The Strange Woman

by Ben Ames Williams

  Dan wondered whether Will was sleeping tonight. Will would be busy tomorrow in the hospital tents somewhere, or in a house or a barn, cutting and hacking useless flesh off maimed bodies just as one stripped bark off a felled pine and lopped the branches. He wondered again whether Tom and Mat were in that invading army he and the Sixth were come to fight. That Lieutenant who knew them had told him they were in the Fourteenth Georgia, in General Thomas’ brigade and Pender’s division. That division was in Hill’s Third Corps, and probably Hill and Ewell and Longstreet were all with Lee on this great enterprise, so presumably Tom and Mat would be in tomorrow’s fight. Dan thought he would like to see them, and he wondered whether he would know them. Probably they were bearded as he was, and older. He remembered his mother’s prayers to him to kill them if he could; and he thought ruefully that this might happen as easily as not, in the smoke and moil and sudden clash of battle. They might not even know each other—yet he thought he would know Mat by his great size.

  And he thought pityingly of his mother, who had been unhappy for so many years, torturing herself with doubts of John, torturing herself with many hates. He thought of her with a remote, dispassionate tenderness, a feeling completely impersonal, feeling no bond between him and her except his sympathies. But he thought of John with a fine strengthening pride; and finding as he always did that he could borrow peace from thus thinking of his father, toward dawn he fell at last asleep.

  V

  The Sixth Wisconsin was in General Wadsworth’s division of the First Corps; and when the men had snatched a hurried breakfast the Sixth was the last regiment in the marching order for the day. The brigade guard of a hundred men was the only unit behind them. The regiment mustered three hundred and forty officers and men. Colonel Dawes, while they waited to fall into their place, ordered the drum corps to the front, and the regimental colors were unfurled. At eight o’clock, the drum corps struck up ‘The Campbells are Coming,’ the men filed into the road, closed ranks and swung into step toward Gettysburg. On their right and a little ahead, a mile or more to the northeast, there was that rocky hill which Dan had noticed yesterday. It rose to a peak some three hundred feet above the valley through which they marched. The hill was wooded, and another like its smaller twin lay just north of it, and from them a low ridge led on toward Gettysburg. Between the road and these wooded hills lay a rocky slope strewn with great boulders and grown up to underbrush. Another low ridge topped with woods paralleled their road on the west. They passed a fine-looking peach orchard and a four-corners, and beyond there were wheatfields on either side of the road. Up the shallow valley they could see the first houses of the town, and on the right the small white stones that marked the cemetery, with other wooded hills rising beyond.

  But before they were halfway to the town, they heard sudden cannon fire to the north; and almost at once the head of the column left the road, breaking down the fences, and struck across the wheatfields on the left directly toward the firing that was still four or five miles away. The ground was wet and soft from the continued rain, and the marching men broke down the young wheat, trampling it into the mud. They began to climb the easy slope of the western ridge which rose only a little above the level of the wheatfields they were crossing. The firing ahead was louder all the time, but the action there was hidden from their view by the ridge, except that Dan saw smoke clouds drifting upward above the trees. Not till they reached the high land, filing around an orchard and through a gap in the woods, did the full roar of the battle strike their ears. Then an officer galloped to meet them with orders, and Dan had his part to do in seeing those orders executed. The brigade advanced by regiments in echelon, the Sixth on the left flank and rear. They went forward at the double, loading their muskets as they ran. Dan saw ahead of them, on the western slope of the ridge and descending westerly into a dark ravine, a thick clump of woods several acres in extent; and from its depths came the steady rattle of musketry, the yells of fighting men, and all the dreadful clamor of a hot contention, while among the trees and above them the thinning smoke clouds rose.

  The foremost regiments of the brigade plunged into this battle in the woods, taking cover, dodging forward through the trees; but another aide brought Colonel Dawes orders to halt the Sixth where they were, and at the Colonel’s command the men lay down to rest and to avoid the spent bullets that came their way. At the same time, the brigade guard was put in order on either flank of the Sixth so that there were about four hundred and fifty men in the immediate command.

  During this lull, with the steady clatter of the opening battle to the west and north, Dan, sitting by his men, had time to look around. Behind him toward Gettysburg, there was another patch of woods; and above the crests of the trees he could see the roof and bell-tower of a large building like a church or seminary. To his right a road ran east and west between rail fences, and in the field beyond that road a Union battery was firing toward the still unseen enemy to the west. In the woods below him, where the other regiments of the brigade had disappeared, there was the sound of steady battle.

  The regiment lay here refused on the slope above the wood for what seemed to Dan no more than minutes. By the fact that the sounds of battle in the dark forest below somewhat receded, he judged that the Confederates were being pushed back out of the ravine there; but then he saw the battery in the field beyond the road to the north suddenly begin to withdraw. He sprang to his feet to watch that movement. It could only mean that there on the brigade’s right flank the Federal troops were being beaten back; and he was not surprised when a moment later another aide came with orders to put the Sixth in line of battle facing toward the turnpike.

  The move was made at the double. The regiment trotted north and then swung at right angles to the east and halted, turning to face the road. As the movement was completed, Dan saw Colonel Dawes’ horse go down; but before anyone could reach him the Colonel scrambled free and rose, unhurt, and the men shouted in a hoarse cheer.

  There was the steady clangor of battle to the west, but until this moment the Sixth had not fired a gun. Now through the smoke Dan saw beyond the fenced road which they faced a ragged line of gray-clad men come running up the rising ground from the west, driving scattered Union forces in headlong flight toward Gettysburg. At the colonel’s order, the regiment moved briskly forward to the fence, steadying their muskets on the rails; and from this position they poured in a careful, well-aimed fire on the flank of the Confederate line. When the smoke from their own weapons rose and cleared away, the result of that fire could be seen. Except for scattered dead and wounded, the nearest enemies were gone. Those not hit were scurrying away from the road, tumbling into a raw new ditch which ran parallel with the turnpike about two hundred yards away. The Sixth’s flanking fire, enfilading their line, had broken their charge, driven them to cover there.

  Colonel Dawes shouted an order to climb the fences which lined the turnpike and advance on the ditch where the Confederates now lay. Dan, warning his men to reload, swung over the first fence at a bound. At the same time, men around him began to fall as the Confederates in the ditch opened a steady fire. Before he climbed the second fence, he saw along the road to the west another regiment moving with them, the men pouring across the fence to form lines of battle. An officer came running from that direction, and Colonel Dawes met him, and a moment later while the Sixth, having crossed the fence, ordered their lines, Colonel Dawes shouted:

  ‘Forward! Charge! But hold your fire!’

  Dan felt a sharp relief. To advance was better than to stand here, facing the ditch yonder which was hidden now behind the smoke from many muskets as the Confederates fired, with the sodden sound of bullets striking flesh all around you, and your comrades going down. He shouted to his men: ‘Come on! Don’t shoot! Come on!’

  He—and the whole line—moved forward together. Colonel Dawes at their front repeated over and over a shouted order: ‘Close up on the colors! Close up on the colors!’ Men were dropping at every ste
p as the line advanced; but when gaps opened they were as quickly closed, each man stronger for feeling a friendly shoulder against his own. Twice Dan saw the color-bearer shot down, but other hands were always quick to seize the fallen flag. He watched the men of his own company, marching with them, shoulder to shoulder, taller than any man of them; and unconsciously he stretched out his arms as though to shepherd them forward.

  They moved at a fast walk, steadily and without faltering, their weapons poised. The enemy fire slackened and spurted again and slackened once more as the Confederates reloaded. In these brief intervals between volleys the smoke each time lifted a little, so that Dan could see for a moment the heads and shoulders of the men crouching in the ditch ahead; and each time the volleys came, looking along the line of his own regiment, he saw men fall forward on their faces with a clattering thump, or lag and drop to their hands and knees and then lie down as the line moved on; and each time he and the other officers repeated the command: ‘Close up! Close up on the colors! Close up! Hold your fire!’ Many men were falling. When the regiment crossed the turnpike they numbered with the brigade guard four hundred and fifty men; and marching shoulder to shoulder they made a fine line that stretched far to right and left. Dan’s company was near the centre. To his right the line extended well over a hundred yards; to his left it joined up with that other regiment which was advancing with them. But at once, as they began this advance on the ditch, the line began to shrink as gaps were made and closed; and Dan, looking to the right, saw the line grow shorter and shorter, so that he thought of the elastic bands which his father used to fasten together bunches of papers and with which he had as a boy liked to play, pulling them out to the greatest possible length and then allowing them to contract again. Thus the line of the regiment contracted now, till as they approached the ditch it was no more than half as long as it had been when they crossed the road.

  The moment of contact was near. The ditch, he saw with a remote interest, was actually a railroad cut; and he thought of the sunken road at Waterloo, and wished his men were cavalry so they could go faster. It was hard to move so slowly when men were shooting at you. He saw the enemy colors on the edge of the cut not ten yards ahead, and then another burst of fire and smoke hid everything, and Corporal Eggleston sprang toward that flag to seize it and fell forward into the cut, and Dan saw the man who had shot him, and a musket butt split that man’s skull.

  Then Dan was standing on the lip of the cut. To right and left the Union forces had reached it, and the cut was full of Confederates, milling in confusion. Most of their muskets were empty, so that they were helpless under the still-loaded weapons of the Sixth. Two or three scattering shots were fired, and something tripped Dan and he fell. He tried to rise, but his right foot gave way under him and he looked down at it in astonishment and caught it in his hands and a red flood spilled through his fingers. A bullet had struck him fairly in the ankle, and under his hands he felt the grating bones.

  Yet he was conscious of no pain, and he knew a calm surprise at that; and then the men of the Sixth here all around him were shouting: ‘Throw down your muskets! Down with them!’ Along the railroad cut Dan saw hundreds of Confederates sullenly dropping their empty weapons. A group of the Sixth ran into position to enfilade the cut, and Colonel Dawes, here just beside Dan, shouted in a great voice:

  ‘Where is the Colonel of this regiment?’

  An officer stepped forward and reached up to hand Colonel Dawes his sword. His men, already disarmed, stood in huddled groups along the cut. Dan forgot his own hurt, looking all around. Back toward the fence from which they had come the ground was littered with men in blue, some lying motionless, some like himself sitting up, some propped weakly on one arm watching what went forward here; and some of them were shouting, and Dan heard himself utter a yell of triumph, a long, thin howl of exultant pride.

  Then he watched the disarmed Confederates fall in, and he saw Major Hauser march them away, and he saw Colonel Dawes throwing out a line of skirmishers to face the enemy to the westward where the roar of battle still was strong. At the same time some men of the Sixth began to trundle a gun—abandoned by the battery which had been firing here—across the field toward the turnpike; and the line of skirmishers moved westward to meet the battle there, and Dan realized that he was dreadfully sleepy, and his head fell slowly on his arms and he lay down.

  He wished drowsily that Will were here to take care of him. His foot hurt a little, now, but he was too sleepy to mind. Probably Will was in Gettysburg, where Chief Surgeon Preston would be likely to establish his hospital. Dan decided that pretty soon he would make his way to town. He was always sleepy after a fight, so it did not occur to him that it was loss of blood which made him wish now to close his eyes and rest awhile.

  VI

  Dan never knew how long he lay asleep or fainting there by the railroad cut, but when his senses began to clear, the sounds of new battle were about him, and the feet of hurrying men pounded past where he lay. He saw men of the Sixth filing eastward through the cut, and he knew that they were being driven back toward the town, and he tried to get to his feet to join them, but his leg would not support him. He must follow them to town; but it would be hard walking along the railroad ties, so he began to crawl painfully toward the road. It was a long way. He judged the distance to be almost two hundred yards; and he estimated, tallying the dead and wounded all around, that a fair half of the Sixth had fallen in that short advance from the road to the railroad cut. But he remembered proudly that they had captured a regiment of the enemy.

  He went on, on hands and knees, dragging his leg; and when he reached the fence, soldiers in blue were retreating along the turnpike, looking over their shoulders toward the Confederates who pressed the pursuit. Dan crawled through the fence and propped himself up there beside the road. His foot by that time was a hot ball of pain, and thirst tormented him. He found a full canteen on the body of a dead man, but the warm water seemed only to make his thirst worse. Just beyond where he lay, the Federals stood for a moment to return the Confederate fire before withdrawing stubbornly again. Then a little gust of men in gray came pressing up along the pike and through the fields on cither side, and Dan with a remote interest watched them approach and pass where he lay. They were lean, bony men; and old and young were bearded alike; and their faces were powder-stained and some of them had bloody smears across their cheeks from minor wounds; and they shouted with shrill, panting cries as hounds yelp upon a hot trail, running forward, pausing to fire, reloading as they came on again. None of them noticed him, their eyes all intent upon the retreating Federal troops whom they pressed hard toward the town.

  Then abruptly Dan saw among them a great man he knew; and his heart leaped and he shouted: ‘Mat! Mat!’

  Mat, coming up the turnpike at a trot, checked and looked all around, uncertainly; and Dan called his name again. They were not a dozen feet apart, but Dan had to cry out with all his voice before over the tumult of the battle Mat surely heard him and saw him and knew him and came bounding to his side. The big man dropped to his knees by Dan and caught his shoulders and growled hoarsely:

  ‘Dan! God damn you, is it you?’

  Dan grinned, gripping the other’s hands that clasped his shoulders. ‘Me, yes!’ he said.

  Mat looked at him, looked the length of him, saw his grimed and bloody foot. ‘Hit?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Yes,’ Dan assented. He asked: ‘What’s happened?’

  Mat’s eyes glowed redly with battle light. ‘We’re driving you like sheep!’ he cried. Then more gently: ‘We turned your right, Dan.’ He demanded, touching his brother’s leg: ‘When did you get this?’

  ‘There was a regiment of yours in the railroad cut over there, Dan pointed. ‘We climbed the fences here, charged across this field. We lost half our men, but we captured the lot of yours. They hit me just as I got to the cut.’

  ‘Just now?’

  ‘Awhile ago. I don’t know. I went to sleep.’

/>   A tall Confederate officer stopped beside them and said harshly: ‘Here, you, what are you skulking for?’ He struck Mat’s shoulder lightly with his naked sword. ‘Go on, man,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You’re missing all the fun!’

  Mat rose to face him. He said: ‘This is my brother, sir.’ He spoke through his teeth, and Dan thought he knew that tone. The officer had better be reasonable, or Mat would be on him like a breaking log jam, smashing him down.

  But the officer was more than reasonable. ‘Your brother?’ he echoed. Then he grinned, his teeth white in his smoke-blackened face. ‘He’s as big as you are!’ His tone was friendly. He looked along the road toward Gettysburg, considering. ‘Well, we don’t need you for the moment,’ he said. ‘We’ve got them on the run. Take care of him. We’ll have the town in half an hour. Get him to town, to a bed somewhere, and then rejoin your command.’ He’ looked at Dan. ‘Your brother, is he?’ he repeated curiously.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Mat told him. ‘Bangor, Maine. I’m Lieutenant Evered, Fourteenth Georgia. I moved South before the war, but he stayed in Bangor.’

  The officer nodded almost sadly. ‘Brothers? That’s what makes this such a hell of a war. All right, see him comfortable.’

  He moved on. Dan said: ‘There’s a good man.’

  Mat stared after the departing officer. ‘There are damned few that aren’t good men, either side,’ he commented. He asked: ‘Can you walk with my shoulder, or shall I carry you?’

  Dan grinned. ‘I think you could. You’re big enough! But maybe I can walk.’