II
A STRAGGLER FROM THE RANKS
In two weeks it swept back, wasted, stubborn, hungrier than ever. On asultry September afternoon, Dan, who had gone down with a sharp return offever, was brought, with a wagonful of the wounded, and placed on a heap ofstraw on the brick pavement of Shepherdstown. For two days he had beendelirious, and Big Abel had held him to his bed during the long nights whenthe terrible silence seemed filled with the noise of battle; but, as he waslifted from the wagon and laid upon the sidewalk, he opened his eyes andspoke in a natural voice.
"What's all this fuss, Big Abel? Have I been out of my head?"
"You sutney has, suh. You've been a-prayin' en shoutin' so loud dese las'tree days dat I wunner de Lawd ain' done shet yo' mouf des ter git rid eryou."
"Praying, have I?" said Dan. "Well, I declare. That reminds me of Mr.Blake, Big Abel. I'd like to know what's become of him."
Big Abel shook his head; he was in no pleasant humour, for the corners ofhis mouth were drawn tightly down and there was a rut between his bushyeyebrows.
"I nuver seed no sich place es dis yer town in all my lifetime," hegrumbled. "Dey des let us lie roun' loose on de bricks same es ef we ain'been fittin' fur 'em twel we ain' nuttin' but skin en bone. Dose two wagonloads er cut-up sodgers hev done fill de houses so plum full dat dey sticksspang thoo de cracks er de do's. Don' talk ter me, suh, I ain' got no usefur dis wah, noways, caze hit's a low-lifeted one, dat's what 'tis; en efyou'd a min' w'at I tell you, you'd be settin' up at home right dis minutewid ole Miss a-feedin' you on br'ile chicken. You may fit all you wanter--Iain' sayin' nuttin' agin yo' fittin ef yo' spleen hit's up--but you coulder foun' somebody ter fit wid back at home widout comin' out hyer ter gityo'se'f a-jumbled up wid all de po' white trash in de county. Dis yer wahain' de kin' I'se use ter, caze hit jumbles de quality en de trashtergedder des like dey wuz bo'n blood kin."
"What are you muttering about now, Big Abel?" broke in Dan impatiently."For heaven's sake stop and find me a bed to lie on. Are they going toleave me out here in the street on this pile of straw?"
"De Lawd he knows," hopelessly responded Big Abel. "Dey's a-fixin' places,dey sez, dat's why all dese folks is a-runnin' dis away en dat away likechickens wid dere haids chopped off. 'Fo' you hed yo' sense back dey wantedter stick you over yonder in dat ole blue shanty wid all de skin peelin'off hit, but I des put my foot right down en 'lowed dey 'ouldn't. W'at youwan' ketch mo'n you got fur?"
"But I can't stay here," weakly remonstrated Dan, "and I must havesomething to eat--I tell you I could eat nails. Bring me anything on God'searth except green corn."
The street was filled with women, and one of them, passing with a bowl ofgruel in her hand, came back and held it to his lips.
"You poor fellow!" she said impulsively, in a voice that was rich withsympathy. "Why, I don't believe you've had a bite for a month."
Dan smiled at her from his heap of straw--an unkempt haggard figure.
"Not from so sweet a hand," he responded, his old spirit rising strongabove misfortune.
His voice held her, and she regarded him with a pensive face. She had knownmen in her day, which had declined long since toward its evening, and withthe unerring instinct of her race she knew that the one before her was wellworth the saving. Gallantry that could afford to jest in rags upon a pileof straw appealed to her Southern blood as little short of the heroic. Shesaw the pinch of hunger about the mouth, and she saw, too, the singularbeauty which lay, obscured to less keen eyes, beneath the fever and thedirt.
"The march must have been fearful--I couldn't have stood it," she said,half to test the man.
Rising to the challenge, he laughed outright. "Well, since you mention it,it wasn't just the thing for a lady," he answered, true to his salt.
For a moment she looked at him in silence, then turned regretfully to BigAbel.
"The houses have filled up already, I believe," she said, "but there is anice dry stable up the street which has just been cleaned out for ahospital. Carry your master up the next square and then into the alley afew steps where you will find a physician. I am going now for food andbandages."
She hurried on, and Big Abel, seizing Dan beneath the arms, dragged himbreathlessly along the street.
"A stable! Huh! Hit's a wunner dey ain' ax us ter step right inter a niceclean pig pen," he muttered as he walked on rapidly.
"Oh, I don't mind the stable, but this pace will kill me," groaned Dan."Not so fast, Big Abel, not so fast."
"Dis yer ain' no time to poke," replied Big Abel, sternly, and lifting theyoung man in his arms, he carried him bodily into the stable and laid himon a clean-smelling bed of straw. The place was large and well lighted, andDan, as he turned over, heaved a grateful sigh.
"Let me sleep--only let me sleep," he implored weakly.
And for two days he slept, despite the noise about him. Dressed in cleanclothes, brought by the lady of the morning, and shaved by the skilful handof Big Abel, he buried himself in the fresh straw and dreamed of Chericokeand Betty. The coil of battle swept far from him; he heard none of the fretand rumour that filled the little street; even the moans of the men beneaththe surgeons' knives did not penetrate to where he lay sunk in the stuporof perfect contentment. It was not until the morning of the third day, whenthe winds that blew over the Potomac brought the sounds of battle, that hewas shocked back into a troubled consciousness of his absence from thearmy. Then he heard the voices of the guns calling to him from across theriver, and once or twice he struggled up to answer.
"I must go, Big Abel--they are in need of me," he said. "Listen! don't youhear them calling?"
"Go way f'om yer, Marse Dan, dey's des a-firin' at one anurr," returned BigAbel, but Dan still tossed impatiently, his strained eyes searching throughthe door into the cloudy light of the alley. It was a sombre day, and theoppressive atmosphere seemed heavy with the smoke of battle.
"If I only knew how it was going," he murmured, in the anguish ofuncertainty. "Hush! isn't that a cheer, Big Abel?"
"I don' heah nuttin' but de crowin' er a rooster on de fence."
"There it is again!" cried Dan, starting up. "I can swear it is our side.Listen--go to the door--by God, man, that's our yell! Ah, there comes therattle of the muskets--don't you hear it?"
"Lawd, Marse Dan, I'se done hyern dat soun' twel I'm plum sick er it,"responded Big Abel, carefully measuring out a dose of arsenic, which hadtaken the place of quinine in a country where medicine was becoming asscarce as food. "You des swallow dis yer stuff right down en tu'n over engo fas' asleep agin."
Taking the glass with trembling hands, Dan drained it eagerly.
"It's the artillery now," he said, quivering with excitement. "Theexplosions come so fast I can hardly separate them. I never knew how longshells could screech before--do you mean to say they are really across theriver? Go into the alley, Big Abel, and tell me if you see the smoke."
Big Abel went out and returned, after a few moments, with the news that thesmoke could be plainly seen, he was told, from the upper stories. There wassuch a crowd in the street, he added, that he could barely getalong--nobody knew anything, but the wounded, who were arriving in greatnumbers, reported that General Lee could hold his ground "against Luciferand all his angels."
"Hold his ground," groaned Dan, with feverish enthusiasm, "why, he couldhold a hencoop, for the matter of that, against the whole of North America!Oh, but this is worse than fighting. I must get up!"
"You don' wanter git out dar in dat mess er skeered rabbits," returned BigAbel. "You cyarn see yo' han' befo' you fur de way dey's w'igglin' roun' destreet, en w'at's mo' you cyarn heah yo' own w'uds fur de racket dey'sa-kickin' up. Des lis'en ter 'em now, des lis'en!"
"Oh, I wish I could tell our guns," murmured Dan at each quick explosion."Hush! there comes the cheer, now--somebody's charging! It may be ourbrigade, Big Abel, and I not in it."
He closed his eyes and fell back from sheer exhaustion, still following, ashe lay there, the battalion
that had sprung forward with that chargingyell. Gray, obscured in smoke, curved in the centre, uneven as theConfederate line of battle always was--he saw it sweep onward over theSeptember field. At the moment to have had his place in that charge beyondthe river, he would have cheerfully met his death when the day was over.
Through the night he slept fitfully, awaking from time to time to askeagerly if it were not almost daybreak; then with the dawn the silence thathad fallen over the Potomac seemed to leave a greater blank to be filledwith the noises along the Virginia shore. The hurrying footsteps in thestreet outside kept up ceaselessly until the dark again; mingled with thecries of the wounded and the prayers of the frightened he heard always thateager, tireless passing of many feet. So familiar it became, so constant anaccompaniment to his restless thoughts, that when at last the day wore outand the streets grew empty, he found himself listening for the steps of apasser-by as intently as he had listened in the morning for the renewedclamour of the battle on the Maryland fields.
The stir of the retreat did not reach the stable where he lay; all nightthe army was recrossing the Potomac, but to Dan, tossing on his bed ofstraw, it lighted the victor's watch-fires on the disputed ground. He hadnot seen the shattered line of battle as it faced disease, exhaustion, andan army stronger by double numbers, nor had he seen the gray soldiers lyingrow on row where they had kept the "sunken road." Thick as the trampledcorn beneath them, with the dust covering them like powder, and thescattered fence rails lying across their faces, the dead men of his ownbrigade were stretched upon the hillside, but through the long night he laywakeful in the stable, watching with fevered eyes the tallow dips thatburned dimly on the wall.
In the morning a nurse, coming with a bowl of soup, brought the news thatLee's army was again on Virginia soil.
"McClellan has opened a battery," she explained, "that's the meaning ofthis fearful noise--did you ever hear such sounds in your life? Yes, theshells are flying over the town, but they've done no harm as yet."
She hastened off, and a little later a dishevelled straggler, with a clothabout his forehead, burst in at the open door.
"They're shelling the town," he cried, waving a dirty hand, "an' you'll beprisoners in an hour if you don't git up and move. The Yankees are comin',I seed 'em cross the river. Lee's cut up, I tell you, he's left half hisarmy dead in Maryland. Thar! they're shellin' the town, sho' 'nough!"
With a last wave he disappeared into the alley, and Dan struggled from hisbed and to the door. "Give me your arm, Big Abel," he said, speaking in aloud voice that he might be heard above the clamour. "I can't stay here. Itisn't being killed I mind, but, by God, they'll never take me prisoner solong as I'm alive. Come here and give me your arm. You aren't afraid to goout, are you?"
"Lawd, Marse Dan, I'se mo' feared ter stay hyer," responded Big Abel, withan ashen face. "Whar we gwine hide, anyhow?"
"We won't hide, we'll run," returned Dan gravely, and with his arm on thenegro's shoulder, he passed through the alley out into the street. Therethe noise bewildered him an instant, and his eyes went blind while hegrasped Big Abel's sleeve.
"Wait a minute, I can't see," he said. "Now, that's right, go on. ByGeorge, it's bedlam turned loose, let's get out of it!"
"Dis away, Marse Dan, dis away, step right hyer," urged Big Abel, as heslipped through the hurrying crowd of fugitives which packed the street.White and black, men and women, sick and well, they swarmed up and down inthe dim sunshine beneath the flying shells, which skimmed the town toexplode in the open fields beyond. The wounded were there--all who couldstand upon their feet or walk with the aid of crutches--stumbling on in amad panic to the meadows where the shells burst or the hot sun poured uponfestering cuts. Streaming in noisy groups, the slaves fled after them,praying, shrieking, calling out that the day of judgment was upon them, yetbearing upon their heads whatever they could readily lay hands on--bundles,baskets, babies, and even clucking fowls tied by the legs. Behind them wenta troop of dogs, piercing the tumult with excited barks.
Dan, fevered, pallid, leaning heavily upon Big Abel, passed unnoticed amida throng which was, for the most part, worse off than himself. Men with oldwounds breaking out afresh, or new ones staining red the cloths they wore,pushed wildly by him, making, as all made, for the country roads that ledfrom war to peace. It was as if the hospitals of the world had disgorgedthemselves in the sunshine on the bright September fields.
Once, as Dan moved slowly on, he came upon a soldier, with a bandage at histhroat sitting motionless upon a rock beside a clump of thistles, and movedby the expression of supreme terror on the man's face, he stopped and laida hand upon his shoulder.
"What's the trouble, friend--given up?" he asked, and then drew backquickly for the man was dead. After this they went on more rapidly, flyingfrom the horrors along the road as from the screaming shells and the dreadof capture.
At the hour of sunset, after many halts upon the way, they found themselvesalone and still facing the open road. Since midday they had stopped fordinner with a hospitable farmer, and, some hours later, Big Abel hadfeasted on wild grapes, which he had found hidden in the shelter of alittle wood. In the same wood a stream had tinkled over silver rocks, andDan, lying upon the bank of moss, had bathed his face and hands in theclear water. Now, while the shadows fell in spires across the road, theyturned into a quiet country lane, and stood watching the sun as it droppedbeyond the gray stone wall. In the grass a small insect broke into a lowhumming, and the silence, closing the next instant, struck upon Dan's earslike a profound and solemn melody. He took off his cap, and still leaningupon Big Abel, looked with rested eyes on the sloping meadow brushed withthe first gold of autumn. Something that was not unlike shame had fallenover him--as if the horrors of the morning were a mere vulgar affront whichman had put upon the face of nature. The very anguish of the day obtrudedawkwardly upon his thoughts, and the wild clamour he had left behind himshowed with a savage crudeness against a landscape in which the dignity ofearth--of the fruitful life of seasons and of crops--produced in a solitaryobserver a quiet that was not untouched by awe. Where nature was suggestiveof the long repose of ages, the brief passions of a single generationbecame as the flicker of a candle or the glow of a firefly in the night.
"Dat's a steep road ahead er us," remarked Big Abel suddenly, as he staredinto the shadows.
Dan came back with a start.
"Where shall we sleep?" he asked. "No, not in that field--the open skywould keep me awake, I think. Let's bivouac in the woods as usual."
They moved on a little way and entered a young pine forest, where Big Abelgathered a handful of branches and kindled a light blaze.
"You ain' never eat nigger food, is you, Marse Dan?" he inquired as he didso.
"Good Lord!" ejaculated Dan, "ask a man who has lived two months oncorn-field peas if he's eaten hog food, and he'll be pretty sure to answer'yes.' Do you know we must have crawled about six miles to-day." He layback on the pine tags and stared straight above where the long greenneedles were illuminated on a background of purple space. A few firefliesmade golden points among the tree-tops.
"Well, I'se got a hunk er middlin'," pursued Big Abel thoughtfully, "astrip er fat en a strip er lean des like hit oughter be--but a nigger'ooman she gun hit ter me, en I 'low Ole Marster wouldn't tech hit wid aten-foot pole." He stuck the meat upon the end of Dan's bayonet and held itbefore the flames. "Ole Marster wouldn't tech hit, but den he ain' neverhad dese times."
"You're right," replied Dan idly, filling his pipe and lighting it with asmall red ember, "and all things considered, I don't think I'll raise anyracket about that middling, Big Abel."
"Hit ain' all nigger food, no how," added Big Abel reflectively, "caze de'ooman she done steal it f'om w'ite folks sho's you bo'n."
"I only wish she had been tempted to steal some bread along with it,"rejoined Dan.
Big Abel's answer was to draw a hoecake wrapped in an old newspaper fromhis pocket and place it on a short pine stump. Then he reached for his
jack-knife and carefully slit the hoecake down the centre, after which helaid the bacon in slices between the crusts.
"Did she steal that, too?" inquired Dan laughing.
"Naw, suh, I stole dis."
"Well, I never! You'll be ashamed to look the Major in the face when thewar is over."
Big Abel nodded gloomily as he passed the sandwich to Dan, who divided itinto two equal portions. "Dar's somebody got ter do de stealin' in dis yerworl'," he returned with rustic philosophy, "des es dar's somebody got terbe w'ite folks en somebody got ter be nigger, caze de same pusson cyarn bener en ter dat's sho'. Dar ain' 'oom fer all de yerth ter strut roun' widdey han's in dey pockets en dey nose tu'nt up des caze dey's hones'. Lawd,Lawd, ef I'd a-helt my han's back f'om pickin' en stealin' thoo dis yerwah, whar 'ould you be now--I ax you dat?"
Catching a dried branch the flame shot up suddenly, and he sat relievedagainst the glow, like a gigantic statue in black basalt.
"Well, all's fair in love and war," replied Dan, adjusting himself tochanged conditions. "If that wasn't as true as gospel, I should be deadto-morrow from this fat bacon."
Big Abel started up.
"Lis'en ter dat ole hoot owl," he exclaimed excitedly, "he's a-settin'right over dar on dat dead limb a-hootin' us plum in de mouf. Ain' dat like'em, now? Is you ever seed sech airs as dey put on?"
He strode off into the darkness, and Dan, seized with a sudden homesicknessfor the army, lay down beside his musket and fell asleep.
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