Ailsa Paige: A Novel

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER XV

  Toward the end of June, as Claymore's new provisional brigade ofSykes's division, Fitz John Porter's superb corps d'armee, nearedthe designated rendezvous, some particularly dirty veteranregiments, bivouacked along the fields, crowded to the roadside,fairly writhing in their scorn and derision.

  "Fresh fish! Oh--h! Fresh fi--sh!" they shouted. "My God, boys,just see them pretty red pants! Mother! Come and look. Oh, papa,what are they? Sa--ay, would you gentlemen kindly tell us poor oldsodgers what kind ov a hell ov a, dressmaker cut out thempantalettes? I wish I could go out to play with these nice,perlite little boys? Oh, children! why _didn't_ you bring yournursemaids with you?"

  The 3rd Zouaves marched past the jeering veterans, grinding theirteeth, but making no effort at retort. They knew well enough bythis time that any attempt to retort would be worse than useless.

  As the head of the column of the 8th Lancers appeared from the Westat the forks of the other road, the dingy veterans fairly danced inmalicious delight:

  "Excuse us," they simpered, kissing their dirty finger-tips to thehorsemen, "_ex_-cuse us, please, but do tell us how you left dearold Fift' Avenoo. Them rocking hosses need a leetle new paintwhere they sit down, me lords. Hey, you ain't got any old red silkstockings we can use for guidons, have you? Oh, Alonzo darling!curl my hair an' wet me with expensive cologne!"

  Colonel Egerton's 20th Dragoons, being in blue and orange, got offeasier, though the freshness of their uniforms was tremendouslyresented; but McDunn's 10th Flying Battery, in brand new uniforms,ran the full fierce fire of chaff; the indignant cannoneers werebegged to disclose the name of the stage line which had suppliedtheir battery horses; and Arthur Wye, driving the showy swing teamof No. 6, Left Section, shouted back in his penetrating voice:

  "If you want to know who sells broken-down nags to suckers, it'sSimon Cameron!--you Dutch-faced, barrel-bellied, Pennsylvaniascuts!"

  A bull-like bellow of laughter burst from the battery; even CaptainMcDunn's grin neutralised the scowling visage he turned to concealit. And the fury of the Pennsylvanians knew no bounds; for, fromgeneral to drummer boy, the troops of that great State werehorribly sensitive to any comment on the Hon. Mr. Cameron's horsetransactions.

  Warren's matchless brigade followed; but the 6th Lancers had seenservice and they were not jeered; nor were the 5th and 10thZouaves, the 1st Connecticut Heavy Artillery and the Rhode IslandBattery.

  Berkley, riding with his troop, bridle loose in both gauntletedhands, lance swinging wide from stirrup and elbow loop, looked tothe left and noticed Warren's regiments swinging out across thebreezy uplands. Half an hour later he saw the 3rd Zouaves enter awheat field to the left of the road, form on their colour front,unsling knapsacks, and stack arms. McDunn's battery found a gap inthe fence and followed, the guns bumping and bouncing out over apotato field; and presently Egerton's Dragoons turned sharply tothe right and entered a cool road that ran along a bushy hollow.

  The 8th Lancers kept straight on for five or six hundred yards,until they encountered their regimental quartermaster and campingparty. Then they wheeled to the right, passed through a thin beltof shade trees, across a splendid marl drive and a vast unkemptlawn. Beyond this they skirted a typical planter's house of thebetter class, with its white galleries, green blinds, quarters,smoke houses, barns, and outhouses innumerable; and halted, eachtroop moving to a point a little in the rear of where its horseswere to be secured, and forming one rank. The bugles sounded"Dismount!" Eight hundred sun-burned riders set foot to sod,details were made to hold the horses, lances were stacked, picketropes fixed, shelter tents erected, sabre and bridle hung on thetwelve weapons of the troop-carbineers, and the standard carried toColonel Arran's tent.

  Directly to the right was a gentle declivity with a clear, rapidstream splashing the bottom grasses. Beyond the stream a low greenhill rose, concealing the landscape and the river beyond.

  And here, on the breezy meadow slope, Egerton's Dragoons went intocamp and sent out their fatigue parties and grand guards.

  Company and squadron streets were laid out, sinks dug, sheltertents pitched, firewood brought, horses picketed. Twenty paces infront of each pile of tents the kitchens were established; all theregimental cavalry waggons came up promptly and were parked in therear of the picket line for sick horses; the belated and hatedsutler of the 8th Lancers drove hastily in, deaf to theblandishments of veterans along the roadside, who eyed himmalevolently and with every desire to work him substantial harm.

  Late in the afternoon there was much visiting along the lines andbetween distant camps; the day was cloudless and perfect; magnoliaand china-berry scented the winds which furrowed every grassyhillside; flags fluttered, breezy gusts of bugle music incited thebirds to rivalry. Peace and sunshine lay over all, and there wasnothing sinister to offend save, far along the horizon, the low,unbroken monotone of cannon, never louder, never lower, steady,dull, interminable; and on the southern horizon a single tallcloud, slanting a trifle to the east, like a silver pillar out ofplumb.

  Berkley's attention was directed to it by a suspicious comrade;they both gazed at it curiously, listening to the low mutter of thecannonade; then Berkley frowned, folded both gauntlets, placed themin his belt, passed his hand over his freshly shaven chin, and,pocketing his cob pipe, sauntered forth to visit and gossip withthose he knew in other camps.

  "Hello, Burgess," he said humorously; "how are you making out?"

  His late valet's arm twitched instinctively toward the salute hedared not offer; he glanced stealthily right and left beforeanswering:

  "I am doing very well, sir, thank you."

  "I told you to cut out the 'sir,' didn't I?"

  "Yes, sir--beg pardon----"

  Berkley eyed him. "You've got your chance," he said. "Your rankand mine are equal. Do you take pleasure in continually remindingyourself of your recent position of servitude?"

  "Sir?--beg pardon----"

  "Can't you help it? Is it born in you?"

  Burgess stood silent, considering, then he lifted his ugly face andlooked hard at Berkley.

  "I am not ashamed of having served you. I am more comfortableunder orders. . . . I liked to dress you up . . . I wish to Godit was that way now."

  "Don't you want your independence?"

  "My independence," repeated Burgess, "I had it--more of it when Iwas looking out for you, sir, than I have now in this damnregiment----"

  "Well, what did you enlist for?"

  "You've asked me that many times, sir, and I don't know. . . . I'drather be around, handy like----"

  "You'll get killed some day, don't you know it?"

  "No, sir. I guess you'll look out for me. You always did."

  "How the devil can I prevent one of those big shells from knockingyou off your horse!"

  Burgess, patient, undisturbed, let the, question go with a slightsmile.

  "What a jackass you are!" said Berkley irritably; "here's a dollarto get some pie. And if you can cheat that cursed sutler, do it!"

  He himself purchased two big pies from the sutler after an angryhaggle in which he was easily worsted; and he munched awaycontentedly as he walked toward the lines of the 3rd Zouaves, hisspurs and sabre jingling, Burgess following respectfully at heel.

  "Hello, Steve!" he called out to a sun-burnt young zouave who wasdrying his freshly washed turban in the hill breeze. "I alwaysheard you fellows wore infant's underclothes, but I never believedit before!"

  "That's my turban, you idiot!" retorted Stephen, turning red asseveral of McDunn's artillerymen began to laugh. But he came overand shook hands and accepted a big piece of pie without furtherresentment. "Hello, Burgess," he added.

  "How do you do, sir."

  "That damned Dutch sutler of ours," commented Berkley, "puts clayin his pie-erust. We'll certainly have to fix him before long.How are you, Steve, anyway?"

  "Both socks full of tallow; otherwise I'm feeling fine," said theboy. "Did you hear those dirty
Bucktail veterans back there pokingfun at us? Well, we never answer 'em nowadays; but the Zouaves aregetting fearfully sick of it; and if we don't go into battle prettysoon there'll be a private war on--" he winked--"with thosePennsylvanians, you bet. And I guess the Lancers will be in it,too."

  Berkley cast an evil eye on a pair of Pennsylvania soldiers who hadcome to see how the Zou-zous made camp; then he shrugged hisshoulders, watching Burgess, who had started away to roam hungrilyaround the sutler's camp again.

  "After all," he said, "these veterans have a right to jeer at us.They've seen war; and now they know whether they'll fight or runaway. It's more than we know, so far."

  "Well, I tell you," said Stephen candidly, "there's no chance of myrunning away. A fellow can't skedaddle when his father's lookingat him. Besides, Phil, I don't know how it is, but I'm not verymuch afraid, not as much as I thought I'd be."

  Berkley looked at him curiously. "Have you been much under fire?"

  "Only that affair at the Blue Bridge--you know yourself how it was.After the first shell had made me rather sick at my stomach I wasall right--except that I hated to see father sitting up there onhis horse while we were all lying snug in the wheat. . . . How didyou feel when the big shells came over?"

  "Bad," said Berkley briefly.

  "Sick?"

  "Worse."

  "I don't see why you should feel queer, Phil--after that bullything you did with the escort----"

  "Oh, hell!" cut in Berkley savagely, "I'm sick of hearing about it.If you all knew that I was too scared to realise what I was doingyou'd let up on that episode."

  Stephen laughed. "I hope our boys get scared in the sameway. . . . Hello, here's a friend of yours I believe----"

  They turned to encounter Casson, the big dragoon, arm in arm withthe artilleryman, Arthur Wye.

  "Give us some pie, you son of a gun!" they suggestedunceremoniously; and when supplied and munching, they all lockedarms and strolled out across the grass toward the hill, wherealready, dark against the blinding blue, hundreds of idle soldiershad gathered to sit on the turf and stare at the tall cloud on thehorizon, or watch the signal officer on the higher hill beyond,seated at his telescope, while, beside him, a soldier swung dirtysquare flags in the wind,

  As they arrived on the crest a quick exclamation escaped them; forthere, beyond, mile on mile, lay the armed host of which theirregiments were tiny portions.

  "Lord!" said Stephen in a low, surprised voice, "did you fellowsknow that the whole army was near here?"

  "Not I," said Berkley, gazing spellbound out across the rollingpanorama of river, swamp, woods, and fields. "I don't believe itoccurs very often, either--the chance to see an entire army all atonce, encamped right at your feet. What a lot of people andanimals!"

  They sat down, cross-legged, enjoying their pie, eyes wanderingwonderingly over the magic landscape. Here and there a marqueemarked some general's headquarters, but except for these there wereno tents save shelter tents in sight, and not so many of these,because many divisions had bivouacked, and others were incantonments where the white cupola of some house glimmered, or thethin spire of a church pierced green trees.

  Here and there they noted and pointed out to each other roads overwhich cavalry moved or long waggon trains crept. Down along theswamps that edged the river they could see soldiers buildingcorduroy, repairing bridges, digging ditches, and, in one spot,erecting a fort.

  "Oh, hell," said Casson, whose regiment, dismounted, had servedmuddy apprenticeship along the York River, "if they're going tobegin that kind of thing again I'd rather be at home laying gaspipes on Broadway!"

  "What kind of thing?" demanded Stephen.

  "That road making, swamp digging--all that fixing up forts for bigguns that nobody has a chance to fire because the Johnnies get outjust when everything's ready to blow 'em into the Union again.A--h!" he added in disgust, "didn't we have a dose of that atYorktown and Williamsburg? Why doesn't Little Mac start ushell-bent for Richmond and let us catch 'em on the jump?"

  For a while, their mouths full of pie, the soldiers, with theexception of Berkley, criticised their commander-in-chief,freely--their corps commanders, and every officer down to theirparticular corporals. That lasted for ten minutes. Then one andall began comparing these same maligned officers most favourablywith other officers of other corps; and they ended, as usual, byendorsing their commander-in-chief with enthusiasm, and by praisingevery officer under whom they served.

  Then they boasted of their individual regiments--all exceptBerkley--extolling their discipline, their marching, their foragingefficiency, their martyr-like endurance.

  "What's your Colonel like, anyway?" inquired Casson, turning toBerkley.

  "He's a good officer," said the latter indifferently.

  "Do you like him?"

  "He has--merit."

  "Jerusalem!" laughed Wye, "if that isn't a kick in the seat of hispants!"

  Berkley reddened. "You're mistaken, Arthur."

  "Didn't you tell me at Alexandria that you hated him?"

  "I said that--yes. I was disappointed because the WestchesterHorse was not attached to John Casson's regiment. . . . Idon't--dislike Colonel Arran."

  Berkley was still red; he lay in the grass on his stomach, watchingthe big cloud pile on the horizon.

  "You know," said Casson, "that part of our army stretches as far asthat smoke. We're the rear-guard."

  "Listen to the guns," said Wye, pretending technical familiarityeven at that distance. "They're big fellows--those Dahlgrens andColumbiads----"

  "Oh, bosh!" snapped Casson, "you can't tell a howitzer from arocket!"

  Wye sat up, thoroughly offended. "To prove _your_ dense ignorance,you yellow-bellied dragoon, let me ask you a simple question: Whena shell is fired toward you _can_ you see it coming?"

  "Certainly. Didn't we see the big shells at Yorktown----"

  "Wait! When a solid shot is fired, can you see it when it iscoming toward you?"

  "Certainly----"

  "No you can't, you ignoramus! You can see a shell coming or going;you can see a solid shot going--never coming from the enemy's guns.Aw! go soak that bull head of yours and wear a lady-like havelock!"

  The bickering discussion became general for a moment, then, stilldisputing, Casson and Wye walked off toward camp, and Stephen andBerkley followed.

  "Have you heard from your mother?" asked the latter, as theysauntered along over the grass.

  "Yes, twice. Father was worried half to death because she hadn'tyet left Paigecourt. Isn't it strange, Phil, that after all we'reso near mother's old home? And father was all against her going, Itell you, I'm worried."

  "She has probably gone by this time," observed Berkley.

  The boy nodded doubtfully; then: "I had a fine letter from Ailsa.She sent me twenty dollars," he added naively, "but our sutler hasgot it all."

  "What did Ailsa say?" asked Berkley casually.

  "Oh, she enquired about father and me--and you, too, I believe.Oh, yes; she wanted me to say to you that she was well---and so isthat other girl--what's her name?"

  "Letty Lynden?"

  "Oh, yes--Letty Lynden. They're in a horrible kind of a temporaryhospital down on the York River along with the Sisters of Charity;and she said she had just received orders to pack up and start westwith the ambulances."

  "West?"

  "I believe so."

  After a silence Berkley said:

  "I heard from her yesterday."

  "You did!"

  "Yes. Unless your father already knows, it might be well to say tohim that Ailsa's ambulance train is ordered to rendezvous in therear of the 5th Provisional Corps head-quarters."

  "Our corps!"

  "That looks like it, doesn't it? The 5th Provisional Corps isPorter's." He turned and looked back, out across the country.

  "She may be somewhere out yonder, at this very moment, Steve." Hemade a vague gesture toward the west, stood looking for a while,then turned and walk
ed slowly on with head lowered.

  "I wish my mother and Ailsa were back in New York," said the boyfretfully. "I don't see why the whole family should get into hotwater at the same time."

  "It wouldn't surprise me very much if Ailsa's ambulance landedbeside your mother's door at Paigecourt," said Berkley. "Thehead-quarters of the 5th Corps cannot be very far from Paigecourt."At the cavalry lines he offered his hand to Stephen in farewell.

  "Good-bye," said the boy. "I wish you the luck of the 6th Lancers.Since Hanover Court-House nobody calls 'em 'fresh fish'--justbecause they charged a few Johnnies with the lance and took a fewprisoners and lost thirty horses."

  Berkley laughed. "Thanks; and I wish you the luck of the 5thZouaves. They're into everything, I hear, particularly hen-coopsand pigpens. Casson says they live high in the 5th Zouaves. . .Good-bye, old fellow . . . will you remember me to your father?"

  "I will when he lets me talk to him," grinned Stephen. "We're adisciplined regiment--I found that out right away--and there'snothing soft for me to expect just because my father is colonel andJosiah Lent happens to be major."

  The regimental bands played the next day; the distant cannonade hadceased; sunshine fell from a cloudless sky, and the army watched amilitary balloon, the "Intrepid," high glistening above the river,its cables trailing in gracious curves earthward.

  Porter's 5th Corps now formed the rear-guard of the army; entireregiments went on picket, even the two regiments of Lancers tooktheir turn, though not armed for that duty. During the day therehad been some unusually brisk firing along the river, near enoughto cause regiments that had never been under fire to prick up athousand pairs of ears and listen. As the day lengthened towardevening, picket firing became incessant, and the occasional solidreport of a cannon from the shore opposite disclosed the presenceof Confederate batteries, the nearness of which surprised many anuntried soldier.

  Toward sundown Berkley saw a business-like cavalry officer rideinto camp with an escort of the 5th Regulars. Men around him saidthat the officer was General Philip St. George Cooke, and that thechances were that the regiments of the reserve were going intoaction pretty soon.

  About 3 o'clock the next morning boots and saddles sounded from thehead-quarters of the Cavalry Reserve brigade and the 5th and 6thUnited States Cavalry, followed by Colonel Rush's Lancers, rode outof their camp grounds and were presently followed by the 1st UnitedStates and a squadron of Pennsylvania carbineers.

  The troopers of the 8th Lancers watched them ride away in the dawn;but mo orders came to follow them, and, discontented, muttering,they went sullenly about their duties, wondering why they, also,had not been called on.

  That nobody had caught the great Confederate cavalryman did notconsole them; they had to listen to the jeers of the infantry,blaming them for Stuart's great raid around the entire Union army;in sickening reiteration came the question: "Who ever saw a deadcavalryman?" And, besides, one morning in a road near camp, someof the 8th Lancers heard comments from a group of general officerswhich were not at all flattering to their own cavalry.

  "You see," said a burly colonel of engineers, "that this armydoesn't know what real cavalry looks like--except when it gets aglimpse of Jeb Stuart's command."

  An infantry colonel coincided with him, profanely:

  "That damned rebel cavalry chases ours with a regularity andpersistence that makes me ill. Did the world ever see the like ofit? You send out one of our mounted regiments to look for amounted rebel regiment, and the moment it finds what it's lookin'for the rebs give a pleased sort of yell, and ours turn tail.Because it's become a habit: that's why our cavalry runs! And thenthe fun begins! Lord God Almighty! what's the matter with ourcavalry?"

  "You can't make cavalry in a few months," observed a colonel ofheavy artillery, stretching his fat, scarlet-striped legs in hisstirrups. "What do you expect? Every man, woman, and child southof Mason and Dixon's Line knows how to ride. The Southerners areborn horsemen. We in the North are not. That's the difference.We've got to learn to be. Take a raw soldier and send him forthmounted on an animal with which he has only a most formalacquaintance, and his terrors are increased twofold. When you givehim a sabre, pistol, and carbine, to take care of when he has allhe can do to take care of himself, those terrors increase inproportion. _Then_ show him the enemy and send him intobattle--and what is the result? Skedaddle!

  "Don't make any mistake; we haven't any cavalry yet. Some day wewill, when our men learn to ride faster than a walk."

  "God!" muttered a brigadier-general under his white moustache;"it's been a bitter pill to swallow--this raid around our entirearmy by fifteen hundred of Jeb Stuart's riders and two iron guns!"

  The half dozen lancers, lying on their bellies in the grass on thebank above the road where this discussion took place remainedcrimson, mute, paralysed with mortification. Was _that_ what thearmy thought of them?

  But they had little time for nursing their mortification thatmorning; the firing along the river was breaking out in patcheswith a viciousness and volume heretofore unheard; and a six-gunConfederate field battery had joined in, arousing the entire campof Claymore's brigade. Louder and louder grew the uproar along theriver; smoke rose and took silvery-edged shape in the sunshine;bugles were calling to the colours regiments encamped on the right;a light battery trotted out across a distant meadow, unlimbered andwent smartly into action.

  About noon the bugles summoned the 3rd Zouaves. As they wereforming, the camps of the 8th Lancers and the 10th Light Batteryrang with bugle music. Berkley, standing to horse, saw the Zouavesleaving the hill at a jog-trot, their red legs twinkling; but halfway down the slope they were halted to dress ranks; and theLancers, cantering ahead, turned westward and moved off along theedge of the river swamp toward the piled-up cloud of smoke downstream.

  After them trotted the 10th New York Flying Battery as though onparade, their guidons standing straight out behind thered-and-white guidons of the Lancers.

  The Zouaves had now reached wet land, where a staff officer metColonel Craig and piloted him through a field of brush and wildgrass, and under the parapets of an emplacement for big guns, onwhich men were nonchalantly working, to the beginning of a newlylaid road of logs. The noise of musketry and the smoke had becomeprodigious. On the logs of the road lay the first big pool ofblood that many of them had ever seen. What it had come from theycould not determine; there was nothing dead or dying there.

  The men glanced askance at the swamp where the black shining waterhad risen almost level with the edges of the road; but the Coloneland his staff, still mounted, rode coolly over it, and the regimentfollowed.

  The corduroy road through the heavily wooded swamp which the 3rdZouaves now followed was the only inlet to the noisy scene of localaction, and the only outlet, too.

  Except for watching the shells at Blue Bridge, the regiment hadnever been in battle, had never seen or heard a real battle; manyhad never even seen a wounded man. They understood that they weregoing into battle now; and now the regiment caught sight of itsfirst wounded men. Stretchers passed close to them on whichsoldiers lay naked to the waist, some with breasts glistening redand wet from unstopped haemorrhage, some with white bodies markedonly by the little round blue hole with its darker centre.Soldiers passed them, limping, bloody rags dripping from thigh orknee; others staggered along with faces the colour of clay, leaningon the arms of comrades, still others were carried out feet first,sagging, a dead-weight in the arms of those who bore them. One manwith half his fingers gone, the raw stumps spread, hurried out,screaming, and scattering blood as he ran.

  The regiment passed an artilleryman lying in the water whose head,except for the lower jaw, was entirely missing; and another on hisback in the ooze whose bowels were protruding between his fingers;and he was trying very feebly to force them back, while twocomrades strove in vain to lift him.

  The regiment sickened as it looked; here and there a young zouaveturned deathly pale, reeled out of the ranks, l
eaned against atree, nauseated, only to lurch forward again at the summons of theprovost guard; here and there a soldier disengaged his white turbanfrom his fez and dropped it to form a sort of Havelock; for thevertical sun was turning the men dizzy, and the sights they sawwere rapidly unnerving them.

  They heard the tremendous thunder and felt the concussion of bigguns; the steady raining rattle of musketry, the bark of howitzers,the sharp, clean crack of rifled field guns dismayed them.Sometimes, far away, they could distinguish the full deep cheeringof a Union regiment; and once they caught the distant treble battlecry of the South. There were moments when a sudden lull in thenoise startled the entire regiment. Even their officers looked upsharply at such times. But ahead they could still see ColonelCraig riding calmly forward, his big horse picking its leisurelyway over the endless road of logs; they could see the clipped grayhead of Major Lent under its red forage-cap, steady, immovable, ashe controlled his nervous mount with practised indifference.

  It was broiling hot in the swamp; the Zouaves stood bathed inperspiration as the regiment halted for a few minutes, then theymoved forward again toward a hard ridge of grass which glimmeredgreen beyond the tangled thicket's edges.

  Here the regiment was formed in line of battle, and ordered to liedown.

  Stephen wiped his sweaty hands on his jacket and, lifting his headfrom the grass, looked cautiously around. Already there had beenfighting here; a section of a dismantled battery stood in the roadahead; dead men lay around it; smoke still hung blue in the woods.The air reeked.

  The Zouaves lay in long scarlet rows on the grass; their officersstood leaning on their naked swords, peering ahead where theColonel, Major, and a mounted bugler were intently watchingsomething--the two officers using field glasses. In a few momentsboth officers dismounted, flung their bridles to an orderly, andcame back, walking rather quickly. Major Lent drawing his bright,heavy sword and tucking up his gold-embroidered sleeves as he cameon.

  "Now, boys," said Colonel Craig cheerfully, "we are going in. Allyou've got to do can be done quickly and thoroughly with thebayonet. Don't cock your muskets, don't fire unless you're toldto. Perhaps you won't have to fire at all. All I want of you isto keep straight on after me--right through those dry woods, there.Try to keep your intervals and alignment; don't yell until yousight the enemy, don't lose your heads, trust your officers. Wherethey go you are safest."

  He dropped his eye-glasses into his slashed pocket, drew out andput on a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. The soldiers saw himsmile and say something to Major Lent, saw him bare his handsomesword, saw the buglers setting the shining bugles to their lips.

  "Now, _charge_, you red-legged rascals!" shouted Major Lent; and upfrom the grass rose a wave of scarlet and flashing steel.

  Charge! Charge! echoed the bugles; a wailing storm, high among thetree tops, passed over them as they entered the dry woods on a run;branches crashed earthward, twig's and limbs crackled down inwhirling confusion. But there was nothing in the woods exceptsmoke--and the streaming storm shrilling overhead, raining down onthem leaves and boughs and splintered sticks.

  The belt of woodland was very narrow; already the men could seesunlight on the farther edge, and catch glimpses of fields; andstill they ran forward, keeping their alignment as best they mightamong the trees; and came, very soon, to the wood's edge. Herethey were halted and ordered to lie down again; and they lay there,close to the ground among the dead leaves, while from above livingleaves rained on them in never-ending showers, and the wild tempestsped overhead unchecked.

  Far out across the fields in the sunshine, looking diminutive astoys in the distance, four cannon puffed smoke toward them. TheZouaves could see the guns--see even the limbers and caissonsbehind, and the harnessed teams, and the cannoneers very busily atwork in the sunshine. Then a long low wall of white smoke suddenlyappeared along a rail fence in front of the guns, and at the sametime the air thickened with bullets storming in all about them.

  The Colonel and the Major had run hastily out into the field. "Getup! Get up!" shouted the company officers. "Left dress, there!Forward! Don't cock your rifles; don't fire until you're told to.Steady there on the left. Forward! Forward!"

  "Now yell, you red-legs! Yell!"

  As they started running, their regimental colours fell, man and nagsprawling in the grass; and the entire line halted, bewildered.The next instant a zouave had lifted the colours, and was runningforward; and: "Get on there! Continue the movement! What inhell's the matter with you Zouaves!" shouted theirlieutenant-colonel. And the sagging scarlet line bellied out,straightened as the flanks caught up, and swept out into thesunshine with a cheer--the peculiar Zouave cheer--not very fullyet, for they had not yet lost the troubled wonder of things.

  Stephen, running with shouldered musket, saw close ahead a longline of blue smoke and flame, but instead of the enemy there wasnothing hidden behind the smoke except a long field-ditch in whichdry brush was burning.

  Into the ditch tumbled the regiment, and lay panting, coughing,kicking out the embers, and hugging the ground closely, because nowthe storm that had swept the tree tops was shaving the weeds andgrass around them; and the drone of bullets streaming over theditch rose to a loud, fierce whine.

  Up in the blue sky little white clouds suddenly unfolded themselveswith light reports, and disappeared, leaving jagged streamers ofvapour afloat here and there; the near jarring discharge ofartillery shook the ground till bits of sod fell in particles,crumbling from the ditch's edge; the outrageous racket of musketrynever slackened.

  Lying there, they heard a sudden burst of cheering, and far to theleft saw another regiment come tumbling into the ditch and crouch,huddled there in a blue line stretching as far away as they couldsee. And again the firing increased to a stunning roar, and therewere more cheers; and, to their right, another regiment camerunning and rolling into the ditch.

  Officers, recklessly erect, stood here and there along the interiorof the ditch; then from the lair of each regiment flags emerged,bugles blew clear and impatient; there came an upheaval ofbayonets, and the three regiments scrambled to their feet, over theditch's edge, and surged forward into the sunshine.

  Across the fields Stephen saw guns being limbered up; and driverslashing their horses to a gallop across a bridge. The regiment ontheir left was firing by wings as it advanced, the regiment on theright had broken into a heavy run, yelling: "Hey! We want themguns! Wait a second, will yer? Where you takin' them guns to?"

  There was a new rail fence close in front of the Zouaves, barringtheir way to the bridge; and suddenly, from behind it, men arosewith levelled muskets; and the Zouaves dropped flat to the volleythat buried the fence in smoke.

  "Now, boys!" cried Colonel Craig, "we've got to have that bridge!So we'll finish this business right here with the bayonet. Come onand let's end it _now_!"

  Major Lent ran forward and started to climb the smoky fence;everywhere the Zouaves were swarming along the newly split rails ordriving their bayonets through the smoke at the gray phantomsclustering behind. Shots rang out, the crack of stock againststock, the ringing clamour and click of steel filled the air.

  The zouave next to Stephen lurched up against him spouting bloodfrom the neck; on the other side of him another, a sergeant, too,had gone stark mad, apparently, and was swinging his terrible sabrebayonet without regard to friend or foe; and still another man ofhis squad, swearing horridly, had clutched a ghostly enemy in thesmoke across the fence and was trying to strangle him with his barehands.

  Stephen, bewildered by a blow which glanced from his head to hisleft shoulder, clung to his musket and tried to stagger forward,but a bayonet seared his right temple, tearing the scalp andletting down a rush of blood all over his face and eyes. Blinded,the boy called instinctively: "Father! I'm hurt! Could you helpme!"

  Colonel Craig turned white under his tan, and looked back.

  "I can't help you, my boy. Sergeant, will you look after my son?"And he ran forward
into the infernal network of bayonets, callingout: "Get through there, boys. We might as well clean up this messwhile we're about it. Pull down that fence! Never mind those menbehind it!--rush it! Kick it over! Now come on! I don't ask youto do anything that I don't do. Major Lent and I will take youthrough. Come on and take that bridge!"

  A captain, fighting back the bayonets with his sword, suddenlyfloundered to the fence top and clung, balanced on his belly,shouting hysterically:

  "Look at the Lancers! Look at 'em coming! Now, Zouaves! Pulldown the fence and give them a chance to charge the bridge!"

  Over a low swell of land some horsemen trotted into view; behindthem the horizon was suddenly filled with the swimming scarletpennons of the Lancers. A thousand horses' heads shot up againstthe sky line, manes tossing; a thousand lance points fell to aglittering level.

  They were cheering shrilly as they came on; the Zouaves heard them,the gray infantry regiment gave way, turned, filed off, retreatingtoward the bridge at a slow trot like some baffled but dangerousanimal; and after it ran the Zouaves, firing, screaming, maddenedto hysteria by their first engagement, until their panting officersand their bugles together barely managed to halt them short of theedges of utter annihilation just as a full Confederate brigade rosegrimly from the wood's edge across the stream, ready to end theirhysterical yelling for ever.

  Stephen, sitting on the grass among the dead and stricken, tied hisbloody turban, pulled the red fez close over it, smeared the bloodfrom his eyes, and, clutching his musket, stood up unsteadily.

  He could see the charge of the 8th Lancers--see the horsemen wheeland veer wildly as they received the fire of the Confederate troopsfrom the woods across the stream, squadron after squadron sheeringoff at a gallop and driving past the infantry, pell-mell, a wildriot of maddened horses, yelling riders, and streaming scarletpennons descending in one vivid, headlong torrent to the bridge.But the structure was already hopelessly afire; and the baffledcarbineers of the advance reined up at the edge of the burningtimbers and sent an angry volley after the gray infantry nowjogging back into the woods beyond. Then, suddenly, the Zouavesheard the Lancers cheering wildly in the smoke of the burningstructure, but did not know what it meant.

  It meant--Berkley.

  Fear had squired him that day. When the bugles sounded through thecannon thunder and his squadron trotted out, Fear, on a paler horsethan Death bestrides, cantered with him, knee to knee. Fear'sstartled eyes looked into his through the jetted smoke of musketry,through the tumult of the horses and the trumpets; Fear made hisvoice light and thin, so that he scarcely heard it amid the fiercecheering of his comrades, the pounding of hoofs, the futileclattering of equipments.

  It was all a swift and terrible nightmare to him--the squadronsbreaking into a gallop, the woods suddenly belted with smoke, thethud and thwack of bullets pelting leather and living flesh, thefrantic plunging of stricken horses, the lightning down-crash ofriders hurled earthward at full speed, the brief glimpses ofscarlet streaks under foot--of a horse's belly and agonisediron-shod feet, of a white face battered instantly intoobliteration, of the ruddy smoke flowing with sparks amid whichbugles rang above the clashing halt of maddened squadrons.

  Then, through the rolling ocean of smoke, he saw officers and mentrying to hack away and beat out the burning timbers--saw areckless carbineer--his own tent-mate--dismount and run out acrossthe planking which was already afire, saw him stumble and roll overas a bullet hit him, get to his knees blindly, trip and fall flatin the smoke. Then Fear bellowed in Berkley's ear; but he hadalready clapped spurs to his horse, cantering out across theburning planking and straight into the smoke pall.

  "Where are you, Burgess?" he shouted. The Fear of Death stiffenedhis lips as he reined up in the whirling spark-shot obscurity."Burgess--damn you--answer me, can't you!" he stammered, halfstrangled in the smoke, trying to master his terrified mount withrein and knee and heel.

  Vaguely he heard comrades shouting for him to come back, heardshells exploding amid the smoke, wheeled his staggering horse, bentswiftly and grasped at an inanimate form in the smoke, missed,dismounted and clutched the senseless carbineer--his comrade--andonce his valet.

  "He dismounted and clutched the senselesscarbineer."]

  Out of the fiery tunnel came tearing his terrified horse,riderless; out of the billowing, ruddy vapours reeled Berkley,dragging the carbineer.

  It was the regiment cheering him that the Zouaves heard.

  The fields were now swimming in bluish smoke; through it theZouaves were reforming as they marched. Little heaps of brilliantcolour dotting the meadow were being lifted and carried off thefield by comrades; a few dismounted carbineers ran hither andthither, shooting hopelessly crippled horses. Here and there adead lancer lay flat in the grass, his scarlet pennon a vivid spotbeside him.

  The hill road to the burning bridge was now choked with ColonelArran's regiment, returning to the crest of the hill; through theblackish and rolling smoke from the bridge infantry were creepingswiftly forward toward the river bank, and very soon theintermittent picket firing began again, running up and down thecreek bank and out across the swamp lands, noisily increasing as itwoke up vicious volleys from the woods on the opposite bank, andfinally aroused the cannon to thunderous anger.

  Berkley, standing to horse with his regiment on the sparsely woodedhill crest, could see the crowding convolutions of smoke risingfrom the thickets, as each gun spoke from the Confederatebatteries. But to him their thunder was like the thunder in adream.

  Hour after hour the regiment stood to horse; hour after hour thebattle roared west and south of them. An irregular cloud, slenderat the base, spreading on top, towered to mid zenith above theforest. Otherwise, save for the fleecy explosion of shells in thequivering blue vault above, nothing troubled the sunshine that layover hill and valley, wood and river and meadowland.

  McDunn's battery was not firing; the Zouaves lay dozing awake inthe young clover, the Lancers, standing to horse, looked out acrossthe world of trees and saw nothing stirring save a bird or twowinging hastily northward.

  Berkley could distinguish a portion of the road that ran down tothe burning bridge, where part of McDunn's battery was in position.Across the hills to the left a scarlet windrow undulating on eitherflank of the battery marked the line of battle where the Zouaveslay in a clover-field, within supporting distance of the guns.

  Except for these, and a glimpse of Lowe's balloon overhead, Berkleycould not see anything whatever even remotely connected with theuproar which continued steadily in the west and south. Nobodyseemed to know whose troops were engaged, where they came from,whither they were trying to force a fiery road through a land inarms against their progress.

  At times, to Berkley, it seemed as though every tree, every hill,every thicket was watching him with sombre intent; as if Natureherself were hostile, stealthy, sinister, screening terrors yetunloosed, silently storing up violence in dim woods, aiding andabetting ambush with all her clustering foliage; and that everyriver, every swamp, every sunny vista concealed some hidden path todeath.

  He stood rigid at his horse's head, lance in hand, dirty,smoke-blackened, his ears deafened by the cannonade, his eyes cooland alert, warily scanning hill and hollow and thicket.

  Dead men of his regiment were borne past him; he glanced furtivelyat them, not yet certain that the lower form of fear had left him,not yet quite realising that he had blundered into manhood--thatfor the first time in his life he was ready to take his chance withlife.

  But, little by little, as the hours passed, there in the troddengrass he began to understand something of the unformulated decisionthat had been slowly growing in him--of the determination, takingshape, to deal more nobly with himself--with this harmless selfwhich had accepted unworthiness and all its attributes, and whichriven pride would have flung back at the civilisation which brandedhim as base.

  It came--this knowledge--like a slowly increasing flare of light;and at last he said under his breath
, to himself:

  "Nothing is unworthily born that is born of God's own law. I havebeen what I chose. I can be what I will."

  A gracious phantom grew under his eyes taking exquisite shapebefore him; and dim-eyed, he stared at it till it dwindled, faded,dissolved into empty air and sunshine.

  No; he could never marry without revealing what he was; and that hewould never do because of loyalty to that tender ghost which hemust shield for ever even as he would have shielded her in life.

  No living soul had any right to know. No love of his for any womancould ever justify betrayal of what alone concerned the dead.

  The shells, which, short fused, had been bursting high above theswamp to the right, suddenly began to fall nearer the cavalry, andafter a while a shell exploded among them, killing a horse.

  They retired by squadrons, leisurely, and in good order; but theshells followed them, searching them out and now and then findingthem with a deafening racket and cloud of smoke, out of whichmangled horses reared, staggered, and rolled over screaming; out ofwhich a rider, here and there was hurled sideways, head first, orsent spinning and headless among his white-faced comrades.

  McDunn's guns had opened now, attempting to extinguish the fire ofthe troublesome Confederate battery. Berkley, teeth set, pallid,kept his place in the ranks, and hung to his horse's head until hegot the animal calmed again. One of his sleeves was covered withblood from a comrade's horse, blown into fragments beside him.

  He could see McDunn's gunners working methodically amid the vapourssteaming back from the battery as it fired by sections; saw theguns jump, buried in smoke; saw the long flames flicker, flicker,flicker through the cannon mist; felt the solid air strike him inthe face at each discharge.

  Hallam, white as a sheet, stood motionless at the head of histroop; a shell had just burst, but it was as though he dared notlook back until Colonel Arran rode slowly over to the strickencompany--and saw Berkley still standing at his horse's head, andgave him a look that the younger man never forgot.

  Again, by troops, the Lancers retired; and again the yelling shellsfound them, and they retired to the base of a hill. And came upona division in full panic.

  Over a culvert and down a wooded road troops of all arms wereriotously retreating, cavalry, baggage-waggons, battered fragmentsof infantry regiments, ambulances, all mixed and huddled pell-mellinto a headlong retreat that stretched to the rear as far as theeye could see.

  Astonished, the Lancers looked on, not understanding, fearful ofsome tremendous disaster. A regiment of regular cavalry of theProvost Guard was riding through the fugitives, turning, checking,cutting out, driving, separating the disorganised mob; but it washard work, and many got away, and teamsters began to cut traces,and skulking cavalrymen clapped spurs and rode over screechingdeserters who blocked their path. It was a squalid sight; theLancers looked on appalled.

  Colonel Arran rode his horse slowly along the front of hisregiment, talking quietly to his men.

  "It's only one or two of the raw brigades and a few teamsters andfrightened sutlers--that's all. Better that the Provost Guardshould let them through; better to sift out that kind of soldier.". . . He calmly turned his horse's head and rode back along thelines of horses and dismounted troopers, commenting reassuringly onwhat was taking place around them.

  "There is never any safety in running away unless your officersorder you to run. The discipline of a regiment is the onlysecurity for the individual. There is every chance of safety aslong as a regiment holds together; no chance at all if itdisintegrates.

  "The regulars understand that; it is what makes them formidable; itis what preserves them individually, and every man knows it. Theregulars don't run; it happens to be contrary to their traditions;but those traditions originated less in sentiment than in plaincommon-sense."

  He turned his horse and walked the animal slowly along the lines.

  "I am exceedingly gratified by the conduct of this regiment," hesaid. "You have done all that has been asked of you. To do morethan is asked of you is not commendable in a soldier, though it maydisplay individual courage. . . . The carbineer, Burgess, 10thtroop, Captain Hallam, was foolhardy to attempt the bridge withoutorders. . . . The lancer, Ormond, 10th troop, Captain Hallam,however, did his full duty--admirably--when he faced death torescue a wounded comrade from the flames. . . . In England aVictoria Cross is given for deeds of this kind. The regimentrespects him--and respects itself. . . . I care to believe thatthere is not one officer or trooper in my command who is not readyto lay down his life for a friend. . . . I am happy in theconsciousness that it is not courage which is lacking in thiscommand; it is only experience. And that will come; it came withthe shells on the slope yonder. There is no more severe test of aregiment's discipline than to endure the enemy's fire without beingable to retaliate."

  The regiment's eyes were fastened on their colonel's tall heavyfigure as he walked his powerful horse slowly to and fro alongtheir front, talking to them in his calm, passionless manner.Strained muscles and tense nerves relaxed; breath came moreregularly and naturally; men ventured to look about them morefreely, to loosen the spasmodic grip on curb and snaffle, to speakto comrades in low tones, inquiring what damage other troops hadsustained.

  The regular cavalry of the Provost Guard had turned the tide ofstragglers now, letting through only the wounded and the teams.But across the open fields wreckage from the battle was streamingin every direction; and so stupid and bewildered with fear weresome of the fugitives that McDunn's battery had to cease its firefor a time, while the officers ran forward through the smoke,shouting and gesticulating to warn the mass of skulkers out of theway.

  And now a fearful uproar of artillery arose immediately to thewest, shells began to rain in the river woods, then shrapnel, then,in long clattering cadence, volley succeeded volley, faster,faster, till the outcrash became one solid, rippling roar.

  Far to the west across the country the Lancers saw regimentspassing forward through the trees at a quick-step; saw batteriesgalloping hither and thither, aides-de-camp and staff-officersracing to and fro at full speed.

  The 3rd Zouaves rose from the clover, shouldered muskets, and movedforward on a run; a staff-officer wheeled out of the road, jumpedhis horse over the culvert, and galloped up to Colonel Arran. Andthe next moment the Lancers were in the saddle and moving at a trotout toward the left of McDunn's battery.

  They stood facing the woods, lances poised, for about ten minutes,when a general officer with dragoon escort came galloping down theroad and through the meadow toward McDunn's battery. It wasClaymore, their general of brigade.

  "Retire by prolonge!" he shouted to the battery commander, pullingin his sweating horse. "We've got to get out of this!" And toColonel Arran, who had ridden up, flushed and astonished: "We'vegot to leave this place," he repeated shortly. "They're drivingthe Zouaves in on us."

  All along the edge of the woods the red breeches of the Zouaveswere reappearing, slowly retreating in excellent order beforesomething as yet unseen. The men turned every few paces to fire bycompanies, only to wheel again, jog-trot toward the rear, halt,load, swing to deliver their fire, then resume their joggingretreat.

  Back they fell, farther, farther, while McDunn's battery continuedto fire and retire by prolonge, and the Lancers, long weaponsdisengaged, accompanied them, ready to support the guns in anemergency.

  The emergency seemed very near. Farther to the left a blueregiment appeared enveloped in spouting smoke, fairly hurled bodilyfrom the woods; Egerton's 20th Dragoons came out of a concealedvalley on a trot, looking behind them, their rear squadron firingfrom the saddle in orderly retreat; the Zouaves, powder soiled,drenched in sweat, bloody, dishevelled, passed to the left of thebattery and lay down.

  Then, from far along the stretch of woods, arose a sound,incessant, high-pitched--a sustained treble cadence, nearer,nearer, louder, shriller, like the excited cry of a hunting pack,bursting into a paroxysm of hysterical chorus as a long line ofgr
ay men leaped from the wood's edge and swept headlong toward theguns.

  Berkley felt every nerve in his body leap as his lance fell to alevel with eight hundred other lances; he saw the battery buryitself in smoke as gun after gun drove its cannister into obscurityor ripped the smoke with sheets of grape; he saw the Zouaves risefrom the grass, deliver their fire, sink back, rise again whiletheir front spouted smoke and flame.

  The awful roar of the firing to the right deafened him; he caught aglimpse of squadrons of regular cavalry in the road, slingingcarbines and drawing sabres; a muffled blast of bugles reached hisears; and the nest moment he was trotting out into the smoke.

  After that it was a gallop at full speed; and he remembered nothingvery distinctly, saw nothing clearly, except that, everywhere amonghis squadron ran yelling men on foot, shooting, lunging withbayonets, striking with clubbed rifles. Twice he felt the shockingimpact of his lance point; once he drove the ferruled counterpoiseat a man who went down under his horse's feet. One moment therewas a perfect whirlwind of scarlet pennons flapping around him,another and he was galloping alone across the grass, lance crossedfrom right to left, tugging at his bridle. Then he set the reekingferrule in his stirrup boot, slung the shaft from the braided armloop, and drew his revolver--the new weapon lately issued, with itscurious fixed ammunition and its cap imbedded.

  There were groups of gray infantry in the field, walking, running,or standing still and firing; groups of lancers and dragoonstrotting here and there, wheeling, galloping furiously at the menon foot. A number of foot soldiers were crowding around a mixedcompany of dragoons and Lancers, striking at them, shooting intothem. He saw the Lieutenant-colonel of his own regiment tumble outof his saddle; saw Major Lent put his horse to a dead run and rideover a squad of infantry; saw Colonel Arran disengage his horsefrom the crush, wheel, and begin to use his heavy sabre in the massaround him.

  Bugles sounded persistently; he set spurs to his tired horse androde toward the buglers, and found himself beside Colonel Arran,who, crimson in the face, was whipping his way out with drippingsabre.

  Across a rivulet on the edge of the woods he could see theregimental colours and the bulk of his regiment re-forming; and hespurred forward to join them, skirting the edge of a tangle ofinfantry, dragoons, and lancers who were having a limited butbloody affair of their own in a cornfield where a flag tossedwildly--a very beautiful, square red flag, its folds emblazonedwith a blue cross set with stars,

  Out of the melee a score of dishevelled lancers came plungingthrough the corn, striking right and left at the infantry thatclung to them with the fury of panthers; the square battle flag,flung hither and thither, was coming close to him; he emptied hisrevolver at the man who carried it, caught at the staff, missed,was almost blinded by the flashing blast from a rifle, set spurs tohis horse, leaned wide from his saddle, seized the silk, jerked itfrom its rings, and, swaying, deluged with blood from asword-thrust in the face, let his frantic horse carry him whitherit listed, away, away, over the swimming green that his sickenedeyes could see no longer.