CHAPTER XIX.
AN ANGEL OF MERCY.
In front of one of the most beautiful and stately farm-houses inColumbiana County stood a young girl. With clasped hands and strainingeyes she was gazing intently down a road which led to the west. The soundof battle came faintly to her ears. As she listened, a shudder sweptthrough her slight frame.
"My brother! My brother!" she moaned, "he may be in it. O God of battles,protect him!"
She would have made a picture for an artist as she stood there. Theweather being warm, she wore a soft, thin garment, which clung in gracefulfolds around her. Her beautifully rounded arm and shapely shoulders werebare. Her luxuriant hair, the color of sun-beams, fell in a wavy mass toher waist. Her eyes, blue as the sky, were now troubled, and a teardroptrembled and then fell from the long lashes.
As she looked, the sound of battle became fainter, and then ceasedaltogether. But down the road, a mile away, a little cloud of dust arose.It grew larger and larger, and at last she saw it was caused by a singlehorseman who was coming at a furious pace. Was the rider a bearer of illtidings? No, there was no rider on the horse. He who rode must have beenkilled. It might be her brother's horse; she grew sick and faint, butstill she gazed. The horse came nearer; he was slackening his speed. Yes,there was some one on the horse--a man--but he had fallen over on thesaddle, and his arms were around the horse's neck.
It must be her brother, wounded unto death, coming home to die, and shegave a great convulsive sob. Then like a bird she flew to the middle ofthe road. She saw that the horse's mane and shoulders were dripping withblood, that the rider's hair was clotted with it.
As the horse came to her it stopped, and the rider rolled heavily from thesaddle. With a cry she sprang forward and received the falling man; butthe weight of Calhoun, for it was he, bore her to the earth. She arose,screaming for help. There was no one in the house except a coloredservant, who came rushing out, and nearly fainted when she saw hermistress. No wonder, for the girl's dress and arms were dripping withblood.
"Oh! Missy Joyce! Missy Joyce!" wailed the colored woman, "what's demattah? Be yo' killed?"
"No, no, this soldier--he is dead or dying. Oh, Mary, what can we do?"
But help was near. A couple of neighbors had also heard the sound ofbattle, and were riding nearer that they might learn the result.
"Great heavens! what is this?" exclaimed one, as they rode up. "As I live,that is Andrew Harmon's horse. Well, I never thought Andrew would get nearenough to a battle to get shot."
By this time they had dismounted. Going to Calhoun they looked at him, andone exclaimed, "This is not Harmon; it's one of Morgan's men. Got it goodand heavy. Served him right."
"Is he dead?" asked the girl, in a trembling voice.
The man put his hand on Calhoun's heart. "No, marm," he answered, "but Ithink he might as well be."
"Carry him into the house, and send for Doctor Hopkins, quick," she said.
"What! that dirty, bloody thing! Better let us carry him to the barn. It'sa blame sight better place than our boys get down South."
"The house, I say," answered the girl, sharply.
"Why, Miss Joyce," said the other man, as he looked at her, "you arecovered with blood."
"Yes, I caught him as he fell from his horse," she answered. "I am nothurt."
The men were about to pick Calhoun up and carry him in according to thedirections of the girl, when she exclaimed, "There comes Doctor Hopkinsnow."
Sure enough, the Doctor had heard of the fight, and was coming at aremarkable speed, for him, to see if his professional services wereneeded. He reined in his horse, and jumping from his gig, ejaculated,"Why! why! what is this? And Miss Joyce all bloody!"
"I am not hurt. The man, Doctor," she said.
The Doctor turned his attention to Calhoun. "As I live, one of Morgan'smen," he exclaimed, "and hard hit, too. How did he come here?"
"His horse brought him," answered one of the men. "He clung to his horseas far as here, when he fell off. Miss Joyce caught him as he fell. Thatis what makes her so bloody."
"Well! well! well!" was all that the old Doctor could say.
"The queer part is," continued the man, "that the horse belongs to AndrewHarmon. I heard that Andrew had gone out with the Home Guards, but I couldhardly believe it. I guess this fellow must have killed him andappropriated the horse."
"What! Andrew Harmon killed in battle?" cried the Doctor, straightening upfrom his examination of Calhoun. "Don't believe it. He will turn up safeenough."
Then speaking to the girl, the Doctor said, "Miss Joyce, this man hasnearly bled to death. I cannot tell yet whether the ball has entered hishead or not. If not, there may be slight hopes for him, but he must haveimmediate attention. It is fortunate I came along as I did."
"Miss Joyce wanted us to take him into the house," said one of the men,"but I suggested the barn."
"The barn first," said the Doctor; "if I remember rightly, there is alarge work-bench there. It will make a fine operating-table. And, Joyce,warm water, towels, and bandages."
Joyce Crawford, for that was the girl's name, flew to do the Doctor'sbidding, while the men, to their credit be it said, picked Calhoun uptenderly and carried him to the barn, where the work-bench, as the Doctorhad suggested, made an operating-table. Joyce soon appeared with thewater, towels, and bandages. The Doctor had already taken off his coat androlled up his sleeves, ready for work. Although he was a countrypractitioner, he was a skilful surgeon. Carefully he washed away theblood, then clipped away the matted hair from around the wound. It seemedto Joyce a long time that he worked, but at last the wound was dressed andbandaged.
"The ball did not penetrate the brain," he said, as he finished, "nor do Ithink the skull is injured, although the ball plowed along it for somedistance. Fortunately it was a small bullet, one from a revolver,probably, which hit him. It cut a number of small arteries in its course,and that is the reason he has bled so much. An hour more and he would havebeen beyond my skill."
"Will he live now?" asked Joyce.
"The chances are against him. If saved at all, it will only be by the bestof nursing."
"He can be taken into the house now, can't he?" she asked.
"Yes, but you had better first let a tub of water be brought, and cleanunderclothes, and a night shirt. He needs a bath as much as anything."
Joyce had the men get the water, while she procured some underclotheswhich belonged to her brother. Calhoun's clothes were now removed, clotheswhich had not been off him for a month.
"Here is a belt," said one of the men; "it looks as if it might containmoney," and he was proceeding to examine it when the Doctor forbade him.
"Give it to Miss Joyce," he said; "the fellow is her prisoner."
The belt was handed over rather reluctantly. Calhoun having been bathed,Joyce was called, and told that her prisoner was ready for her.
"Bring him in, the chamber is all prepared," was her answer.
Calhoun was brought in and placed in a large, cool upper chamber.
"This is mighty nice for a Rebel," said one of the men, looking around."My Jake didn't get this good care when he was shot at Stone River."
"Too blame nice for a Morgan thief," mumbled the other.
"Shut up," said the Doctor; "remember what Miss Joyce has done for ourboys. Worked her fingers off for them. This man, or rather boy, for hecan't be over twenty, was brought to her door. Would you have him left todie?"
The men hung their heads sheepishly, and went out. They were nothard-hearted men, but they were bitter against Morgan, and any one whorode with him.
"Now I must go," said the old Doctor kindly, taking Joyce's hand. "Youhave done to this young man as I would have one do to my son in a likeextremity."
The old Doctor's voice broke, for he had lost a son in the army.Recovering himself, he continued, "I must go now, for I may be needed bysome of our own gallant boys. I will drop in this eveni
ng, if possible,and see how your patient is getting along. God bless you, Joyce, you havea kind heart."
Joyce looked after the old Doctor with swimming eyes. "One of God'snoblemen," she murmured.
She took the belt which had been taken from Calhoun, and which had beenhanded her by the Doctor, and put it carefully away. She then began hervigil beside the bedside of the wounded man. The Doctor had given herminute directions, and she followed them faithfully. It was some hoursbefore Calhoun began to show signs of consciousness, and when he did cometo, he was delirious, and in a raging fever.
The Doctor returned as he had promised. He shook his head as he feltCalhoun's pulse, and listened to his incoherent mutterings.
"This is bad," he said. "It is fortunate he lost so much blood, or thisfever would consume him. But we must hope for the best. Only the best ofnursing will bring him through."
"That he shall have," said Joyce. "I have sent for Margaret Goodsen. Youknow she is an army nurse, and knows all about wounded men."
"Yes, Margaret is good, none better," replied the Doctor.
All through that night Joyce sat by the bedside of Calhoun cooling hisfevered brow, giving him refreshing drinks. He talked almost continuallyto himself. Now he would be leading his men in battle, cheering them on.Then he was a boy, engaged in boyish sports. The name of Fred was utteredagain and again.
"I wonder who Fred can be?" thought Joyce; "a brother, probably."
Joyce Crawford was the only daughter of the Hon. Lorenzo Crawford, one ofthe most prominent citizens of Columbiana County. Mr. Crawford had servedtwo terms in Congress, and was at the time of the war a member of thestate senate. He had one child besides Joyce, his son Mark, who we haveseen was a major in the Federal army.
Mr. Crawford lost his wife when Joyce was three years old; since that timehis house had been presided over by a maiden sister. This lady was absentin Steubenville when Morgan appeared so suddenly in the county; thus atthe time of Calhoun's appearance only Joyce and the servants were at home,Mr. Crawford being absent in the east on duties connected with theSanitary Commission.
Mr. Crawford was what is known as an original Abolitionist. Before the warhis house was one of the stations of the underground railroad, and many arunaway slave he had helped on the way to Canada. Twice he had beenarrested by the United States officials for violation of the fugitiveslave law, and both times fined heavily. He believed there could be novirtue in a slave-owner; such a man was accursed of God, and should beaccursed of men. His daughter had to a degree imbibed his sentiments, andthe idea of slavery was abhorrent to her; but her heart was so gentle, shecould hate no one. Calhoun's helplessness appealed to her sympathies, andshe forgot he was one of Morgan's raiders. Although young, only eighteen,she had admirers by the score, but her father so far had forbidden herreceiving company, considering her as yet only a child.
Joyce's beau ideal of a man was her brother Mark, and he was worthy of heradoration. Several years her senior, he had watched over and guided her inher childhood, and never was a brother more devoted.
The next morning the news came that Morgan was captured, and the scare inColumbiana County was over. The morning also brought Miss Crawford, whohad come hurrying home on receipt of the news that Morgan was in thecounty. She nearly went into hysterics when she learned that one of thedreadful raiders was in the house. "How could you do it, child?" she criedto Joyce; and "Doctor, why did you let her?" she added to Doctor Hopkins,who had just come in to see his patient.
"Madam, it was a case of life or death," replied the Doctor. "Joyce didright. We are not heathens in Columbiana County."
"But you will take him right away?" pleaded the lady.
"It would be death to move him."
"But he might murder us all," said Miss Crawford.
The Doctor smiled. "If he lives, it will be weeks before he will have thestrength to kill a fly," he answered.
Miss Crawford sighed, and gave up the battle. She was not a hard-heartedwoman, but the idea of having one of Morgan's dreadful raiders in thehouse was trying on her nerves.
The afternoon brought Major Crawford. The story of Joyce's capture of araider had travelled far and wide, and the Major had already heard of it."So you captured a prisoner, did you, Puss?" he exclaimed, kissing her, asshe threw herself in his arms. "Is he a regular brigand, and bearded likea pard?"
"No, no, he is young, almost a boy," she answered. "Margaret Goodsen istaking care of him now. Come and see him, but he is out of his head, andraves dreadfully."
She led the way to the chamber where Calhoun was. No sooner did MajorCrawford see him than he turned pale and staggered back, "Great God!" heexclaimed.
What fate was it that had led the man he had shot to the house to be caredfor by his sister?
"What is it, Mark? What is it?" she cried, seeing his agitation.
Should he tell her? Yes, it would be best. "Joyce, you will not wonder atmy surprise, when I tell you it was I who shot him."
"You, brother, you!" she cried, and instinctively she shrank from him.
Mark saw it, and exclaimed, "Great God! Joyce, you don't blame me, do you?I had to do it to save my life. He was about to cut me down with his swordwhen I fired."
"No, no," she cried, "I don't blame you, but it was so sudden; it is sodreadful. I never before realized that war was so terrible."
"Well, Joyce, save the poor fellow's life if you can; I don't want hisdeath on my hands if I can help it. Do you know who your prisoner is?"
"No, you see the condition he is in."
"His name is Pennington, Calhoun Pennington. He is one of Morgan's bravestand most daring officers. I ought to know him, he took me prisoner twice."
"You, Mark, you?"
"Yes, you remember I told you how I lost my horse in Tennessee. He is thefellow who took it. He afterwards captured me at Cave City."
"Mark, what will become of him if he gets well?" she asked.
"The United States officials will take him," he answered. "His being heremust be reported."
"And--and he will be sent to prison?"
"Yes, until he is exchanged."
"But you were not sent to prison when you were captured," she protested.
"No, I was paroled; but I hardly believe the government will parole any ofMorgan's men."
"Why?" she asked.
"They have given us too much trouble, Puss. Now we have them, I think wewill keep them."
"Mark, Aunt Matilda don't like my taking this Pennington in. She saysfather will not like it at all."
"I will see Aunt Matilda, and tell her it is all right. I will also writeto father. No, Joyce, I don't want Pennington to die. It is best, even inwar, to know you have not killed a man. So take good care of him, orrather see he has good care. Get a man to nurse him nights."
"I will look out for that," said Joyce.
"Well, Puss, good-bye, keep me posted. I had leave of absence only a fewhours, so I must be going."
"Oh, Mark, must you go so soon?" And she clung to him as if she would notlet him go. Gently disengaging her arms, he pressed kiss after kiss on herbrow and was gone. She sank into a chair weeping, and for a time forgother prisoner.
The next day Joyce had another visitor, in the person of Andrew Harmon. Hehad heard that his horse was at Crawford's, and that the officer who tookhim was there desperately wounded. He made his visit with pleasure, for ofall the girls in Columbiana County, she was the one he had selected tobecome Mrs. Harmon. He had no idea he would be refused, for was he notconsidered the greatest catch in the county?
Harmon had two things to recommend him--good looks and money. He wasaccounted a handsome man, and was as far as physical beauty was concerned.He had the body and muscle of an athlete, but there was nothing ennoblingor inspiring in the expression of his countenance. By nature he wascrafty, mean, cruel, and miserly, and was one of the biggest cowards thatever walked.
Like many others, he was a great patriot as far as talk was concerned. Hehad been so unfortuna
te as to be drafted at the first call, and hadpromptly furnished a substitute. He was fond of boasting he was doingdouble duty for his country, not only was he represented in the army, buthe was doing a great work at home. This work consisted in contracting forthe government, and cheating it at every turn. Many a soldier who receivedshoddy clothing, paper-soled shoes, and rotten meat had Mr. Harmon tothank for it. But he was piling up money, and was already known as one ofthe richest men in the county. When he went out with the Home Guards, hehad no idea of getting near Morgan; he would look out for that. But hisparty ran into Morgan's advance unexpectedly, and as has been related, hewas captured by Calhoun. It was a most wonderful story he had to tell.
He had been beset by at least six of Morgan's men. A desperate conflictfollowed, and he had killed, or at least desperately wounded, three of hisassailants, and it was only after he had not a single shot left in hisrevolver and was surrounded that he had surrendered.
"So enraged were they at my desperate defence," said he, "that the officerin charge pulled me from my horse, brutally kicked and struck me,threatened to kill me, and then appropriated my horse. He is a desperatefellow, Miss Joyce; I would not keep him in the house a single moment."
Joyce, who had listened to his account much amused, for she had heardanother version of it, said, "I do not think, Mr. Harmon, he could havebeaten you very hard, for I see no marks on you, and you seem to be prettylively. As for sending Lieutenant Pennington away, the Doctor says itwould be death to move him."
Mr. Harmon shifted uneasily in his chair as Joyce was saying this, andthen asked to see Calhoun, as he wished to be sure whether he was the onewho had captured him. This Joyce consented to, provided he would becareful not to disturb him. Harmon promised, and he was taken into theroom. Calhoun was tossing on his bed, as he entered, and no sooner did hiswild eyes rest on Harmon than he burst into a loud laugh, "Oh! the coward!the coward!" he shouted, "take him away."
Harmon fled from the room white with rage. "Miss Joyce, that fellow isshamming," he fumed. "I demand he be delivered to the United Statesofficials at once."
"The Doctor thinks differently; he says it will kill him to be moved," sheanswered.
"Let him die, then. It isn't your business to nurse wounded Rebels,especially one of Morgan's cutthroats."
"I do not have to come to you to learn what my business is," answeredJoyce, haughtily, and turned to leave the room.
Mr. Harmon saw that he had made a mistake. "Joyce! Joyce! don't go, hearme," he exclaimed.
"You will find your horse in the stable," was all she said, as she passedout.
He left the house vowing vengeance, and lost no time in informing theFederal authorities that the wounded officer at Crawford's was shamming,and would give them the slip if not taken away. Two deputy marshals cameto investigate, and went away satisfied when Doctor Hopkins promised toreport as soon as his patient was well enough to be removed.
In due time Joyce received a letter from her father. He had not heard thatMorgan had come as far north as Columbiana County, until after he wascaptured. As all danger was now over, he would not be home for some time.The thousands who had been wounded in the great battle of Gettysburg wereoccupying his attention. He also had to make a visit to Washington andFortress Monroe, and might go as far south as Hilton Head. As for thewounded Rebel at his house, Joyce had done right in not letting him die inthe road, but that he should be turned over to the military authorities atthe earliest possible moment. Little did Mr. Crawford think what theoutcome of the affair would be.
Contrary to her aunt's protest, Joyce insisted on taking most of the careof Calhoun during the day. Margaret Goodsen was all the help she needed.She had engaged a competent man to care for him nights. Had not Mark toldher to save the life of the man he had shot, if possible?
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