The Long Roll
why I--as you phrase it--lied to you. I allowed you to rest under that
impression which I am not sure that I myself gave you, because I thought
her yet trembling between us, and that your withdrawal would be
advantageous to my cause. Not for all of Heaven would I have had her turn
to you! Now that, apparently, I have lost her irrevocably, I will tell you
that you do not love her as I do. Have I not watched you? Did she die
to-day, you would go on to-morrow with your _Duty_--_Duty_--_Duty_--! For
me, I would kill myself on her grave. Where you and I were rivals and
enemies, now we are enemies. Look out for me, Richard Cleave!" He began to
laugh, a broken and mirthless sound. "Look out for me, Richard Cleave. Go!"
"I shall," said Cleave. "I will not keep a watch upon you in such a
moment, nor remember it. I doubt neither your passion nor your
suffering. But in one thing, Maury Stafford, you have lied again. I love
as strongly, and I love more highly than you do! As for your
threats--threatened men live long."
He turned, left the forest glade and came out into the camp lying now
beneath the last rays of the sun. That evening he spent with Ewell and
his staff, passed the night in a friendly tent, and at dawn turned
Dundee's head toward the Blue Ridge.
CHAPTER XVIII
McDOWELL
At Stanardsville he heard from a breathless crowd about the small hotel
news from over the mountains. Banks was at last in motion--was marching,
nineteen thousand strong, up the Valley--had seized New Market, and,
most astounding and terrific of all to the village boys, had captured a
whole company of Ashby's! "General Jackson?" General Jackson had burned
the railway station at Mt. Jackson and fallen back--was believed to be
somewhere about Harrisonburg.
"Any other news?"
"Yes, sir! Fremont's pressing south from Moorefield, Milroy east from
Monterey! General Edward Johnson's had to fall back from the
Alleghenies!--he's just west of Staunton. He hasn't got but a brigade
and a half."
"Anything more?"
"Stage's just brought the Richmond papers. All about Albert Sydney
Johnston's death at Shiloh. He led the charge and a minie ball struck
him, and he said 'Lay me down. Fight on.'"
"Fort Pulaski's taken! The darned gunboats battered down the wall. All
of the garrison that ain't dead are prisoners."
"News from New Orleans ain't hilarious. Damned mortar boats bombard and
bombard!--four ships, they say, against Fort Saint Philip, more against
Fort Jackson. Air full of shells. Farragut may try to run forts and
batteries, Chalmette and all--"
"What else?"
"Looks downright bad down t' Richmond. McClellan's landed seventy-five
thousand men. Magruder lost a skirmish at Yorktown. All the Richmond
women are making sandbags for the fortifications. Papers talk awful calm
and large, but if Magruder gives way and Johnston can't keep McClellan
back, I reckon there'll be hell to pay! I reckon Richmond'll fall."
"Anything more?"
"That's all to-day."
The village wag stepped forth, half innocent and half knave. "Saay,
colonel! The prospects of this here Confederacy look rather _blue_."
"It is wonderful," said Cleave, "how quickly blue can turn to grey."
A portion of that night he spent at a farmhouse at the western mouth of
Swift Run Gap. Between two and three he and Harris and Dundee and the
grey were again upon the road. It wound through forests and by great
mountains, all wreathed in a ghostly mist. The moon shone bright, but
the cold was clinging. It had rained and on the soft wood road the
horses feet fell noiselessly. The two men rode in silence, cloaks drawn
close, hats over their eyes.
Behind them in the east grew slowly the pallor of the dawn. The stars
waned, the moon lost her glitter, in the woods to either side began a
faint peeping of birds. The two came to Conrad's Store, where the three
or four houses lay yet asleep. An old negro, sweeping the ground before
a smithy, hobbled forward at Harris's call. "Lawd, marster, enny news? I
specs, sah, I'll hab ter ax you 'bout dat. I ain' heard none but dat dar
wuz er skirmish at Rude's Hill, en er skirmish at New Market, en er-nurr
skirmish at Sparta, en dat Gineral Jackson hold de foht, sah, at
Harrisonburg, en dat de Yankees comin', lickerty-split, up de Valley, en
dat de folk at Magaheysville air powerful oneasy in dey minds fer fear
dey'll deviate dis way. Howsomever, we's got er home guard ef dey do
come, wid ole Mr. Smith what knew Gin'ral Washington at de haid. En dar
wuz some bridges burnt, I hearn, en Gineral Ashby he had er fight on de
South Fork, en I cyarn think ob no mo' jes now, sah! But Gineral Jackson
he sholy holdin' de foht at Harrisonburg.--Yes, sah, dat's de
Magaheysville road."
The South Fork of the Shenandoah lay beneath a bed of mist. They crossed
by a wooden bridge and came up again to the chill woods. Dim purple
streaks showed behind them in the east, but there was yet no glory and
no warmth. Before them rose a long, low mountain ridge, a road running
along the crest. "That certainly is damn funny!" said Harris; "unless
I've taken to seeing sights."
Cleave checked his horse. Above them, along the ridge top, was moving an
army. It made no noise on the soft, moist road, artillery wheel and
horse's hoof quiet alike. It seemed to wish to move quietly, without
voice. The quarter of the sky above the ridge was coldly violet, palely
luminous. All these figures stood out against it, soldiers with their
muskets, colour-bearer with furled colours, officers on foot, officers
on horseback, guns, caissons, gunners, horses, forges, ordnance wagons,
commissary--van, main body and rear, an army against the daybreak sky.
"Well, if ever I saw the like of that!" breathed the orderly. "What d'ye
reckon it means, sir?"
"It means that General Jackson is moving east from Harrisonburg."
"Not a sound--D'ye reckon they're ghosts, sir?"
"No. They're the Army of the Valley--There! the advance has made the
turn."
Toward them swung the long column, through the stillness of the dawn,
down the side of the ridge, over the soundless road, into the mist of
the bottom lands. The leading regiment chanced to be the 2d; colonel and
adjutant and others riding at the head. "Hello! It's Richard
Cleave!--The top of the morning to you, Cleave!--knew that Old Jack had
sent you off somewhere, but didn't know where.--Where are we going? By
God, if you'll tell us, we'll tell you! Apparently we're leaving the
Valley--damn it all! Train to Richmond by night, I reckon. We've left
Fourth of July, Christmas, and New Year behind us--Banks rubbing his
hands, Fremont doing a scalp dance, Milroy choosing headquarters in
Staunton! Well, it doesn't stand thinking of. You had as well waited for
us at the Gap. The general? Just behind, head of main column. He's
jerked that right hand of his into the air sixteen times since we left
Harrisonburg day before yesterday, and the staff says he prays at night
most powerful. Done a little praying myself; hope the Lord will look
after the Valley, seeing we aren't going to do it ourselves!"
Cleave drew his horse to one side. "I'll wait here until he comes
up--no, not the Lord; General Jackson. I want, too, to speak to Will.
Where in column is the 65th?"
"Fourth, I think. He's a nice boy--Will. It was pretty to watch him at
Kernstown--V. M. I. airs and precision, and gallantry enough for a
dozen!"
"I'll tell him you said so, colonel! Good-bye!"
Will, too, wanted to know--he said that Mr. Rat wanted to know--all the
fellows wanted to know, what--("I wish you'd let me swear, Richard!")
what it all meant? "Mr. Rat and I don't believe he's responsible--it
isn't in the least like his usual conduct! Old Jack backing away from
cannons and such--quitting parade ground before it's time!--marching off
to barracks with a beautiful rumpus behind him! It ain't natural! Mark
my words, Richard, and Mr. Rat thinks so, too, it's General Lee or
General Johnston, and he's got to obey and can't help himself!--What do
you think?"
"I think it will turn out all right. Now march on, boy! The colonel says
he watched you at Kernstown; says you did mighty well--'gallant for a
dozen!'"
General Jackson on Little Sorrel was met with further on. Imperturbable
and self-absorbed, with his weather-stained uniform, his great boots,
his dreadful cap, he exhibited as he rode a demeanour in which there was
neither heaviness nor lightness. Never jovial, seldom genial, he was on
one day much what he was on another--saving always battle days. Riding
with his steadfast grey-blue eyes level before him, he communed with
himself or with Heaven--certainly not with his dissatisfied troops.
He acknowledged Cleave's salute, and took the letter which the other
produced. "Good! good! What did you do at Charlottesville?"
"I sent the stores on to Major Harman at Staunton, sir. There was a good
deal of munition." He gave a memorandum.
One hundred rifled muskets with bayonets.
" " Belgian " " "
Fifty flintlocks.
Two hundred pikes.
Five hundred pounds cannon powder.
Two " " musket "
Five thousand rounds of cartridge.
Eight sets artillery harness.
Ten artillery sabres.
One large package of lint.
One small case drugs and surgical instruments.
"Good, good," said Jackson. "What day?"
"Monday, sir. Virginia Central that afternoon. I telegraphed to Major
Harman."
"Good!" He folded the slip of paper between his large fingers and
transferred it to his pocket. "I will read General Ewell's letter. Later
I may wish to ask you some questions. That is all, major."
Cleave rode back to the 65th. Presently, the sun now brilliantly up, the
Army of the Valley, in no sunny mood, crossed the bridge over the
Shenandoah. There was a short halt. A company of Ashby's galloped from
the rear and drew off into a strip of level beside the bridge. A section
of artillery followed suit. The army understood that for some reason or
other and for some length of time or other the bridge was to be guarded,
but it understood nothing more. Presently the troops passed Conrad's
Store, where the old negro, reinforced now by the dozen white
inhabitants, gaped at the tramping column. The white men asked
stuttering questions, and as the situation dawned upon them they
indulged in irritating comment. "Say, boys, where in the Lord's name air
you going? We want you on this side of the Blue Ridge--you ain't got any
call to go on the other!--if you've got any Tuckahoes, let them go, but
you Cohees stay in your native land--Valley men ain't got no _right_ to
go! _What'd the women say to you along the road?_ Clearing out like a
passel of yaller dogs afore there's trouble and leavin' them an' the
children to entertain the Yankees!"
Harris, coming up with the orderlies, found the old negro at his mare's
bridle. "Well, marster, I sholy did think I wuz tellin' de truf, sah,
'bout Gin'ral Jackson holdin' de foht at Harrisonburg! En now he done
'vacuate hit, en Gin'ral Banks he prance right in! Hit look powerful
cu'rous, hit sho do. But dar! I done seed de stars all fallin' way back
in '33, en dat wuz powerful cu'rous too, fer de worl' didn't come ter an
eend--Mebbe, sah, he jes'er drawin' dat gent'man on?"
Sullen and sorry, the army marched on, and at noon came to Elk Run
Valley on the edge of Swift Run Gap. When the men stacked arms and broke
ranks, it was upon the supposition that, dinner over, they would resume
the march. They did not so; they stayed ten days in Elk Run Valley.
All around were the mountains, heavily timbered, bold and pathless.
Beyond Conrad's Store, covering Jackson's front, rushed the Shenandoah,