Battle Ground
Page 22
II
THE DAY'S MARCH
In the gray dawn tents were struck, and five days' rations were issued withthe marching orders. As Dan packed his knapsack with trembling hands, hesaw men stalking back and forth like gigantic shadows, and heard the hoarseshouting of the company officers through the thick fog which had rolleddown from the mountains. There was a persistent buzz in the air, as if agreat swarm of bees had settled over the misty valley. Each man was askingunanswerable questions of his neighbour.
At a little distance Big Abel, with several of the company "darkies" wasstruggling energetically over the property of the mess, storing the cookingutensils into a stout camp chest, which the strength of several men wouldlift, when filled, into the wagon. Bland, who had just tossed his overcoatacross to them, turned abruptly upon Dan, and demanded warmly "what hadbecome of his case of razors?"
"Where are we going?" was Dan's response, as he knelt down to roll up hisoilcloth and blanket. "By Jove, it looks as if we'd gobble up Patterson forbreakfast!"
"I say, where's my case of razors?" inquired Bland, with irritation. "Theywere lying here a moment ago, and now they're gone. Dandy, have you got myrazors?"
"Look here, Beau, what are you going to leave behind?" asked Kemper overBland's shoulder.
"Leave behind? Why, dull care," rejoined Dan gayly. "By the way, Pinetop,why don't you save your appetite for Patterson's dainties?"
Pinetop, who was leisurely eating his breakfast of "hardtack" and bacon,took a long draught from his tin cup, and replied, as he wiped his mouth onhis shirt sleeve, that he "reckoned thar wouldn't be any trouble aboutfinding room for them, too." The general gayety was reflected in his face;he laughed as he bit deeply into his half-cooked bacon.
Dan stood up and nervously strapped on his knapsack; then he swung hiscanteen over his shoulder and carefully tightened his belt. His face wasflushed, and when he spoke his voice quivered with emotion. It seemed tohim that the delay of every instant was a reckless waste of time, and hetrembled at the thought that the enemy might be preparing to fall upon themunawares; that while the camp was swarming like an ant's nest, Pattersonand his men might be making good use of the fleeting moments.
"Why the devil don't we move? We ought to move," he said angrily, as heglanced round the crowded field where the men were arraying themselves inall the useless trappings of the Southern volunteer. Kemper was busilyplacing his necessary toilet articles in his haversack, having thrown awayhalf his rations for the purpose; Jack Powell, completely dressed for themarch, was examining his heavy revolver, with the conscious pride a fieldofficer might have felt in his sword. As he stuck it into his belt, hestraightened himself with a laugh and jauntily set his small cap on hiscurling hair; he was clean, comely, and smooth-shaven as if he had juststepped from a hot bath and the hands of his barber.
"You may roll Dandy in the dust and he'll come out washed," Baker had onceforcibly remarked.
"I say, boys, why don't we start?" persisted Dan impatiently, flicking withhis handkerchief at a grain of sand on his high boots. Then, as Big Abelbrought him a cup of coffee, he drank it standing, casting eager glancesover the rim of his cup. He had an odd feeling that it was all a great foxhunt they were soon to start upon; that they were waiting only for thecalling of the hounds. The Major's fighting blood had stirred within hisgrandson's veins, and generations of dead Lightfoots were scenting thecoming battle from the dust. When Dan thought now of the end to which heshould presently be marching, it suggested to him but a quickenedexhilaration of the pulses and an old engraving of "Waterloo," which hungon the dining-room wall at Chericoke. That was war; and he rememberedvividly the childish thrill with which he had first looked up at it. He sawthe prancing horses, the dramatic gestures of the generals with flowinghair, the blur of waving flags and naked swords. It was like a page tornfrom the eternal Romance; a page upon which he and his comrades should playheroic parts; and it was white blood, indeed, that did not glow with thehope of sharing in that picture; of hanging immortal in an engraving on thewall.
The "fall in" of the sergeant was already sounding from the road, and, witha last glance about the field, Dan ran down the gentle slope and across thelittle stream to take his place in the ranks of the forming column. Anofficer on a milk-white horse was making frantic gestures to the line, andthe young man followed him an instant with his eyes. Then, as he stoodthere in the warm sunshine, he felt his impatience prick him like a needle.He wanted to push forward the regiments in front of him, to start in anydirection--only to start. The suppressed excitement of the fox hunt wasupon him, and the hoarse voices of the officers thrilled him as if theywere the baying of the hounds. He heard the musical jingle of movingcavalry, the hurried tread of feet in the soft dust, the smothered oaths ofmen who stumbled over the scattered stones. And, at last, when the sunstood high above, the long column swung off toward the south, leaving theenemy and the north behind it.
"By God, we're running away," said Bland in a whisper. With the words thegayety passed suddenly from the army, and it moved slowly with thedispirited tread of beaten men. The enemy lay to the north, and it wasmarching to the south and home.
As it passed through the fragrant streets of Winchester, women, withstartled eyes, ran from open doors into the deep old gardens, and watchedit over the honeysuckle hedges. Under the fluttering flags, past the longblue shadows, with the playing of the bands and the clatter of thecanteens--on it went into the white dust and the sunshine. From a widepiazza, a group of schoolgirls pelted the troops with roses, and as Danwent by he caught a white bud and stuck it into his cap. He looked backlaughing, to meet the flash of laughing eyes; then the gray line swept outupon the turnpike and went down the broad road through the smooth greenfields, over which the sunlight lay like melted gold.
Dan, walking between Pinetop and Jack Powell, felt a sudden homesicknessfor the abandoned camp, which they were leaving with the gay little townand the red clay forts, naked to the enemy's guns. He saw the branchingapple tree, the burned-out fires, the silvery fringe of willows by thestream; and he saw the men in blue already in possession of his woodpile,broiling their bacon by the logs that Big Abel had cut.
At the end of three miles the brigades abruptly halted, and he listened,looking at the ground, to an order, which was read by a slim young officerwho pulled nervously at his moustache. Down the column came a singleringing cheer, and, without waiting for the command, the men pushed eagerlyforward along the road. What was a forced march of thirty miles to an armythat had never seen a battle?
As they went on a boyish merriment tripped lightly down the turnpike; jestswere shouted, a wit began to tease a mounted officer who was trying toreach the front, and somebody with a tenor voice was singing "Dixie." Astray countryman, sitting upon the wall of loose stones, was greetedaffectionately by each passing company. He was a big, stupid-looking man,with a gray fowl hanging, head downward, from his hand, and as he responded"Howdy," in an expressionless tone, the fowl craned its long neck upwardand pecked at the creeper on the wall.
"Howdy, Jim!" "Howdy, Peter!" "Howdy, Luke!" sang the first line. "How'syour wife?" "How's your wife's mother?" "How's your sister-in-law's uncle?"inquired the next. The countryman spat into the ditch and stared solemnlyin reply, and the gray fowl, still craning its neck, pecked steadily at theleaves upon the stones.
Dan looked up into the blue sky, across the open meadows to the far-off lowmountains, and then down the long turnpike where the dust hung in a yellowcloud. In the bright sunshine he saw the flash of steel and the glitter ofgold braid, and the noise of tramping feet cheered him like music as hewalked on gayly, filled with visions. For was he not marching to his chosenend--to victory, to Chericoke--to Betty? Or if the worst came to theworst--well, a man had but one life, after all, and a life was a littlething to give his country. Then, as always, his patriotism appealed to himas a romance rather than a religion--the fine Southern ardour which hadsent him, at the first call, into the ranks, had sprung from an inward, notan
outward pressure. The sound of the bugle, the fluttering of the flags,the flash of hot steel in the sunlight, the high old words that stirredmen's pulses--these things were his by blood and right of heritage. Hecould no more have stifled the impulse that prompted him to take a side inany fight than he could have kept his heart cool beneath the impassionedvoice of a Southern orator. The Major's blood ran warm through manygenerations.
"I say, Beau, did you put a millstone in my knapsack?" inquired Blandsuddenly. His face was flushed, and there was a streak of wet dust acrosshis forehead. "If you did, it was a dirty joke," he added irritably. Danlaughed. "Now that's odd," he replied, "because there's one in mine also,and, moreover, somebody has stuck penknives in my boots. Was it you,Pinetop?"
But the mountaineer shook his head in silence, and then, as they halted torest upon the roadside, he flung himself down beneath the shadow of asycamore, and raised his canteen to his lips. He had come leisurely at hislong strides, and as Dan looked at him lying upon the short grass by thewall, he shook his own roughened hair, in impatient envy. "Why, you'vestood it like a Major, Pinetop," he remarked.
Pinetop opened his eyes. "Stood what?" he drawled.
"Why, this heat, this dust, this whole confounded march. I don't believeyou've turned a hair, as Big Abel says."
"Good Lord," said Pinetop. "I don't reckon you've ever ploughed up hillwith a steer team."
Without replying, Dan unstrapped his knapsack and threw it upon theroadside. "What doesn't go in my haversack, doesn't go, that's all," heobserved. "How about you, Dandy?"
"Oh, I threw mine away a mile after starting," returned Jack Powell, "myluxuries are with a girl I left behind me. I've sacrificed everything tothe cause except my toothbrush, and, by Jove, if the weight of that goes onincreasing, I shall be forced to dispense with it forever. I got rid of myrations long ago. Pinetop says a man can't starve in blackberry season, andI hope he's right. Anyway, the Lord will provide--or he won't, that'scertain."
"Is this the reward of faith, I wonder?" said Dan, as he looked at a lameold negro who wheeled a cider cart and a tray of green apple pies down ared clay lane that branched off under thick locust trees. "This way, Uncle,here's your man."
The old negro slowly approached them to be instantly surrounded by thethirsty regiment.
"Howdy, Marsters? howdy?" he began, pulling his grizzled hair. "Dese yer'sright nice pies, dat dey is, suh."
"Look here, Uncle, weren't they made in the ark, now?" inquired Blandjestingly, as he bit into a greasy crust.
"De ark? naw, suh; my Mehaley she des done bake 'em in de cabin overyonder." He lifted his shrivelled hand and pointed, with a tremulousgesture, to a log hut showing among the distant trees.
"What? are you a free man, Uncle?"
"Free? Go 'way f'om yer! ain' you never hyearn tell er Marse Plunkett?"
"Plunkett?" gravely repeated Bland, filling his canteen with cider. "Lookhere, stand back, boys, it's my turn now.--Plunkett--Plunkett--can I have along-lost friend named Plunkett? Where is he, Uncle? has he gone to fight?"
"Marse Plunkett? Naw, suh, he ain' fit nobody."
"Well, you tell him from me that he'd better enlist at once," put in JackPowell. "This isn't the time for skulkers, Uncle; he's on our side, isn'the?" The old negro shook his head, looking uneasily at the froth thatdripped from the keg into the dust.
"Naw, suh, Marse Plunkett, he's fur de Un'on, but he's pow'ful feared er deYankees," he returned.
Bland broke into a laugh. "Oh, come, that's downright treason," heprotested merrily. "Your Marse Plunkett's a skulker sure enough, and youmay tell him so with my compliments. You're on the Yankee side, too, Ireckon, and there're bullets in these pies, sure as I live."
The old man shuffled nervously on his bare feet.
"Go 'way, Marster, w'at I know 'bout 'sides'?" he replied, tilting his kegto drain the last few drops into the canteen of a thirsty soldier. "I'se onde Lawd's side, dat's whar I is."
He fell back startled, for the call of "Column, forward!" was shouted downthe road, and in an instant the men had left the emptied cart, and weremarching on into the sunny distance.
As the afternoon lengthened the heat grew more oppressive. Straight aheadthere was dust and sunshine and the ceaseless tramp, and on either side thefresh fields were scorched and whitened by a powdering of hot sand. Beyondthe rise and dip of the hills, the mountains burned like blue flames on thehorizon, and overhead the sky was hard as an inverted brazier.
Dan had begun to limp, for his stiff boots galled his feet. His senses wereblunted by the hot sand which filled his eyes and ears and nostrils, andthere was a shimmer over all the broad landscape. When he shook his hairfrom his forehead, the dust floated slowly down and settled in a scorchingring about his neck.
The day closed gradually, and as they neared the river, the mountainsemerged from obscure outlines into wooded heights upon which the treesshowed soft and gray in the sunset. A cool breath was blown through a stripof damp woodland, where the pale bodies of the sycamores were festooned inluxuriant vines, and from the twilight long shadows stretched across thered clay road. Then, as they went down a rocky slope, a fringe of willowsappeared suddenly from the blur of green, and they saw the Shenandoahrunning between falling banks, with the colours of the sunset floating likepink flowers upon its breast.
With a shout the front line plunged into the stream, holding its heavymuskets high above the current of the water, and filing upon the oppositebank, into a rough road which wound amid the ferns.
Midway of the river, near the fording point, there was a little islandwhich lay like a feathery tree-top upon the tinted water; and as Dan wentby, he felt the brush of willows on his face and heard the soft lapping ofthe small waves upon the shore. The keen smell of the sycamores drifted tohim from the bank that he had left, and straight up stream he saw a singlepeaked blue hill upon which a white cloud rested. For a moment he lingered,breathing in the fragrance, then the rear line pressed upon him, and,crossing rapidly, he stood on the rocky edge, shaking the water from hisclothes. Out of the after-glow came the steady tramp of tired feet, andwith aching limbs, he turned and hastened with the column into the mountainpass.