An Unofficial Patriot

by Helen H. Gardener

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  _"Into the jaws of death,

  Into the mouth of hell."_

  Tennyson.

  It had rained in torrents. The stiff day of the muddy roads was ankledeep. Roy's regiment in camp near the Tennessee river was whiling awayits time as best it could. It was generally understood that they wereto be Joined in a day or two by reinforcements, and then march on toCorinth. Roy knew that Beverly was to be with the expected command.The young lieutenant--a first lieutenant now--was proud and eager. Hethought it would be a fine thing for him and Beverly to fight sideby side. He meant to show Beverly that he was no longer a boy. A softsilken mustache had come to accent his fresh complexion, and he was ashandsome and tall and graceful and erect as a young soldier need be.He carried himself with peculiar grace, and he was an inch taller thanBeverly, now. He hoped that he would be taller than his brother, andhe walked very erect, indeed, as he thought about it. Then he smiledto himself and said half aloud, "He will be here to-morrow, and I shallgive him a great welcome--and a surprise." This was his last thoughtas he turned on his side, and fell into a soldier's dreamless sleep,in spite of rain and mud, in spite of noise and confusion, in spite ofdanger and anxiety.

  It was the night of the fifth of April. Roy had planned to appear verysplendid to his brother on the morrow. He had shaved freshly and brushedhis uniform, and rubbed up his new shoulder straps. His sword wasburnished, and the boy had smiled to himself many times as he workedover these details, to think how vain he was, and how anxious thatBeverly should look pleased and proud when he should see him at hisbest. He seemed to have slept only a little while when there straggledinto his consciousness the sound of a shot, then another and another;then a sudden indescribable noise and confusion roused him wholly. Hesprang to his feet.

  The gray of the dawning day was here. Bugles were sounding. Confusion,noise, action was on all sides. The camp had been surprised! The enemywas upon them! Grape, canister and Enfield balls tore through the tents.Shells burst; the first vision that met his eyes as he rushed forth, wasa horse of one of their own batteries, struggling, moaning, whinnyingpitifully with both fore-legs torn away, and the cannon half overturned.An onrushing force of Confederates shouting in triumph. As his ownregiment tried to form in line, three terrified horses tore pastdragging their fellow, and what was left of the dismantled cannon. Theywere wounding each other cruelly in their mad frenzy of pain and fright.They fell in one mass of struggling, suffering, panic-stricken fleshinto the river and drowned, with their harness binding them together,and to the wreck of their dismantled burden. Everything was confusion.Each regiment was doing its best to form and repulse the terribleonslaught. The surprise had been complete. The scouts had beensurrounded and captured, and the pickets killed or driven in at thefirst charge which had awakened the sleeping camp. The horrors, thedisasters and the triumphs of Shiloh had begun!

  There was no time to think. Action, alone, was possible--the intuitiveaction of the soldier. The men formed as best they could, and fought asthey fell back, or as they advanced a step, with dogged determination toretrieve lost ground. Some were driven into the river, and when wounded,fell beneath its waves to rise no more. The intrepid Confederatesfollowed up their first dash with persistent determination, in spite ofthe forced march which had preceded the surprise, and in spite of hungerand uncertainty when their supplies might come. They aimed at nothingshort of capture. Then supplies would be theirs without delay. But everyfoot of ground was being stubbornly contested. Now a gain was made,now a loss. Both sides were fighting with that desperation which makescertain only one thing as the issue of the battle--the certainty of anawful carnage. At Such a time it does not seem possible, and yet it istrue, that a sense of reckless humor finds place and material to feedits fancy. A good-natured badinage held possession of many of the men.

  Roy's regiment had been driven back by the first sudden onrush. It hadformed and fought as it went, but it had undoubtedly been forced fromits position of advantage on the rise of the hill. They were strugglingdesperately to regain it. Every man seemed determined to stand againwhere he had stood an hour before or die in the attempt. A large pieceof paper pinned to a tree with a bayonet, attracted Roy's attention asthe smoke was lifted for a moment, while they pushed forward inch byinch. The boys had seen its like before. They understood and it actedlike a stimulant upon them. Some of the boys laughed outright. Thesmoke hid the paper. The next volley had driven the Confederates a stepfarther back. The ground was strewn with their men, lying side by sidewith those who had fallen from the Northern ranks at the first dash ofthe enemy. The tree with the paper was a trifle nearer.

  "Charge for that challenge, boys! Charge!" shouted Roy, and theyresponded with a yell and a murderous volley as they ran. It was almostwithin reach now, but the men who had posted it fought like tigers tohold their ground.

  "We'll get it, boys! We'll get it!" rang out with the roar of thebattle. At last the tree was only a few feet away. A private dashed outof the line, and grasped the bayonet that held the coveted paper andswung it aloft. The challenge was captured! Even the boys who lay onthe ground joined in the triumphal shout and one of them volunteered toreply. He had a good arm left! He took a pencil from his breast pocket,and turned his body painfully, slowly, so that he could write. The stockof his gun was desk enough. He read the captured paper and laughed. "The------ La. presents its compliments to the ------ Ind., and intends tothrash it out of its boots--as usual."

  The wounded man turned the paper over and wrote: "The ------ Ind.returns its compliments to the ------ La. and expresses a desire to seeit accomplish the job." He was so near to the tree that he thought hecould drag himself to it and post up the reply on the far side, but hislegs were numb and helpless, and the pain of dragging himself on handsand hips conquered him. He looked all about him. The ambulance workershad come, not far away, to carry off the wounded. One came near andoffered to help him.

  "Pin that paper to the far side of that tree, first," he said, with agrim smile. "I'll wait."

  The man refused, but the wounded fellow essaying to drag himself towardit again, he yielded, and the return challenge was posted.

  Two hours later its work, was done. The ------

  La. held the hill again! A laughing shout went up. It might have been awarmly contested game of football, so free from malice was it.

  All over the great battle-field the work of the day was back and forthover the same bloody and trampled ground. The mud of the morning took onanother tinge of red, and the mingled blood of the gallant fellows whogave their lives for the side they had espoused made hideous mortar ofthe ghastly sacrifice. The river ran on its way to the sea, floating thecostliest driftwood ever cast by man as an offering to his own passions,mistakes, and ambitions; a driftwood pale and ghastly, clad in gray orin blue, and scattering from Maine to Texas, from ocean to ocean,the sorrow that travels in the wake of war, the anguish of those whosilently wait by the fireside, for the step that will never come, forthe voice that is silent forever! Ah, the ghastliness of war! Ah, thecostliness of war! It is those who do not fight who pay the heaviestdebt and find its glory ashes!

  On the hill was the rivalry of the challenge. It gave grim humor to thecontest. Three challenges were taken, and three replaced, before thesunset brought that suspension of effort which left the hill, the tree,and the final glory of the day in the hands of the Confederates. Thedrawn battle was over for the night, but the trend of the victory wassouthward, and the heavens once more deluged the dead and dying with thepitiless downpour of chilling rain all the night long. In thenorthern camp the tired men slept in spite of rain and mud and distantcannonading. With the slain beside them, the groans of the dyingabout them, the echo of the conflict in their ears, the promise of thestruggle of the morrow, still the tired men slept! In the Confederatecamp sleep was impossible. The Federal relief boats had come! To-morrowfresh men would fill the Northern ranks. Meantime the thunder of thegreat gunboats continued the unequal contest.
Shot and shell fell withthe rain into the Confederate camp. All night the bombardment went on.The river was tinged with red, the heavens kept up the old refrain andwept for the sins, the mistakes, the cruelties of men, and still thetired soldiers slept and waited for the morrow--and what? There would beno more surprises at least. Both understood now that it was a stubbornfight. Both knew that the reinforcements were here for the Federaltroops. Pickets and scouts were wide awake now; no danger of anothersurprise. All night the relief corps worked. All night the distantechoes from the gunboats brought hope to the one and desperation to theother army. All night the surgeons labored. All night stragglers came indragging wounded limbs. All night suffering horses neighed and whinniedand struggled and at last died from loss of blood--and still men slept!Ah, the blessed oblivion and relief of sleep! If to-morrow's action mustcome, then to-night nature must restore the wasted energy, and repairthe deathly exhaustion,--and men slept! Soaked through with rain,begrimed with smoke and with mud, assailed with groans and withthat insidious foe of rest, uncertainty, still men slept, soundly,profoundly, dreamlessly!

  The first gray streak of dawn brought a bugle call: another, another.The clouds were clearing away. Nature was preparing to witness anotherand more desperate struggle. The dreamless sleep, that had refused toyield to hunger, pain, uproar or anxiety, yielded at the first noteof the reveille. Every man was awake, alert, active. The rain andaction-stiffened limbs were ready for duty again. The seventh of Aprilhad dawned. Reinforcements would soon land; but the battle was on beforethey could disembark. The Confederates, flushed with the advantage ofthe day before, were determined to overwhelm even the new force. Thebattle was on. Roy, the spruce, trim, and some young lieutenant of theday before, waiting for his brother with proud, brotherly anxiety, wasa sorry sight to-day, but that did not trouble him. His newshoulder-straps were tarnished, his sword was marked with an ugly redstain, his freshly brushed uniform was bespattered and wrinkled and wet,mud-covered and torn; but he was unhurt save for the track of a Minieball under the skin of his left arm. To that he gave no heed. A plasterof the pottery clay, self-applied, had taken the soreness almost away,and as Roy stood at the head of his company to-day and took the place ofthe captain, who would respond to roll-call no more, he was wondering ifBeverly would be with the troops that would land, and if they would helpsave the day. He hoped that Beverly would be there, and yet--after thesights and experiences of yesterday--_did_ he hope that Beverly wouldbe there? Beverly might be killed! He had not thought of that the daybefore, nor had it troubled him for himself; but as he looked abouthim now or bent to see if an old comrade were really dead, or onlyunconscious, he somehow felt glad that Beverly had not been there theday before. Ah, these hearts of ours!--these hearts of ours! What tricksthey play us! What cowards they make of us! What selfishness they breedin us! For ourselves we can be brave, defiant, even jocose, in the midstof danger or of sorrow; but for those we love! Ah, for those we love,our philosophy is scant comfort, our courage is undermined before itis tested, and we are helpless in the face of Love. We can walk bravelyenough into the mouth of a cannon, but Love disarms us, and we cry formercy where we did not shrink from death!

  Roy wondered how much Beverly knew of the battle, and if his heart wasanxious, also. He knew Beverly's division was expected, but he thoughtas he fought, "I reckon I'd just as lieve Beverly shouldn't be withthem. If he were on sick leave or--or--something." He felt a littlesense of shame for the thought, and fought the more determinedly becauseof it. The gallant Confederates were flushed by their gain of the daybefore. No one would have dreamed that they were exhausted by a longmarch before the surprise. No one would have dreamed that they werehungry, and that their supply-wagons had not come up until long afterthe struggle. No one would have dreamed that they had been kept up allnight by the bombardment from the distant gunboats. No one would havedreamed that out of that intrepid ------ Louisiana, with its challengeagain on the tree there, would never muster again over three hundred andtwenty-seven of the six hundred merry fellows who flung themselves upthat hill only twelve short hours ago!

  "Our side bet is up, boys, by the jumping jingo!" said one of therelieved pickets the first thing in the morning. "It is written on aslab this time. I don't know when they got it up. I laid for it allnight, and was going to pick the fellow off who came out to that tree,but it was darker than a pile of coke last night, and, if hell ever sawsuch a rain before, the fires must all be out--soaked through. Don'tbelieve there is a dry spot in the devil's domain to-day. Whew! Lookat my boots! I had to stop and scrape the mud off every four steps allnight long. My feet were as big as a horse's head--and it's mighty goodBible mud, too--sticketh closer than a brother."

  The boys had laughed and agreed that they would get the new challengesomehow. The news that it was up again, and on a substantial slab, whichseemed to aggravate the offense in some inexplicable way, spread andaroused the young fellows anew. They would have that slab or die in theattempt. The side bet, as they called it, must be won. They were makingstraight for it, and the Confederates were holding their position withgrim and dogged determination. A sudden onrush of fresh, eager, rested,enthusiastic men, yelling as they came from the gunboats, dashed fromthe steamboat landing and flung themselves against the lines. The reliefhad come! Regiment after regiment dashed past. Every new one wasfelt like a blast of cold wind in the face of a belated traveler. TheConfederate lines wavered, broke, rallied, retreated, reformed.More fresh troops came and swept past like fire in a field of grain.Discouraged men felt the bracing influence and stimulant on the oneside. On the other, it seemed that at last the billows of the ocean hadbroken upon them, and they must yield or be forever overwhelmed. As eachnew regiment came up, with its shout and wild, eager dash in the face ofthe enemy, the ground was being gathered in like thread on a greatspool as it revolves. Inch by inch the line yielded. The river was leftbehind, with its horrible secret, to keep its bloody tryst with the sea;to carry its drift of gallant men, who would, alas, be gallant no more,on the infinite wanderings of its waves, as they ran and struggled invain to leave behind the memory and the burden of the pitiless struggleand carnage--the relics of man's power and courage and savagery, to doand to die by and for his fellow-man, that he may adjust differences hehimself has raised from the infinite depths of his own ignorance--fromthe blindness of his benighted past! And still the river ran on in itshopeless effort, for the human drift kept pace, and the awful battle waslost and won. Shiloh had passed into history, and Grant was famous! Thecountry took stock of its loss and its gain. One more milestone in thedevious road was past. One more reef was taken in the irrepressibleconflict. The North rejoiced. The South sorrowed, and mothers, wives,sisters, and sweethearts stared at the wall and wept and moaned for thetreasure that was lost, for the price that was paid, and took up anewtheir stunned and silent part, and waited and hoped and prayed.

  One of the first regiments to dash past into the hell of shot and shellwas Beverly's. He had noticed, as people will notice trivial things inthe midst of great crises, a board nailed to a tree. When the battle wasover he had searched for his brother's regiment. At last he had foundit, but Roy was not there. Some one said he had fallen, others said hehad been captured just before the relief came--"Right up there by thechallenge--by the tree." Beverly rode back toward the hill, sick andfaint at heart. He wondered, with a thrill of superstitious fear, ifthat board was to be a sort of grave-mark for his brother, and if thatwas the reason he had noticed the ridiculous challenge at such a time.He would go back to the mark and search for his brother. He got downfrom his horse and tied him to the tree. The challenge was still there.He had no heart to read it, but started on his sickening search.Face after face that he knew--boys from the old college--looked up athim--some, alas, with stark, unseeing eyes, and others who begged forhelp. Boys he had in the old days cared for with youthful fervor, andyet they seemed as nothing to him now; he must not lose time--he mustfind his brother. Again and again he turned a bloody face upward onlyto
exclaim, "Thank God!" when he did not know the features. Oh, theinfinite selfishness of Love! The toy it makes of our human sympathies!The contraction it pats upon our generosity of soul! The limitationsit sets upon our helpfulness! When twilight came Beverly was stillsearching for his brother, and thanking God, in the face of everymangled form, that it was the face of some other man's brother--someother mother's son! He returned to the camp for a light. He could notwait until morning to be sure that Roy was captured. He hoped andprayed that it might be so, but he must know. No report had come to theregiment. Roy had not been found or recognized. Beverly went hastilythrough the hospital tents. Roy had not been brought in. The search onthe field began again--the search for his brother. The relief corps wereworking heroically. Men with stretchers passed and repassed him,and still Beverly looked in vain. He turned his dark lantern on thestretchers as they approached him, and sighed with relief as eachpassed on. He came to the spot where the little church had stood, nowdismantled and wrecked by shell.

  One after another he turned the faces of prostrate men upward. The nightwas wearing on. He was desperate, discouraged, and yet he had begun tosettle into a solid hope that Roy had been captured and taken back intothe Confederate ranks before the relief had come. He was making his wayback to the tree and his impatient horse, when he heard a gurglinggroan in a muddy ravine through which the retreating cannon had gone. Heturned aside and searched with his lantern again. Deep in the stiff mudlay a young officer. His legs were deeply imbedded. Evidently the wheelof a cannon-carriage, or some other heavy wheel, had passed over himand crushed his legs into the soft earth. He had lain directly in thepath of the retreating ordnance. The deep tracks told where the wheelshad been. Beverly turned sick. He stooped to lift the face that lay halfin the mud and water.

  "Oh, Roy! Roy! my brother!" he gasped and fell upon his knees. His handtrembled so that the canteen fell from his grasp. He groped for it asthe lantern lay beside him, and one hand till held the face above theearth. "Roy! Roy! can you hear me? Can you hear me? It is your brother!It is Beverly!" he cried out, but for reply there was only that gurglinggroan, followed by another and another--and then silence.

  "Oh, my God!" cried Beverly, "What can I do? It will kill him to try tolift those poor crushed legs and------"

  The light fell on the breast, and there, for the first time, Beverlysaw that it was not mud alone that lay there, but that a piece of spentshell was half crushed into Roy's side. It was plain now. Roy had fallenwith that, and the retreating battery had driven over his helpless form.Beverly wiped the mud and powder from his brother's face and bent downand kissed the parted lips.

  "Oh, my brother! my brother! I came too late at last! I thought all theway on the river, and then, as we dashed up that hill, I thought we hadcome in time to save you, and I was so glad! Roy, I prayed not to be toolate! Somehow I thought you were up there. And you were here--here, withthis ghastly wound--and they drove over you! O, Roy, Roy, my brother howcan I ever tell mother? How can I?"

  The long, gurgling moan came again. Beverly sprang to his feet andshouted for help. Shout after shout rang out. At last a reply came, andthen men with a stretcher.

  "I have found my brother," was all Beverly could say. His own voiceseemed strange and distant to him. The men get about lifting the bodyfrom its bed of clay--the body of this spruce young officer who hadbeen so eager that his brother should feel proud to see him in his newuniform with the first-lieutenant's straps! No one could tell what theuniform was now, and the jaunty cap and polished sword were gone! Thestrong young legs and the erect figure could boast of its extra inch nolonger. Beverly breathed hard as the men worked. "I'm afraid he's toofar gone to help now, captain. It------"

  "Oh, let _me_ lift his head! I can't pull on those poor crushed legs!Be so careful! Oh, God! oh, God! how cruel! Be so careful!--oh, Roy!Roy!--We are trying to be so careful, Roy! We try not to hurt you so! MyGod, how cruel! I cannot bear it, brother!"

  The body was on the stretcher at last, and Beverly was wiping greatbeads of anguish from his own face. One poor leg was crushed near thehip, and had been hard to manage. The groans had become more distinctand frequent. Then,"Dr--dr," came from the lips.

  "Here, here, give me a canteen! I lost mine down there. Quick, he wantsa drink, I think. Here, brother Roy." Beverly put a hand under his head."Here, Roy, dear, can you swallow? Oh, it hurts him so! Here, brother,_my_ brother! Oh, Roy, I wish it were I! Can you hear me? Can you hearme, Roy?"

  The men with the stretcher turned their faces away and drew theirsleeves across their eyes. Even they who had worked all night with andfor the dead and dying were moved anew by the young officer's sorrow.Beverly looked up hopefully.

  "I think he swallowed just a little. Let us get him to a surgeon, quick.Perhaps, perhaps--" Beverly looked from one to the other and could notfinish his sentence. The little group moved wearily toward the hospitaltents, and Beverly ran for the surgeon of his own company.

  "My God, doctor, he has been driven over, and he is wounded in thebreast besides! Do you think there is any hope? Oh, how I wish it wereI! Oh, doctor, can't you save him? It is my brother--my brother Roy!"

  The surgeon was listening as he worked.

  "The best thing that could have happened to him is that he was so deepin that mud. It has kept the fever down. It has saved his leg. It isn'tbadly swollen. I can set this bone. I don't think the other one is----"He was examining and talking slowly. He changed to the wound in thebreast. "This is the most--this is the worst, but I don't think the lungis badly--this plaster of mud on his breast----"

  "I took it nearly all off, doctor. It was very thick when I foundhim, and this----" Beverly took a large jagged piece of shell from hispocket. "This was down in it. I think it must have struck and stunnedhim, and while he was helpless those cruel wheels went over him. Hisbody was as if he had fallen on his back, but the legs were twisted asif he had been on his side. The mud was nearly two feet deep. It was anawful place, awful! And to think that they should have driven over Roy!Do you think----?"

  "That was the best place he could have been. That mud has acted like----"The doctor was taking professional pride in the case. The wounded mangroaned.

  "Oh, how it seems to hurt him, doctor! Can't you--can't I---couldn't wegive him something to deaden--? He was never so strong as I. He----"

  "You'd better go away, captain. You're brave enough for yourself, butyou'd better go away. I'll do my level best for him. I don't think thiswound is fatal--and the mud poultice was the very best thing thatcould have happened to him, really. The wheel that threw that did him agreater service than it did injury to his leg. I--you had better go andlie down for a while, captain. I'll do everything possible, and--well,I hope his lung is not very seriously implicated. I hope we can pull himthrough. I feel sure of the leg and--go and lie down. You can't do anygood here, and you mustn't lose your nerve that way. If he--if I--ifhe regains consciousness I'll call you, Try to get a little rest forto-morrow. Try. You may be needed then. You must have your nerve then,too, if he should open his eyes and----"

  "_If_ he should open his eyes!" Beverly turned away and sat with hisface in his hands. "How can I write it to mother," he moaned--"how canI? How can I? And father may not be there to help her bear it! Oh, Roy,Roy, my brother!"