CHAPTER XIX.
JOHN CRAWFORD THE ZOUAVE, AND BOB WEBSTER, DITTO--BUSH-FIGHTING, WITHVARIOUS RESULTS--THE BURNING HOUSE AND A STRANGE DEATH-SCENE--JOHNCRAWFORD BECOMES A MAN OF FAMILY.
It has not yet been our fortune to happen upon John Crawford the Zouave,in the search for whom we have stumbled upon Malvern Hill and itsfearful panorama of bloodshed. As a member of the Advance Guard, he, wasnot likely to be absent from the fierce charge made by his corps at theclose of that day; and he was not. It is at the very moment of theconclusion of that charge, that the quest becomes successful.
John Crawford participated in that general advance, in the front rank ofthe Zouaves, in high health and spirits, and yelling quite as loudly anddiscordantly as any of his companions. This was not his first adventurewith the bayonet, for he had gone unwounded through the determinedcharges of his corps, with the same deadly weapon, at Williamsburgh andFair Oaks; and he had grown to have confidence in himself and in anybody of men that used the modern footman's lance with the due ferocity.Though five years younger than his brother Richard, John Crawford lookedolder than he did even in his sickness; for the exposures of a year hadbrowned his round and ruddy face, if it had not dimmed the brightnessof his blue eye; and the heavy waved brown hair and moustache in whichhe retained so prominent a characteristic of his Gaelic ancestry of ahundred years before, added materially to the appearance of manlymaturity. Were it a _preux chevalier_ sitting under this verbal lens forhis photograph, there might be difficulty in proceeding farther in thisdescription; for though your knight of old seems to have been splendidlyoblivious as to the needs of clean linen, and able to wear one surcoatand one suit of armor for any length of time without becoming repugnantto the nose of his lady when brought-into the opportunity for anembrace,--yet the heroes of this day have sore need of occasional aidfrom the washerwoman, and even the tailor becomes necessary for thereplenishing of worn-out and faded garments. John Crawford theZouave--the truth must be told--though he showed very little shirt,showed that little in an unclean condition; and the baggy red of histrousers and the hanging blue of his jacket, both looked shabby anddiscolored. Not much more could be said in favor of the white and yellowturban with the dirty white tassel hanging behind, ostensibly worn onhis head but really drooping on the back part of it, quite as much aswere the ladies' bonnets two or three years ago when the suggestion wasmade that they "should be carried behind them in a spoon." And yet thissoiled and uncombed man was a soldier--every inch a soldier--and had inhim all the materials for the making of a hero.
We have said that John Crawford was in good health and spirits, aftersharing with the army in all its battles, fatigues and privations. Hewas so, not alone because the corps was somewhat better managed andcared for than many of the others, but because he was a sober man andone physically well-educated. He did not heat his blood for fever, anddebilitate his system for exposure, by the use of liquor whenever hecould reach it; and having been a member of the Seventh before he joinedthe Zouaves, and a habitue of the Gymnasium so much affected by themembers of that regiment, he had acquired some capacity of bearingfatigue before entering upon that soldier-life which of all demands themost unrelaxing endurance.
A picture very little different from that just presented, though tallerand lanker in figure, was to be found in Bob Webster, John Crawford'scomrade and file-closer, who went into the charge that evening at hisside. A little less hardy, more of a giant in strength, and with a ruddytinge on the end of his long nose, that had been acquired by more yearsand more whiskey than confessed to by Crawford--such was the onlydifference observable in the two men of the dirty white turbans and thediscolored uniforms, who went into battle together.
The point of the enemy's front at which the Zouaves struck in thecharge, was considerably to the right of the Union centre (the enemy'sleft) and very near to the edge of the wood bounding Carter's Field onthe North. The company to which the two comrades belonged had theextreme right, (the post of honor), and they were consequently, when thecharge had penetrated so far that the rebels began to give way, almostin the edge of the woods. Some of the men in a South Carolina regiment,the enemy's extreme left, seemed to fight like fiends, supported by abattery of the same State that it became necessary to capture. This wasfinally swept, and the South Carolinians at last gave way, falling backinto the woods, now beginning to grow dark, but firing from behind treesas they retired. Too much excited to heed the recall just then sounded,a dozen or two of the Zouaves, remembering their unexpended ammunition,tried their hand for the time at bush-fighting, with more or lesssuccess. Some of them were shot down, but others succeeded in killing orcapturing the peculiar fugitives of whom they started in chase. Crawfordand Webster had so far succeeded in keeping together, and neither hadreceived even a scratch.
One of the rebels, conspicuous by the fact that he had lost or thrownoff his coat and was consequently in "Irish uniform," had beenespecially followed by half a dozen of the Zouaves, as he fell backfarther and farther into the woods, dodging and firing from behindtrees, and proving that he must have come from one of the hill regionsof the Palmetto State, where the hunting of wild beasts yet keeps thewoodman in train for a soldier. Not less than three of the Zouaves hadpaid for their tenacity with their lives, by shots sent from that singlelong-rifle. Crawford and Webster, fancying that they bore charmed lives,still kept on the chase, catching glimpses through the dusk, of therebel's shirt, as it dodged in and out behind the trees. In this mannerthey had penetrated perhaps a quarter of a mile into the woods, thesounds of the battle growing more and more indistinct behind them, whena broad light burst up through the trees to the North, shining redlythrough boles and branches and indicating a fire in the immediateneighborhood.
"What is that?" said Webster, his attention momentarily distracted fromthe rebel whom he had seen dodging behind a tree but a moment before.
"A fire of some kind," said Crawford, looking in the same direction."From its size, it may be a burning house."
"Humph! though it is hot enough without, I shouldn't mind being at onemore fire!" said Webster, who, like most New Yorkers of a certain age,had once in his time "run wid der masheen."
"But where is that gentleman from the South?" asked Crawford. "He maygive us a pop directly--look out!"
"The no-coated devil!" said Webster. "He was dodging behind that big oaka moment ago. I think I see the edge of his shirt--yes!"
He _did_ see the tip of the Southerner's shirt, and some one else _felt_him; for at that instant "crack!" went the long rifle, and John Crawfordgave vent to an "Ough!" that partook of the mingled characters of anoath and a yell, staggering up against the nearest tree at the samemoment, with a rifle-bullet through his left fore-arm, and feeling thatsentiment of disgust at the stomach which is inseparable from theforcible entrance of any substance into the human body, in the shape ofa wound.
"Hallo, Jack! Eh, you did it, did you?--d--n you!" sputtered Webster, ashe heard the report and saw the effect. Of course the first part of hisremark was addressed to his comrade, and the last to the rebel, who hadmade such a capital shot that he allowed too much of his figure to beexposed while making his survey. In an instant, Webster's piece wasdrawn up, and a second "crack!" rang out through the trees.
"Ten to one I hit him!" cried Webster. "For the first time I got a fairview of one side of his dirty white shirt. But how badly are you hurt,Jack? Where are you hit?"
"Hurt a good deal, but not seriously, I think," answered Crawford, alittle faintly. "He hit me here in the left arm, below the elbow. Ithink the bullet went through, and maybe the bone is broken."
"Too bad! tut! tut!" said his brother Zouave. "Never mind--I will bindit up in a moment. Do you think you can lean against that tree and keepfrom fainting until I run and see whether my little joker went in theright direction?"
"Nary faint!" said Crawford, making a strong effort to overcome the painhe was suffering. "Go ahead, Bob, and hurry!"
Webster did hurry, and Crawford had scar
cely more than time to enjoyhalf-a-dozen exquisite throbs of agony and observe that the lightthrough the trees, Northward, was growing brighter and brighter, when hecame running back, very jubilant.
"Dead as the deadest kind of a herring!" he said. "Didn't hit him whereI meant to, but it answered. Bored him right through the skull, and helies there, hugging the root of the tree he was so fond of."
"Well, I am glad of that, at all events!" answered Crawford. Men, evenof the best hearts and warmest natures, change terribly in times of warand among the influences of the camp and the battle-field. The man whoby nature could only have said "Thank God!" at some benefit rendered tohis kind or some dispensation of Providence by which the lives of hisperilled fellow-men have been preserved--easily learns to be thankfulfor the explosion of a magazine or the sinking of a ship by whichhundreds of men have been sent suddenly into eternity, those men being_his enemies_.
"But come--let us see what kind of a nick you have got!" said Webster,examining the arm with some skill once acquired in a doctor's shop towhich run-over and fainted people were sometimes brought for suddenassistance. "No, the bones are not broken--all right! Here, let me bindit up with my handkerchief and put my scarf-belt around your neck for asling." He proceeded to make these dispositions, with speed anddexterity, and in a moment after Crawford felt the sickening painsubsiding and the slight faintness leaving him.
"Humph! that is better--it scarcely hurts at all now," he said. "Thankyou, Bob--or Doctor Bob, I ought to call you."
"Well, call me anything you like, except a coward or a humbug!" answeredWebster. "And now, old fellow, think you are strong enough to get backto the Hill?"
"Yes, but I am not going there!" said John Crawford. "Don't you see howbright that fire through the trees is getting? In this hot weathernobody builds a camp-fire of that size, and I think there must be ahouse burning. If you say so, we will take a tour in that direction."
"Anywhere with _you_," said Webster. "But," he added, careful for hiswounded companion though not for himself, "suppose it should be aburning house, with rebels around, and you with your lame arm."
"Oh, Bob, we'll take the chances," said the wounded Zouave. "Myimpression is that they have had enough of Little Mac for one day, andgot out of this, and that you killed about the last one of them. At allevents, we'll take the chances--come on!"
Bob Webster had been in the habit of following his file-leader, and hedid so in this instance. The two struck across the woods in thedirection of the fire, their path through the trees and under-growthbeing made an easy one by the light it cast. A few hundred yards broughtthem to the edge of the wood, at a narrow place where a spur of theMalvern Hill made a sudden curve Southward and broke into the timber. Asthey approached the edge of the clear space, they saw that a house wasindeed on fire, the flames now licking through the roof and envelopingthe chimneys, while all the lower portion seemed burned to a shell. Thehouse, which stood at the foot of the hill, appeared to have been offair size, and surrounded on three sides with carefully cultivatedgrounds, now marred and desolated alike by the foot of the invader andthe defender.
Climbing a broken fence that lay between the wood and the cultivatedground, the two soldiers drew nearer to the burning house, whichstrangely enough showed no person moving around the flames, and noindication that it was not burning in utter loneliness. Such things astraps and decoys had been heard of by the comrades, however, as they hadbeen heard of by every soldier subjected to the tricks of theConfederates; and they were not too certain that enemies might not lieconcealed in the neighborhood, waiting to pick off any Union soldierdiscerned in the light of the fire. On this account, Webster, who hadre-loaded his rifle, carried it ready for instant use, while Crawfordcarried his in the unwounded hand, at half-cock, and ready to make somekind of an attempt, in the event of danger, to use it as a pistol. Theseprecautions seemed to be all superfluous, for as they came still nearerto the burning house, now almost ready to fall into a heap of blazingand smouldering ruins, no voice was heard and no sign of life wasvisible.
"Nobody there," said Webster.
"Nobody _living_, at least, in or about that shanty!" was the reply ofCrawford. "The people are either burned, saved, or there have been nonethere."
"One of the three--yes--I should say so!" replied Webster to thisself-evident proposition.
"And as there seems nothing to be done, in the way of putting out thefire, saving anybody or killing anybody, suppose we go back to theHill?" said Crawford.
"Not yet," answered Webster. "We have not yet been on the other side ofthe house. Perhaps there may be outbuildings on that side, that have notyet taken fire; and if there is no one living in the house, there may becattle or hogs roasting in the enclosures."
"Very well said, Bob," said Crawford. "Let us see the other side of thehouse." And the two soldiers advanced as near as was comfortable to theblazing building, for that purpose. It had not yet fallen, though everyboard had dropped away, and every timber was a thin line of fire, fastcharring to coals. The house had evidently been that of a person ofsome condition, though of perhaps no remarkable wealth. It had been oftwo stories, with a piazza in front and a neat little yard showing a fewflower-shrubs, a bordering of fruit-trees at the sides of the enclosure,and two medium-sized Lombardy poplar trees at the gate. No negro-quarterwas visible, or any evidence that the "peculiar institution" had formedany part of the domestic policy of the occupants.
Just as the companions approached the gate and stood observing theseparticulars, the demon of fire obtained his last triumph over thematerial of the building. The snapping and crackling of the flamesincreased for a moment, and the forked tongues seemed licking closer andcloser around the doomed pile; then there was a sudden change--thearched rafters sunk away--the slight shock disturbed what had yetremained of the frame-work--and the instant after, with a loud rumblingcrash, the whole building went down into a heap of ruins, one high burstof flame shooting up skyward as a signal that the destruction had beenaccomplished, and showers of sparks following it, like a burst offireworks at some grand celebration. With the fall, the broad light ofthe fire over the surrounding fields and on the neighboring woods diedaway, and there only remained a great heap of burning timbers,smouldering coals and embers, giving scarcely more light than anordinary watch-fire.
But the peculiar interest of that scene did not die out with the fall ofthe building: on the contrary, it was at that moment that it began toassume proportions more easily recognized. For mingled with the crash ofthe fall there seemed to be the sharp, shrill, terrible scream of ahuman voice in agony; and the very instant after that scream wasrepeated, so distinctly that it drove the blood from the cheeks of boththe soldiers at the gate.
"My God! did you hear that?" said Crawford.
"Didn't I!" answered Webster. "I wish I _hadn't_! Jack, do you know,there must have been somebody in the house after all, burning to death;and that scream, when the building fell, was the wind-up of a life!"
"It must have been so, and we have been standing here, doing nothing,when aid might have been given!" said Crawford, in self-reproach, andforgetting how little a man with one arm can do in the way of carryingout people from a burning building. "Yet no--stop! No, Bob, that screamwas not the last of the person's life, for didn't you notice, we heardit _twice_, and the last time after the house had fallen in? After thathouse fell, no one inside of it ever screamed, and so--"
"And so," said Webster, interrupting, "there is somebody, _not_ in thehouse, who screamed? That is what you mean, and by Jupiter, Jack, youare right!"
"Now we _must_ look the other side of the house," said Crawford. "Somepoor creature, badly burned, may have crawled out from the flames and belying there in agony."
So there might have been, truly! And what a strange riddle is humannature, even on that other side--mercy! We but a little while agoconsidered the ease with which a man born with the warmest aspirationsfor human good, might become eager for the destruction of life, whenthat life belonge
d to a foeman: let the opposite spectacle beconsidered, of a man who had just been plunging into the thick of ahand-to-hand fight, estimating human heads as of no more value thancocoa-nuts, and human lives as something to be taken without a shudderor a pang of compunction,--a few minutes afterwards speaking of a "poorcreature" whose life might be threatened by fire, and speaking of that"poor creature" with all the tenderness of a mother or a lover! And isthis inconsistent? No--it is consistent to the last degree. The braveman is the pitiful man; and while he may consider a hecatomb necessaryfor a cause, he regards one life sacrificed unnecessarily, as _murder_."Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm, is all unfit to live!" says oneof the old poet-philosophers. And are worms therefore never to betrodden upon? Not so, by any means! The adverbial adjective "needlessly"explains the broad distinction. Not one worm, even the creeping,crawling and disgusting caterpillar, for cruelty or even for neglect:millions of worms, whether caterpillar or human worm of the dust, for asacred cause and a great duty!
"Yes, come on around the house. The heat is not so great now, and we_must_ see if there is anything living here," was the reply of Websterto the last suggestion of Crawford; and they at once followed the yardas closely round as the burning ruins would permit. They heard norepetition of the sound; nor could they see any sign of human life.Behind the house, hillward, stood a small barn and stables, while awood-shed and some other small outbuildings stood on the eastern side ofthe enclosure. These had been nearly connected with the house by boardfences, and in two places those fences had taken fire and threatened tocarry the flames to the other buildings. But the evening had been calm,and the fire had not run many yards along the fences before it becameextinguished for want of compelling wind and quick fuel.
A proposition from Webster that they should search the outbuildings forthe source of the cry, was negatived by Crawford, who thought it verylikely, after all his previous confidence, that some of the Confederatetroops, who had certainly held the woods at one time during the day,might be located in the barn--not dangerous, perhaps, if undisturbed,but very likely to be troublesome if two soldiers, one with one arm andboth on a very blind errand, should go stumbling about in the dark toomiscellaneously.
"Well," said Webster, "no doubt you are right, Jack, as you almostalways are. In that case we have nothing to do but to get back to campand look a little more closely after that shivered arm of yours, forthere is certainly no one near the edge of the fire."
"Hark!" said Crawford, as they started to retrace their stops around thehouse, and move away. They were within a few steps of what appeared tobe a wood-shed, standing on the east side of the enclosure, and someforty or fifty feet from the house. "Hark!"
"Well, what is it? I heard nothing!" said Webster, who had beenlistening exclusively for another shriek.
"Well, _I_ heard something, and it was a groan!" said Crawford.
"Oh Lord!" exclaimed the not-very-reverent Webster. "What next, Iwonder? Awhile ago we had shrieks: now we have groans! I wonder if thisplace is haunted--just a little?"
"Hark! there it was again!" said Crawford. "It _was_ a groan, and notvery far from us, either!"
"In that case," said Webster, "as it is incumbent upon two members ofthe Advance Guard not to come all this distance for nothing, we shall beunder the necessity of hunting out the groan. Ah!" and the speakerpaused a moment. "By Jupiter it _is_ a groan. I heard it myself thattime. It is here, under this shed!"
The long legs of Webster at once made a movement in that direction,followed by the shorter and more symmetrical ones of Crawford. Theyreached the door of the wood-house, opening towards the burned mansion.The door was unclosed, and they could look within. Just as they reachedthe door both heard another groan--quite sufficient to satisfy them thatthey were not in error as to the place from which the sound hadproceeded. A faint red light from the fallen embers of the burning houseshone within the rough shed from the narrow door--scarce enough, atfirst, to make objects distinctly visible; but as they gazed the eyesgrew accustomed to the dim light and they could distinctly trace whatthe building contained. They stepped slowly within, no motion from theoccupants giving indication that their presence was known; and this iswhat they saw--dimly, but clearly enough for the purposes ofrecognition.
On a straw pallet lay an old man, thin-faced and hollow-eyed, his scantywhite hair streaming backward on the end of the pallet, which had beenturned up to form a pillow. Over him and reaching from his feet to hisbreast, was drawn a sheet, and on that sheet lay one of his thin,wrinkled and nerveless hands. His eyes were shut, and he might haveappeared to be asleep, but that ever and anon there broke from him oneof those low but distinct groans indicative of severe inward pain, whichhad startled the two Zouaves. But the old man was not the most singularor the most painful feature of this spectacle. Beside him on the ground,kneeling, and rocking backward and forward with that peculiar motion soindicative of intense and hopeless grief when used by some of theEuropean peasantry, was a young girl--apparently very young, very smalland very girlish, though there was something about her which even inthat dim light gave the impression that she was not a little girl, but awoman.
So much the two soldiers saw, while neither of the occupants of the shedseemed to be aware of their presence; but Webster, an intenselypractical man and more fertile in resources than overflowing withdelicacy, was not quite satisfied with the view obtained, and instantlydetermined to improve it.
"Wait here--I am going for a light," he said, and stepping hastily fromthe door he ran to the burning embers of the house, caught the end of apiece of pine scantling of which the other was in full blaze, and in amoment more entered the door of the shed, his novel torch throwing anodd, ghastly light upon all the objects within the little building. Thenand not till then did the intruders become aware that they stood face toface with one who was dying, in the old man on the pallet,--and with awoman of a rare and almost startling order of beauty, in the young girlwho knelt beside him. Her form, as they could see, even in her kneelingposition, was almost childish in the shortness of its stature and thepetite mould of her limbs; and yet there was nothing thin or attenuatedabout her, and the epithet "fragile" could not have been applied to herwith half the justice of that very opposite word, "willowy." Her facewas infantile in the smallness of the features, in their perfect round,and in the expression of helpless placidity which seemed to lie upon it.But those features were yet classical in outline, and the mouth,especially, was very sweet and budding. The open eyes were blue asheaven; and the hair, of which there was a great wealth, loosed from allrestraint and sweeping back on her shoulders, was of that delicate andalmost impalpable blonde so seldom met (even among the English, whoarrogate to themselves the purest blonde hair in the world) and souniversally admired--nay, almost worshipped.
It is not to be supposed that so long a time was necessary for the twoZouaves to catch the particulars here set down, as would be indicated bythe length of the description itself; and certainly no such length oftime was allowed them without interruption. It was now evident thatneither the dying man nor the young girl had before been aware of theentrance of the strangers; but as Webster entered with his torch ofpine, the sudden light startled both. The old man's eyes did notunclose, but the young girl's looked around with a startled glance; sherose to her feet, clasped her hands imploringly, while so sad andbeseeching an expression rested upon her face, that she might have beenthe discarded Peri pleading for her lost place in heaven,--and said:
"Go away, please! Grandfather is dying. Don't disturb him--pleasedon't!"
"My poor girl, we do not mean to disturb him, or you," said Crawford,advancing a little way towards the side of the pallet, and throwing intohis voice all its native sympathy and kindness. "We are friends."
"Marion, who is that?" asked the old man, feebly. He had before shownthat his eyes were affected by the light, and made a motion to rise,which brought the young girl at once to her knees again beside him, withher hand and arm affectionately round his head.
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"I do not know, grandpa! They are soldiers--two soldiers."
"Tell them to go away--_ask_ them to go away, and let me die in peace!"said the old man, his voice still feeble, and his utterance difficult asbefore.
"I have asked them, grandpa, and they will not go," said the young girl,her tones, strangely enough, even in characterizing what she must havefelt to be an outrage, expressing no feeling of anger, but soft and lowas flute notes of the lower register.
"We do not wish to intrude. We will go away," said Crawford.
"Ah!" said the old man, a perceptible shadow passing over his face,"that was the voice of a _gentleman_! Ask him who he is, Marion. But hemust be a rebel," and the old man went on, his voice falling still loweras if he was speaking to himself. "He must be a rebel, for McClellanhas been beaten and driven back. They have been fighting all day, and Iknow the end--I know the end."
"We are _not_ rebels," said Crawford, who had caught the last words,whether intended or not even for the granddaughter's ear. "I hope youwill not fear us. I am John Crawford, private in Duryea's Zouaves, ofMcClellan's army; and this is Robert Webster, private in the sameregiment."
"Union men? Men faithful to the country and the old flag?" asked the oldman, a gleam of delight passing over his wasted features. "Here, quick,quick, Marion, raise me up."
The young girl tried to obey, but her scant strength was insufficienteven to raise the thin form of the old man. Robert Webster steppedforward to assist her, and as the old man was raised knelt down behindand supported the head and upper body in a half-sitting position. Thoughthe eyes had remained closed before, they opened now, to confrontCrawford--poor old, dim, lack-lustre eyes, that yet seemed to have oneburning spark in the centre.
"You say that you are a Union soldier. Will you swear it?" he asked, inthe same low, solemn tones.
"I do solemnly swear, in the presence of Almighty God," said JohnCrawford, lifting his hand to heaven, remembering some portions of theoath so commonly administered in our courts of justice, and adding onsome words not commonly used in the same connection, "that I am a trueand loyal soldier in the service of the United States, and the enemy ofall rebels and traitors! Amen!"
"Thank God!" said the old man, solemnly. "If I cannot die with the oldflag over me, I can at least have the company of those who uphold it!Give me your hand. What!" as the young soldier came closer. "You arewounded. You have been in the battle to-day. You are defeated and afugitive?"
"No!" said the Zouave, with a world of triumph in his tone, and givinghis uninjured hand at the same time. "I am wounded, but McClellan andFitz-John Porter have to-day flogged the rebels out of their boots atMalvern Hill, and the Union army is safe!'
"Thank God! oh, thank God!" said the old man, reverently. "Marion, layme back, I am faint." He did not seem to be aware that Webster wasassisting to hold him up, or that any one was in the place exceptCrawford and his granddaughter. His request was obeyed, and he was laiddown again on the pallet; but the excitement of the last few minutes hadperceptibly weakened him, and he was evidently failing fast. "Marion, ithurts me to talk--a little. Tell the gentleman, for he is a gentleman, Iknow--who we are and how we came to be here."
"This is my grandfather," the young girl said, still on her knees by thepallet, and evidencing in her calm and childlike tone no surprise at therequest, and no agitation in relating what must have pained her soterribly under the circumstances. "His name is Chester Hobart. We belongto a good family, and they say that we are related to the English Earlsof Buckinghamshire. My father was Charles Hampden Hobart. He was anofficer in the navy, and was drowned when I was quite a little girl."Crawford did not notice, then, but remembered afterwards, that in thisstrange relation she said nothing of another parent who seemed likewiseto be dead--her _mother_. "My grandfather and myself lived in the house,here. We had black servants, but they have all gone away. We did nothave any negro quarter--the servants lived in one part of the house. Mygrandfather has been very ill--so ill that I thought he would die. He isvery fond of the Union--_I_ do not know anything about politics. He wasbetter a little; but the house took fire awhile ago, and I couldscarcely help him out. I got out the straw mattress and a sheet, and Icould get out nothing more. I am afraid my poor grandfather is very ill,now; perhaps he is dying. I thought he was dying a little while ago, andI screamed--I could not help it. That is all, grandfather, is it not?oh, grandfather! grandfather!" and the poor girl, for the first timebroken down, fell forward on the straw pallet, buried her face near theold man's head, and sobbed like an overtasked child.
"Poor girl!" said John Crawford. He did not mean to speak aloud, but hedid so, and the dying man heard him.
"Young man," he said, "you took an oath just now. Will you take another,to make an old man die happier?"
"I will!" answered the young man, bending close to him. He was too muchexhausted, now, to raise his head any more.
"You say that the Union troops have won the fight to-day?"
"I do say so. We have repulsed the rebel attacks every time; and thelast repulse was a rout. They are defeated."
"You believe that you can reach the Union camp in safety?"
"I have no doubt of it," answered the Zouave.
"Then swear to me, with the same uplifted hand you used awhile ago, thatyou will remove my granddaughter, Marion Hobart, to the North--out ofthis den of secession. She has money in a Bank in New York, enough tomake her comfortable--I put it there three years ago, thinking such atime as this might come. Swear to me that you will find her a home withsome honest family, and that you will neither do harm to her yourselfnor permit it to approach her if you can shelter her from it. Swear itby the Ever-Living God."
"I swear!" said the young soldier, lifting his hand solemnly.
The old man lay still on his pillow, a strange and awful shadow stealingover his face. His granddaughter had raised her head, and she saw it,though the torch had burned low and there was little but the red lightof the fire glimmering into the building. She buried her face once morein the pallet, threw her arms around the old man's form, and sobbed,
"Grandfather! oh, grandfather!"
"Hark! did I not hear cannon again? Are you _sure_ the Union troops havewon the victory?" came from the closing lips. "You are a soldier and agentleman. You said your name was Craw--Crawford. A good old name. Nevermind me--take care of Marion. Marion--Ma--." He was silent, and silentforever, except as the dumb lips may be hereafter opened!
Marion Hobart saw the lower jaw fall and the open eyes put on thatghastly appearance which is the seal of the triumph of death: and sheknew, without a word from either of her companions, that he was dead.The soldiers saw that she comprehended all that had occurred, andexpected that she would shriek again and throw herself wildly on thebody. She did not--she merely clasped her hands and looked on the bodywith such a pitiful gaze of fixed sorrow that Crawford could not bear itand turned away his eyes, while Webster found sudden and unexplainednecessity for blowing his long nose.
Suddenly, and before a word had been spoken by either of the soldiers, anew thought came to the young girl and a terrible look of fear andsorrow swept over her face.
"It is night and we cannot bury him!" she said, her voice broken andagonized. "How can I leave him unburied? Gentlemen--gentlemen--how can Ileave my poor grandfather unburied?"
"He shall not remain unburied!" said Crawford, instantly and earnestly.
"He should not, Miss, if I had to make a ground-hog of myself and dighis grave with my own hands!" put in Webster, who had scarcely spokenbefore during all the sad scene.
"Oh thank you!--thank you both!" she began--then suddenly pausing, shesaid: "But how--I do not understand--it is night, and we have nothing--"
"In half an hour we will be at camp, God willing," answered Crawford,"and Colonel Warren will send a guard of soldiers to watch the bodyuntil morning and then to bury it with all honor. Do you understand,Miss Hobart?"
"I do," answered the young girl, her sad calmness retu
rning at once."You are both very good and kind, and may God bless you. You want to go?We must go, I suppose; and we can do poor grandfather no good now bystaying. Good-bye, grandfather--poor grandfather! I shall never see youagain, and you do not see _me_, even now! Good-bye! oh, grandfather,grandfather! I am so lonesome I so lonesome!"
For one moment she threw herself forward on the pallet and embraced thebody of the old man, in uncontrollable sorrow, while both the twoZouaves found themselves shedding tears very inappropriate for theevening of a day of battle. Then she rose to her feet, put her fingersto her eyes as if pressing out the moisture that had gathered unbiddenunder the lids, and said:
"Shall we go? I am ready."
Reverently, Crawford drew the sheet over the face of the corpse, hidingit forever from the eyes of the bereaved granddaughter as it was so soonto be hidden from the eyes of all the living; and then thedoubly-orphaned girl and her new-found friends took their way from thescene of death. She was dressed only in light delaine and had neithershawl nor bonnet; but the night air was not too cool, and Websterwrapped his Zouave jacket around the slight form, while Crawfordsupplied her with his handkerchief as a covering for her head They tooktheir way at once from the house, now little more than a heap ofdarkening coals,--and struck south-eastward over the spur of the hilland through that portion of the woods least likely to retain anyambushed rebels, towards the quarters on Malvern. The sounds of battlehad almost entirely ceased, it being now some ten o'clock in theevening; and only occasionally the boom of a cannon half a mile away tothe south-westward showed that the opposing forces yet remained neareach other. The thick smoke which had shrouded all the country duringthe day, had almost all rolled away, the young moon had disappeared inthe west, and the stars looked down as clearly and beautifully as if nosuch things as war and death could exist in a world gazed upon by suchpure eyes.
Scarcely a word was spoken by either, during the short walk to the topof Malvern Hill. The young girl leaned upon the uninjured arm of JohnCrawford, with a touching confidence and trust, an occasional convulsionof grief shaking her frame and on occasional sob breaking from her;while Bob Webster acted as scout and guide, carrying both rifles, andperhaps not the more on that account prepared to repel any suddendanger. But no such danger came. The rebels had indeed retired, and thevarious corps of the Union army had been gathered in to their respectivequarters, preparatory to the march to Harrison's Landing, which was tobe pursued at daylight. Not all of them, however. It was well that thecourse of Crawford and his companions did not lie across Carter's Field;for if it had done so, they must have seen hundreds of lanterns movingabout, and hundreds of dark figures moving and toiling--thefatigue-parties burying the Union dead and planting the soil of the OldDominion with more of that martyr seed which may yet spring up to theredemption of the land and the glory of the nation. This would have beena sad and harrowing sight for the young girl, after so lately leavingher last relative to be made a prey for worms; and fortunately she wasspared it.
Perhaps half an hour after leaving the burned house, the Zouaves andtheir charge reached the bivouac of the Advance Guard, half way down theslope towards Carter's Field. The loss of the corps had been buttrifling, in spite of their furious charge; and though tired and hungry,those who had not dropped down in their places to sleep, were merry andjubilant. The Union forces had won one last great victory in defeat, andthey knew it and knew that the army was safe. Crawford had ever been afavorite with his corps, respected by the men and even petted by theofficers; and he was recognized with shouts of welcome by many, as hemade his way, with his charge on his arm, towards the Colonel's tent.
"Hallo, old fellow! Safe eh, after all!" cried one who recognised him;while another said: "Thought you had gone to Richmond, without waitingfor the rest of us!" and another, but in a lower tone that perhapsMarion Hobart did not hear: "I say, Jack, where the deuce did you pickup a petticoat, and a white one at that?"
Colonel Warren received the young Zouave, and heard his story, payingall respect to the young girl under his protection. He at once promised,at Crawford's request, that a file of soldiers should go down to theburned house and perform the rites of burial before the corps left thehill; whereupon the face of the young girl more fully repaid him by itsexpression of true gratitude, than did even her words of sadthankfulness. There are men who have called Colonel Warren not only amartinet but a man devoid of feeling: let his action on this occasionprove how little those know him who speak of him thus coldly.
"Some of the wagons are leaving for the Landing just now," he said toCrawford, after the latter had explained the nature of his wound andbriefly told the story of the protection he had promised the young girl,which he would have no difficulty in finding for her in the company ofhis brother and sister. "Some of the wagons are going down now. You areof no use here, and you had as well take the lady down at once. Make heras comfortable as you can in one of the wagons. The ride is only a shortone; and perhaps you may be able to find a berth for her on board one ofthe boats at the Landing. Stay, Crawford, a despatch-boat will be goingdown to Monroe in the morning. You are a faithful fellow and a goodsoldier. I will see to it, in the morning, that you have a furlough fora month. I think we shall do nothing more for a month, and you may needthat time to get a new arm. Take Miss Hobart at once to New York, andplace her with your sister. That is all--now look for a place in one ofthe wagons. Good night--I will see about the rest before the boatleaves."
Crawford's warm "God bless you, Colonel!" was more softly, but not lessearnestly echoed by the "I thank you, sir, very much. You are very goodand kind!" of the young girl; and the two left the tent to follow outthe directions of the officer. Bob Webster, unwounded, was already withhis companions, picking up what he could find left in the way ofrations, and telling over, for the sixth time already, the adventures ofthe night.
Not to linger upon what no longer needs particular description, let itbe said in a word that Crawford succeeded in securing transportation forthe young girl and himself to Harrison's Landing; that they reached thatreturn terminus of the campaign against Richmond, a little aftermidnight; that a place was found on board one of the boats at theLanding, for Miss Hobart, under the kind care of the coloredchambermaid; that Colonel Warren kept his promise and procured thewounded Zouave, (whose arm had been examined by one of the surgeons, andfound to be badly torn and lacerated, though none of the bones werebroken), his furlough for a month "or until recovered;" that they wentdown the next day on the despatch boat to Fortress Monroe, whenceGeneral Wool at once sent them on to Washington; and that on the eveningof the Fourth of July they reached the city of New York, and JohnCrawford had the pleasure of placing his sacred charge under theprotection of his brother, whom he found yet so sadly an invalid,--andof his sister, who received her with a warmer and more consideratekindness than he had ever before known her to exhibit towards any livingobject.
Shoulder-Straps: A Novel of New York and the Army, 1862 Page 20