Westways: A Village Chronicle

by S. Weir Mitchell

  CHAPTER XXIII

  The winter of 1862-63 went by with Sherman's defeat at Vicksburg andRosecrans's inconclusive battle of Stone River. The unpopularConscription Act in February, 1863, and last of all the discreditabledefeat of Hooker in May at Chancellorsville, disheartened the mosthopeful.

  Meanwhile, Penhallow wrote to his wife with no word of the war, andpoured out his annoyance to Leila with less restraint.

  "DEAR LEILA: I get brief notes from John, who is with the one General(Grant) who has any luck. The list of discredited commanders good and badincreases. I am weary beyond measure of the kind of life I lead. I learnto-day, May 18th, of the progress of the investment of Vicksburg, and ofJohn as busy at last with his proper work of bridges, corduroy roads andthe siege approaches.

  "The drift homeward of our crippled men, you tell of, is indeed sad. I amglad that Grace's boy is well; and so Rivers has gone to the army again.Pole's lad, with the lost arm, must have some work at the mills. Say Iask it. Good-bye.

  "Yours, JAMES PENHALLOW."

  On the 16th of June the Secretary said to Penhallow, "You know that Leehas crossed the Potomac. General Hunt has asked to have you put in chargeof the reserve artillery of the Potomac army. I shall relieve you hereand give the order, but I want you for a week longer to clear upmatters."

  Penhallow worked hard up to the time set by Stanton, and meanwhile madehis arrangements to leave for the field. "Now that you are going away,"said Stanton, "I wish to express my warm thanks for admirable service. Imay say to you that Hooker has been removed and Meade put in command."

  "That is good news, indeed, sir. Now the Potomac army will be handled bya soldier."

  The Secretary had risen to say his parting words, and Penhallow as heheld his hand saw how reluctant he was to let him go. They had long beenfriends, and now the Colonel observing his worn face felt for him theutmost anxiety. A stern, grave man, passionately devoted to his country,he was the impatient slave of duty. Sometimes hasty, unjust, or evenungenerous, he was indifferent to the enemies he too needlessly created,and was hated by many and not loved even by those who respected hisdevotion and competence. He spared neither his subordinates nor, least ofall, Edwin Stanton, and spendthrift of vital force and energy went hisway, one of the great war ministers like Carnot and Pitt. Now, as theystood about to part, he showed feeling with which few would have givenhim credit, and for which Penhallow was unprepared.

  "Well," he said, "you are going. I shall miss your help in a lifesometimes lonely, and overcrowded with work. You have been far moreuseful here than you could have been in the field. Living and working asyou have done, you have made enemies. The more enemies an honestgentleman collects the richer he is. You are glad to go--well, don'tthink this town a mere great gambling place. It is a focal point--allthat is bad in war seems to be represented here--spies, cheatingcontractors, political generals, generals as meek as missionaries. Youhave seen the worst of it--the worst. But my dear Penhallow, there is onecomfort, Richmond is just as foul with thieving contractors,extravagance, intrigue, and spies who report to us with almost theregularity of the post; and, as with us, there is also honour, honesty,religion, belief in their cause." The Secretary had spoken at unusuallength and in an unusual mood. When once, before the war, he had spenta few happy days at Grey Pine, Mrs. Crocker characterized him as "ayes-and-no kind of man." Now as he walked with his friend to the door, hesaid, "Does Mrs. Penhallow know of your change of duty? I am aware of herfeeling about this unhappy strife."

  "No. There will be a battle--time enough--soon enough to writeafterwards, if there should be any earthly afterwards."

  "You are quite right," said the Secretary. "Good-bye. I envy you youractive share in this game."

  Penhallow, as for the last time he went down the outer steps, lookedback at the old brick war-office on Seventeenth Street. He felt thesatisfaction of disagreeable duty well done. Then he recalled with somesense of it as being rather ridiculous his adventure with Henry Grey. Ina far distant day he would tell Ann. As he halted at the foot of thesteps, he thought of his only interview with Lincoln. The tall figurewith the sombre face left in his memory that haunting sense of theunusual of which others had spoken and which was apt to disappear uponmore familiar acquaintance.

  On the morning of June 28 in this year 1863, Leila riding from themills paused a minute to take note of the hillside burial-ground,dotted here and there with pitiful little linen flags, sole memorialsof son or father--the victims of war. "One never can get away from it,"she murmured, and rode on into Westways. Sitting in the saddle she waitedpatiently at the door of the post-office. Mrs. Crocker was distributingletters and newspapers. An old Quaker farmer was reading aloud on thepavement the latest news.

  "There ain't no list of killed and wounded," he said. Forgetful of thecreed of his sect, his son was with the army. He read, "The Rebels havegot York--that's sure--and Carlisle too. They are near Harrisburg."

  "Oh, but we have burned the bridge over the Susquehanna," said some one.

  Another and younger man with his arm in a sling asked, "Are they onlycavalry?"

  "No, General Ewell is in command. There are infantry."

  "Where is Lee?"

  "I don't make that out." They went away one by one, sharing theuneasiness felt in the great cities.

  Leila called out, "Any letters, Mrs. Crocker? This is bad news."

  "Here's one for you--it came in a letter to me. I was to give it to youalone."

  Leila tore it open and read it. "Any bad news, Leila?"

  "Yes, Uncle James is with the army. I should not have told you.General Meade is in command. Aunt Ann is not to know. There will bea battle--after that he will write--after it. Please not to mentionwhere Uncle Jim is. When is your nephew to be buried--at the mills?"

  "At eleven to-morrow."

  "I shall be there. Aunt Ann will send flowers. Poor boy! he has lingeredlong."

  "And he did so want to go back to the army. You see, he was that weak hecried. He was in the colour-guard and asked to have the flag hung on thewall. Any news of our John? I dreamed about him last night, only he hadlong curly locks--like he used to have."

  "No, not a word."

  "Has Mr. Rivers got back?"

  "No, he is still with the army. You know, aunt sends him with money forthe Sanitary."

  "Yes, the Sanitary Commission--we all know."

  Leila turned homeward seeing the curly locks. "Oh, to be a man now!" shemurmured. She was bearing the woman's burden.

  Mrs. Crocker called after her, "You forgot the papers."

  "Burn them," said Leila. "I have heard enough--and more than enough, andAunt Ann never reads them."

  Penhallow had found time to visit his home twice in the winter, but foundthere little to please him. His wife was obviously feeling the variedstrain of war, and Leila showed plainly that she too was suffering. Hereturned to his work unhappy, a discontented and resolutely dutiful man,hard driven by a relentless superior. Now, at last, the relief of actionhad come.

  No one who has not lived through those years of war can imagine thevariety of suffering which darkened countless homes throughout theland. At Grey Pine, Ann Penhallow living in a neighbourhood which washostile to her own political creed was deeply distressed by the factthat on both sides were men dear to her. It must have been a too commonaddition to the misery of war and was not in some cases withoutpassionate resentment. There were Northern men in the service of theConfederacy, and of the Southern graduates from West Point nearly fiftyper cent, had remained loyal to the flag, as they elected to understandloyalty. The student of human motives may well be puzzled, for example,to explain why two of the most eminent soldiers of the war, both beingmen of the highest character and both Virginians should have decided totake different sides.

  Some such reflection occupied Leila Grey's mind as she rode away. Manyof the officers now in one of the two armies had dined or stayed a fewpleasant days at Grey Pine. For one of them, Robert Lee, Penhallow hada warm regard. She
remembered too General Scott, a Virginian, and heraunt's Southern friend Drayton, the man whom a poet has since describedwhen with Farragut as "courtly, gallant and wise." "Ah, me!" shemurmured, "duty must be at times a costly luxury.--A costly necessity,"she concluded, was better--that left no privilege of choice. She smiled,dismissing the mental problem, and rode on full of anxiety for those sheloved and her unfortunate country. Our most profound emotions are for thegreater souls dumb and have no language if it be not that of prayer, orthe tearful overflow which means so much and is so mysteriously helpful.She found both forms of expression when she knelt that night.

  In the afternoon the refreshing upland coolness of evening followed onthe humid heat of a hot June day. Towards sunset Ann Penhallow, to herniece's surprise, drew on her shawl and said she would like to walkdown to the little river. Any proposal to break the routine of a lifeunwholesome in its monotony was agreeable to Leila. No talk of the warwas possible. When Ann Penhallow now more and more rarely and with effortwent on her too frequently needed errands of relief or consolation, thevillage people understood her silence about the war, and accepting herbounty somewhat resented an attitude of mind which forbade the pleasantold familiarity of approach.

  The life was unhealthy for Leila, and McGregor watched its influence withaffection and some professional apprehension. Glad of any change, Leilawalked with her aunt through the garden among the roses in which now heraunt took no interest. They heard the catbirds carolling in the hedges,and Ann thought of the day a year ago when she listened to them withJames Penhallow at her side. They reached in silence an open space abovethe broad quiet backwater. Beyond a low beach the river flowed by, wideand smooth, a swift stream. From the western side the sunset light fellin widening shafts of scarlet across the water.

  "Let us sit here," said the elder woman. "I am too weak to walkfurther"--for her a strange confession. As they sat down on the mossycarpet, Leila caught the passive hand of her aunt.

  "I suppose you still swim here, every morning, Leila? I used to likeit--I have now no heart for anything."

  Leila could only say, "Why not, aunt?"

  "How can you ask me! I think--I dream of nothing but this unnatural war."

  "Is that wise, aunt? or as Dr. McGregor would say, 'wholesome'?"

  "It is not; but I cannot help it--it darkens my whole life. Billy was upat the house this morning talking in his wild way. I did not even try tounderstand, but"--and she hesitated--"I suppose I had better know."

  This was strange to Leila, who too hesitated, and then concluding to befrank returned, "It might have been better, aunt, if you had known allalong what was going on--"

  "What would have been the use?" said her aunt in a tone of languidindifference. "It can end in but one way."

  A sensation of anger rose dominant in the mind of the girl. It was hardto bear. She broke out into words of passionate resentment--the firstrevolt. "You think only of your dear South--of your friends--yourbrother--"

  "Leila!"

  She was past self-control or other control. "Well, then, be glad Lee isin Pennsylvania--General Ewell has taken York and Hagerstown--there willbe a great battle. May God help the right--my country!"

  "General Lee," cried Ann; "Lee in Pennsylvania! Then that willend the war. I am glad James is safe in Washington." Leila alreadyself-reproachful, was silent.

  To tell her he was with the army of the North would be cruel and was whatJames Penhallow had forbidden.

  "He is in Washington?" asked Ann anxiously.

  "When last I heard, he was in Washington, aunt, and as you know, John isbefore Vicksburg with General Grant."

  "They will never take it--never."

  "Perhaps not, Aunt Ann," said Leila, penitent. The younger woman wasdisinclined to talk and sat quiet, one of the millions who were wonderingwhat the next few days would bring.

  The light to westward was slowly fading as she remained with handsclasped about her knees and put aside the useless longing to know whatnone could know. Her anger was gone as she caught with a side glancethe frail look of Ann Penhallow. She felt too the soothing benedictionof the day's most sacred hour.

  Of a sudden Ann Penhallow bounded to her feet. A thunderous roarbroke on the evening stillness. The smooth backwater shivered and thecat-tails and reeds swayed, as the sound struck echoes from the hills anddied away. Leila caught and stayed the swaying figure. "It is only thefirst of the great new siege guns they are trying on the lower meadows.Sit down, dear, for a moment. Do be careful--you are getting"--shehesitated--"hysterical. There will be another presently. Do sit down,dear aunt. Don't be nervous." She was alarmed by her aunt's silentstatuesque position. She could have applied no wiser remedy than herwarning advice. No woman likes to be told she is nervous or hystericaland now it acted with the certainty of a charm.

  "I am not nervous--it was so sudden. I was startled." She turned awaywith a quick movement of annoyance, releasing herself from Leila's arm."Let's go home. Oh, my God!" she cried, as once again the cannon-roarshook the leaves on the upward slope before them. "It is the voice ofwar. Can I never get away from it--never--never?"

  "You will not be troubled again to-day," said the girl, "and the smallerguns on the further meadow we hardly notice at the house."

  Ann's steps quickened. She had been scared at her own realization ofher want of self-government and was once more in command of her emotions."Do not talk to me, Leila. I was quite upset--I am all right now."

  The great guns were sent away next day on their errands of destruction.Then the two lonely women waited as the whole country waited for newswhich whatever it might be would carry grief to countless homes.

  On the second day of July, 1863, under a heavy cloud of dust which hunghigh in air over the approach of the Baltimore Pike to Gettysburg, thelong column of the reserve artillery of the Potomac army rumbled alongthe road, and more and more clearly the weary men heard the sound ofcannon. About ten in the morning the advance guard was checked and theline came to a halt. James Penhallow, who since dawn had been urging onhis command, rode in haste along the side of the cumbered road to where ahurrying brigade of infantry crossing his way explained why his guns werethus brought to a standstill. He saw that he must wait for the footsoldiers to go by. The cannoneers dismounted from the horses or droppedoff the caissons, and glad of a rest lit their pipes and lay down orwandered about in search of water.

  The Colonel, pleased to be on time, was in gay good-humour as he talkedto the men or listened to the musketry fire far to the left. He said to agroup of men, "We are all as grey as the Rebs, boys, but it is goodPennsylvania dust." As he spoke a roar of laughter was heard from theneighbourhood of the village cemetery on his right. He rode near it andsaw the men gathered before an old notice board. He read: "Any personfound using fire arms in this vicinity will be prosecuted according tolaw." Penhallow shook with laughter. "Guess we'll have to be rightcareful, Colonel," said a sergeant.

  "You will, indeed."

  "It's an awful warning, boys," said a private. "Shouldn't wonder if BobLee set it up to scare us."

  "I'd like to take it home." They chaffed the passing infantry, and wereanswered in kind. Penhallow impatient saw that the road would soon beclear. As he issued quick orders and men mounted in haste, a young aiderode up, saluted, and said, "I have orders, Colonel, from General Huntto guide you to where he desires your guns to be parked."

  "One moment," said Penhallow; "the road is a tangle of wagons:" and toa captain, "Ride on and side-track those wagons; be quick too." Then hesaid to the aide, "We have a few minutes--how are things going? I heardof General Reynold's death, and little more."

  "Yes, we were outnumbered yesterday and--well licked. Why they did notrush us, the Lord knows!"

  "Give me some idea of our position."

  "Well, sir, here to our right is Cemetery Hill, strongly held; to yourleft the line turns east and then south in a loop to wooded hills--oneCulp's, they call it. That is our right. There is a row on there as youcan hear. Before us
as we stand our position runs south along a low ridgeand ends on two pretty high-wooded hills they call Round Tops. That'sour left. From our front the ground slopes down some forty feet or so,and about a mile away the Rebs hold the town seminary and a long low risefacing us."

  "Thank you, that seems pretty clear. There is firing over beyond thecemetery?"

  "Yes, the skirmishers get cross now and then. The road seems clear, sir."

  Orders rang out and the guns rattled up the pike like some monstrousarticulated insect, all encumbering wagons being swept aside to make wayfor the privileged guns.

  "You are to park here, sir, on the open between this and the Taneytownroad. There is a brook--a creek."

  "Thanks, that is clear."

  The ground thus chosen lay some hundred yards behind the low crest heldmidway of our line by the Second Corps, whence the ground fell away in agentle slope. The space back of our line was in what to a layman's eyewould have seemed the wildest confusion of wagons, ambulances, ammunitionmules, cattle, and wandering men. It was slowly assuming some order asthe Provost Guard, dusty, despotic and cross, ranged the wagons, droveback stragglers, and left wide lanes for the artillery to move at need tothe front.

  The colonel spent some hours in getting his guns placed and in seeingthat no least detail was lacking. With orders about instant readiness,with a word of praise here, of sharp criticism there, he turned away awell-contented man and walked up the slope in search of the headquarters.As he approached the front, he saw the bushy ridge in which, or back ofwhich, the men lay at rest. Behind them were surgeons selecting partiallyprotected places for immediate aid, stretcher-bearers, ambulances and allthe mechanism of help for the wounded. Officers were making sure that menhad at hand one hundred rounds of ammunition.

  Some three hundred yards behind the mid-centre of the Second Corps, onthe Taneytown road, Penhallow was directed to a small, rather shabbyone-storey farm-house. "By George," he murmured, "here is one general whomeans to be near the front." He was met at the door by the tall handsomefigure of General Hancock, a blue-eyed man with a slight moustache over asquare expressively firm jaw.

  "Glad to see you, Penhallow. Meade was anxious--I knew you would be ontime. Come in."

  Penhallow saw before him a mean little room, on one side a wide bed witha gaudy coverlet, on a pine table in the centre a bucket of water, a tincup, and a candle-stick. Five rickety rush-covered chairs completed thefurnishings.

  Meade rose from study of the map an engineer officer was explaining. Hewas unknown to Penhallow, who observed him with interest--a tall spareman with grey-sprinkled dark hair a large Roman nose and spectacles overwide blue eyes; a gentleman of the best, modest, unassuming, and nowcarelessly clad.

  "Colonel Penhallow," said Hancock.

  "Glad to see you." He turned to receive with evident pleasure a report ofthe morning's fight on the right wing, glanced without obvious interestat the captured flag of the Stonewall Brigade, and greeted the colonelwarmly. "I can only offer you water," he said. "Sit down. You may like tolook over this map."

  While the Commander wrote orders and despatched aide after aide,Penhallow bent over the map. "You see," said Hancock, "we have unusualluck for us in a short interior line. I judge from the moving guidonsthat Lee is extending his front--it may be six miles long."

  "And ours?"

  "Well, from wing to wing across the loop to right, not half of that."

  "I see," said Penhallow, and accepting a drink of tepid water he went outto find and report to the chief of artillery, General Hunt.

  He met him with General John Gibbon and two aides a few yards from thedoor, and making his brief report learned as he moved away that therewas some trouble on the left wing. Meade coming out with Hancock, theymounted and rode away in haste, too late to correct General Sickles'unfortunate decision to improve General Meade's battle-line. It wasnot Penhallow's business, nor did he then fully understand that costlyblunder. Returning to his guns, he sent, as Hunt had ordered, two ofhis reserve batteries up to the back of the line of the Second Corps,and finding General Gibbon temporarily in command walked with him towhat is now called the "Crest" and stood among Cushing's guns. Alertlyinterested, Penhallow saw to the left, half hidden by bushes and aclump of trees, a long line of infantry lying at ease, their muskets inglittering stacks behind them. To the right the ground was more open. Abroken stone fence lay in front of the Second Corps. It was patched withfence rails and added stone, and where the clump of trees projected inadvance of the line made a right angle and extended thence in front ofthe batteries on the Crest about thirty yards. Then it met a like rightangle of stone fencing and followed the line far to the right. Behindthese rude walls lay the Pennsylvania and New York men, three smallregiments. Further back on a little higher ground was the silent array ofcannon, thus able at need to fire over the heads of the guardinginfantry, now idly lying at rest in the baking heat of a July morning.The men about the cannon lounged at ease on the ground in the forty footinterspaces between the batteries, some eighteen pieces in all.

  Suddenly an aide rode up, and saying, "See you again, Penhallow," Gibbonrode away in haste. Penhallow, who was carefully gathering in all thatcould then be seen from the locality, moved over to where a young batterycaptain was leaning against a cannon wheel wiping the sweat from his faceor gazing over the vale below him, apparently lost in thought. "CaptainCushing, I believe," said the colonel. "I am Colonel Penhallow, incommand of the reserve artillery."

  "Indeed!" said the young officer. "These are some of your guns--"

  "Not mine--I was out of it long ago. They still carry the brand of my oldiron-mills."

  "We shall see, sir, that they do honour to your name."

  "I am sure of that," returned the colonel, looking at the face of theofficer, who as he spoke patted the gun beside him in an affectionateway.

  "It seems very peaceful," he said.

  "Yes, yes," returned Penhallow, "very."

  They looked for a moment of silence down the vale before them, where amile away the ground rose to a low ridge, beyond which in woody shelterslay the hostile lines.

  "What road is that?" asked Penhallow. "It leaves our right and crosses toenter Lee's right."

  "The Emmitsburg Pike, sir."

  The Colonel's glass searched the space before him. "I see some finefarm-houses--deserted, of course, and wheat fields no man will reap thisyear." He spoke thoughtfully, and as Woodruff of the nearer batteryjoined them, the roar of cannon broke the stillness.

  "Far on our left," said Woodruff. At the sound, the men sprang to theirfeet and took their stations. Smoke rose and clouded their view of thedistant field where on our left a fury of battle raged, while the rattleof infantry volleys became continuous. No more words were spoken. Throughthe long afternoon the unseen fight went on in front of the Round Tops.As it came nearer and the grey lines were visible, the guns on the Crestopened a lively fire and kept up their destructive business until theapproach of the enemy ceased to extend towards our centre and fell awayin death or disorderly flight. About sunset this varied noise subsidedand the remote sound of cheering was heard.

  "We must have won," said General Webb, the brigade commander. "It was aflanking movement. How little any one man knows of a battle!"

  "By George! I am glad of a let up," said the young Captain. "I am vilelydirty." He wiped the grime and sweat from his face and threw himself onthe ground as Generals Hunt and Gibbon rode up.

  "No great damage here, I see, Webb. They got awfully licked, but it wasnear to something else."

  Questioned by Penhallow, they heard the news of our needless loss andfinal triumphant repulse of the enemy. Hunt said emphatic things aboutpolitical generals and their ways. "He lost a leg," said Gibbon, "and Ithink to have lost his life would have been, fortunate. They are at itstill on the right, but the Twelfth Corps has gone back to Culp's Hilland Ewell will get his share of pounding--if it be his corps."

  "Then we may get some sleep," said Penhallow, as he moved a
way. "I havehad very little for two nights."