward by the pike and by the fields. It
was a rout that for a time savoured of the old, old First Manassas
rout. The blue, as the grey, were brave enough, — no one by now
in this war doubted blue courage or grey courage, — but to be
flanked at dawn was to be flanked at dawn, and brave men or not
brave men, and however often in this war you had outgazed her,
smiled her from the field, Panic Fear was yet a giantess of might !
Now or then, here or there, in a blue moon, she had her innings.

The Sixth Corps on the right stood fast. Gordon proposed to
mass the grey artillery against it, then to attack with infantry. " At
this moment," he says, " General Early came upon the field and
said, 'Well, Gordon, this is glory enough for one day! This is the
nineteenth. Precisely one month ago to-day we were going in the
opposite direction.' ... I pointed to the Sixth Corps and explained
the movements I had ordered, which I felt sure would compass the
capture of that corps — certainly its destruction. When I had fin
ished, he said, 'No use in that. They will all go directly/ * That is
the Sixth Corps, General. It will not go unless we drive it from the
field.' 'Yes, it will go, too, directly.'"

Down went Gordon's heart, down, down! "And so," he says, "it
came to pass that the fatal halting, the hesitation, the spasmodic
firing and the isolated movements in the face of the sullen, slow,
and orderly retreat of the superb Federal corps, lost us the great
opportunity."

Jubal Early thinks otherwise and says so. He says that the posi
tion of the Sixth Corps was very strong and not to be attacked on
the left because the approach was over open, boggy ground, swept
by the blue artillery. He did attack on the right, but just as Ram-
seur and Pegram were advancing to occupy an evacuated position,
the enemy's great force of cavalry began to press heavily on the
right, and Pegram was sent to the north of Middletown to take
position across the pike and oppose this force. Kershaw and Gor
don's commands were broken and took time to re-form. Lomax had
not arrived. Rosser, on the left, had all he could do barely to hold
in check the cloud of threatening cavalry. The enemy had taken up
a new position north of Middletown. Early now, the morning ad-

396 CEASE FIRING

vancing, ordered Gordon, he says, "to take position on Kershaw's
left and advance with the purpose of driving the enemy from his new
position — Kershaw and Ramseur being ordered to advance at the
same time." He continues: " As the enemy's cavalry on our left was
very strong, and had the benefit of an open country to the rear of
that flank, a repulse at this time would have been disastrous, and I
therefore directed General Gordon, if he found the enemy's line too
strong to attack with success, not to make the assault. The advance
was made for some distance, when Gordon's skirmishers came back
reporting a line of battle in front behind breastworks, and General
Gordon did not make the attack. It was now apparent that it would
not do to press my troops farther. They had been up all night
and were much jaded. In passing over rough ground to attack the
enemy in the early morning their own ranks had been much disor
dered, and the men scattered, and it required time to re-form them.
Their ranks, moreover, were much thinned by the absence of men
engaged in plundering the enemy's camps. . . . The delay . . .
had enabled the enemy to rally a portion of his routed troops, and
his immense force of cavalry, which remained intact, was threaten
ing both of our flanks in an open country, which of itself rendered
an advance extremely hazardous. I determined, therefore, to try
and hold what had been gained."

Now Gordon was a generous, chivalrous, bold, and devoted soldier.
And Jubal Early was a bold and devoted man and a general of no
mean ability. Which was right and which was wrong, or how largely
both were right, will, perhaps, be never known. But hard upon
Early's slur upon the conduct of the troops, his repeated statement
that they were too busy plundering to go forward, there comes an
indignant cry of denial. Says Clement Evans, "My command was
not straggling and plundering." And General Battle, "I never saw
troops behave better than ours did at Cedar Creek." And General
Wharton, "It is true that there were parties passing over the field
and perhaps pillaging, but most of these were citizens, teamsters,
and persons attached to the quartermaster's and other departments,
and perhaps a few soldiers who had taken the wounded to the rear.
No, General; the disaster was not due to the soldiers leaving their
commands and pillaging." And another officer, "The men went
through a camp just as it was deserted, with hats, boots, blankets,

CEDAR CREEK 397

tents, and such things as tempt our soldiers scattered over it, and
after diligent enquiry I heard of but one man who even stopped
to pick up a thing. He got a hat and has charges preferred against
him." And one of the grey chaplains, who says that he was a free
lance that day, and all over the field from rear to front, "It is true
that many men straggled and plundered; but they were men who in
large numbers had been wounded in the summer's campaign, who
had come up to the army for medical examination, and who came
like a division down the pike behind Wharton, and soon scattered
over the field and camps and helped themselves. They were soldiers
more or less disabled and not on duty. This body I myself saw as they
came on the battle-field and scattered. They were not men with guns.
But there can be no doubt that General Early mistook them for men
who had fallen out of ranks." And Gordon, " Many of the dead com
manders left on record their testimony; and it is true, I think, that
every living Confederate officer who commanded at Cedar Creek a
corps, or division, or brigade, or regiment, or company would testify
that his men fought with unabated ardour, and did not abandon
their places in line to plunder the captured camps."

So the Army of the Valley that is about to go down to defeat need
not go there with any imputation of misconduct. Let us say instead
that it continued to do well.

And now it stands there waiting for orders to advance, for orders
to go into battle, to engage the Sixth Corps, and now the day is
growing old, and now Crook and Wright, far down the Valley Pike,
begin to check the fleeing masses of the Eighth and Nineteenth, to
bring them into something more than company organization, and
to force them to listen to talk of going back and retrieving . . .
and now news comes to Sheridan himself who had slept the night of
the eighteenth in Winchester.

As he mounted his horse there came a confused rumour of dis
aster; as, a hard rider, he thundered out of Winchester with twenty
miles to make, the wind brought him faintly the din of distant
battle. He bent to the horse's neck and used the spur. About nine
o'clock, south of Winchester, "the head of the fugitives appeared in
sight, trains and men coming to the rear with appalling rapidity."
His followers did what they could to stop the torrent ; he galloped on.

The day wore away, the grey under arms, but inactive, waiting

398 CEASE FIRING

— waiting. Upon the top of Massanutten, in a wine-hued world
above the smoke and clamour, was a grey signal station, and it sig
nalled the Army of the Valley below. It signalled first, "The enemy
has halted and is re-forming." It signalled second, "They are coming
back by the pike and neighbouring roads." It signalled third, "The
enemy's cavalry has checked General Rosser, and assumed the offen
sive." It signalled fourth, "The enemy, in heavy column, is coming
up the pike."

The rallied Eighth and Nineteenth Corps, Sheridan at their head,
came back and joined the steadfast Sixth. Together they gave battle
to the grey who had waited for this strange hour. In it the tables
were turned. Command after command, the grey were broken.
There was a gap in the line, left who knew how? Through it like a
river in freshet roared the blue.

It beat upon Steve's brain like waves of hell, that battle. The
Sixty-fifth had held him like a vise ; not for one moment had he es
caped. In the midst of plenty he was not let to plunder; in the face
of danger he was not somehow able to fall out, to straggle, or to
malinger. All his talents seemed to desert him. Perhaps Dave May-
dew had him really under observation, or perhaps he only fancied
that that was the case. He was afraid of Dave. Through the fore
noon, indeed, hope sustained him. The Yankees had run away, and
though the Golden Brigade with others shifted its place, moving
from left to right, and though, beside the first great onset, it came
sharply several times into touch with the foe, it, too, under division
orders, must end in waiting, waiting. Steve was convinced that the
Yankees were too frightened to come back, and that presently there
would be broken ranks and permission to the men to help themselves
in moderation. The hope kept him cheerful, despite the grumbling
of the Sixty-fifth. " Why don't we go forward ? What are we wait
ing here for? We 're losing time> — and losing it to them. Why don't
we — What are they signalling up there on the mountain? " — And
then burst the storm and hope went out.

The lantern slides shifted rapidly — now black, now fearful, vivid
pictures. For what seemed an eternity Steve did tear cartridges,
load and fire with desperation. A black ring came round his mouth;
the sweat poured down, his chest heaved beneath his ragged shirt.
Fire I — Fire I — Fire ! — Fire I And all to right and left was the

CEDAR CREEK 399

Sixty-fifth, fighting grimly, and beyond, the balance of the Golden
Brigade, fighting grimly. He saw Dave Maydew sink to his knees,
and then forward upon his hands, and at last roll over and lie dead
with a quiet face. He saw Sergeant Billy Maydew, passing down the
line, pause just a moment when he saw Dave. "I reckon I'll be
coming, too, directly, Dave," said Billy, then went on with his duty.
He saw Allan, tall and strong and fair, set in a great smoke wreath
firing steadily. Fire ! — Fire ! — Fire 1 — Fire I There rose a ques
tion of ammunition. Jim Watts was one of those who went for cart
ridges and brought them while the air was a shriek of shells. Steve
saw the cartridge-bearers askance, coming, earnest-faced, through
the cloud — then the cloud grew red-bosomed, and he saw them
no more. He heard a voice, " Fix bayonets 1 " and he saw Cleave, dis
mounted, leading the charge. He went with the Sixty-fifth; he could
not help it; he had in effect run amuck. He felt the uneven ground
beneath his feet like a rhythm, and the shrieking of the minies became,
for the first and only time in his life, a sireri's song. Then through
the smoke came a loom of forms; he saw the blue cavalry bearing
down, many and fast. Halt! — Left Face I Fire! — but on they came,
for all the emptied saddles. A thousand cymbals clashed in the air,
a thousand forms, gigantic in the reek, towered before the vision;
there came a chaos of voices, appalled or triumphant, a frightful
heat, a pressure, a roaring in the brain. Steve saw Richard Cleave
where he fell, desperately wounded, he saw the Golden Brigade, he
saw the Sixty-fifth Virginia broken and dashed to pieces. With the
cry of a Thunder Run creature in a trap, he caught at the reins of
the horse that reared above him, red-nostrilled, with eyes of fire. Its
rider, a tall and powerful man with yellow mustaches, bending side
ways, cut at him with a sabre. Steve, a gash across each arm, dropped
the bridle. The horse's hoof struck him on the forehead, and the
world went down in a black and roaring sea.

When he came to himself it was dark. The smoke hung heavy
and there was the taste and scent of the battle-field. At first there
seemed no noise, then he heard the groaning and the sighing.
The greater noise, the thunder and shouting, had, however, rolled
away. He raised himself on his elbow, and then he sat up and
rested his head on his knees. He was deadly sick and shivering. As
little by little his wits came back, he began to draw conclusions.

400 CEASE FIRING

There had been a battle — now he remembered — and the army
was beaten. ... He listened now in reality and he heard, far up
the pike and across the fields, in the darkness, the sound of retreat
and pursuit. It made a wall of sound, stretching east and west, roll
ing southward, going farther and farther away, dwindling at last
into a hollow murmur, leaving behind it the bitter, pungent night,
and the sounds as near at hand as crickets in the grass. Water —
water — water — water . . . O God ! — 0 God ! — 0 God !

Steve rose uncertainly. His tongue, too, was swollen with thirst.
He saw lights wavering over the field, and here and there a flare
where camp followers had built themselves a fire. There reached his
ears a burst of harsh laughter, then from some quarter where there
was pillaging a drunken quarrel. The regularly moving lights were,
he knew, gatherers of the wounded. A shrill crying from a hollow
where was a red glare proclaimed a field hospital. But the gather
ers of the wounded were clothed in blue. They would touch no grey
wounded until their own were served, and then, if events allowed
them to minister, they would prove but lifters and forwarders to
Northern prisons. Steve, swaying as he stood, stared at the bob
bing lights. He was dead from hunger, tortured with thirst, and his
head ached and ached from the blow of the horse's hoof. A thought
came to him. If he told the bobbing lights that he loved the North
and would fight for it in a blue coat, then, maybe, things would
happen like a full canteen and a handful of hard-tack and a long
and safe sleep beside one of those camp-fires. He started toward
the lights. Water ! — Water I — Water ! — Water ! cried the plain.
Ahhhh! Aaahhh! Water!

Somewhere out of starveling and poor soil there pushed upward
in the soul of Steve, came into a murky and muddy light, and there
flowered, though after a tarnished and niggard sort, a something
that first stayed his steps, then turned them away from the bobbing
lights. It was not a strong growth, but the flower of it rubbed his
eyes so that he saw Thunder Run rather than Northern plenty, and
the haggard, fleeing grey army rather than a turned coat. He did
not feel virtuous as he had done when he saved the army from the
"avalanche," he only felt homesick and wretched and horribly suf
fering. When at a few paces he came to a deep gully and slipped and
slid down its side to the bottom, where he was safe from the lights

CEDAR CREEK 401

and from the thrust of some plunderer of the dead, — or the wounded
whom they often, as safest, made the dead, — he found here
beside him his old companion, Fear. Before this, on the day of Cedar
Creek, from dawn to dusk, he had hardly once been afraid. Now he
was — he was horribly afraid. There was long grass at the bottom of
the gully, and he hoped for a runlet of some sort. He dragged himself
along, hands and breast, until he felt mud, and then more and more
moisture, until at last there came a puddle out of which he drank
and drank as though he would never stop. It was too dark to see
how bloody it was, and not even after moving his arm a little to the
left and encountering the body of a soldier, did he cease to drink.
His own arms were yet bleeding from the sabre cut and he was so
dizzy that even here, with the lanterns all left behind, there were
lights in the night like will-o'-the-wisps.

But the water, such as it was, put some spirit into him. Hands
and knees, he crept down the floor of the gully until it deepened and
widened into a ravine. Finally it led him to the creek side. Here,
half in, half out of the water, was something that he put his foot
upon for a log, but discovered to be the body of a man. Having rea
soned that in this locality it would not improbably be the body of a
blue vedette, Steve took it by the legs and drew it quite out upon
the miry bank. He was correct, and there was a haversack, and in
it bread and slices of meat. Steve, squatting in the mire, ate it all,
then drank of the creek. He was dead for sleep ; there had been none
the night before, clambering along the face of Massanutten, and not
too much the night before that; dead for sleep, and more tired than
any dog. ... He stood up, gazing haggardly into the night beyond
the creek, then shook his head, and dropped upon the soft earth
beside the dead vedette. It seemed to him that he had hardly closed
his eyes when he heard a bugle and then the sound of trotting horse.
"Cavalry comin' this way — Damn them to hell!" He staggered
to his feet and down into the stream, crossed it somehow, and went
up the farther bank, and on through forest and field, over stock and
stone. He went away from the pike. "For I never want to see it
again. It'sha'nted."

He went westward toward the mountains, and he walked all night
over stock and stone and briar. Day broke, wan and sickly. It
showed him a rough country, rising steeply to the wilder mountains,

402 CEASE FIRING

rough and so sparsely inhabited that he did not see a house. He
went on, swaying now in his gait, and presently by the rising sun
he saw a sloping field, ragged and stony and covered with a poor
stand of corn, and at the top a fairish log cabin set against a pine
wood. A curl of smoke was coming from the chimney.

Steve stumbled up the hillside and through a garden path to a
crazy porch overhung by a gourd vine. Here a lean mountain woman
met him. " Better be keerful ! " she said. "The dawg 's awful fierce I
Here, dawg!"

The dog came, bristling. Steve retreated a few steps. "I ain't
nothin' but a poor Confederate soldier! — 'n' I 'm jest about dead for
hunger 'n' tiredness. There's been an awful big battle 'n' I got my
wounds. If you'd jest let me rest a bit here, ma'am, 'n', for God's
sake, give me somethin' to eat — "

"Well," said the woman, "you kin rest, an' then you kin pay by
helpin' me stack the corn. My husband was killed over in Hamp
shire, bushwhackin', an' the dawg an' I an' a gun air livin' together."

Steve slept all day in the lean-to, beneath a quilt of bright patch
work. He had cornbread and a chicken for supper, and then he
wrapped himself luxuriously in the quilt again and slept all night.
The next day he helped the mountain woman stack the corn.

" You live so out of the way," he said, " I don't reckon Sheridan '11
never come burnin' 'n' slayin' up here ! You got chickens 'n' a cow 'n*
the fat of the land."

"It air a peaceful mountain," agreed the woman. "I ain't never
seen a Yankee an' I don't know as I want to. Thar's a feud on be
tween the folks in the Cove an' the folks on Deer Mountain, but my
husband was a Hampshire man, an' I'm out of it. Don't nobody
give me any trouble an' I get along. Yaas, the cow 's a good milker
an' I got a pig an' plenty of chickens."

"Don't you get lonesome, livin' this way by yourself — 'n' you a
fine-lookin' woman, too?"

"Am I fine-lookin' ? " said the mountain woman. "I never knew
that before."

They stacked the corn all day, and at dark Steve had another
chicken and more cornbread and an egg for supper.

"Tell me about your folks," said the woman, " an' how life 's done
you, an' about soldiering."

CEDAR CREEK

403

They sat on either side of the hearth, for the night was cold, and
while the hickory log blazed, and the mountain woman used snufi,
Steve indulged in a rhodomontade that did him credit.

" But I ain't sure I '11 go soldierin' any more," he closed. " Savin7
the army V all's enough. I got a honourable discharge."

The mountain woman dipped a bit of hazel twig again into the
small round tin box of snuff. She was not much older than Steve,
and, in a gaunt way, not bad-looking. "An' you ain't married?"

" Naw. I ain't never found any one to suit me — at least, till
recently I thought I had n't."

In the lean-to, when he had rolled himself in the rising-sun quilt,
he lay and looked out of the open door at the stars below the hilltop.
"The army's beaten," he thought, "V the war's ended, or most
ended. Anyhow it 's fightin' now without any chance of anything but
dyin'." He sat up and rested his chin on his knees. "I ain't ready
to die ... Sheridan 's drivin' the Second Corps, 'n' the Sixty-
fifth 's all cut to pieces 'n' melted away, 'n' Grant's batterin' down
Petersburg 'n' gettin' ready to fall on Richmond. We're beaten, 'n'
I know it, 'n' I ain't a-goin' back; 'n' I ain't a-goin' back to Thunder
Run neither — not yet awhile! An' she's strong 'n' a good worker,
'n' she 's got property, 'n' I Ve seen a plenty worse-lookin'. Lucinda
Heard was worse-lookin'."

The next day they gathered apples, for the mountain woman said
she would make apple butter. It was beautiful weather, mild and
bright. Steve lay on the porch beneath the gourd vine and watched
his hostess hang the kettle over the outdoor fire and bring water in
a bucket from the spring and fill it. While the fire was burning she
came and sat down on the porch edge. " When air you goin' away? "

Steve grinned propitiatively. "Gawd knows I don't want to
go away at all! I like it here fust-rate. — You ain't never told me
your name ? "

"Myname'sCyrilla."

"That's an awful pretty name," said Steve. "It's prettier 'n
Christianna, 'n' Lucinda, 'n' a lot others I've heard."

After supper they sat again on either side of the hearth, with a
blazing hickory log between, and the mountain woman dipped snuff
and Steve nursed his ankle.

"It's this-a-way," he remarked after a silence in which the crick-

404 CEASE FIRING

ets chirped. "I've kind of thought it out. War kills men off right
along. When they 're brave they get killed all the quicker, or they
just get off by the skin of their teeth like I done. No matter how
strong, V brave, 'n' enterprisin', 'n' volunterin' they are, they
get killed, 'n' killed. Killed off jest the same 's the bees sting the best
fruit. 'N' then what becomes of the country? It ain't populated
'less 'n the rest of us — them that got off by the skin of their teeth
like I did, 'n' them that ain't never gone in like some bomb-proofs
I know — 'less 'n the rest of us acts our part ! That 's what war does.
It 'liminates the kind that pushes to the front 'n' plants flags. 'N'
then — as Living don't intend to drop off — what's the rest of us
that 's left got to be? We got to be what I heard a preacher call ' seed-
corn 'n' ancestors.' We got to marry 'n' people the earth. W'e
ain't killed. ' ' Steve ceased to nurse his ankle, straightened his lean red
body, and widening his lips until his lean red jaws wrinkled, turned
to his hostess. "Cyrilla. — That's a mighty pretty name. . . .
Why should n't you 'n' me marry? You got a house 'n' I got a house,
over in Blue Ridge on Thunder Run Mountain, 'n' I got a little real
money, too! When the war's over we can go get it. — What d' ye
say?"

Cyrilla screwed on the top of the snuff-box. "I been right lone
some," she admitted. "But ef I marry you, you got to promise not
to go bushwhackin' ! You got to stay safe at home, 'n' you got to do
what I tell you. I ain't goin' to have two husbands killed fightin*
Yankees."

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE ARMY OF TENNESSEE

ON August the thirty-first Hood fought and lost the battle of
Jonesboro. On September the first he evacuated Atlanta,
besieged now for forty days, bombarded and wrecked and
ruined. On the second, with hurrahing, with music of bands and
waving of flags, Sherman occupied the forlorn and shattered place.

Forty thousand men, Hood and the Army of Tennessee lingered
a full month in this region of Georgia, first around Lovejoy's
Station, then at Palmetto. On the first of October they crossed the
Chattahoochee. Four days later was fought the engagement of
Allatoona. On northward went Hood over the old route that had
been travelled — though in an opposite direction — in the spring
and the early summer-time. Toward the middle of the month he
was at Resaca, and a day or two after he captured a small garrison
at Dalton. Behind him came, fast and furious, a blue host. He
made a forced march west to Gadsden on the Coosa. He was now
in Alabama and presently he marched past Decatur to Florence
on the Tennessee. Sherman sent by rail Schofield and two army
corps to Nashville, where was already George Thomas and his
corps. The blue commanding general had now sixty thousand men
in Tennessee, and sixty thousand in Georgia. To oppose these last
there was left Wheeler's cavalry and Cobb's Georgia State troops.
On the last day of October Hood crossed into Tennessee. Before
him and his army lay now the thirtieth of November and the fif
teenth and sixteenth of December — lay the most disastrous battles
of Franklin and Nashville.

About the middle of September Sherman evicted the inhabitants
of Atlanta. "I take the ground," he states upon the occasion, with
the frankness that was an engaging trait in his character, "I take
the ground that Atlanta is a conquered place, and I propose to
use it purely for our own military purposes, which are inconsistent
with its inhabitation by the families of a brave people. I am ship-

4o6 CEASE FIRING

ping them all, and by next Wednesday the town will be a real mil
itary town, with no women boring me every order I give."

In mid-November, quitting the place, he burned it before he went.
" Behind us," he remarks, "lay Atlanta, smouldering ^and in ruins,
the black smoke rising high in air and hanging like a pall over the
ruined city. . . . The men are marching steadily and rapidly with
a cheery look and a swinging pace."

Of his March to the Sea upon which he was now entered, he says,
"Had General Grant overwhelmed and scattered Lee's Army and
occupied Richmond he would have come to Atlanta; but as I hap
pened to occupy Atlanta first, and had driven Hood off to a diverg
ent line of operations far to the west, it was good strategy to leave
him to a subordinate force and with my main army join Grant at
Richmond. The most practicable route to Richmond was nearly a
thousand miles in distance, too long for a single march; hence the
necessity to reach the seacoast for a new base. Savannah, distant
three hundred miles, was the nearest point, and this distance we
accomplished from November i2th to December 2ist." And he
telegraphs to Grant that he will send back all his wounded and
worthless and, with his effective army, "move through Georgia,
smashing things to the sea." He kept his word. They were thor
oughly smashed.

The men, marching "with a cheery look and a steady pace" list
ened to a General Order directing them to "forage liberally on the
country," and "generally to so damage the country as to make it
untenable to the enemy." They obeyed and made it untenable to
all, including women and children, the sick and the old. They heard
that their commander meant " to make Georgia howl," and they did
what they could to further his wish. He states indeed — in a letter
to his wife — that "this universal burning and wanton destruction
of private property is not justified in war," and "I know all the prin
cipal officers detest the infamous practice as much as I do," but the
practice went on — and he was commander. He left behind him,
from north to south of a great State a swathe of misery, horror, and
destruction fifty miles wide. There were good and gallant men in his
legions, good and gallant men by the thousand, but "Sherman's
bummers " went unchecked, and so far as is known, unrebuked. The
swathe was undeniably there, and the insult and the agony and

THE ARMY OF TENNESSEE 407

the horror. Georgia was "made to howl." "War is Hell," said
Sherman, and is qualified to know whereof he speaks.

In the mean time Hood had crossed the Tennessee in chilly, snowy
weather and was moving northward. The snow did not hold. The
weather cleared and there came a season as of an autumnal after
glow. The sun shone bright though all the trees were bare. Forrest,
recalled in this month from Mississippi, rode ahead of the army,
then came the corps of Stephen D. Lee, — Hood's old corps, — of
A. P. Stewart, and of Cheatham. The last was Hardee's old corps.
Hardee himself, irreconcilably opposed to Hood and asking for
transferral, had been sent to take command of the Department of
South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida. Something more than forty
thousand men, cavalry, infantry, and artillery, the Army of Tenn
essee pursued the late November road. It was a haggard and
depleted army, but it could and did fight very grimly.

Lawrenceburg — Mt. Pleasant — Columbia — and then the Duck
River to cross. The night of the twenty-eighth the engineers laid
the pontoon bridge. At dawn of the twenty-ninth the Army began
to cross — slow work as always and masses of men waiting their
turn around fires on the river bank. " Fire feels good ! Autumn dies
cold like everything else. Wish I had a cup of coffee." — "Last
time I had a cup of coffee — " — "O go to h — ! We've heard that
story before! Somebody tell a good story. J. H. you tell a story!
Tell about the mule and the darkey and the bag of sugar — "

Down to the water and over the pontoon bridge in the wintry
dawn went the companies and the regiments. The fires on the bank
blazed high, the soldiers talked. "A year ago was Missionary
Ridge." — " Missionary Ridge ! " — " Missionary Ridge ! " — " Mis
sionary Ridge was the place good missionaries never go to ! " — " We
ran hard in hell, but we fought hard in hell, too. Fought hard —
fought hard — " " Up on Lookout, and Cleburne holding the hollow
ground — D' ye remember how the moon was sick that night ? "
"A year ago! It was awful long when you were little from Christ
mas to Christmas — but the length of a year nowadays is some
thing awful! " — "That's so! It's always long when so much hap
pens. I've seen men grow old from Missionary Ridge to Atlanta.
I Ve seen men grow old from Atlanta to — what 's the biggish
place across the river? Franklin ? — Franklin, Tennessee."

4o8 CEASE FIRING

The light grew stronger — a winter light, cold and steel-like upon
the flowing river and the moving stream of men. Fall in ! Fall in I
cried the sergeants, and the men about the fires left the red warmth,

and stood in ranks waiting to move down to the water. " !

These crossings of rivers! ! Seeing that men have always

warred and I reckon are always going to war, I don't see why Na
ture and God — if Nature 's got a god — did n't make the earth a
smooth round battlefield where enemies could clinch just as easy
and keep clinched till one or the other went over the edge of all
things, and went down, down, past whatever stars were on that side!
What's the use of scooping rivers and heaping mountains in the
way ? Just a nice, smooth, black, eternal plain — with maybe one
wide river to carry the blood away — "

The soldiers, breaking step, crossed and crossed by the pontoon
bridge. "The Duck River! — Quack! quack! — Franklin's on the
Harpeth." "Benjamin Franklin or Franklin Pierce?" — "Benja
min was a peaceful kind of fellow for a revolutionary — did n't be
lieve in war! Neither did Jefferson. Not on general principles.
Thought it barbarous. Fought on necessity, but believed in making
necessity occur more rarely. Perfectly feasible thing! Necessity's
much more malleable than we think. When we don't want it war
won't be necessary." — "Want it! Do you reckon any one wants
it ?" — "Lord, yes! until they've got it. — Of course there's some
that likes it even after they've got it — but they're getting scarce."
— "I don't know. Sometimes it's necessary, and sometimes it's
good fun." — "Yes. A hard necessity and a savage pastime.
'Patriotism '? There 's a bigger phrase — ' Mother Earth and Fellow
Men.' " — Column forward !

On through the leafless country marched the somewhat tattered,
somewhat shoeless Army of Tennessee. Tramp of feet and roll of
wheels, tramp of feet and roll of wheels . . . "Listen! Firing ahead!
That's Forrest!" The marching Army took up the praise of For
rest. " Forrest ! Forrest 's like Stonewall Jackson — always in front
making personal observations." — "Forrest! If I was a company
in trouble I'd rather see Forrest coming on King Phillip than King
Arthur or the Angel Gabriel ! " — " Forrest ! Did you ever see Forrest
rally his men? Draws a pistol and shoots a retreating colour-
bearer — takes the colours and says ' Come on ! '" — "Forrest 's had

THE ARMY OF TENNESSEE 409

twenty-five horses killed under him." — " Did you ever hear him ad
dress his men? He's an orator born. It gets to be music. It gets
grammatical — it gets to be great sonorous poetry." — "Yes, it
does. I've heard him. And then an hour after I 've heard him tell
an officer 'Yes, that mought do ' and 'It's got to be fit.' — And I've
heard him say he never saw a pen but he thought of a snake." —
"Forrest? You fellows talking about Forrest? Did you hear what
Forrest said about tactics? Said he'd 'give more for fifteen min
utes of bulge than for a week of tactics.' " — " Don't care! He's right
good at tactics himself. Murfreesboro and Streight 's Raid and other
places and times without number! 'Whenever you see anything
blue,' he says, 'shoot at it, and do all you can to keep up the scare! y
Somebody told me he said about Okalona, ' Saw Grierson make a
bad move, and then I rode right over him.' Tactics! Says it 's his
habit 'to git thar first with the most men.' That's tactics! — and
strategics — and bulge — and the art of War! " " Old Jack him
self did n't know more about flanking than Forrest does." - "Did
you hear what the old lady said to him at Cowan's Station?"
"No. What did she say? " — "Well, he and his men were kind of
sauntering at a gallop through the place with a few million Yankees
at their heels. The old lady didn't like men in grey to do that-a-
way, so out she runs into the middle of the street, and spreads her
skirts, and stops dead short, unless he was going to run over her, a
big grey horse and a six-feet-two cavalryman with eyes like a hawk,
and a black beard and grey head. — ' Why don't you turn and fight? '
— she hollers, never noticing the stars on his collar. ' Turn and fight,
you great, cowardly lump! turn and fight! If General Forrest
could see you, he'd take out his sword and cut your head off!"

The firing ahead continued — the Tennessee men said that it was
near Spring Hill — and Spring Hill was twelve miles from Franklin.
" Going to be a battle ? " — " Yes, think so. Understand Thomas is at
Franklin behind breastworks." — "All right! 'Rock of Chicka-
mauga' is one of the best — even if he is a Virginian!" — "Thomas
is n't there himself — he 's at Nashville. It's Schofield." - "All
right! We '11 meet Schofield." — "Column halted again! — Firing
getting louder — Franklin getting nearer — the wind rising —
Smoke over the hill- tops — " — "Who's this going by? — Give him
a cheer! — Patrick Romayne Cleburne!" — Column forward! —

410 CEASE FIRING

"Did you notice that old graveyard back there at Mt. Pleasant —
a beautiful, quiet place? Well, General Cleburne rode up and looked
over the wall, and he said, says he, 'If I die in this country, I
should like to be buried here.' " — Column forward !

Spring Hill — Spring Hill at three o'clock, and Schofield's troops
scattered through this region, concentrating hurriedly, with intent
to give battle if needs be, but with a preference for moving north
along the pike to Thomas at Franklin. What they wished was
granted them. Here and there through the afternoon musketry
rolled, but there was no determined attack. Hood says Cheatham
was at fault, and Cheatham says General Hood dreamed the details
and the orders he describes. However that may be, no check was
given to Schofield that day, and in the dark night-time, he and
his trains and troops went by the sleeping Confederate host and
escaped, all but unmolested, to Franklin — and henceforth the
Tennessee campaign was lost, lost!

Dawn and marching on Franklin — red dawn and the great
beech trees of the region spreading their leafless arms across the way
— sunrise and a cold, bright day — Column forward ! — Column
forward ! — Hood " the fighter" at the head, tall and blue-eyed and
tawny-bearded — S. D. Lee and Stewart and Cheatham — the
division commanders, Patrick Cleburne and "Alleghany" Johnson
and Carter Stevenson and Clayton and French and Loring and
Walthall and Bate and Brown, and the artillerymen and the rum
bling guns, and, tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp ! the infantry of the
Army of Tennessee. Eighteen hundred of these men were to die
at Franklin. Four thousand were to be wounded. Two thousand
were going to prison. A division commander was to die. Four
brigade commanders were to die, others to be wounded or taken.
Fifty-three commanders of regiments were to be among the killed,
wounded, and captured. The execution was to take place in three or
four hours of a November afternoon and a moonless night. Tramp,
tramp, tramp, tramp! under the leafless beeches on the Franklin
Pike. Close up, men — close up I Column forward ! " What is that
place in the distance with the hills behind it? — That 's Franklin on
the Harpeth."

The battle opened at four o'clock, and the sun set before five.
There was an open, quite unobstructed plain running full to an

THE ARMY OF TENNESSEE 411

abatis and long earthworks, and behind these were the divisions of
Cox and Ruger and Kimball. Wood's division was over the
Harpeth and a portion of Wagner's occupied a hill a short distance
from the front. There were twenty-six guns mounted on the works
and twelve in reserve. "At four o'clock," says a Federal officer,
"the whole Confederate line could be seen, stretching in battle
array, from the dark fringe of chestnuts along the river bank, far
across the Columbia Pike, the colours gaily fluttering, and the mus
kets gleaming brightly, and advancing steadily, in perfect order,
dressed on the centre, straight for the works."

At first Success, with an enigmatical smile, rode with the grey.

The th Virginia yelled as they rode with her. Cheatham's men,

Stewart's men, Cleburne's famed veteran division yelled. Yaaaihhhh!
Yaaaaihhh! Yaaaaaiiihhh! rang the Rebel yell, and echoed from
beyond the Harpeth and from the Winstead hills. They yelled and
drove Wagner's brigades and followed at a double, on straight to
the gun-crowned works. As the sun dipped came a momentary halt.
Cleburne was at the front of his troops, about him his officers, be
hind him his regiments waiting. It was growing cold and the earth
in shadow. A man, a good and gallant soldier, was sitting on a
hump of earth trying to tie a collection of more or less blood-stained
rags around his bare, half-frozen feet. He worked patiently, but
just once he uttered a groan. Cleburne heard the sound and turned
his head. Sitting his good horse he regarded the soldier for a moment
with a half-wistful look, then he dismounted, and without saying
anything to any one, drew off his boots. With them in his hand he
stepped across, in his stockinged feet, the bit of frosty earth to the
soldier. He held out the boots. "Put them on!" he ordered. The
man, astonished, would have scrambled up and saluted, but
Cleburne pushed him back. "Put them on! "he said. "It'sanorder.
Put them on." Stammering protests, the soldier obeyed. "There!
they seem to fit you," said General Cleburne. "You need them
more than I do." He moved back to his horse, put his stockinged
foot in the stirrup and mounted.

There sounded the charge. In went the corps of Stewart and
Cheatham, in went Cleburne's division with the blue flag, Alabama,
and Mississippi, Arkansas and Texas, a great veteran division,
"General Pat" leading. In the winter dusk came the whirlwind.

4i2 CEASE FIRING

There was a cotton-gin in an open field — there were breastworks —
every gun had opened, every musket was blazing, Casement's brig
ade was using magazine breech-loaders. There grew a welter, a
darkness, a shrieking. General Adams, of Loring's division, sprang,
bay horse and all, across a ditch and to the top of a parapet. Above
him flared in the dark a flag. His hands were upon the staff.
"Fire!" said the colour-guard, and their bullets killed him and the
bay horse. Gist and Strahl were killed, Granbury was killed. And
Patrick Romayne Cleburne was killed, and lay in his stockinged
feet a few yards in front of the breastwork across which was
stretched Adams's horse.

Thirteen times the grey charged. There was no wind to blow
the smoke away. It lay like a level sea, and men fought in it and
beneath it, and it would have been dark even in daytime. As it was,
night was here, and it was dark indeed, save for the red murder
light.

The th Virginia fought with the same desperation that its

fellow regiments displayed. A wild energy seemed to inform the
entire grey army. Edward Gary, rushing with his men to the assault,
staggering back, going forward again, felt three times the earth of
the breastworks in his hands.

He fought, since that was the business in hand, as though he loved
it. He did not love it, but he was skilful, poised, and sure, and he
knew no fear. His men had a strange love for and confidence in him.
They never put it into words but " He comes from a sunrise land
and knows more than we" was what they meant. He called half-
gods by their names and had that detachment which perforce men
honour. Now, sword in hand, striving to overmount the breastworks
at Franklin, rallying and leading his men with a certain clean
efficiency, he acted an approved part in the strife, but kept all the
time a distance in his soul. He could not be all savage again and
exult or howl. Nor was he merely civilized, to feel weakness and
horror and repugnance before this blood and dirt and butchery, and
yet for pure pride, fear of disgrace, and confusion of intellect, to call
on every coarser fibre of the past, and exalt in the brain all the old
sounding, suggestive words, the words to make you feel and not to
think! He did not call upon the past though he acted automatically
as the past had acted. He put horror and pity and cold distaste and

THE ARMY OF TENNESSEE 413

a sense of the absurd to one side and did the work, since it still
seemed to him that on the whole it must be done, with a kind of
deadly calm. Had he been more than a dawn type, had he been a
very little nearer to the future which he presaged, he might not have
been there, somehow, in that dusk at all. He might have declined
solutions practised by boar and wolf, and died persuading his kind
toward a cleaner fashion of solving their problems. As it was,
he hated what he did but did it.

Again and again the grey wave surged to the top of the breast
works. There it was as though it embraced the blue — blue and
grey swayed, locked in each other's arms. Oh! fire and smoke and
darkness, and a roaring as of sea and land risen each against the
other — then down and back went the grey sea, down and back,
down and back. ... At nine o'clock the battle rested.

Long and mournful looked the line of camp-fires. There lay on
the groaning field beneath the smoke that would not rise well-nigh
as many dressed in blue as dressed in grey. But all loss now to the
grey, with never a recruiting ground behind it, was double loss and
treble loss. Every living man knew it, and knew that the field of
Franklin was vain, vain! Another artery had been opened, that
was all. The South was bleeding, bleeding to death.

There fell upon the Army of Tennessee a great melancholy.
Reckless daring, yes! but what had reckless daring done? Oppor
tunity at Spring Hill lost — Franklin, where there was no oppor
tunity, lost, lost ! — Cleburne dead — So many of the bravest and
best dead or laid low or taken, so many slipped forever from the
Army of Tennessee — cold, hunger, nakedness, Giant Fatigue,
Giant Lack-of-Confidence, Giant Little-Hope, Giant Much-Despair
— a wailing wind that like an aeolian harp brought a distant crying,
a crying from home. . . . Not Atlanta, not Missionary Ridge, not
Vicksburg, — not anything was so bad as the night and day after
Franklin, Tennessee.

The night of the thirtieth, Schofield, leaving his dead and
wounded, fell back from Franklin to Thomas at Nashville a few
miles to the north. Now there were at Nashville between fifty and
sixty thousand men in blue. On the second of December Hood put
his army into motion, and that evening saw it drawn up and facing
Thomas. Returns conflict, but he had now probably less than thirty

4H CEASE FIRING

thousand men. The loss on the field had been great, and the strag
gling was great and continued so. Also, now at last, there was an
amount of desertion.

The weather changed. It became cold winter. For fourteen days
Hood who so despised breastworks, dug and entrenched. "The
only remaining chance of success in the campaign at this juncture,"
he says, "was to take position, entrench about Nashville, and await
Thomas's attack, which, if handsomely repulsed, might afford us
an opportunity to follow up our advantage on the spot and enter
the city on the heels of the enemy." — But George Thomas was a
better general though not a braver man than Hood, and he had two
men to Hood's one, and his men were clothed and fed and confident.
He had no better lieutenants than had Hood, and his army was no
braver than the grey army and not one half so desperate — but
when all is weighed and allowed for his advantage remains of the
greatest. And as at Franklin so at Nashville, the grey cavalry was
divided and Forrest was fatally sent on side expeditions.

It began to snow, and as the snow fell it froze. The trees and the
country side were mailed in ice and the skies hung grey as iron and
low as the roof of a cavern. The Army of Tennessee, behind its
frozen earthworks, suffered after a ghastly fashion. There was
little wood for fires, and little food for cooking, and little covering
for warmth. On the thirteenth there set in a thaw, and the fifteenth
dawned, not cold, with a winter fog. Through it the ' Rock of Chick-
amauga' moved out in force from Nashville, and with his whole
strength struck fair and full the Army of Tennessee.

Two days the two armies fought. In the slant sunshine of the late
afternoon of the second day, the Federal commander brought a
great concentration of artillery against the Confederate centre,
and under cover of that storm of shot and shell, massed his troops
and charged the centre. It broke. The blue poured over the breast
works. At the same moment other and dire blue strokes were deliv
ered against the right and left. The grey army was crumpled together
like a piece of cloth. Then in a torrent of shouting and a thunder
of guns came the rout. The grey cloth was torn in strips and fled
like shreds in a high wind. Beside the killed and wounded the grey
left in the hands of the enemy fifty-four guns and four thousand
five hundred prisoners. Night came down; night over the Confed
eracy.

THE ARMY OF TENNESSEE 415

Ten days and nights the shattered army fell back to the Tennes
see, moving at first through a hail-storm of cavalry attacks. Forrest
beat these off, Forrest and a greatly heroic rear guard under Walt-
hall. This infantry command and Forrest saved the remnant of the
army.

The weather grew atrocious. The country now was hilly, wooded,
thinly populated. Snow fell and then sleet, and the ground grew ice
and the rail fences and the trees were mailed in ice. The feet of the
men left blood-marks on the ice, the hands of the men were frozen
where they rested on the gun stocks. Men lay down by the roadside
and died or were gathered by the blue force hard on the heels of the
rear guard. The ambulances bore their load, the empty ammunition
and commissary wagons carried as many as they might, the caissons
were overlaid with moaning men, the mounted officers took men
up behind them. Others, weak, ill, frozen, shoeless did their piteous
best to keep up with the " boys." They fell behind, they sank upon
the roadside, they drew themselves into the gaunt woods and lay
down upon the frozen snow, arms over eyes. Tramp, tramp, tramp,
tramp! went the column on the road. Close up, men, close up —
close up! "It's the end, it's the end! "said the men. "For God's
sake, strike up Dixie!"

" 'Way down South in the land of cotton,
Old times there are not forgotten — "

XXXIX

COLUMBIA

THE bells of the South had been melted and run into cannon,
and yet there seemed a tolling of bells. Everywhere they
tolled — louder and louder ! — tolled the siege of Savan
nah, tolled Hatcher's Run in Virginia, tolled Fort Fisher in North
Carolina and the blue bombarding ships — tolled solemnly and
loudly, "The End is come!"

Forrest guarding, the haggard remnant of the Army of Tennessee
crossed the river on the twenty-seventh of December. There was
a council of war. Where to go to rest — recoup — reorganize?
Southwest into Mississippi? Southwest they marched and on the
tenth of January came to Tupelo. Hood asked to be relieved from
command and was relieved, A. P. Stewart succeeding him. Later
the army, now a small, war-worn force, went to fight in North
Carolina. But Stevenson's division and a few other troops were
sent into South Carolina to Hardee who, with less than fifteen
thousand men, mostly in garrison at Charleston, was facing Sher
man and his sixty thousand, flushed from that March to the Sea
which is described as "one long, glorious picnic," from the capture
of Savannah, from the plaudits of the Northern press and the praise
of Government. Now the idea that he should join Grant at Peters
burg having been laid aside, Sherman proposed to march northward
through South Carolina.

The bells tolled loud in the South, tolled for the women in the
night-time, tolled for the shrunken armies, tolled for the cities that
waited, a vision before their eyes of New Orleans, Atlanta, Savan
nah, tolled for the beleaguered places where men watched in the
trenches, tolled for the burned farmhouses, the burned villages,
the lonely, blackened country with the gaunt chimneys standing
up, tolled for famine, tolled for death, tolled for the broken-hearted,
tolled for human passions let loose, tolled for anger, greed and lust,

COLUMBIA 417

tolled for the shrunken good, tolled for the mounting ill, tolled for
war! Through the South they tolled and tolled.

Beauregard took command in South Carolina. It was not known
whether Sherman would move north and west upon Augusta, just
over the Georgia line, or east to Charleston, or almost due north to
Columbia. Late in January he moved from Savannah in ruins,
crossed the flooded Savannah River by pontoon, entered South
Carolina, and marched northward toward Columbia the capital of
that state. It being a rainy season, and swamp and river out of
bounds, he made not more than ten miles a day.

At this time one of his staff officers writes, "The actual invasion
of South Carolina has begun. The well-known sight of columns of
black smoke meets our gaze again." And another Federal officer,
" There can be no doubt of the assertion that the feeling among the
troops was one of extreme bitterness toward the people of South
Carolina. It was freely expressed as the column hurried over the
bridge at Sister's Ferry, eager to commence the punishment of the
original Secessionists. Threatening words were heard from soldiers
who prided themselves on conservatism in house-burning while in
Georgia, and officers openly confessed their fears that the coming
campaign would be a wicked one. Just or unjust as this feeling was
toward the country people in South Carolina, it was universal.
I first saw its fruits at Purisburg, where two or three piles of black
ened bricks and an acre or so of dying embers marked the site of an
old, Revolutionary town ; and this before the column had fairly got
its hand in. ... The army might safely march the darkest night,
the crackling pine woods shooting up their columns of flame, and
the burning houses along the way would light it on. ... As for the
wholesale burnings, pillage, devastation, committed in South
Carolina, magnify all I have said of Georgia some fifty-fold, and
then throw in an occasional murder, 'just to bring an old hard-
fisted cuss to his senses,' and you have a pretty good idea of the
whole thing."

General Sherman testifies that "the whole army is burning with
insatiable desire to wreak vengeance on South Carolina. I almost
tremble at her fate."

And one of his captains remarks of the situation several weeks
later. "It was sad to see this wanton destruction of property which

4i 8 CEASE FIRING

. . . was the work of 'bummers' who were marauding through the
country committing every sort of outrage. There was no restraint
except with the column or the regular foraging parties. We had no
communications and could have no safeguards. The country was
necessarily left to take care of itself, and became a howling waste.
The ' Coffee-coolers ' of the Army of the Potomac were archangels
compared to our ( bummers' who often fell to the tender mercies
of Wheeler's cavalry, and were never heard of again, earning a fate
richly deserved."

Winter is not truly winter in South Carolina, but in the winter of
'65 it rained and rained and rained. All swamps and streams were
out, low-lying plantations were under water, the country looked like
a flooded rice-field. The water-oaks and live-oaks and magnolias
stood up, shining and dark, beneath the streaming sky; where the
road was corduroyed it was hard to travel, and where it was not
wheels sank and sank. All the world was wet, and the canes in the
marshes made no rustling. When it did not rain the sky remained
grey, a calm grey pall keeping out the sun, but leaving a quiet grey-
pearl light, like a dream that is neither sad nor glad.

"It is," said Desiree, "the air of Cape Jessamine that winter you
came."

"Yes. The road to Vidalia! We passed at nightfall a piece of
water with a bit of bridge. I helped push a gun upon it, and the
howitzer knocked me on the head for my pains. I fell down, down
into deep water, forty fathoms at the least, and blacker than ebony
at midnight. . . . And then I waked up in Rasmus's cabin, and we
had supper, and water came under the door, and we circumvented
the bayou, and went to the Gaillard place which was called Cape
Jessamine. And there I found a queen in a russet gown and a sol
dier's cloak. The wind blew the cloak out and made a canopy of it
in the light of torches and bonfires. She stood upon the levee and
bitted and bridled the Mississippi River — and I fell in love, deep,
deep, forty thousand fathoms deep — "

"Two years. . . . You were so ragged and splashed with mud
— And my heart beat like that! and said to me 'Who is this that
comes winged and crowned?' — Listen!"

They were on a road somewhat to the southeast of Columbia,
D6siree in an open wagon driven by a negro boy, Edward — major

COLUMBIA 419

now of the th Virginia — riding beside her on a grey horse. Ahead,

at some distance, they just saw the regiment, marching through a
gloomy wood, bound for a post on the Edisto. The sound of its
going and the voices of the men came faintly back through the damp
and quiet air. But what they heard was nearer, a passionate weep
ing amid the trees at a cross-road. Coming to this opening they found
a spacious family carriage drawn by two ancient plough horses, a
cart with a mule attached, and two or three negro pedestrians. The
whole had stopped the moment before and with reason. A white-
haired lady, stretched upon the cushions of the carriage laid cross
wise, had just breathed her last. The weeping was her daughter's,
a dark, handsome girl of twenty. Two negro women lamented also,
while the coachman had gotten down from the box and stood star
ing, with a working face. There were some bags and pillows and
things of little account heaped in the cart, and on these a small
negro boy was profoundly sleeping.

Edward dismounted and Desiree stepped down from the wagon.
" What could they do ? How sad it was ! — Was there any help? — "
Desiree lifted the girl from her mother's form, drew her away to a
roadside log, and sitting there, held her close and let her weep.
Edward saw the oldest negro woman, murmuring constantly to her
self, close the eyes of the dead mistress, straighten her limbs and fold
her hands. The other woman sat on the earth and rocked herself.
The plough horses and the mule lowered their heads and cropped
what green bush and grass there was. The little black boy slept
on and on. Edward talked with the coachman. " Yaas, marster, dat
so! — 'Bout thirty miles south from here, sah. Bienvenu — er
Lauren's place. En de Yankees come hollerin' en nrin' en hits daid
of night en old Marster en young Marster wif Gineral Lee. — One
officer, he say git away quick ! en he give me er guard en I hitches
up, en we lif oP Mistis out of her bed where she's had pneumonia,
en Miss Fanny en her mammy en Julia dar wif her boy, we teks de
road." %

Desiree and Edward saw the forlorn cortege proceed on its way
with hopes of a village or some country house. They stood a mo
ment watching it disappear, then Desiree rested her hand upon his
arm and mounted again into the wagon, and he sprang upon his
horse that was named Damon, and the negro boy touched the mule

420 CEASE FIRING

drawing the wagon with his whip, and they all went on after the
regiment. They found it at twilight, encamped in the hospitable
houses and the one street of a tiny rain-soaked hamlet. Head
quarters was the parsonage and here was a room ready for the

Major's wife. From colonel to cook the th Virginia loved the

Major's wife. Romance dwelled with her, and a queenliness that
was never vanquished. Her presence never wearied; she knew
when to withdraw, to disappear, how not to give trouble, and how,
when she gave it, to make it seem a high guerdon, a princess's
favour. Sometimes the regiment did not see her for weeks or even
months on end, and then she came like a rose in summer, a more
golden light on the fields, a deeper blue in the sky. She made
mystics of men.

Now the parson's wife made her welcome, and after a small
supper sat with her in a clean bedroom before a fire. The
parson's wife was full of sighs, and " Ah, my dears!" and ominous
shakings of the head. "South Carolina's bound down," she said,
" and going to be tormented. What you tell me about that dead
woman and her daughter is but the beginning. It's but a leaf be
fore the storm. We 're going to hear of many whirled and trodden
leaves."

"Yes," said Desiree, her eyes upon the fantastic shapes in the
hollow of the fire. "Whirled and trodden leaves."

"I have a sister," said the parson's wife, "in Georgia. She got
away, but will you listen to some of the things she writes ?"

She got the letter and read. Desiree, listening, put her hands
over her eyes and shivered a little for all the room was warm. "I
should not have said such things could happen in a Christian land,"
she said.

"They happen," said the parson's wife. "War is a horror, and
a horror to women. It has always been so and always will be so.
And now I must go see that there is covering enough on the beds."

At cock-crow the regiment was up and away. Still the same
pearly sky, the same quietude, the same stretches of water crept
under the trees, the same heavy road, and halts and going on. The
regiment took dinner beneath live oaks on a little rise of ground
beside a swamp become a lake. Officers' mess dined a little to one
side beneath a monster tree. All wood was wet and the fires smoked,

COLUMBIA 42 r

but soldiers grow skilful and at last a blaze was got. Sherman was.
yet to the southward; this strip of country not yet overrun and
provisions to be had. Officers' mess to-day sat down under the live-
oaks to what, compared to many and many a time in its existence,
appeared a feast for kings. There were roasted ducks and sweet
potatoes, rice and milk and butter. Officers' mess said grace
devoutly.

Desiree said grace with her friends, for they had sent back to
urge her wagon forward and to say they had a feast and to beg her
company. She sat with Edward over against the Colonel, and the
captains and lieutenants sat to either side the board. They made
a happy dinner, jesting and laughing, while off in the grove of oaks
was heard the laughter of their grey men. When dinner was over,
and half an hour of sweet rest was over, into column came all, and
took again the swampy road.

That evening headquarters was a fine old pillared house, set in
a noble garden, surrounded in its turn by the fields and woods of a
great plantation. Here there was a large family, an old man and
his married daughters and their daughters and little sons. These
made the men welcome where they camped beside fires out under
the great trees of the place, and the grey officers welcome indoors,
and Desiree welcome and gave her and Edward a room with mirrors
and chintz curtains and a great four-poster bed and a light- wood fire.
A little after the regiment, came up also a small troop of grey cavalry
returning from a reconnoissance to the southward. Infantry and
the plantation alike were eager for Cavalry's news. Its news was
ravage and ruin, the locusts of Egypt and a grudge against the land.
There were sixty thousand of the foe and it seemed determined now
that Sherman meant Columbia.

"What are the troops at Columbia?"

"Stevenson's twenty-six hundred men, a few other scattering
commands, Wheeler's cavalry — say five thousand in all."

"Could not General Beauregard bring troops from Charleston?"

" General Hampton thinks he might. — Evacuate Charleston —
concentrate before Columbia. But I don't know — I don't knowl
There are not many thousands even at Charleston."

"It's the end."

"Yes. I suppose so. But fight on till the warder drops!"

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There were the young girls and young married women in the great
old house. There was a polished floor, and negro fiddlers had not left
the plantation. Cavalry and infantry officers were, with some
exceptions, young men — and this was South Carolina. "Yes,
dance ! " said the old gentleman, the head of the house. " To-morrow
you may have neither fiddlers nor floor."

They danced till almost midnight, and at the last they danced
the Virginia Reel. The women were not in silks or fine muslins,
they were in homespun. The men were not dressed like the young
bloods, the University students, the dandies of five years back.
Their grey uniforms were clean, but very worn. Bars upon the
collar, or sash and star took the place of the old elaboration of
velvet waistcoat and fine neckcloth. Spurs that would have caught
in filmy laces did not harm the women's skirts of linsey. The fid
dlers fiddled, the lights burned. Up and down and up again, and
around and around. . . .

Edward and Desir6e, resting by a window, regarded the room,
at once vivid and dreamy. "We were dancing," he said, "the Vir
ginia Reel at Greenwood the night there came news of the secession
of Virginia." <

"Much has happened since then."

"Much."

The fiddlers played, the lights burned, they took their places.
At midnight the revel closed, and they slept in the chamber with the
mirrors and the fire, until the winter day showed, smoked-pearl,
without the windows. At breakfast-time came a courier from Colum
bia, ordering the th Virginia back to that place.

The weather cleared and grew colder. The roads drying, the
regiment made good pace. But for all the patches of bright sky
there seemed to hang a pall over the land. The wind in the woods
blew with a long, mournful, rushing sound. D6siree sat in the wagon
with bowed head, her hands in her lap. Edward was ahead, to-day,
with the regiment. The wagon went heavily on, the wind rushed
on either side like goblin horsemen. At intervals during the morning
the negro boy was moved to speech. " Yass 'm. All de ghostes ase
loose in de graveyards. Dey teP erbout hit in de kitchen las' night.
Dey been to er voadoo woman, en she say all de ghostes loose, high
en low, out er ebery graveyard, en she ain't got no red pepper what

COLUMBIA 423

kin lay them. She say time past she had ernough, but she ain't got
ernough now."

"What are they doing — the ghosts?"

"Dey 're linin' up in long lines like de poplars, en wavin' dere
arms en sayin'^De end's come! De end's come! ' En den dey rises
from de ground en goes erroun' de plantation in er ring, 'twel you
almos' think hits jus* er ring ob mist. But dey keep er-sayin',
' De end 's come ! De end 's come ! ' Yass 'm, dey 're all out, en dere
ain't nothin' what kin lay them ! "

Moving now as they were on a main road to Columbia they this
day passed or overtook numbers of people, all going their way.
These people looked distracted. " What was happening to the south
ward?" "Ruin!" they answered. Some talked quickly and fever
ishly as long as they might to the soldiers; others dealt in mono
syllables, shook their heads and went on with fixed gaze. Shortly
before this time General Sherman had written to General Halleck:
"This war differs from European wars in this particular — we are
not only fighting hostile armies but a hostile people; and must
make old and young, rich and poor, feel the hard hand of want, as
well as their organized armies." These on the road to Columbia
were the unorganized — the old and very young and the sick and
a great number of women.

The soldiers were troubled. "Sherman's surely coming to
Columbia, and how will five thousand men hold it against sixty
thousand? You poor people ought n't to go there!"

"Then where should we go?"

"God knows!"

"We are from Purisburg. There is n't a house standing."

"We are from Barn well. It was burning when we left. Our home
was burned."

"I am from toward Pocotaligo. It is all a waste. All black and
burned."

On they streamed, the refugees. The regiment gave what help,
what lifts upon the way it could. As for Desiree, coming on in her
wagon, she took into it so many, that presently she found no room
for herself, but walked beside the horse. And so, at last, on a dull,
soft day, they came into Columbia.

It was the sixteenth of February. The Capital of South Carolina

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was by nature a pleasant, bowery town, though now it was so heavy
of heart and filled with forebodings. Of the five thousand who
formed its sole defence some portion was in the town itself, but the
greater part lay outside, on picket, up and down the Congaree.

The th Virginia, coming in, was quartered in the town until it

was known what was to be done. Orangeburg was not many miles
below Columbia, and the head of Sherman's column had reached
Orangeburg. There was a track of fire drawn across the country;
Columbia saw doom coming like a prairie-fire.

Edward found a room for Desiree and he came to her here an
hour before dusk. They stood together by a window looking down
into the street. "They are leaving home," she said. "I have seen
women and children going all afternoon. I have seen such sad things
in this pretty street."

" Sad enough! " he answered. " Desiree, I think that you must go
too."

"No, no!" she said. "No, no! There is nowhere to go."

"There is Camden and the villages in the northern part of the
State. It is possible that Sherman means when he has done his
worst here, to turn back toward Charleston. There is no knowing,
but it is possible. If he does that, Camden and those other places
may escape."

"And you?"

" There are no orders yet. We may stay or we may march away.
O God, what a play is Life!"

"Those women who are parting down there — saying good-bye
to all they love — they do not at all know that they are going into
safety, and those who are parting from them do not know. It might
be better for them to stay in this large town. They are going away
in the dark night, and the enemy may have parties out where they
are going. I had rather stay here. I think that it is safer."

"Desiree, Desiree! If a man could see but ever so little of the
road before him! If we are marched away in haste as we may be,
you cannot go with us this time. Then to leave you here alone — "

"There is an Ursuline convent here," she said. "They will not
burn that. If you leave me and evil comes near I will go there."

"You promise that?"

"Yes, I promise it."

COLUMBIA 425

It was in the scroll of their fate that he should leave her and that
evil should come nigh. She waked in a strange red dawn to hear the
tramp of feet in the street below. Instantly she was at the window.
Grey soldiers were passing below — a column. In the south broke
suddenly a sound of cannon. She saw a shell, sent from the other
side of the river, explode in the red air above the city roofs. There
came a feeling of Vicksburg again.

A hand was at her door. She opened it and Edward took her in
his arms. "I have but an instant," he said. "If we go it may be
better for this city than if we stayed. The mayor will surrender it
peaceably, and it may be spared destruction. For you, Desiree —
for you — God bless you, God keep you till we meet again!"

She smiled back at him. "That will be shortly."

"No man can tell, nor no woman. You will go to the Ursuline
convent ? "

"Yes, I will go."

He strained her to him; they kissed and parted. The soldiers
went by in the red dawn, out of the town, toward Winnsboro' to the
northward. This day also Charleston was evacuated, Hardee with
his men moving north to Cheraw on the Pedee. At Columbia the
mayor and aldermen went out between eight and nine in the
morning and, meeting the Federal advance, surrendered the town,
and asked for protection for the non-combatants within its walls.
How it was given let history tell. Several days later Sherman writes
to Kilpatrick: "Let the whole people know that war is now against
them, because their armies flee before us and do not defend their
country or frontier as they should. It is pretty nonsense for Wheeler
and Beauregard and such vain heroes to talk of our warring against
women and children. If they claim to be men they should defend
their women and children and prevent us reaching their homes."

Perhaps Wheeler and Beauregard and the other vain heroes
would have prevented it if they could. Since, however, it lay in
their hard fortune that they could not, there remained in General
Sherman's mind no single reason for consideration.

Desiree went truly to the Ursuline convent, passing swiftly
through the windy streets on a windy day, choosing small back
streets because the principal ones were now crowded with soldiers,,
keeping close to the walls of the houses and drawing a scarf she

426 CEASE FIRING

wore more fully about head and face, for even through the side
streets there were now echoing drunken voices. She came to the
convent door, rang, and greeting the sister who came told how alone
she was in the city. The door opened to admit her of course, and
she only wished that Edward might see her in the convent garden
or in the little room where the nuns said she might sleep that-night.
But no one slept in the convent that night. It was burned.
The nuns and the young girls, their pupils, and the women who had
come for refuge stayed the night in the churchyard. It was cold and
there was a high wind. The leafless branches of the trees clattered
in it, and below, on their knees, the nuns murmured prayers, their
half-frozen hands fingering their rosaries. The young girls drew
together for warmth, and the Mother Superior stood, counselling
and comforting. And the convent burned and the city burned,
with a roaring and crackling of flames and a shouting of men.

CHAPTER XL

THE ROAD TO WINNSBORO*

SHE was a wise as well as a fair woman, and yet, the day after
the burning of Columbia, she took a road that led northward
from the smoking ruins. In the cold morning sunlight
Sherman himself had come to the churchyard, and hat in hand had
spoken to the Mother Superior. He regretted the accidental burn
ing of the convent. Any yet standing house in town that she might
designate should be reserved for her, her nuns and pupils. She
named a large old residence from which the family had gone, and
walking between files of soldiers the nuns and their charges came
here. "We learned," says the Mother Superior, "from the officer
in charge that his orders were to fire it unless the Sisters were in
actual possession of it, but if even 'a detachment of Sisters' were
in it, it should be spared on their account. Accordingly we took
possession of it, although fires were already kindled near and the
servants were carrying off the bedding and furniture, in view of the
house being consigned to the flames."

All morning the burning, the looting and shouting went on.
Smoke rolled through the streets, the wind blew flames from point
to point. The house was crowded to oppression; there came a
question of food for so many. Some one was needed to go to the
mayor with representations, which might in turn be brought
before the Federal commander. Desiree volunteered and the dis
tance not being great, went and returned in safety. Not far from
the door that would open to receive her was a burned house and
before it an ancient carriage, and in the carriage two ladies and a
little girl. There were soldiers hi the street and to be seen through
smoke beyond the fallen house, but here beside the carriage was an
officer high in command and order prevailed. The officer was
speaking to the ladies. "If there is any trouble, show your pass.
I woa't say that you are wise to leave this place, sad as it is! These
are wild times, and there are more marauders than I like. Even if

4^8 CEASE FIRING

you make your way to your brother's house, you may find it in
ashes. And if you overtake the rear of your army, what can that
help? We will be sweeping on directly and the rebels — I beg your
pardon, General Beauregard's army — will have to fall back before
us or surrender. I think you had better stay. General Sherman will
surely issue rations to the place."

"We prefer to go on," said the eldest of the two women. "We
may find friends somewhere, and somewhere to lay our heads. We
do thank you for the pass."

"Not at all!" said the officer. "As I told you, your father and
my father were friends."

As he moved from the carriage door Desiree saw that there was
an empty seat. "Oh," she thought, "if I might have it!"

Her face, turned toward the carriage, showed from out her hood.
The younger of the women saw her, started and uttered an exclam
ation. "Desiree Gaillard!" she cried.

Lo! it was an acquaintance, almost a friend, a girl who had been
much in New Orleans, with whom she had laughed at many a party.
" Go with them! — yes, indeed, she might go with them." She ran
to the house that was now the convent, gave the Mayor's message
and thanked the Sisters for the help they would have given, then out
she came to the smoke-filled street and took her place in the car
riage. It had a guard out of town; the officer had been punctilious
to do his best. It was understood that there were Federal troops
on the Camden road, but they were going toward Winnsboro*.
When the burning city lay behind them and the quiet winter fields
around, when the guard had said a gruff "You're safe enough now!
Good-day!" and turned back, when the negro driver said, " Git up,
Lance! Git up, France!" to the horses, and the carriage wheels
turned and they passed a clump of cedars, they were on the road
that the grey troops had travelled no great chain of hours before.

They drove on and on, and now they overtook and passed or
kept company with for a while mournful folk, refugees, people with
the noise of falling walls in their ears. They had tales to tell and
some were dreadful enough. Then for a time the road would be bare,
a melancholy road, much cut to pieces, with ruts and hollows.
Now and then in dropped haversack, or broken bayonet, or torn shoe,
or blood-stained rag were visible tokens that soldiers had passed.

THE ROAD TO WINNSBORO' 429

They had a little food and they ate this, and now and then they
talked in low voices, but for the most part they sat silent, looking
out on the winter landscape. The little girl was restless, and Desiree
told her French fairy stories, quaint and fragrant. At last she slept,
and the three women sat in silence, looking out. In the late after
noon, turning a little from the main road, they came to the country
house for which they were bound.

The welcome was warm, with a clamour for news. "Columbia
burned! — oh, well-a-way! . . . No Yankees in this part as yet.
Our troops went by yesterday on the Winnsboro' road. It's said
they'll wait there until General Hardee gets up from Charleston
and they can make junction. There 's a rumour that General
Johnston will be put in command. Oh, the waiting, waiting!
One's brain turns, looking for the enemy to come, looking for the
South to fall — worse and worse news every day ! If one were with
the Army it would not be half so bad. Waiting, waiting here 's the
worst!"

In this Desiree agreed. It was away in a wood and upon a creek
like the Fusilier place. The army was no great distance further on,
and halted. In a day or two it would move, away, away ! Her whole
being cried out, 'I cannot stay here! If it comes to danger, this
lonely place will be burned like the others. I were safer there than
here. And what do I care for danger ? Have I not travelled with
danger for two years? "

That night when, exhausted, she fell asleep, she had a dream.
She was back in Dalton, in the house with the lace-handkerchief
dooryard. She was on her knees, cording a hair trunk, and the old
negro Nebuchadnezzar and his horse Julius Csesar were waiting.
Somebody — it was not the two sisters who lived in the house — but
somebody, she could not make out who it was — was persuading
her to stay quietly there, not to take the road to Resaca. At first
she would not listen, but at last she did listen and said she would
stay. And then at once she was at Cape Jessamine and the house
was filled with people and there was dancing. Everything was soft
and bright and a myriad of wax candles were burning, and the
music played and they talked about going to New Orleans for Mardi-
gras and what masks they should wear. And she was exceedingly
happy, with roses in her hair and an old gold-gown. But all the time

430 CEASE FIRING

she was trying to remember something or somebody, and it troubled
her that she eould not bring whatever it was to mind. And then,
though she still danced, and though there stayed a gleaming edge of
floor and light and flowers and moving people, the rest rolled away
into darkness and a battlefield. She saw the stars above it and
heard the wind, and then she left the dancers and the lights and they
faded away and she walked on the battlefield, but still there was
something she could not remember. She was unhappy and her
heart ached because she could not. And then she came to a corner
of the field where were dark vines and broken walls, and a voice
came to her out of it, "Desiree! Desiree!" She remembered now
and knew that Edward lay there, and she cried, "I am coming!"
But even so the dream turned again, and she was back in the house
with the lace-handkerchief yard, and the hair trunk was being
carried back into the house and up the stairs, and the wagon at the
gate turned and went away without her. Then there was darkness
again, and the cave at Vicksburg, and a cry in her ears, "Desiree!
Desiree/"

She waked, and, trembling, sat up in bed. "If I had not gone
from Dalton," she said, "he would have died." She rose, crossed
the room to a window and set it wide. It looked across the wood
toward the road they had left, the Winnsboro' road. She stood
gazing, in the night wind, the winter wind. There was a faint far
light upon the horizon. Rightly or wrongly, she thought it was the
camp-fires of the grey army. Another night and they would be fur
ther away perhaps, another night and further yet! Sooner or later
there would be the battle, and the dead and the wounded left on the
field. The wind blew full upon her, wrapping her white gown
closely about her limbs, lifting her dark hair. " Desiree! Desiree!"
The dream cry was yet in her ears, and there on the horizon flamed
his camp-fires.

When morning came she begged a favour of her new friends in
this place. Could they let her have a cart and a horse, anything
that might take her to Winnsboro'? They said that if she must go
she should have the carriage and horses and the old driver of yes
terday, but surely it was not wise to go at all ! News was here this
morning that the ravage north of Columbia had begun. All this
ceuntry would be unsafe — was perhaps unsafe at this moment and

THE ROAD TO WINNSBORO' 431

henceforth! No one expected this house to be spared — why
should it be, more than another? — but at least it was not burned
yet, and it was better to face what might come in company than
alone ! " Stay with us, my dear, stay with us ! " But when she would
go on, they understood. It was a time of wandering and of much
travel under strange and hard conditions. As for danger — when
it was here and there and everywhere what use in dwelling on it?
No one could say with any knowledge, "Here is safety," or "There
is danger." The shuttle was so rapid! What to-day seemed the
place of safety was to-morrow the very centre of danger. What was
to-day's field of danger might become to-morrow, the wave rushing
on, quiet of foes as any desert strand! — Desiree kissed her friends
and went away in the old carriage toward the Winnsboro' road.

The morning was dull and harsh with scudding clouds. The side
road was as quiet as death, but when they came upon the broader
way there grew a difference. The old negro looked behind him.
" Dere Js an awful fuss, mistis, ener dust ! des lak de debbil got loose ! "

"Drive fast," said Desiree. "If you come to a lane turn into it."

But the road went straight between banks of some height, with
out a feasible opening to either hand. Moreover, though the driver
used the whip and the horses broke into something like a gallop, the
cloud of dust and the noise behind steadily gained. There came a
round of pistol shots. " They are firing at us," said Desiree. "Check
the horses and draw the carriage to the side of the road."

Dust and noise enveloped them. A foraging party, twenty jovial
troopers, drew rein, surrounded the carriage, declined to molest or
trouble the lady, but claimed the carriage-horses in the name of the
Union.

They cut the traces and took them, Desiree standing by the road
side watching. These men, she thought, were much like schoolboys,
in wild spirits, ready for rough play but no malice. She was so used
to soldiers and used to seeing in them such sudden, rough and gay
humour as this that she felt no fear at all. When a freckled, humor
ous-faced man came over and asked her if she had far to travel, and
if she really minded walking, she answered with a wit and compos
ure that made him first chuckle, then laugh, then take off his cap
and make her a bow. The troop was in a hurry. When it had the
horses and had joked and laughed and caracoled enough, off it pre-

432 CEASE FIRING

pared to go in another cloud of dust. But the freckled man came
back for a moment to Desiree. "If I may make so bold, ma'am,"
he said, "I'd suggest that you don't do much walking on this
road, and that as soon as you come to a house you ask the people
to let you take pot-luck with them for a while! The army 's coming
on, and we've got plenty of bands out that don't seem ever to have
had any good womenfolk to teach them manners. If you'll take a
friend's advice you '11 stop at the nearest house — though of course,
in these times, that ain't very safe neither! "

The carriage had the forlornest air, stranded there in the road,
beneath a sky so cloudy that now there threatened a storm. The
negro driver was old and slightly doddering. Moreover, when she
said, "Well, Uncle, now we must walk!" he began to plain of his
rheumatism. She found that it was actual enough; he would be
able to walk neither fast or far. She looked behind her. A league
or two back lay the turning that would lead to the house she had
quitted. . . . But she shook her head. She had made her choice.

A mile from where they left the carriage they found at a cross
roads the cabin of some free negroes — a man and a woman and
many children. Here Desiree left her companion. If she took the
narrower road, where, she asked, would it lead her? Could she
reach Winnsboro' that way? — Yes, if she went on to a creek and
a mill, and if then she took the right-hand road. No, it was n't
much out of the way — three or four miles.

"And a quiet, safe road?"

"Yaas, ma'am. Jus' er-runnin' along quiet by itself. Hit ain't
much travelled."

"But it will bring me to Winnsboro' ?"

"Yaas, ma'am. Quicker 'n de main road wif all dese armies
hollerin' down it."

"Those men who went by a little while ago — were they the first
to pass to-day?"

"No, ma'am, dat dey was n't! En dey was sober, Lawd!"

"And they've all kept on the main road?"

"Yaas, ma'am. All taken de main road."

She looked down the road she had come — the main road. Here
was another cloud of dust; she heard a faint shouting. She had with
her some Confederate notes, and now she put one of a large denom-

THE ROAD TO WINNSBORO' 433

ination into the hand of the old driver, nodded good-bye, and turned
into the narrow way, that seemed merely a track through the forest.
Almost immediately, as she came beneath the arching trees, the
cabin, the negro family, the gleaming, wider road sank away and
were lost.

She walked lightly and swiftly. She might have been wearied.
For a month now she had known that she carried life beneath her
heart. But she did not feel wearied. She felt strong and well and
deathless. The miles were not many now before her. With good
luck she might even reach her goal to-night. If not to-night then
she would sleep where she might and go forward at dawn. Before
another sun was high it would be all right — all right. The clouds
began to lift, and though it was cold it did not seem so cold to her
as it had been. At long intervals she passed, set back from the road,
small farmhouses or cabins in ragged gardens. Most of these houses
looked quite deserted; others had every shutter closed, huddling
among the trees with a frightened air. As the afternoon came on the
houses grew further apart. The road was narrow, untravelled of
late — it seemed a lonely country. ... At last she came to the
promised creek and the mill. The mill-wheel was not turning, no
miller and his men stood about the door, no horses with sacks
thrown across waited without. There was no sign of life. But the
miller's house was behind the mill, and here she saw a face at a win
dow. She went and knocked at the door. An old woman opened to
her. " Be the Yankees coming ? " she said.

Desiree asked for a bit of bread, and to warm herself beside the
fire. While she ate it, crouched in the warm corner of the kitchen
hearth, the old woman took again her post at the window. "I keep
a-watching and a-watching for them to come ! " she said. " They 've
got a spite against mills. My father built this one, and when he died
my husband took it, and when he died my boy John. The wheel
turned when I was little, and when I was grown and had a lover, and
when I was married and when there were children. It turned when
there was laughing and when there was crying. The sound of the
water over it and the flashing is the first thing I can remember. I
used to think it would be the last thing I 'd hear when I came to die,
and I kind of hoped it would. I liked it. It was all mixed up with
all kinds of things. But now I reckon before this time to-morrow

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it'll be burned. They've got a spite against mills. — Won't you
stay the night?"

But there was an hour yet before sunset. The road to Winnsboro' ?
Yes, that was it, and it was only so many miles. The army ? Yes,
she thought the army was still there. Yesterday there had been
what they called a reconoissance this way. A lot of grey soldiers
had passed, going down to the Columbia road and back.

Desiree rose refreshed, gave her thanks and went her way. A
wind bent the trees and tore and heaped the clouds. The low sun
shone out and turned the clouds into purple towers, fretted and
crowned with gold. The rays came to Desiree like birds and flowers
of hope. For all the woe of the land her heart began to sing. She
walked on and on, not conscious of weariness, moving as though she
were on air, drawn by a great magnet. The clouds were enchanted
towers, the sky between, a waveless sea; the wind at her back, driv
ing her on, was welcome, the odour of woods and earth was welcome.
On and on she went, steady and swift, an arrow meaning to pierce
the gold.

Suddenly, with a shock, the enchantment went. The wind, blow
ing with her, brought a distant, confused sound. She turned. It was
sunset, the earth was suddenly stern and dark. Above the woods,
back the way she had come, rose thick smoke. She knew it for what
it was, knew that some one of Sherman's roving bands was there at
the mill, burning it down. She stood with knit brows, for now she
heard men upon the road. The ground here rose slightly, the road
running across a desolate, open field, covered with sedge, from
which rose at intervals tall, slender pines. Their trunks and bushy
heads outlined against the sky, that was now all flushed with car
mine, gave them a curious resemblance to palm trees. West of the
road, half way across the sedgy stretch, ran a short and ruined wall
of stones, part of some ancient enclosure. Behind it showed again
the darker, thicker wood. Desiree, leaving the road, went toward
this, but she had hardly stepped from the trodden way into the sedge
when behind her at the turn of the road appeared a man in uniform.
She was above him, clear against the great suffusion of the sunset
sky. He stared a moment, then turned his head and whooped,
whereupon there appeared half a dozen of his fellows.

They caught up with her just as she reached the broken wall.

THE ROAD TO WINNSBORO' 435

She saw that without exception they were drunk, and she set her
back against the stones and prepared to fight.

Five thousand men could not meet in battle sixty thousand, but
they could and did send out reconnoitring bodies that gathered
news of Sherman, tarrying yet upon the Congaree, and gave some
sense of protection to the country people and gave sharp lessons to
the marauding parties that now and again they met with. By mov
ing here and there they made a rumour, too, of gathering grey troops
and larger numbers, of reinforcements perhaps from North Carolina,
of at any rate grey forces and some one to play now protector, now

avenger. So it was that on this winter afternoon the th Virginia,

three or four hundred muskets, with a small detachment of cavalry
going ahead, found itself marching down the main road, fifteen miles
toward Columbia. It knew by now of the burning of Columbia.
"Everything in ashes — houses and stores and churches and a
convent. The people with neither food nor shelter — going where
they can." Grey cavalry and infantry asked nothing better than
to meet its foes to-day. So great, around the blue army, was the
fringe of foragers and pillagers and those engaged in "making the
country untenable for the enemy," that the grey did meet to-day
various bands of plunderers. When they did they gave short shrift,
but charged, firing, cut them down and rode them over and chased
them back toward Columbia and their yet stationary great force.
The grey's humour to-day was a grim and furious humour.

The th Virginia passed a cross-roads, and a little later came

to something that aroused comment among the men. It was an
empty, old-fashioned carriage, standing without horses, half on the
road, half over the edge. "Looks," said the men, "like the ark on
Ararat!" — "Forlorn, ain't it?" — "Where's the horses and the
people who were in it?" — "Reckon those Yanks before us took
the horses. As for the people — I 'd rather be a humming-bird in
winter than the people in this State! "

Edward Cary rode across and checking his horse, leaned from the
saddle and looked into the carriage — why, he hardly knew, unless
it was that once in Georgia they had found a carriage stranded like
this, and in it a child asleep. There was in this one nothing living.
. . . Just as he straightened himself he caught a glint of something

436 CEASE FIRING

small and golden lying in a corner. He dismounted, drew the swing
ing door further open and picked it up. It was a locket, and he had
had it in his hands before.

He remembered passing, a little way back, a negro cabin. After
a word to the commanding officer he galloped back to this place.
Yes, they could tell him, and did. "She took this road ?" " Yaas,
sah. Long erbout midday. We done tol' her erbout de creek en de
mill en de right-han' road — "

"Has any one else gone by this road ? Any soldiers ? "

"Yaas, sah. Right smart lot ob soldiers. Dey ax where dat road
go, en I say hit go to de mill. Den dey say dey gwine burn de mill,
en dey goes dat way. I reckon hits been mo 'n three hours ergo, sah."

It was dusk when Edward Gary and twenty cavalrymen turned
into this road, and it had been night for some time when they came
to the reddened place where had stood the mill. It was all down
now, though the flames were yet playing through the mass of fallen
timbers. The mill-wheel was a wreck, the miller's house behind was
burned. There were no soldiers here: they had destroyed and were
gone. But out from some hiding-place came an old woman who
seemed distraught. She stood in the flickering glow and said,
"Yankees! Yankees!" and "They took an axe and killed the mill-
wheel!"

Edward spoke to her, soothed her, and at last she drew her wits
together, talked to him, and answered his questions. "Yes, a wo
man had been there and had left a little before sunset. Yes, dressed
so and so — a beautiful woman. Yes, she had gone by that road,
walking away alone. She said good-bye and then she had seen and
heard nothing more of her. Then, in a little, little time, came the
Yankees. Some of them were drunk, and she had run out of the
house and hid within a brush heap. . . . And now the mill-wheel
would never turn again."

"Which road did they take when they left — the Winnsboro'
road or that one running south?"

She was not sure. She thought the one running south — but
maybe some went one way, some another. She did not know how
many there were of them. They were on foot and horseback, too.
Her eyes strayed to where the wheel had been, and she fell again to
plucking at her apron.

THE ROAD TO WINNSBORO' 437

Gary and his men took the right-hand road. It lay quiet as death
beneath the winter stars. They travelled it slowly, looking from
side to side, but if there were signs that an enemy had been that
way, in the darkness they could not read them. Neither did they
see any sign of a solitary traveller. All was quiet, with only the
sighing of the wind. At last, nearing Winnsboro', they came to their
own picket-line. Camped by the road was a cavalry post. Edward
spoke with the men here. "No. A quiet night — nothing seen and
nothing heard out of the way. No one had passed — no, no
woman."

Gary turned in his saddle and looked behind him. Clear night,
and dark and still through all the few miles between this place
which she had not passed and the mill which she had. . . . The men
with him had been in the saddle since dawn. They were weary
enough, and under orders to report that night at Winnsboro'.
At the end he sent on upon the road well-nigh all the troop, then
turned himself and with but three or four horsemen behind him,
began to retrace the road to the mill. Light and sound of the picket
post died behind him, there came only the quiet miles of a lonely
country and the stars above.

The night was old when, suddenly, near again to the burned mill,
there burst out of a by-path the men who had burned it. They
had taken the southward running road, had burned two houses that
lay that way, then encountering rough country and a swollen river,
had elected, horse and foot, to march back the way they came.
Now, emerging suddenly upon the wider road, they saw before them
four horsemen, divined that they were grey, and with a shout joined
battle.

"They are six to one, men!" cried Gary. "Save yourselves!"

There came the crash. He fired twice, emptying a saddle and giv
ing a ball in the shoulder to the half-drunken giant who seemed
to be leading. Then with oaths three pushed against him. His
horse reared, screamed and fell, pierced by bullets. He leaped clear
of the saddle and fired again, breaking a man's raised sabre arm.
There was a blinding flash, a deafening sound — down, down he
went into blackness and silence, into night deep as the nadir. . . .

When he came slowly, slowly back to feeling and consciousness he
was alone. It was dawn, he saw that. For a long time there seemed

438 CEASE FIRING

nothing but the fact of dawn. Then he suddenly rested his hand on
the earth and tried to lift himself. With the vain effort and the pain
it brought came a troubled memory. He put his hand to his side
and felt the welling blood. The wound, he presently saw, was deep
and hopeless, deep enough to let death in. His head fell back
against the bank behind him and he faced the dawn. He was lying
at the edge of the road, his dead horse near. All noise and war and
strife were gone, the three or four men who had been with him cut
down, or taken prisoner, or fled, the blue triumphant band gone its
way. There was an utter stillness, and the dawn coming up 'cool and
pure like purple lilies. He slightly turned his head. About him was
a field of sedge with scattered pines. The wind was laid, and it was
not cold. He knew that his hurt was mortal. . . . Suddenly, as from
another world, there came to him a very faint cry — half cry for
help, half plaint to a heaven blind and deaf. He dragged himself
to his knees, with his hand cleared the mist from his eyes and gazed
across an half acre of sedge to a heap of ruined stones like a broken
wall. The voice rose again, faintly. With a vast, illuminating rush
came fully memory and knowledge, and like a dying leap of the
flame, strength. He rose and crossed the sedge.

She was lying where her murderers had left her, beneath the
xuined wall. She was dying, but she knew him when, with a cry, he
fell beside her, stretched his arms above her. "Yes," she said.
"I believed that you would come." Then, when she saw the blood
upon him, "Are you going with me?"

"Yes, Love," he said. "Yes, Love."

The great dawn climbed stealthily, from tint to deeper tint, from
height to height. The pine trees stood like dreaming palms, and the
sedge spread like a floor of gold. "The river! " she said, "the great
river that is going to eat us up at last! How it beats against Cape
Jessamine!"

"When I saw Cape Jessamine go down, I thought only ' If I were
there! If I were with her, together in the wave! ' '

Their voices died to whispers. With a vague and fluttering hand
she touched his brow and lips. " I wanted the child to live — I
wanted that. But it was not to be — it was not to be — "

"Desiree! Desiree!"

A smile was on her lips — almost of derision. " War is so stupid,"
she said.

THE ROAD TO WINNSBORO' 439

Upon the purple wall of the east a finger began to write in gold.
The mist was stirring in the woods, the wind beginning. It lifted
her dark, loosened hair, that was so wildly spread. It brought a
drift of dead leaves across them where they lay. They lay side by
side, like wreathed figures on a tomb. "Is it light?" she asked.
"Can you see the light ?"

"I can see it faintly. It is like the sound of the sea."

"It is very cold," she breathed. "Dark and cold."

"Yes. . . . Dark and cold."

"Give me your hand," she said. "Kiss me. We have been
happy, and we will be so again. . . . Now I am going. . . . Dark,
dark — dark— "

"Desiree— "

"I see light like a star. . . . Good-bye."

She died. With a last effort he moved so that his arms were
around her body and his head upon her breast, and then, as the sun
came up, his spirit followed hers.

CHAPTER XLI

THE BEGINNING OF THE END

IN this February the grey Congress at Richmond created the
office of Commander-in-Chief of all the Confederate Armies,
and appointed to it Robert Edward Lee. On the twenty-third
Lee telegraphed to Johnston, then at Lincoln ton, North Carolina:

^'GENERAL J. E. JOHNSTON: —

Assume command of the Army of Tennessee and all troops in
the Department of South Carolina, Florida, and Georgia. Assign
General Beauregard to duty under you as you may select. Con
centrate all available forces and drive back Sherman.

R. E. LEE."

"All available forces" were not many, indeed they were very
few, but such as they were Johnston drew them together, and with
them, the middle of March, faced Sherman at Bentonville. " Drive
back Sherman?" Once that might have deen done, with the old
Army of Tennessee. It could not be done now with the handful that
was left of that army. On the first of April General Sherman's
effective strength is given for all three arms, as something over
eighty-one thousand men. Infantry and artillery the grey had on
this date sixteen thousand and fourteen men, with a little above
four thousand cavalry. Bentonville saw, grey and blue, an almost
equal loss. After Bentonville came some days of calm, the grey
encamped at Smithfield, the blue at Goldsboro.

But through the pause came always the tolling of the bells, ring
ing loud and louder —

Early in February Lee at Petersburg wrote to the Secretary of
War as follows. "All the disposable force of the right wing of the
Army has been operating against the enemy beyond Hatcher's
Run since Sunday. Yesterday, the most inclement day of the
winter, the men had to be retained in line of battle, having been in

THE BEGINNING OF THE END 441

the same condition the two previous days and nights. I regret to be
obliged to state that under these circumstances, heightened by
assaults and fire of the enemy, some of the men had been without
meat for three days, and all were suffering from reduced rations and
scant clothing, exposed to battle, cold, hail, and sleet. . . . The
physical strength of the men, if their courage survives, must fail
under this treatment. Our cavalry had to be dispersed for want of
forage. Fitz Lee's and Lomax's divisions are scattered because
supplies cannot be transported where their services are required.
I had to bring W. H. F. Lee's division forty miles Sunday night to
get him into position. Taking these facts in consideration with the
paucity of our numbers, you must not be surprised if calamity
befalls us." Bad in February, it was no better in March.

Back to the trenches before Petersburg came, because they were
needed, sundry troops that had fought in the Valley. Back came
what was left of the Golden Brigade, and what was left of the Sixty-
fifth Virginia. But November and December and January, well-nigh
all of that winter, Richard Cleave, carried across the mountains
after Cedar Creek, lay at Greenwood, a desperately wounded
soldier. In February he began to gather strength, but the latter
half of that month found him still a prisoner in a large, high, quiet
room, firelit and still.

On a grey afternoon, with a few flakes of snow in the air, turning
from the window toward the fire, he found that Unity was his
nurse for this twilight hour. She lifted her bright face from her
hands. "That was a very sad sigh, Richard!"

He smiled. "Unity, I was thinking. . . . I have not been a very
fortunate soldier. And I used — long ago — to think that I would
be."

"Is there such a thing as a fortunate soldier?"

He smiled again. "That depends. — Is there such a thing as a
fortunate war? I don't know."

His mother entered the room. "It's Cousin William, Richard.
He wants to come in and talk a little while."

Cousin William appeared — seventy, and ruddy yet, with a gouty
limb and an indomitable spirit. "Ha, Richard! that's more like!
You're getting colour, and some flesh on your bones! When are
you going back to the front ?"

442 CEASE FIRING

"Next week, sir."

Cousin William laughed. "Well, call it the week after that!"
He sat by the couch in the winged chair. The firelight played
through the room, lit the two women sitting by the hearth, and the
two or three old pictures on the walls. Outside the snow fell slowly,
in large, quiet flakes. "Have you had any letters?" asked Cousin
William.

Unity answered. "One from Fauquier yesterday. None from
Edward for some days. The last was just a line from Columbia
written before the troops left the place and Sherman came and
burned it. We can't but feel very anxious."

But Cousin William could not endure to see Greenwood down
cast. "I think you may be certain they are safe. — What did
Fauquier say?"

"Just that since Hatcher's Run there had been comparative
inaction. He said that the misery in the trenches was very great,
and that day by day the army was dwindling. He said we must be
prepared now for the worst."

Cousin William flushed, leaned forward, and became violently
optimistic. "You tell Fauquier — or I'll write to him and tell him
myself — that that is no way to talk! It is no way for his father's
son to talk, or his grandfather's grandson to talk! I am sure,
Richard, that you don't feel that way!"

"Yes, sir, I do feel that way. We are at the end."

"At the end!" ejaculated Cousin William. "Absurd! We have
held Grant eight months at Petersburg! — Well, say that General
Lee eventually determines to withdraw from Petersburg! What
will follow ? Lee in Virginia and Johnston in Carolina have the
inner lines. Lee will march south, Johnston will march north, they
will join armies, first crush Sherman, then turn and destroy Grant !
Richmond ? Well, say that Richmond is given up, temporarily, sir
— temporarily! We will take it again when we want it, and if they
burn it we will rebuild it! Nothing can keep it from being our
capital. The President and the Cabinet and offices can remove
for a time. Who knows but what it may be very well to be free and
foot-loose of defended cities? Play the guerilla if need be! Make
our capital at mountain hamlet after mountain hamlet, go from
court-house to court-house — A capital ! The Confederacy has a

THE BEGINNING OF THE END 443

capital in every single Southern heart — " Cousin William dashed
his hand across his eyes. "I'm ashamed to hear you speak so,
Richard! — But you're a sick man — you're a sick man!"

"God knows what should be done!" said Cleave. "I am not an
easy giver-up, sir. But we have fought until there is little breath
in us with which to fight any more. We have fought to a standstill.
And it is the country that is sick, sick to death!"

"Any day England or France — "

"Oh, the old, old dream— "

"Say then it's a dream!" cried Cousin William angrily. "Say
that is a dream and any outer dependence is a dream! The spirit
of man is no dream ! What have we got for dependence ? We have
got, sir, the spirit of the men and women of the South ! We Ve got
the unconquerable and imperishable! We've got the spiritual
might!"

But Richard shook his head. "A fire burns undoubtedly and a
spirit holds, but day by day and night by night for four years death
has come and death has come ! Half the bright coals have been swept
from the hearth. And against what is left, sir, wind and rain and
sleet and tempest are beating hard — beating against the armies
in the field and against the country in the field. They are beating
hard, and they will beat us down. They have beaten us down. It is
but the recognition now."

"Then may I die," said Cousin William, "before I hear Virginia
say, ' I am conquered ! '" His eyes sparkled, his frame trembled. "Do
you think they will let it rest there, sir! No! In one year I have
seen vindictiveness come into this struggle — yes, I'll grant you
vindictiveness on both sides — but you say that theirs is the win
ning side ! Then I tell you that they will be not less but more vin
dictive! For ten years to come they will make us drink the water
of bitterness and eat the bread of humiliation ! Virginia ! And that
second war will be worse than the first!"

He rose. "I can't stay here and hear you talk like this! I suppose
you know what you're talking about, but you people in the field
get a jaundiced view of things! I 'm going to see Noel. Noel and I
worked it all out last night. — General Lee to cut loose from the
trenches at Petersburg, Johnston to strike north, then, having the
inner lines — " And so on.

444 CEASE FIRING

When he was gone Richard laughed. Unity, the log in her hands
with which she was about to replenish the fire, looked over her
shoulder. " That's sadder than sighing!" she said. "Don't!"

"What shall we do? "he asked. "Go like pieces of wood for a
twelvemonth — sans care, sans thinking, sans feeling, sans heart,
sans — no, not sans courage!"

"No — not sans courage."

"I am not sad," he said, "for myself. It would be strange if I
were, would it not, to-day ? I have a great, personal happiness.
And even this afternoon, Unity — I am saying good-bye, as one
•of the generality, to despair, and pain, and wounded pride, and fore
boding, and unhappiness. I have been looking it in the face. Such
and so it is going to be in the South, and perhaps worse than we
know — and yet the South is neither going to die nor despair ! —
And now if there is any broth I surely could take it!"

Going downstairs Cousin William found the library and Miss
Lucy. "I got too angry, I suppose, with Richard — but to lie there
talking of surrender! Surrender! I tell you, Lucy, — but there! I
can't talk about it. Better not begin."

"Richard is a strong man, William. He's not the weakly despair
ing kind."

"I know, Lucy, I know! But it 'snot so bad as he thinks. I look
for a big victory any day now. . . . Well ! let 's talk of the wedding.
When 'sit to be?"

"In three days. The doctor says he may come downstairs
to-morrow. Corbin Wood will marry them, here in the parlour.
Then, in a few days, Richard will go back to the front. . . . Oh, the
sad and strange and happy so blended together. . . . We are so
desperate, William, that the road has turned because we could n't
travel it so any longer and live! There 's a strange kind of calm,
and you could say that a quiet music was coming back into life. . . .
If only we could hear from Edward!"

The sky was clear on Cleave's and Judith's wedding-day. The
sun shone, the winds were quiet, there was a feeling in the air as of
the coming spring. Her sisters cut from the house-plants flowers
for Judith's hair; there fell over her worn white gown her mother's
wedding- veil. The servants brought boughs of cedar and bright
berries, and with them decked the large old parlour, where the shep-

THE BEGINNING OF THE END 445

herds and shepherdesses looked out from the rose wreaths on the
wall as they had looked when Hamilton and Burr and Jefferson
were alive. The guests were few, and all old friends and kinsfolk,
and there were, beside, Mammy and Julius and Isham and Scipio
and Esther and Car'line and the others, Tullius among them.
A great fire warmed the room, shone in the window-panes and the
prisms beneath the candles and the polished floor and the old gilt
frames of the Gary portraits. Margaret Cleave sat with her hand
shadowing her eyes. Her heart was here, but her heart was also
with her other children, with Will and Miriam. Molly, who was
Miriam's age, kept beside her, a loving hand on her dress. Cousin
William gave away the bride. An artillery commander, himself
just out of hospital, stood with Cleave. — Oh, the grey uniforms, so
worn and weather-stained for a wedding party!

It was over — the guests were gone. The household, tremulous,
between smiles and tears, went its several, accustomed ways.
There was no wedding journey to be taken. All life was fitted now
to a Doric simplicity, a grave acceptance of realities without filagree
adornment. There was left a certain fair quietness, limpid sincerity,
faith, and truth. . . . There was a quiet, cheerful supper, and after
wards a little talking together in the library, the reading of the
Richmond papers, Unity singing to her guitar. Then at last good-
nights were said. Judith and Cleave mounted the stairs together,
entered hand in hand their room. The shutters were all opened;
it lay, warmed by the glowing embers on the hearth, but yet in a
flood of moonlight. His arm about her, they moved to the deep
window-seat above the garden, knelt there and looked out. Valley
and hill and distant mountains were all washed with silver.

"The moon shone so that April night — that night after you
overtook the carriage upon the road — and at last we understood
... I sat here all that night, in the moonlight."

"The garden where I said good-bye to you, a hundred years ago,
the day after a tournament. ... It does not look dead and cold
and a winter night. It looks filled with lilies and roses and bright,
waving trees — and if a bird is not singing down there, then it
must be singing in my heart! It is singing somewhere! — Love is
best."

"Love is best."

446 CEASE FIRING

A week from this day he passed through Richmond on his way
to the front. Richmond! Richmond looked to him like a prisoner
doomed, and yet a quiet prisoner with a smile for children and the
azure spaces in the winter sky. People were going in streams into
the churches. The hospitals, they said, were very full. In all the
departments, it was said, the important papers were kept packed
in boxes, ready to be removed if there were need. No one any longer
noticed the cannon to the south. They had been thundering there
since June, and it was now March. There was very little to eat.
Milk sold at four dollars a quart. And yet children played about
the doors, and women smiled, and men and wornqn went about the
day's work with sufficient heroism. "Dear Dick Ewell" had charge
of the defences of Richmond, the slightly manned ring of forts, the
Local Brigade, Custis Lee's division at Chaffin's Bluff. In the high,
clear March air, ragged grey soldiers passed, honoured, through the
streets, bugles blew, or drums beat. One caught the air of Dixie.

Cleave rode out over Mayo's Bridge and south through the war-
scored country to Petersburg and the grey lines, to division head
quarters and then to the Golden Brigade. The brigade and he met
like tried friends, but the Sixty-fifth and he met like lovers.

The lines at Petersburg ! — stretched and stretched from the
Appomattox, east of the town, to Five Forks and the White Oak
Road, stretched until now, in places, there was scarcely more than
a skirmish line, stretched to the breaking-point! The trenches at
Petersburg ! — clay ditches where men were drenched by the winter
rains, pierced by the winter sleet, where they huddled or burrowed,
scooping shallow caves with bayonet and tin cup, where hands and
feet were frozen, where at night they watched the mortar shells,
and at all hours heard the minies keening, where the smoke hung
heavy, where the earth all about was raw and pitted, where every
muscle rebelled, so cramped and weary of the trenches! where
there were double watches and a man could not sleep enough, where
there were nakedness and hunger and every woe but heat, where
the sharpshooters picked off men, and the minies came with a
whistle and killed them, and the bombs with a shriek and worked
red havoc, where men showed a thousand weaknesses and again a
thousand heroisms ! Oh, the labyrinth of trenches, forts, traverses,
roads, approaches, raw red clay, and trampled herbage, hillock and

THE BEGINNING OF THE END 447

hollow, scored, seamed, and pitted mother earth, and over all the
smoke and noise, blown by the March wind! And Petersburg itself,
that had been a pleasant town, was a place of ruined houses and
deserted streets ! A bitter havoc had been wrought.

The night of his return to the front Cleave stood with Fauquier
Gary in an embrasure whence a gun had just been taken to
strengthen another work, stood and looked first over the red
wilderness of their own camp-fires, and then across a stripe of dark
ness to the long, deep, and vivid glow that marked the Federal lines.
The night was cold but still, the stars extraordinarily bright. "For
so long in that quiet room at Greenwood!" said Cleave. "And now
this again! It has almost a novel look. There! What a great shell !"

"Fireworks at the end," answered Gary. "It is the end."

"Yes. It is evident."

"I have been," said Gary, "for a day or two to Richmond, and
I was shown there certain papers, memoranda, and estimates.
I wish you would listen to three or four statements out of many. —
'Amount needed for absolutely necessary construction and repair
of railroads if they are to serve any military purpose $21,000,000.'
— 'The Commissary debt now exceeds $70,000,000.' — 'The debt
to various factories exceeds $5,000,000.' — 'The Medical Depart
ment asks for $40,000,000, at least for the current year.' — 'The
Subsistence Bureau and the Nitre and Mining Bureau as well as
other Departments are resorting to barter.' — 'Requisitions by
the War Department upon the Treasury since '61 amount to
$Ij737)746,i2i. Of the requisition for last year and this year, there
is yet unfurnished $160,000,000. In addition the War Department
has a further arrearage of say $200,000,000.' — This was a letter
from one of the up-river counties patriotically proposing the use of
cotton yarn or cloth as specie — thus reducing the necessity for
the use of Treasury notes to the smallest possible limit! Let us see
how it went. — First it proposed the removal of all factories to safe
points near the mountains, where the water-power is abundant and
approach by the enemy difficult. Next the establishment of small
factories at various points of like character. Around these, as
centres, it goes on to say, ' the women of our country who have been
deprived of all and driven from their homes by the enemy should be
collected, together with the wives and daughters of soldiers and

448 CEASE FIRING

others in indigent circumstances. There they would not be likely
to be disturbed by the enemy. Thus distributed they could be more
easily fed, and the country be greatly benefited by their labours,
which would be light and highly remunerative to them, thereby
lessening the suffering at home and the consequently increasing
discontent in the army. Cotton would be near at hand, labour
abundant, and the necessity of the transportation of food and
material to and from great centres of trade greatly reduced. We
would furnish the women of the country generally with yarns
and a simple and cheap pattern of looms, taking pay for the same
in cloth made by them — ' et caetera! . . . How desperate we
are, Richard, to entertain ourselves with foolery like this! — But
the act to use the negroes as soldiers will go through. We have
come to that. The only thing is that the war will be ended before
they can be mustered in."

They turned in the embrasure and looked far and wide. It
seemed a world of camp-fires. Far to the east, in the direction of
City Point, some river battery or gun-boat was sending up rockets.
Westward a blue fort began a sullen cannonade and a grey fort
nearly opposite at once took up the challenge. "Fort Gregg," said
Gary, "dubbed by our men 'Fort Hell,' and Fort Mahone called
by theirs 'Fort Damnation.'"

For all that the night itself was so clear and the stars so high and
splendid, there was a murk discernible everywhere a few feet above
the earth, rising like a miasma, with a faint, distasteful odour.
Through it all the fires lit by men shone blurred. The cannon con
tinued to thunder, and above their salients gathered clouds of
coppery smoke. A half brigade passed on its way to strengthen some
menaced place, and a neighbouring fire showed in series its face
and form. The men looked dead for sleep, hollow-eyed, hollow-
cheeked. They dragged their limbs, their heads drooped, their
shoulders were bowed. They passed like dull and weary sheep.
Fort Hell and Fort Damnation brought more guns into action.

Cleave passed his hand before his eyes. " It 's not," he said, " the
way to settle it."

" Precisely not," answered Gary. "It is not, and it never was, and
it never will be. And that despite the glamour and the cry of
1 Necessity!'"

THE BEGINNING OF THE END 449

" Little enough glamour to-night!"

"I agree with you. The glamour is at the beginning. The
necessity is to find a more heroic way."

The two went down from the embrasure and presently said good
night. Cleave rode on — not to the house in which he was quartered,
but to the portion of the lines where, he was told, would be found
a command for which he had made enquiry. He found it and its
colonel, asked a question or two, and at once obtained the request
which he made, this being that he might speak to a certain soldier
in such a company.

The soldier came and faced Cleave where the latter waited for
him beside a deserted camp-fire. The red light showed both their
faces, worn and grave and self-contained. Off in the night and dis
tance the two forts yet thundered, but all hereabouts was quiet,
the fires dying down, the men sinking to rest. " Stafford," said
Cleave, "I have been lying wounded for a long while, and I have
had time to look at man's life, and the way we live it. It 's all a
mystery, what we do, and what we do not do, and we stumble and
stumble! . . ." He held out his hand. "Don't let us be enemies
any longer!"

CHAPTER XLII

APRIL, 1865

A CONFEDERATE soldier, John Wise, speaks of the General-in-
Chief. "I have seen many pictures of General Lee, but
never one that conveyed a correct impression of his appear
ance. Above the ordinary size, his proportions were perfect. His
form had fullness, without any appearance of superfluous flesh, and
was as erect as that of a cadet, without the slightest apparent con
straint. No representation that I have ever seen properly conveys
tke light and softness of his eye, the tenderness and intellectuality
of his mouth, or the indescribable refinement of his face. . . .

" There was no thing of the pomp or panoply of war about the head
quarters, or the military government, or the bearing of General
Lee. . . . Persons having business with his headquarters were
treated like human beings, and courtesy, considerateness, and even
deference were shown to the humblest. He had no gilded retinue,
but a devoted band of simple scouts and couriers who, in their
quietness and simplicity, modelled themselves after him. . . . The
sight of him upon the roadside or in the trenches was as common as
that of any subordinate in the army. When he approached or dis
appeared, it was with no blare of trumpets or clank of equipments.
... He came as unostentatiously as if he had been the head of a
plantation riding over his fields to enquire and give directions about
ploughing or seeding. He appeared to have no mighty secrets
concealed from his subordinates. He assumed no airs of superior
authority. . . . His bearing was that of a friend having a common
interest in a common venture with the person addressed, and as if
he assumed that his subordinate was as deeply concerned as himself
in its success. Whatever greatness was accorded to him was not of
his own seeking. . . . But the impression which he made by his
presence, and by his leadership, upon all that came in contact with
him, can be described by no other term than that of grandeur. . . .
The man who could so stamp his impress upon his nation . . . and

APRIL, 1865 451

yet die without an enemy; the soldier who could make love for his
person a substitute for pay and clothing and food, and could, by the
constraint of that love, hold together a naked, starving band, and
transform it into a fighting army; the heart which, after the failure
of its great endeavour, could break in silence, and die without the
utterance of one word of bitterness — such a man, such a soldier,
such a heart, must have been great indeed — great beyond the
power of eulogy."

He had fifty thousand men to his opponents' hundred and odd
thousand. His men were very weary, very hungry, very worn. He
had a thirty-mile line to keep, and behind him the capital of his
government of which he was the sole defence. For months there
had come upon his ears, resoundingly, the noise of disaster, disaster
in every ward of the one-time grey fortress of the South. For all
victories elsewhere his opponent fired salutes, thundering across the
winter air into the grey lines, listened to grimly, answered defiantly
by the grey trenches. The victories in Georgia — Winchester and
Cedar Creek — Franklin and Nashville — Fort Fisher — Savannah
— Columbia — Charleston — the blue salvoes and huzzahs came
with frequency, with frequency! And ever thinner and thinner grew
the grey ranks.

. . . There was but one last hope untried, and that was slignt
indeed, slight as gossamer. Break away from these lines, cover
somehow and quickly a hundred and forty southward-stretching
miles, unite with Johnston, strike Sherman, turn and combat with
Grant! How slight was the hope Lee perhaps knew better than any
man. But he had accepted a trust, and hand and head served his
cause to the last.

... To strike aside Grant's left wing, with a last deadly blow,
and so pass out —

Fourteen thousand men, under Gordon, were given the attack
upon Fort Stedman and the three forts on lifted ground beyond.
On the twenty-fifth of March, at dawn, the assault was made -
desperately made, and desperately repulsed. When the bitter day
was over the blue had lost two thousand men, but the grey had lost
twice as many.

A. P. Hill held the grey right from Hatcher's Run to Battery
Gregg. Gordon had the centre. Longstreet held from the Appomat-

452 CEASE FIRING

tox to the White Oak Road. Now on the twenty-ninth of March,
Grant planned a general attack. Sheridan was here from the Valley,
to come in on the grey rear with thirteen thousand horse. Every
corps of the Army of the Potomac had its appointed place and task
in a great movement to the right. Lee, divining, drew from his
threadbare, extended lines what troops he might and placed them
at Five Forks, confronting the Second and Fifth blue Corps, —
Fitz Lee's and W. H. F. Lee's cavalry, say four thousand horse,
Pickett's division, thirty-five hundred muskets, Anderson with as
many more. All the night of the twenty-ninth, troops were moving
in a heavy rain.

Through the dripping day of the thirtieth sounded, now and
again, a sullen firing. On the thirty-first the grey attacked — at
tacked with all their old elan and fury — and drove Sheridan back
in disorder on Dinwiddie Court House. Night came down and made
the battle cease. There dawned, grey and still, the first of April.
All day there was fighting, but in the dim evening came the catas
trophe. Like a great river that has broken its banks, the blue, ad
vancing in force, overflowed Pickett's division. . . . The grey loss
at Five Forks was five thousand.

With the morning light Grant began his general advance upon
Petersburg. The grey trenches fought him back, the grey trenches
that were now no more than a picket line, the grey trenches with
men five yards apart. They gave him pause — that was all that
they could do. All the South was an iron bell that was swinging —
swinging —

General Lee telegraphed Breckinridge, Secretary of War. "It
is absolutely necessary that we abandon our position to-night or run
the risk of being cut off in the morning. I have given all the orders
to officers on both sides of the river, and have taken every precau
tion I can to make the movement successful. Please give all orders
that you find necessary in and about Richmond. The troops will
all be directed to Amelia Court House."

This day was killed A. P. Hill.

In Richmond, twenty miles away, the second of April was a day
bright and mild, with the grass coming up like emerald, the fruit
trees in bloom, white butterflies above the dandelions, the air all

APRIL, 1865 453

sheen and fragrance. It was Sunday. All the churches were filled
with people. The President sat in his pew at Saint Paul's, grave and
tall and grey, distinguished and quiet of aspect. Here and there in
the church were members of the Government, here and there an
officer of the Richmond defences. Dr. Minnegerode was in the pul
pit. The sun came slantingly in at the open windows, — sunshine
and a balmy air. It was very quiet — the black-clad women sitting
motionless, the soldiers still as on parade, the marked man in the
President's pew straight, quiet, and attentive, the white and black
form in the pulpit with raised hands, speaking of a supper before
Gethsemane — for it was the first Sunday in the month and com
munion was to follow. The sun came in, very golden, very quiet. . . .

The sexton of Saint Paul's walked, on tiptoe, up the aisle. He
was a large man, with blue clothes and brass buttons and a ruffled
shirt. Often and often, in these four years, had he come with a whis
pered message or a bit of paper to this or that man in authority. He
had come, too, with private trouble and woe. This man had risen
and gone out for he had news that his son's body was being brought,
into town; these women had moved gropingly down the aisle, be
cause the message said father or brother or son or husband . . .
Saint Paul's was used to the sexton coming softly up the aisle. Saint
Paul's only thought, " Is he coming for me?" — "Is he coming for
me?"

But he was coming, it seemed, for the President. . . . Mr.
Davis read the slip of paper, rose with a still face, and went softly
down the aisle, erect and quiet. Eyes followed him; many eyes.
For all it was so hushed in Saint Paul's there came a feeling as of
swinging bells. . . . The sexton, who had gone out before Mr.
Davis, returned. He whispered to General Anderson. The latter
rose and went out. A sigh like a wind that begins to mount went
through Saint Paul's. Indefinably it began to make itself known that
these were not usual summons. The hearts of all began to beat, beat
hard. Suddenly the sexton was back, summoning this one and that
one and the other. — "Sit still, my people, sit still, my people 1" —
but the bells were ringing too loudly and the hearts were beating
too hard. Men and women rose, hung panting a moment, then,
swift or slow, they left Saint Paul's. Going, they heard that the lines
at Petersburg had been broken and that General Lee said the Gov
ernment must leave Richmond — leave at once.

454 CEASE FIRING

Outside they stood, men and women, dazed for a moment in the
great porch, in the gay light of the sun. The street was filling with
people, people in the green, climbing Capitol Square. It climbed to
the building Jefferson had planned, to the great white pillars, beyond
and between which showed the azure spring sky. The eyes of the
people sought their capitol. They rested, too, on the great bronze
Washington, riding his horse against the blue sky, with Marshall
and Henry and Jefferson and Mason and Lewis and Nelson about
him. Across from the church was a public building in which there
were Government offices. Before this building, out in the street, a
great heap of papers was burning with a light, crackling flame.
"Government papers," said someone, then raised his eyes to the
stars and bars above the white capitol and took off his hat.

All day the fevered city watched the trains depart, all day wagons
and horsemen passed through the streets, all day there was a saying
farewell, farewell — farewell to many things ! All day the sun shone,
all day men and women were conscious of a strange shock and dizzi
ness, as of a violent physical impact. There was not much, perhaps,
of conscious thought. People acted instinctively, automatically.
Now and then weeping was heard, but it was soon controlled and it
was not frequent. This was shipwreck after four years of storm,
after gulfs of despair and shining shores of hope. It was taken
quietly, as are many shipwrecks.

Night came. Custis Lee's troops at Chaffm's Bluff, eight miles
below the city, began to withdraw, crossing the river by pontoons.
There was now between Richmond and Manchester only Mayo's
Bridge, guarded by a company or two of the Local Brigade. People
were down by the river, many people. It seemed to give them com
pany, swollen like their own hearts, rushing between its rocky islets,
on and down to the boundless sea. Others wandered through the
streets, or sat silent in the Capitol Square. Between two and three
o'clock began the ordered blowing-up of powder magazines and arse
nals and of the gunboats down the river. Explosion after explosion
shook the night, terrific to the ear, crushing the heart. Up rushed
the smoke, the water reddened, the earth trembled, shells from the
arsenals burst high in air, lighting the doomed city. They wrought
a further horror, for falling fragments or brands set afire first this
building and then that. In a short while the whole lower part of the

APRIL, 1865 455

city was burning, burning down. Smoke mounted, the river was
lit from bank to bank, there was born with the mounting flames a
terrible splendour. On Gary Street stood a great Commissary de
pot, holding stores that the Government could not remove. Here,
in the flame-lit street, gathered a throng of famished men and women.
They broke open the doors, they carried out food, while the fire roared
toward them, and at last laid hold of this storehouse also. Loud and
loud went on the explosions, the powder, the ranged shells and cart
ridges, and now came the sound of the blowing up of unfinished gun
boats. The smoke blew, red-bosomed, over the city. Through the
murk, looking upward from the river, came a vision of the pillars of
the Capitol, turned from white to coral — above, between smoke-
wreaths, lit and splendid, the flag of the Confederacy. . . .

Dawn broke. The last grey troops passed over Mayo's Bridge,
firing it behind them. There came a halt between tides, then,
through the murk and roar of the burning city, in from the Varina
and New Market roads a growing sound, a sound of marching men,
of hurrahing voices, of bands that played now "Yankee Doodle"
and now " The Star Spangled Banner."

Through the April country, miles and miles of springing verdure,
miles and miles of rain-softened, narrow roads, marched the Army
of Northern Virginia. It must guard its trains of subsistence. But
so wet was the country where every streamlet had become a brook,
and every brook a river, so deep were the hollows and sloughs of the
unutterable road that many a wheel refused to budge. Supply and
ammunition wagons, gun wheel and ambulance wheel must be
dragged and pushed, dragged and pushed, over and over again. O
weariness — weariness — weariness of gaunt, hardly-fed and over
worked horses, weariness of gaunt, hardly-fed, over- worked men!
The sun shone with a mocking light, but never dried the roads.
Down upon the trains dashed Sheridan's cavalry — fifteen thou
sand horsemen, thrice the force of the grey cavalry. Grey rear
guard formed, brought guns into action, pushed back the assault, let
the trains move on — and then in an hour, da capo ! Horses fell in
harness, wagons had to be abandoned, others, whirled against by the
blue cavalry, were burned, there was no time that a stand could be
made and rations issued — even had there been any rations to issue.

456 CEASE FIRING

Amelia — There would be stores found at Amelia Court House.
That had been arranged for. ... But when on the fourth Long-
street reached Amelia, and after him Gordon and Ewell there were
no stores found. Some one had blundered, something had miscar
ried. There were no stores.

On the fifth of April, Lee left Amelia Court House and struck
westward, with a hope, perhaps, of Lynchburg and then Danville.
Behind him was Grant in strength, Sheridan and Grant. . . . And
still the bottomless roads, and still no rations for his soldiers. The
Army of Northern Virginia was weak from hunger. The wounded
were many, the sick and exhausted were more. There was now a
great, helpless throng in and about the wagons, men stretched upon
the boards, wounded and ill, stifling their groans, men limping and
swaying alongside, trying to keep up. ... And then, again and
again, great cavalry dashes, a haggard resistance, a scattering, over
turning, hewing-down and burning. . . . And still the Army of
Northern Virginia drew its wounded length westward.

Sleep seemed to have fled the earth. Day was lighter and some
thing warmer than night, and night was darker and more cold than
day, and there seemed no other especial difference. The monotony
of attack, monotonously to be repelled, held whether it were light or
dark, day or night. Marching held. Hunger held. There held a
ghastly, a monstrous fatigue. And always there were present the
fallen by the road, the gestures of farewell and despair, the covered
eyes, the outstretched forms upon the earth. And always the
dwindling held, and the cry, Close up! Close up! Close up, men!

11 Mighty cold April ! " said the men. " Even the pear trees and the
peach trees and the cherry trees look cold and misty and wavering —
No, there is n't any wind, but they look wavering, wavering . . ."
— " Dreamed a while back — sleeping on my feet. Dreamed the
trees were all filled with red cherries, and the corn was up, and we had
a heap of roasting ears . . . " — " Don't talk that-a-way ! Don't tell
about dreams! 'T'is n't lucky! Roasting ears and cherries — O
God! O God! " — "Talking about corn ? I heard tell about a lady ID
the country. All the horses were taken and the plantation could n't
be ploughed, and she wanted it ploughed. And so a battle happened
along right there, and when it was over and everybody that could
had marched away, she sent out and gathered two of the horses that

APRIL, 1865 457

were just roaming around loose. So she had plough-horses, but they
were so hungry they were wicked, and she did n't have any fodder
at all to give them. Not any at all. But women are awful resource
ful. There were a lot of shuck beds in the quarter. She had the ticks
ripped open and she took the shucks and soaked them in hot water
and sprinkled them with a little salt and fed her plough-horses. If
anybody stumbles on a shuck bed in this march I speak for it!"
Close up ! Close up / Close up, men 1

" ' Maxwelton braes are bonny,
Where early fa's the dew,
And 't was there that Annie Laurie
Gaed me her promise, true — ' '

And on they went — and on they went toward Appomattox.

In every company there was the Controversialist. Not cold nor
hunger nor battle could kill the Controversialist. The Controver
sialist of Company A — the column being halted before a black and
cold and swollen stream— appealed to Allan Gold. " I ? " said Allan.
"What do I think ? I think that we were both right and both wrong,
and that, in the beginning, each side might have been more patient
and much wiser. Life and history, and right and wrong and minds
of men look out of more windows than we used to think! Did you
never hear of the shield that had two sides and both were pre
cious metal? The traveller who said, ' This is a gold shield,' was
right — half right. And the traveller who said, ' This is a silver
shield,' was right — half right. The trouble was neither took the
trouble to walk round the shield. So it is, I reckon, in most wars
-this one not excepted! Of course, being in, we've done good
fighting—"

On moved the Army of Northern Virginia, through the cold river
and up upon the farther side. Column forward / Column forward I
Flowering fruit trees and April verdure and a clearing sky. On and
on down a long, long vista. . . . Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp!

" ' Way down South in the land ob cotton,
'Simmon seed and sandy bottom — ' '

THE END

CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS
U . S . A

CHRISTOPHER

By Richard Pryce

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