Battle Ground

by Ellen Anderson Gholson Glasgow

  IV

  AFTER THE BATTLE

  The field of trampled clover looked as if a windstorm had swept over it,strewing the contents of a dozen dismantled houses. There were stacks ofarms and piles of cooking utensils, knapsacks, half emptied, lay beside thecharred remains of fires, and loose fence rails showed red and whiteglimpses of playing cards, hidden, before the fight, by superstitioussoldiers.

  Groups of men were scattered in dark spots over the field, and about themstragglers drifted slowly back from the road to Centreville. There was nodiscipline, no order--regiment was mixed with regiment, and each man washopelessly inquiring for his lost company.

  As Dan stepped over the fallen fence upon the crushed pink heads of theclover, he came upon a circle of privates making merry over a lunch basketthey had picked up on the turnpike--a basket brought by one of theWashington parties who had gayly driven out to watch the battle. A brokenfence rail was ablaze in the centre of the group, and as the red light fellon each soiled and unshaven face, it stood out grotesquely from thesurrounding gloom. Some were slightly wounded, some had merely scented thebattle from behind the hill--all were drinking rare wine in honour of theearly ending of the war. As Dan looked past them over the darkening meadow,where the returning soldiers drifted aimlessly across the patches of redlight, he asked himself almost impatiently if this were the pure andpatriotic army that held in its ranks the best born of the South? To him,standing there, it seemed but a loosened mass, without strength and withoutcohesion, a mob of schoolboys come back from a sham battle on the collegegreen. It was his first fight, and he did not know that what he looked uponwas but the sure result of an easy victory upon the undisciplined ardour ofraw troops--that the sinews of an army are wrought not by a single trial,but by the strain of prolonged and strenuous endeavour.

  "I say, do you reckon they'll lemme go home ter-morrow?" inquired aslightly wounded man in the group before him. "Thar's my terbaccy needslookin' arter or the worms 'ull eat it clean up 'fo' I git thar." He shookthe shaggy hair from his face, and straightened the white cotton bandageabout his chin. On the right side, where the wound was, his thick sandybeard had been cut away, and the outstanding tuft on his left cheek gavehim a peculiarly ill-proportioned look.

  "Lordy! I tell you we gave it ter 'em!" exclaimed another in excited jerks."Fight! Wall, that's what I call fightin', leastways it's put. I declar' Ireckon I hit six Yankees plum on the head with the butt of this heremusket."

  He paused to knock the head off a champagne bottle, and lifting the brokenneck to his lips drained the foaming wine, which spilled in white frothupon his clothes. His face was red in the firelight, and when he spoke hiswords rolled like marbles from his tongue. Dan, looking at him, felt acurious conviction that the man had not gone near enough to the guns tosmell the powder.

  "Wall, it may be so, but I ain't seed you," returned the first speaker,contemptuously, as he stroked his bandage. "I was thar all day and I ain'tseed you raise no special dust."

  "Oh, I ain't claimin' nothin' special," put in the other, discomfited.

  "Six is a good many, I reckon," drawled the wounded man, reflectively, "andI ain't sayin' I settled six on 'em hand to hand--I ain't sayin' that." Hespoke with conscious modesty, as if the smallness of his assertion wasequalled only by the greatness of his achievements. "I ain't sayin' Isettled more'n three on 'em, I reckon."

  Dan left the group and went on slowly across the field, now and thenstumbling upon a sleeper who lay prone upon the trodden clover, obscured bythe heavy dusk. The mass of the army was still somewhere on the longroad--only the exhausted, the sickened, or the unambitious drifted back tofall asleep upon the uncovered ground.

  As Dan crossed the meadow he drew near to a knot of men from a Kentuckyregiment, gathered in the light of a small wood fire, and recognizing oneof them, he stopped to inquire for news of his missing friends.

  "Oh, you wouldn't know your sweetheart on a night like this," replied theman he knew--a big handsome fellow, with a peculiar richness of voice."Find a hole, Montjoy, and go to sleep in it, that's my advice. Were youmuch cut up?"

  "I don't know," answered Dan, uneasily. "I'm trying to make sure that wewere not. I lost the others somewhere on the road--a horse knocked medown."

  "Well, if this is to be the last battle, I shouldn't mind a scratchmyself," put in a voice from the darkness, "even if it's nothing more thana bruise from a horse's hoof. By the bye, Montjoy, did you see the wayStuart rode down the Zouaves? I declare the slope looked like a field ofpoppies in full bloom. Your cousin was in that charge, I believe, and hecame out whole. I saw him afterwards."

  "Oh, the cavalry gets the best of everything," said Dan, with a sigh, andhe was passing on, when Jack Powell, coming out of the darkness, stumbledagainst him, and broke into a delighted laugh.

  "Why, bless my soul, Beau, I thought you'd run after the fleshpots ofWashington!" His face was flushed with excitement and the soft curls uponhis forehead were wet and dark. Around his mouth there was a black stainfrom bitten cartridges. "By George, it was a jolly day, wasn't it, oldman?" he added warmly.

  "Where are the others?" asked Dan, grasping his arm in an almost franticpressure.

  "The others? they're all right--all except poor Welch, who got a ball inhis thigh, you know. Did you see him when he was taken off the field? Helaughed as he passed me and shouted back that he 'was always willing tospare a leg or two to the cause!'"

  "Where are you off to?" inquired Dan, still grasping his arm.

  "I? oh, I'm on the scent of water. I haven't learned to sleep dirty yet,which Bland says is a sign I'm no soldier. By the way, your darky, BigAbel, has a coffee-boiler over yonder in the fence corner. He's beentearing his wool out over your absence; you'd better ease his mind." With alaugh and a wave of his hand, he plunged into the darkness, and Dan madehis way slowly to the campfire, which twinkled from the old rail fence. Ashe groped toward it curses sprang up like mustard from the earth beneath."Get off my leg, and be damned," growled a voice under his feet. "Oh, thishere ain't no pesky jedgment day," exclaimed another just ahead. Withoutanswering he stepped over the dark bodies, and, ten minutes later, cameupon Big Abel waiting patiently beside the dying fire.

  At sight of him the negro leaped, with a shout, to his feet; then,recovering himself, hid his joy beneath an accusing mask.

  "Dis yer coffee hit's done 'mos' bile away," he remarked gloomily. "En ef'nit don' tase like hit oughter tase, 'tain' no use ter tu'n up yo' nose,caze 'tain' de faul' er de coffee, ner de faul' er me nurr."

  "How are you, old man?" asked Bland, turning over in the shadow.

  "Who's there?" responded Dan, as he peered from the light into theobscurity.

  "All the mess except Welch, poor devil. Baker got his hair singed by ourrear line, and he says he thinks it's safer to mix with the Yankees nexttime. Somebody behind him shot his cowlick clean off."

  "Cowlick, the mischief!" retorted Baker, witheringly. "Why, my scalp is asbald as your hand. The fool shaved me like a barber."

  "It's a pity he didn't aim at your whiskers," was Dan's rejoinder. "Thechief thing I've got against this war is that when it's over there won't bea smooth-shaven man in the South."

  "Oh, we'll stand them up before our rear line," suggested Baker, moodily."You may laugh, Bland, but you wouldn't like it yourself, and if they keepup their precious marksmanship your turn will come yet. We'll be a regimentof baldheads before Christmas."

  Dan sat down upon the blanket Big Abel had spread and leaned heavily uponhis knapsack, which the negro had picked up on the roadside. A nervouschill had come over him and he was shaking with icy starts from head tofoot. Big Abel brought a cup of coffee, and as he took it from him, hishand quivered so that he set the cup upon the ground; then he lifted it anddrank the hot coffee in long draughts.

  "I should have lost my very identity but for you, Big Abel," he observedgratefully, as he glanced round at the property the negro had protected.

  Big Abel leaned forward and stirred t
he ashes with a small stick.

  "En I done fit fer 'em, suh," he replied. "I des tell you all de fittin'ain' been over yonder on dat ar hill caze I'se done fit right yer in disyer fence conder, en I ain' fit de Yankees nurr. Lawd, Lawd, dese yer folkses is been a-sniffin' roun' my pile all day, ain' de kinder folks I'se usedter, caze my folks dey don' steal w'at don' b'long ter 'em, en dese yerfolks dey do. Ole Marster steal? Huh! he 'ouldn't even tech a chicken dat'uz roos'in in his own yard. But dese yer sodgers!--Why, you cyarn tu'n yo'eye a splinter off de vittles fo' dey's done got 'em. Dey poke dey han'sright spang in de fire en eat de ashes en all."

  He went off grumbling to lie down at a little distance, and Dan satthoughtfully looking into the smouldering fire. Bland and Baker, havingheatedly discussed the details of the victory, had at last drifted intosilence; only Pinetop was awake--this he learned from the odour of thecorncob pipe which floated from a sheltered corner.

  "Come over, Pinetop," called Dan, cordially, "and let's make ready for thepursuit to-morrow. Why, to-morrow we may eat a civilized dinner inWashington--think of that!"

  He spoke excitedly, for he was still quivering from the tumult of histhoughts. There was no sleep possible for him just now; his limbs twitchedrestlessly, and he felt the prick of strong emotion in his blood.

  "I say, Pinetop, what do you think of the fight?" he asked with anembarrassed boyish eagerness. In the faint light of the fire his eyesburned like coals and there was a thick black stain around his mouth. Thehand in which he had held his ramrod was of a dark rust colour, as if thestain of the battle had seared into the skin. A smell of hot powder stillhung about his clothes.

  The mountaineer left the shadow of the fence corner and slowly draggedhimself into the little glow, where he sat puffing at his corncob pipe. Hegave an easy, sociable nod and stared silently at the embers.

  "Was it just what you imagined it would be?" went on Dan, curiously.

  Pinetop took his pipe from his mouth and nodded again. "Wall, 'twas and'twan't," he answered pleasantly.

  "I must say it made me sick," admitted Dan, leaning his head in his hand."I've always been a fool about the smell of blood; and it made me downrightsick."

  "Wall, I ain't got much of a stomach for a fight myself," returned Pinetop,reflectively. "You see I ain't never fought anythin' bigger'n a skunk untilto-day; and when I stood out thar with them bullets sizzlin' like fryin'pans round my head, I kind of says to myself: 'Look here, what's all thisfuss about anyhow? If these here folks have come arter the niggers, let 'emtake 'em off and welcome.' I ain't never owned a nigger in my life, and,what's more, I ain't never seen one that's worth owning. 'Let 'em take 'emand welcome,' that's what I said. Bless your life, as I stood out thar Ididn't see how I was goin' to fire my musket, till all of a jiffy a thoughtjest jumped into my head and sent me bangin' down that hill. 'Them folkshave set thar feet on ole Virginny,' was what I thought 'They've set tharfeet on ole Virginny, and they've got to take 'em off damn quick!'"

  His teeth closed over his pipe as if it were a cartridge; then, after asilent moment, he opened his mouth and spoke again.

  "What I can't make out for the life of me," he said, "is how those boysfrom the other states gave thar licks so sharp. If I'd been born across theline in Tennessee, I wouldn't have fired my musket off to-day. They wan'ta-settin' thar feet on Tennessee. But ole Virginny--wall, I've got apowerful fancy for ole Virginny, and they ain't goin' to project with herdust, if I can stand between." He turned away, and, emptying his pipe,rolled over upon the ground.

  Dan lay down upon the blanket, and, with his hand upon his knapsack, gazedat the small red ember burning amid the ashes. When the last spark fadedinto blackness it was as if his thoughts went groping for a light. Sleepcame fitfully in flights and pauses, in broken dreams and brief awakenings.Losing himself at last it was only to return to the woods at Chericoke andto see Betty coming to him among the dim blue bodies of the trees. He sawthe faint sunshine falling upon her head and the stir of the young leavesabove her as a light wind passed. Under her feet the grass was studded withviolets, and the bonnet swinging from her arm was filled with purpleblossoms. She came on steadily over the path of grass and violets, but whenhe reached out to touch her a great shame fell over him for there was bloodupon his hand.

  There was something cold in his face, and he emerged slowly from his sleepinto the consciousness of dawn and a heavy rain. The swollen clouds hungclose above the hills, and the distance was obscured by the gray sheets ofwater which fell like a curtain from heaven to earth. Near by a wagon haddrawn up in the night, and he saw that a group of half-drenched privateshad already taken shelter between the wheels. Gathering up his oilcloth, hehastily formed a tent with the aid of a deep fence corner, and, when he haddrawn his blanket across the opening, sat partly protected from the shower.As the damp air blew into his face, he became quickly and clearly awake,and it was with the glimmer of a smile that he looked over the wet meadowand the sleeping regiments. Then a shudder followed, for he saw in thelines of gray men stretched beneath the rain some likeness to that otherfield beyond the hill where the dead were still lying, row on row. He sawthem stark and cold on the scorched grass beside the guns, or in the thinridges of trampled corn, where the gay young tassels were now storm-beatenupon the ripped-up earth. He saw them as he had seen them the eveningbefore--not in the glow of battle, but with the acuteness of a broodingsympathy--saw them frowning, smiling, and with features which death hadtwisted into a ghastly grin. They were all there--each man with open eyesand stiff hands grasping the clothes above his wound.

  But to Dan, sitting in the gray dawn in the fence corner, the first horrorfaded quickly into an emotion almost triumphant. The great field wassilent, reproachful, filled with accusing eyes--but was it not filled withglory, too? He was young, and his weakened pulses quickened at the thought.Since men must die, where was a brighter death than to fall beneath theflutter of the colours, with the thunder of the cannon in one's ears? Heknew now why his fathers had loved a fight, had loved the glitter of thebayonets and the savage smell of the discoloured earth.

  For a moment the old racial spirit flashed above the peculiar sensitivenesswhich had come to him from his childhood and his suffering mother; then theflame went out and the rows of dead men stared at him through the fallingrain in the deserted field.