Miss Ravenel's conversion from secession to loyalty

by John William De Forest

  CHAPTER XXXII.

  A MOST LOGICAL CONCLUSION.

  When Lillie came to her senses she was lying on her father's bed. Forsome minutes he had been bending over her, watching her pulse, bathingher forehead, kissing her, and calling her by name in a hoarse,frightened whisper. He was aware that insensibility was her best friend;but he must know at once whether she would live or die. At first she layquiet, silent, recollecting, trying not to believe; then she suddenlyplunged her face into the pillow with a groan of unspeakable anguish. Itwas not for five or ten minutes longer, not until he had called her byevery imaginable epithet of pity and tenderness, that she turned towardhim with another spasmodic throe, clasped his head to her bosom, andburst into an impetuous sobbing and low crying. Still she did not speakan intelligible word; her teeth were set firm, as if in bodily pain, andher sobs came through her parted lips; she would not look at him either,and kept her eyes closed, or turned upward distractedly. It seemed asif, even in the midst of her anguish, she was stung by shame at thenature of the calamity, so insulting to her pride as a woman and wife.After a while this paroxysm ceased, and she lay silent again, whileanother icy wave of despair flowed over her, her consciousness beingexpressed solely in a trembling of her cheeks, her lips, and herfingers. When he whispered, "We will go north, we will never come backhere," she made no sign of assent or objection. She did not answer himin any manner until he asked her if she wanted Ravvie; but then sheleaped at the proffered consolation, the gift of Heaven's pity, with apassionate "Yes!" For an anxious half hour the Doctor left her alonewith her child, knowing that it was the best he could do for her.

  One thing he must attend to at once. Steps must be taken to prevent Mrs.Larue from crossing his daughter's sight even for a moment. See thewoman himself he could not; not, at least, until she were dead. Heenclosed her billet to her in a sealed envelope, adding the followingnote, which cost him many minutes to write--

  "Madame: The accompanying letter has fallen into the hands of mydaughter. She is dangerously ill. I hope that you will have the humanitynot to meet her again."

  When the housemaid returned from delivering the package he said to her,"Julia, did you give it to Mrs. Larue?"

  "Yes sah."

  "Did you give it into her own hands?"

  "Yes sah. She was in bed, an' I gin it to herself."

  "What--how did she look?" asked the Doctor after a moment's hesitation.

  "She did'n look nohow. She jess lit a match an' burned the letter up."

  The Doctor was aghast at the horrible, hard-hearted corruptness impliedby such coolness and forethought. But in point of fact, Mrs. Larue hadbeen startled far beyond her common wont, and was now more profoundlygrieved than she had ever been before in her life.

  "What a pity!" she said several times to herself. "I have made them verymiserable. I have done mischief when I meant none. Why didn't the stupidcreature burn the letter! I burned all his. What a pity! Well, at anyrate it will go no farther."

  She had her trunks packed and drove immediately after breakfast toCarrollton, where she remained secluded in the hotel until she found aprivate boarding house in the unfrequented outskirts of the village. Ifthe Ravenels moved away, her man servant was to inform her, so that shemight return to her house. She realized perfectly the inhumanity ofencountering Lillie, and was resolved that no such meeting should takeplace, no matter what might be the expense of keeping up twoestablishments. In her pity and regret she was almost willing to sellher house at a loss, or shut it up without rent, and pinch herself insome northern city, supposing that the Ravenels concluded to stay in NewOrleans. "I owe them that much," she thought, with a consciousness ofbeing generous, and not bad-hearted. Then she sighed, and said aloud,"Poor Lillie! I am so sorry for her! But she has a baby, and for hissake she will forgive her husband."

  And then a feeling came over her that she would like to see the baby,and that it would have been a pleasure to at least kiss it good-bye.

  The family with which she lived consisted of a man of sixty and hiswife, with two unmarried daughters of twenty-eight and thirty, theparents New Englanders, the children born in Louisiana, but all alikeorthodox, devout, silent, after the old fashion of New England. Thefather was a cotton broker, nearly bankrupted by the Rebellion, and wasglad for pecuniary reasons to receive a respectable boarder. Such ahousehold Mrs. Larue had chosen as an asylum, believing that she wouldbe benefited just now by an odor of sanctity, if it were only derivedfrom propinquity. Something might get out; Lillie might go delirious andmake disclosures; and it was well to build up a character for staidness.The idea of entering a convent she rejected the moment that it occurredto her. "This is monastic enough," she thought with a repressed smile asshe looked at the serious faces of her Presbyterian hosts male andfemale.

  The Allens became as much infatuated with her as did the Chaplain onboard the Creole, or the venerable D. D. in New York city. Her modestand retiring manner, her amiability, cheerfulness, and sprightlyconversation, made her the most charming person in their eyes that theyhad ever met. The daughters regained something of their blightedyouthfulness under the sunny influences of her presence, aided by thewisdom of her counsel, and the cunning of her fingers in matters of thetoilet. Mrs. Allen kissed her with motherly affection every time thatshe bade the family good-night. The old trick of showing a mind ripe forconversion from Popery was played with the usual success. After she hadleft the house, and when she was once more receiving and flirting in NewOrleans, Mr. Allen used to excite her laughter by presenting her withtracts against Romanism, or lending her volumes of sermons by eminentProtestant divines. Not that she ever laughed at him to his face: shewould as soon have thought of striking him with her fist; she was toogood-natured and well-bred to commit either impertinence.

  For the sake of appearances she remained in the country a week or moreafter the Ravenels had left the city. Restored to her own house, shefound herself somewhat lonely for lack of her relatives, and somewhatgloomy, or at least annoyed, when she thought of the cause of theseparation. But there was no need of continuing solitude; any quantityof army society could be had by such New Orleans ladies as wished it;and Mrs. Larue finally resolved to break with treason, and flirt withloyalty in gilt buttons. In a short time her parlor was frequented bygentlemen who wore silver leaves and eagles and stars on theirshoulders, and the loss of Colonel Carter was more than made up to herby the devotion of persons who were mightier in counsel and in war thanhe. The very latest news from her is of a highly satisfactory character.It is reported that she was fortunate enough to gain the special favorof an official personage very high in authority in some unmentionabledepartment of the South, who, as a mark of his gratitude, gave her apermit to trade for several thousand bales of cotton. This curiousbillet-doux she sold to a New York speculator for fifteen thousanddollars, thereby re-establishing her somewhat dilapidated fortunes.

  Just as a person whose dwelling falls about his head is sometimespreserved from death by some fragment of the wreck which prostrates him,but preserves him from the mass, so Lillie was shielded from the fullpressure of her misery by a short fever, bringing with it a few days ofdelirium, and a long prostration, during which she had not strength tofeel acutely. When we must bend or break, Nature often takes us in herown pitying hands, and lays us gently upon beds of insensibility orsemi-consciousness. Thanks be to Heaven for the merciful opiate ofsickness!

  During the fever two letters arrived from Carter, but Ravenel put themaway without showing them to the invalid. For some time she did notinquire about her husband; when she thought of him too keenly she askedwith a start for her baby. Nature continually led her to that tender,helpless, speechless, potent consoler. The moment it was safe for her totravel, Ravenel put her on board a vessel bound to New York, choosing asailing craft, not only for economy's sake, but to secure the benefit ofa lengthy voyage, and to keep longer away from all news of earth andmen. She made no objection to going; her father wished it to be so; itwas right enough. The voya
ge lasted three weeks, during which she slowlyregained strength, and as a consequence something of her oldcheerfulness and hopefulness. The Doctor had a strong faith that shewould not be broken down by her calamity. Not only was her temper gayand remarkable for its elasticity, but her physical constitution seemedto partake of the same characteristics, and she had always recoveredfrom sickness with rapidity. Not a bit disposed to brooding, taking alively interest in whatever went on around her, she would not fall aneasy prey to confirmed melancholy. The Doctor never alluded to herhusband, and when Lillie at last mentioned his name, it was merely tosay, "I hope he will not be killed."

  "I hope not," replied Ravenel gently, and stopped there. He could not,however, repress a brief glance of surprise and investigation. Could itbe that she would come to forgive that man? Had he been too hasty indragging her away from New Orleans, and giving up the moderate salarywhich was so necessary to them both? But no: it would kill her to meetMrs. Larue: they must never go back to that Sodom of a city.

  The question of income was a serious one. He was nearly at the end ofhis own resources, and he had not suffered Lillie to draw any of herperfidious husband's money. But he did not dwell much on these pecuniaryquestions now, being chiefly occupied with the moral future of hischild, wondering much whether she would indeed forgive her husband, andwhether she would ever again be happy. Of course it was not until theyreached New York that they learned the events which I must now relate.

  Carter joined the army at Grande Ecore just before it resumed fieldoperations. Bailey's famous dam had let Porter out of his trap; themonitors, the gunboats, the Admiral, were on their way down the river;it was too late to go to Shreveport, or to gather cotton; and so thecolumn set out rearward. That it was strong enough to take care ofitself against any force which the rebels could bring to cut off theretreat was well known; and Carter assumed command of his new brigadewith a sense of elation at the prospect of fighting, which he had littlereason to doubt would be successful. By the last gunboat of thedeparting fleet he sent his wife a letter, full of gay anticipations,and expressions of affection, which she was destined never to answer. Bythe last transport which came to Grande Ecore arrived a letter fromRavenel, which, owing to the hastiness of the march, did not reach himuntil the evening before the battle of Cane River. In the glare of acamp-fire he read of the destruction which he had wrought in the peaceof his own family. Ravenel spoke briefly and without reproaches of thediscovery; stated that he believed it to be his duty to remove his childfrom the scene of such a domestic calamity; that he should thereforetake her to the north as soon as she was able to travel.

  "I beg that you will not force yourself upon her," he concluded."Hitherto she has not mentioned your name to me, and I do not know whatmay be her feelings with regard to you. Some time she may pardon you, ifit is your desire to be pardoned. I cannot say. At present I know ofnothing better than to take her away, and to ask your forbearance, inthe name of her sickness and suffering."

  This letter was a cruel blow to Carter. If the staff officers who satwith him around the camp-fire could have known how deeply and for what apurely domestic reason the seemingly stern and hard General wassuffering, they would have been very much amazed. He was popularlysupposed to be a man of the world, with bad morals and a callousedheart, which could neither feel much anguish of its own nor sympathisekeenly with the anguish of other hearts. But the General was indeed sowretched that he could not talk with them, and could not even sit amongthem in silence. He went on one side and walked for an hour up and downin the darkness. He tried to clear up the whole thing in his mind, anddecide distinctly what was the worst that had happened, and what was thebest that could be done. But his perceptions were very tumultuous andincoherent, as is usually the case with a man when first overtaken by agreat calamity. It was a horrible affair; it was a cursed, infernalaffair; and that was about all that he could say to himself. He wasintolerably ashamed, as well as grieved and angry. He thought verylittle about Mrs. Larue, good or bad; he was not mean enough to curseher, although she had been more to blame than he; only he did wish thathe never had seen her, and did curse the day which brought them togetheron the Creole. The main thing, after all, was that he had ill-treatedhis wife, and it did not matter who had been his accomplice in thewicked business. He set his teeth into his lips, and felt his eyes growmoist, as he thought of her, sick and suffering because she loved him,and he had not been worthy of her love. Would she ever forgive him, andtake him back to her heart? He did not know. He would try to win herback; he would fight desperately, and distinguish himself; he wouldoffer her the best impulses and bravest deeds of manhood. Perhaps if heshould earn a Major-General's star and high fame in the nation, and thenshould go to her feet, she would receive him. A transitory thrill ofpleasure shot through him as he thought of reconciliation and renewedlove.

  At last the General was recalled to the fire to read orders whichconcerned the movements of the morrow, and to transmit them to theregiments of his own command. Then he had to receive two old friends,regular officers of the artillery, who called to congratulate him on hispromotion. Whiskey was produced for the visitors, and Carter himselfdrank freely to drown trouble. When they went away, about midnight, hefound himself wearied out, and very soon dropped asleep, for he was asoldier and could slumber under all circumstances.

  At Grande Ecore the Red River throws off a bayou which rejoins it below,the two currents enclosing an island some forty miles in length. Thisbayou, now called the Cane River, was once the original stream, and inmemory of its ancient grandeur flows between high banks altogether outof proportion to its modest current. Over the dead level of the islandthe army had moved without being opposed, or harassed, for the rebelshad reserved their strength to crush it when it should be entangled inthe crossing of the Cane River. Taylor with his Arkansas and Louisianainfantry had followed the march closely but warily, always withinstriking distance but avoiding actual conflict, and now lay in line ofbattle only a few miles in rear of Andrew Jackson Smith's western boys.Polignac with his wild Texan cavalry had made a great circuit, andalready held the bluffs on the southern side of the Cane Riverconfronting Emory's two divisions of the Nineteenth Corps. The main planof the battle was simple and inevitable. Andrew Jackson Smith must beatoff the attack of Taylor, and Emory must abolish the obstacle ofPolignac.

  The veteran and wary commander of the Nineteenth Corps had alreadydecided how he would go over his ground, should he find it occupied bythe enemy. He had before him a wood of considerable extent, then an openplain eight hundred yards across, and then a valley in the nature of aravine, at the bottom of which flowed a river, not fordable here, andwith no crossing but a ferry. A single narrow road led down through adeep cut to the edge of the rapid, muddy stream, and, starting againfrom the other edge, rose through a similar gorge until it disappearedfrom sight behind the brows of high bluffs crowned with pines. Under thepines and along the rim of the bluffs lay the line of Polignac. Therehad been no time to reconnoitre his dispositions; indeed, his presencein strong force was not yet positively known to the leaders of theUnion army; but if there, his horses had no doubt been sent to the rear,and his men formed to fight as infantry. And if this were so, if an armyof several thousand Texan riflemen occupied this strong position, howshould it be carried? Emory had already decided that it would never doto butt at it in front, and that it could only be taken by a turningmovement. Thus this part of the battle had a plan of its own.

  Such was the military situation upon which our new Brigadier opened hisheavy eyes at half-past three o'clock on the morning after getting thatwoeful letter about his wife. The army was to commence its march athalf-past four, and Carter was aroused by the bustle of preparation fromthe vast bivouac. Thousands of men were engaged in rolling theirblankets, putting on their equipments, wiping the dew from their rifles,and eating their hasty and unsavory breakfasts of hard-tack. Companieswere falling in; the voices of the first-sergeants were heard callingthe rolls; long-drawn orders resounded, in
dicating the formation ofregimental lines; the whinnies of horses, the braying of mules, and thebarking of dogs joined in the clamor; but as yet there was no tramplingof the march, no rolling of the wheels of artillery. Nothing could beseen of this populous commotion except here and there where a forbiddencooking-fire cast its red flicker over little knots of crouchingsoldiers engaged in preparing coffee.

  In the moment of coming to his senses, and before memory had fullyresumed its action, the General was vaguely conscious that somethinghorrible was about to happen, or had already happened. But an oldsoldier is not long in waking up, especially when he has gone to sleepin the expectation of a battle, and Carter knew almost instantaneouslywhat was the nature of the burden that weighed upon his soul. He layfull dressed at the foot of a tree, with no shelter but its branches. Hewas quite still for a minute or more, staring at the dark sky withsteady, gloomy eyes. His first act was to put his hand to the breastpocket of his blouse and draw out that cruel letter, as if to read itanew by the flicker of a fire which reached his resting place. But therewas no need of that: he knew all that was in it as soon as he looked atthe envelope; he remembered at once even the blots and the position ofthe signature. Next the sight of it angered him, and he thrust it backcrumpled into his pocket. There was no need, he felt, of making so muchof the affair; such affairs were altogether too common to be made somuch of; he could not and would not see any sense in the Doctor'sconduct. He sprang to his feet in his newly-found indignation, andglared fiercely around the bivouac of his brigade.

  "How's this?" he growled. "I ordered that not a fire should be lighted.Mr. Van Zandt, did you pass the order to every regiment last evening?"

  "I did, sir," answers our old acquaintance, now a staff officer, thanksto his Dutch courage, and his ability with the pen.

  "Ride off again. Stop those fires instantly. My God! the fools want totell the enemy just when we start."

  This outburst raised his spirits, and after swallowing a cocktail he satdown to breakfast with some appetite. The toughness of the cold boiledchicken, and the dryness and hardness of the army biscuit served as afurther distraction, and enabled him to utter a joke about suchdelicacies being very suitable for projectiles. But he was stillnervous, uneasy, eager, driven by the sin which was past, and dragged bythe battle which was before, so that any long reveling at the banquetwas impossible. He quitted the empty cracker box which served him for atable, and paced grimly up and down until his orderly came to buckle onhis sword, and his servant brought him his horse.

  "How are the saddle-pockets, Cato?" he asked.

  "Oh, day's chuck full, Gen'l. Hull cold chicken in dis yere one, an'bottle o' whisky in dis yere."

  Carter swung himself slowly and heavily into his saddle. He was weary,languid and feverish with want of sleep, and trouble of mind. In truthhe was physically and morally a much discomforted Brigadier General.Without waiting for other directions than his example, his five staffofficers mounted also and fell into a group behind him. In their rearwas the brigade flag-bearer escorted by half-a-dozen cavalry-men. Thesombre dawn was turning to red and gold in the east. A monstrous serpentof blue and steel was already creeping toward the ferry, increasing inlength as additional regiments streamed into the road from the fieldswhich had served for the bivouac. When Carter had seen his entirebrigade file by, he set off at a canter, placed himself at the head ofit, and rode on at a walk, silent and gloomy of countenance. Not eventhe thought that he was now a general, and had a chance to make areputation for himself as well as for others, could enable him to quitethrow off the seriousness and anxiety which beclouds the minds of menduring the preliminaries of battle. The remembrance of the misery whichhe had wrought for his wife was no pleasant distraction. It was like aforeboding; it overshadowed him even when he was not thinking of itdistinctly; it seemed to have a menacing arm which pointed him topunishment, calamity, perhaps a grave. He was like a haunted man whosees his following phantom if he turns his head ever so little.Nevertheless, when he squarely faced the subject, and dragged it outseparately from the general sombreness of the situation, it did not seemsuch a very hopeless misfortune. It surely was not possible that she hadbroken with him for life. He would win her back to him; it must be thatshe loved him enough to forgive him some day; he would win her back withrepentance and victories. As he thought this he dashed a little way intothe fields, gave a glance at the line of his brigade, and dispatched acouple of his staff to close up the rearmost files of his regiments.

  Presently there was a halt: something probably going on in front:perhaps a reconnaisance: perhaps battle. The men were allowed to stackarms and sit down by the roadside. Then came news: Enemy in force at thecrossing: a direct attack in front out of the question: turningmovements to be made somewhere by somebody. It was a full hour aftersunrise when an aid of General Emory's arrived with orders for GeneralCarter to report for duty to General Birge.

  "What is the situation?" asked the General.

  "Two brigades are forming in front," replied the aid. "We have animmense line of skirmishers stretching from the Cane River on the rightall along the edge of the woods, and out into the fields. But we can'tgo at them in front. Their ground is nearly a hundred feet higher thanours, and the crossing isn't fordable. We have got to flank them.Closson is going up with some artillery to establish a position on ourleft, and from that the cavalry will turn the right wing of the enemy.Birge is to do the same thing on this side with three brigades. He willgo up about a mile--three miles from the ferry--ford the river--it'sfordable up there--come round on the fellows, and give it to them overthe left."

  "Very good," said Carter. "If I shouldn't come back, give the General mycompliments for his plan. Much obliged, Lieutenant."

  At this moment the flat, dull report of a rifled iron gun came from thewoods far away in front, followed a few seconds afterward by anotherreport, still flatter in sound and much more distant, the bursting of ashell.

  "There goes Closson," laughed the young officer. "Two twenty-poundParrotts and four three-inch rifles! He'll wake 'em up when he getsfairly a-talking. Good luck to you, General."

  And away he rode gaily, at a gallop, in the direction of the ferry.

  While Birge's column countermarched, and Carter's brigade filed into therear of it, the cannonade became lively in the front, the crashes ofthe guns alternating rapidly with the crashes of the shells, as Clossonwent in with all his six pieces, and a Rebel battery of seven responded.After half an hour of this the enemy found that a range of two thousandyards was too long for them, and became silent. Then Closson ceasedfiring also, and waited to hear from Birge. And now for five or sixhours there was no more sound of fighting along this line, except anoccasional shot from the skirmishers aimed at puffs of rifle smoke whichshowed rarely against the pines of the distant bluffs. The infantrycolumn struggled over its long detour by the right; the cavalry tried invain to force a way through the jungles on the left; the centre listenedto the roar of A. J. Smith's battle in the rear, and lunched and waited.At two o'clock Emory put everything in order to advance whenever Birge'smusketry should give notice that he was closely engaged. Closson was tomove forward on the left, and fire as fast as he could load. Theremainder of the artillery was to gallop down the river road to theferry, and open with a dozen or fifteen pieces. The two supportingbrigades were to push through the woods as rapidly as possible and coverthe artillery. The skirmishers were to cross the river wherever theycould ford it, and keep up a heavy fire in order to occupy the attentionof the enemy. Closson started at once, forced five of his three-inchrifles through the wood, went into battle at a range of a thousandyards, and in ten minutes dislodged the Rebel guns from their position.But all this was mere feinting; the heavy fighting must be done byBirge.

  The flanking column had a hard road to travel. After fording the CaneRiver it entered a country of thickets, swamps and gullies so difficultof passage that five hours were spent in marching barely five miles. Tworegiments were deployed in advance as skirmishers;
the others followedin columns of division doubled on the centre. At one time the wholeforce went into line of battle on a false alarm of the near presence ofthe enemy. Then the nature of the ground forced it to move for nearly amile in the ordinary column of march. It floundered through swampyundergrowths; it forded a deep and muddy bayou. About two o'clock in theafternoon it came out upon a clearing in full view of a bluff, forty orfifty feet in height, flanked on one side by the river, and on the otherby a marshy jungle connecting with a lake. Along the brow of this blufflay Polignac's left wing, an unknown force of Texan riflemen, all goodshots, and impetuous fighters, elated moreover with pursuit and theexpectation of victory. Here Carter received an order to charge with hisbrigade.

  "Very good," he answered, in a loud, satisfied, confident tone, at thesame time throwing away his segar. "Let me look at things first. I wantto see where to go in."

  A single glance told him that the river side was unassailable. Hegalloped to the right, inspected the boggy jungle, glared at the lakebeyond, and decided that nothing could be done in that quarter.Returning to the brigade he once more surveyed the ground in its front.It would be necessary to take down a high fence, cross an open field,take down a second fence, and advance up the hill under a close fire ofmusketry. But he was not dispirited by the prospect; he was no longerthe silent, sombre man of the morning. The whizzing of the Texanbullets, the sight of the butternut uniforms, and ugly broadbrims whichfaced him, had cleared his deep breast of oppression, and called thefighting fire into his eyes. He swore loudly and gaily; he would flogthose dirty rapscallions; he would knock them high and dry into theother world; he would teach them not to get in his way.

  "Go to the regimental commanders," he shouted to his staff officers."Tell them to push straight at the hill. Tell them, Guide right."

  On went the regiments, four in number, keeping even pace with eachother. There was a halt at the first fence while the men struggled withthe obstacle, climbing it in some places, and pushing it over inothers. The General's brow darkened with anxiety lest the temporaryconfusion should end in a retreat; and spurring close up to the line herode hither and thither, cheering the soldiers onward.

  "Forward, my fine lads," he said. "Down with it. Jump it. Now then. Getinto your ranks. Get along, my lads."

  On went the regiments, moving at the ordinary quickstep, arms at aright-shoulder-shift, ranks closed, gaps filled, unfaltering, heroic.The dead were falling; the wounded were crawling in numbers to the rear;the leisurely hum of long-range bullets had changed into the sharp,multitudinous _whit-whit_ of close firing; the stifled crash of ballshitting bones, and the soft _chuck_ of flesh-wounds mingled with theoutcries of the sufferers; the bluff in front was smoking, rattling,wailing with the incessant file-fire; but the front of the brigaderemained unbroken, and its rear showed no stragglers. The right handregiment floundered in a swamp, but the other hurried on without waitingfor it. As the momentum of the movement increased, as the spirits of themen rose with the charge, a stern shout broke forth, something between ahurrah and a yell, swelling up against the rebel musketry, and defyingit. Gradually the pace increased to a double-quick, and the whole massran for an eighth of a mile through the whistling bullets. The secondfence disappeared like frost-work, and up the slope of the hillstruggled the panting regiments. When the foremost ranks had nearlyreached the summit, a sudden silence stifled the musketry. Polignac'sline wavered, ceased firing, broke and went to the rear in confusion.The clamor of the charging yell redoubled for a moment, and then died inthe rear of a tremendous volley. Now the Union line was firing, and nowthe rebels were falling. Such was the charge which carried the crossing,and gained the battle of Cane River.

  But Brigadier-General John Carter had already fallen gloriously in thearms of victory.

  At the moment that the fatal shot struck him he had forgotten his guiltand remorse in the wild joy of successful battle. He was on horseback,closely following his advancing brigade, and watching its spirited push,and listening to its mad yell, with such a smile of soldierly delightand pride that it was a pleasure to look upon his bronzed, confident,heroic face. It would have been strange to a civilian to hear the streamof joyful curses with which he expressed his admiration and elation.

  "God damn them! see them go in!" he said. "God damn their souls! I canput them anywhere!"

  He had just uttered these words when a Minie-ball struck him in the leftside, just below the ribs, with a _thud_ which was audible ten feet fromhim in spite of the noise of the battle. He started violently in thesaddle, and then bent slowly forward, laying his right hand on thehorse's mane. He was observed to carry his left hand twice toward thewound without touching it, as if desirous, yet fearful, of ascertainingthe extent of the injury. The blow was mortal, and he must have knownit, yet he retained his ruddy bronze color for a minute or two. With theassistance of two staff officers he dismounted and walked eight or tenyards to the shade of a tree, uttering not a groan, and only showing hisagony by the manner in which he bent forward, and the spasmodic clutchwith which he held to those supporting shoulders. But when he had beenlaid down, it was visible enough that there was not half an hour's lifein him. His breath was short, his forehead was thickly beaded with acold perspiration, and his face was of an ashy pallor stained withstreaks of ghastly yellow.

  "Tell Colonel Gilliman," he said, mentioning the senior colonel of thebrigade, and then paused to catch his breath before he resumed, "tellhim to keep straight forward."

  These were the first words that he had spoken since he was hit. Hisvoice had already sunk from a clear, sonorous bass to a hoarse whisper.Presently, as the smoking and roaring surge of battle rolled farther tothe front a chaplain and a surgeon came up, followed by severalambulance men bearing stretchers. The chaplain was attached to Carter'sold regiment, and had served under him since its formation. The surgeon,a Creole by birth, a Frenchman by education, philosophical and roue,belonged to a Louisiana loyal regiment, and had known the General inother days, when he was a dissipated, spendthrift lieutenant of theregular army, stationed at Baton Rouge. He gave him a large cup ofwhiskey, uncovered the wound, probed it with his finger, and saidnothing, looked nothing.

  "Why don't you do something?" whispered the chaplain eagerly, and almostweeping.

  "I have done all that is--essential," he replied, with a slight shrug ofthe shoulders.

  "How do you feel, General?" asked the chaplain, turning to his dyingcommander.

  "Going," was the whispered answer.

  "Going!--Oh, going where?" implored the other, sinking on his knees."General, have you thought of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ?"

  For a moment Carter's deep voice returned to him, as, fixing his sterneyes on the chaplain, he answered, "Don't bother!--where is thebrigade?"

  Perhaps he thought it unworthy of him to seek God in his extremity, whenhe had neglected Him in all his hours of health. Perhaps he felt that heowed his last thoughts to his country and his professional duties.Perhaps he did not mean all that he said.

  It was strange to note the power of military discipline upon thechaplain. Even in this awful hour, when it was his part to fear no man,he evidently quailed before his superior officer. Under the pressure ofa three years' habit of obedience and respect, cowed by rank and thataudacious will accustomed to domination, he shrank back into silence,covering his face with his hands, and no doubt praying, but uttering nofurther word.

  "General, the brigade has carried the position," said one of thestaff-officers.

  Carter smiled, tried to raise his head, dropped it slowly, drew a dozenlabored breaths, and was dead.

  "_Il a maintenu jusq'au bout son personnage_," said the surgeon, lettingfall the extinct pulse. "_Sa mort est tout ce qu'il y a de pluslogique._"

  So he thought, and very naturally. He had only known him in his evilhours; he judged him as all superficial acquaintances would have judged;he was not aware of the tenderness which existed at the bottom of thatpassionate nature. With another education Carter might
have been a JamesBrainard or a St. Vincent de Paul. With the training that he had, it wasperfectly logical that in his last moments he should not want to bebothered about Jesus Christ.

  The body was borne on a stretcher in rear of the victorious columnsuntil they halted for the night, when it was buried in the privatecemetery of a planter, in presence of Carter's former regiment. Amongthe spectators was Colburne, stricken with real grief as he thought ofthe bereaved wife. Throughout the army the regret was general andearnest over the loss of this brave and able officer, apparently justentering upon a career of long-deserved promotion. In a letter toRavenel, Colburne related the particulars of Carter's death, and closedwith a fervent eulogium on his character as a man and his services as asoldier, forgetting that he had sometimes drunk too deeply, and thatthere were suspicions against him of other vices. It is thus that youngand generous spirits are apt to remember the dead, and it is thus alwaysthat a soldier laments for a worthy commander who has fallen on thefield of honor.