CHAPTER XXI.
_... "Consider, I pray, How we common mothers stand desolate, mark, Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes turned away, And no last word to say!"_
Mrs. Browning.
"Dear little Mother," wrote Beverly. "When I telegraphed you last nightthat Roy was wounded and that I was safe and unhurt, I feared, thatto-day this letter would take you most terrible news--you who havethe hardest part to bear, the silent, inactive part of waiting anduncertainty and inaction and anxiety--but to-day I feel so relievedthat I can send you a very hopeful letter. The doctor says that Roy willsurely live; and he hopes that the wounds will not prove so serious aswe feared at first and as they looked. A piece of shell struck him inthe breast but it must have been a spent shell, for although the placeis considerably crushed in, the doctor now feels certain that no veryserious damage is done his lung. That was what we feared at first. Oneof his legs is broken near the hip, but it is set and the doctor saysit is doing well and will do so, for there is almost no fever. Thegreat mud poultice that was on it for several hours at first was hissalvation, so the surgeon thinks. I will not stop to explain this to younow, but when Roy gets home he will tell you, for he remembers most ofit and we will tell him the rest. But just now I want simply to tell youthe reassuring things and the plans I have made for Boy. He is perfectlyconscious and says that he does not suffer very much. We don't allow himto talk, of course, for fear of his lung, but I've arranged to have himsent to Nashville, where he can be nursed as well as if he were at home.I recalled that the Wests live there now, and I sent a telegram askingif they would not take Roy to their house and care for him until wecould send him home. They wired that they would be most happy to do so.You will recall that pretty little Emma West who used to come to thehouse. She was at school with Roy before he went to college. They arenice people, and I am sure that Roy will be cared for as if he weretheir own. They are Union people. They will write to you daily, too, sothat everything will be made as easy for you as possible. This takes agreat load off my heart, and as Roy seems so bright to-day I am almostgay after yesterday's terrible experience--of which I shall tell youwhen we all get home, but not now. One of the most absurd things I everheard of was that the very first question Roy tried to ask, whenhe became conscious, was who got the challenge last. It was a sidechallenge of battle between his regiment and a Louisiana regiment. Itwas posted on a tree-written on a slab of wood. I had tied my horse tothat tree when I was looking for Roy, and had utterly forgotten him.Roy's question recalled the poor horse to me and I went to see whathad become of him. There the old fellow stood, pawing the ground andtwisting about the tree, hungry and thirsty and tired. He had knockedthe challenge down and split it with his stamping feet. I gathered itup and took it to Roy, and a real lively smile crossed his face, andimmediately he fell asleep. What strange freaks of fancy and of desireand ambition we are! I am told that Roy was promoted again on the fieldjust before he was shot, so he is as big a captain now as I am, but thatfact has not yet appeared to come back to him. Who got the challenge atthe last was his first thought! I suspect he was thinking of that whenhe fell, and his returning consciousness took up the thread of thoughtright where he had dropped it or where it was broken by the lapse. Ithas not seemed to surprise him to see me. He acts as if I had beenabout him all along, and yet it has been nearly two years since we weretogether! Of course I act the same way so as not to excite him. He hashad two long, good, natural naps to-day and I talked to him between. Heknows he is to go to Nashville, and I had a sneaking idea that when Imentioned Emma West he looked uncommonly well pleased with the scheme.Do you know whether they got 'spoony,' after I left home? Anyhowthat Nashville scheme seems to suit him all the way through. I feelabsolutely light-hearted and gay to-day, mother mine. It is the reactionfrom the strain of yesterday and last night, I suppose; but if I could,I'd dance or sing or something. Since I can't do that I'll contentmyself with writing you rather a frivolous letter. You just ought to seethese trees! They are simply riddled with shot and shell. This shows,too, one very good reason why so few of the rounds of ammunition takeeffect in the men. They shoot entirely too high. Quite above the headsof the tallest men. The trees are simply cartridge cases, and the limbsare torn away. The mud! You ought to see it. You'd think you never sawmud before. It took sixteen mules and the entire regiment hitched to oneof the cannon to pull it along the road the Johnnies retreated over. Aman we captured was one who had given out at the job. Poor fellows! theyhad a hard time of it all around, and we fresh troops who landed fromthe gunboats were the last straw in their cup of tribulation. I reckonthey don't think they got their tribulation through a straw though,and the figure is a trifle mixed; but as a soldier I can't stop toedit copy! Oh, mother, I wish I could make you feel as relieved as I doto-day. Skittish is the word--I feel really skittish; because I am sosure Boy is in no danger. I believe he will be able to go home beforemany weeks, and meantime, for all comforts, he will be as if he were athome. When he comes you can get the whole story of his fall, the fight,and his promotion. Dear old fellow! He's a great big captain now, andI stick right there. I'm acting Inspector-General now on the staff, butI'm really only a captain yet. I hope things will settle down before Iget any higher--though I'd feel uncommonly well to have the same kind ofa promotion as he got yesterday. I'm going to let him tell you himself.It was quite dramatic, as the fellows tell me. I just stopped to take apeep at him and he is sleeping like a baby. There is almost no fever. Ifeel like hugging this pottery clay mud--for we have it to thank for agood deal--but it makes us swear to march through it. I do hope fatheris home now. He is my main anxiety. I hope he won't see the papers ifanything was said of Roy. He was thought to be 'missing,' at first whenthe reports went, and then to be killed; but don't worry a single bit.I am telling you the _very truth_ when I tell you that last night Ibelieved that Roy could not live and to-night I feel absolutely safeabout him--I feel like singing--and all this accounts for this verygiddy and jerky letter. I suppose I am what you'd call hysterical. Ofcourse he will need intelligent care, but since that is all arranged forI shall march away to Corinth (that is our next aim) with a light heartand as hopeful as I want to make you feel. Ah, mother mine, I realizemore and more what all this must be to you! I thought of it as I lookedfor Roy last night. Silent, patient, inactive anxiety! The part of warthe women bear is by far the harder part. It takes bravery, of course,to face bullets and death; but it must require almost inspired heroismto sit inactively by and wait for it to strike those we love farbetter than life. More and more, small mother, do I realize this, do Iunderstand that the hardest part of war _must_ be borne by those who arenot warriors; but we love you, little mother, and we will be as carefulof the sons you care for and love as we can be and do our duty. We willnot be foolhardy nor reckless, for your sake--_be sure_.
"One of the pathetic things that is not unmingled with humor was told meto-day by the young fellow in the next bed to Roy. He is a pretty boy,only about eighteen. He belongs to an Ohio regiment. During the firstday's fight he got separated from his command and did not know whetherhe was inside or outside of our lines. He was picking his way around,peering from behind trees cautiously, trying to get his bearings, whenall of sudden he came upon a Johnnie. Both were taken by surprise. Theother fellow jumped and seemed about to shoot, and the Ohio boy yelledout, 'Don't shoot! don't shoot! I'm already wounded!'
"The Johnnie was a mere slip of a boy himself, and hadn't the faintestdesire to shoot. They had both seen all they wanted to of war. Both werehomesick and heartsick with it all. They sat down on a log and fell tocomparing notes. Neither one knew whether he was captured or whether hehad a prisoner. Both were lost. They agreed to call it even and gotheir separate ways when they got their bearings. Neither wanted to be aprisoner. 'I've got a dear old father back in Alabama, and if I eversee his face again I'll have enough sense to stay at home;' explainedJohnnie, with a suspicious quaver in his voice. Ohio had the verydearest and best of fa
thers too, and he confessed that if he couldbut see his face now heaven would be his. They shook hands over thesituation and both fell to crying softly, as they decided that war wasnot what it was cracked up to be. The two homesick fellows sat thereon that log and compared notes about those blessed fathers at home, andboth were blubbering--because they _had,_ instead of because they hadnot, fathers who loved them and whom they loved! Well, the upshot wasthat they agreed to part friends; and go back to their regiments as soonas ever they could find out which one was captured. They'd just call iteven and let each other off. The Ohio boy is laid up now with a Minie inhis arm that he caught the next day, and he is wondering if the Alabamalad with the father sent him that ball as a keepsake and a reminder!So you see there are some humorous sides to these horrors after all,mother. My journalistic instinct has kept me amused with this thing agood deal to-day. I'd have given a good deal to have overheard the talk.I swear I wouldn't have captured Alabama. He should have had his chanceto go back to the dear old home and the father. Ohio was troubled overit, but I told him that he did exactly right. But wasn't it delightfullyfunny? Oh, mother mine, I wish I could say something to make you keepup good heart. I hope father is home. If I could be sure that he is,I'd feel almost gay, today. Wool little Margaret's curly pate for me andtell her that I say her chirographical efforts are very creditable fora young lady of her limited experience. Get her some little paper andencourage her to write to me often. It will do her good, and it will bea delight to me. Her last letter was as quaint and demure as her littleself. Love to aunt Judy--the faithful old soul, and to the gentleHosanna--in the highest--peace and good will; not to 'mention meresphects.'
"Keep up a brave heart, mother. It can't last much longer; and truly,truly I believe that Roy is _quite_ safe. Kiss yourself for your eldestand loving son,
"Beverly."
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