The Long Roll
carbine resting near. Back on Thunder Run, at the moment, Christianna in
her pink sunbonnet, a pansy from the tollgate at her throat, rested upon
her hoe in the garden she was making and looked out over the great sea
of mountains visible from the Thunder Run eyrie. Shadows of clouds moved
over them; then the sun shone out and they lay beneath in an amethystine
dream; Christianna had had her dream the night before. In her sleep she
had come upon a dark pool beneath alders, and she had knelt upon the
black bank and plunged her arms to the shoulders into the water. It
seemed in her dream that there was something at the bottom that she
wanted--a breastpin or a piece of money. And she had drawn up something
that weighed heavily and filled her arms. When she had lifted it halfway
out of the water the moon came out, and it was Allan Gold. She stood now
in her steep mountain garden bordered with phlox and larkspur and looked
far out over the long and many ridges. She knew in which general
direction to look, and with her mind's eye she tried to see the fighting
men, the fighting men; and then she shook her head and bent to her
hoeing--far back and high up on Thunder Run.
Thirty leagues away, in the flowering wood by the Mt. Solon road Allan
sat up. "I was nearly asleep," he said, "back on the mountain-side
above Thunder Run." He listened. "Horses' hoofs--a squad at a trot,
coming east! some of Ashby's of course, but you stay here and put earth
on the fire while I take a look." Rifle in hand, he threaded the thick
undergrowth between the camp and the road.
It was late in the afternoon, but the road lay yet in sunshine between
the clover and the wheat, the bloomy orchards and the woods of May.
Allan's precautions had been largely instinctive; there were no
Federals, he had reason to be sure, south of Strasburg. He looked to see
some changing picket post of Ashby's. But the five horsemen who came in
sight, three riding abreast, two a little behind, had not a Valley air.
"Tidewater men," said Allan to himself. "How far is it to Swift Run Gap?
Shouldn't wonder if General Ewell--"
A minute later the party came in line with the woods. Allan, after
another deliberate look, stepped from behind a flowering thorn. The
party drew up. "Good-afternoon, my man," said the stars and wreath in
the centre in a high, piping voice. "Alone, are you?--Ain't straggling,
I hope? Far too many stragglers--curse of this service--civilians turned
soldiers and all that. What's that? You know him, Stafford? One of
General Jackson's scouts?--Then do you know, pray, where is General
Jackson? for, by God, I don't!"
"I came across country myself to-day, sir--I and a boy that's with me.
We've been ahead with Ashby, fending off Fremont. General Jackson is
marching very rapidly, and I expect him to-night."
"Where's he going, then?"
"I haven't the least idea, sir."
"Well," piped Ewell, "I'll be glad to see him. God knows, I don't know
what I'm to do! Am I to strengthen Johnston at Richmond? Am I to cross
into the Valley--by God, it's lovely!--and reinforce Jackson? Damn it,
gentlemen, I'm a major-general on a seesaw! Richmond in danger--Valley
in danger. 'Better come to me!' says Johnston. Quite right! He needs
every man. 'Better stay with Jackson,' says Lee. Quite right again! Old
Jackson has three armies before him and only a handful. 'Better gallop
across and find out the crazy man's own mind,' says the major-general
in the middle." He turned with the suddenness of a bird to Allan. "By
God, I'm hungry as a coyote! Have you got anything to eat?"
"I've some bread and bacon and a few eggs and half a pot of apple butter
and a piece of honeycomb, sir--"
Ewell dismounted. "You're the foster brother I've been in search of for
thirty-five years! Maury and John, it sounds as though there were enough
for four. Deane and Edmondson, you ride on to that mill I see in front
of us, and ask if the folks won't give you supper. We'll pick you up in
an hour or so. Now, my friend in need, we'll build a fire and if you've
got a skillet I'll show you how an omelette ought to be made and
generally isn't!"
Within the covert Billy made up the fire again, and General Ewell, beneath
the amused eyes of his aides, sliced bacon, broke eggs into the skillet and
produced an omelette which was a triumph. He was, in truth, a master
cook--and everything was good and savoury--and the trio was very hungry.
Ewell had cigars, and smoked them like a Spaniard--generous, too--giving
freely to the others. As often as it burned low Billy threw dried sticks
upon the fire. The evening was cool, the shadows advancing; the crackling
light and warmth grateful enough. The newcomers asked questions. They were
eager to know--all the country was keen-set to know--eye-witnesses of
events were duly appreciated. The scout had been at McDowell?
"Yes, but not in the battle, the Stonewall Brigade not being engaged.
12th Georgia did best--and the 44th Virginia. 12th Georgia held the
crest. There was one man, just a boy like Billy there ('I'm eighteen!'
from Billy)--couldn't anybody keep him back, behind the rise where our
troops were lying down. 'We didn't come all this way to hide from
Yankees,' he cried, and he rushed out and down upon them--poor fellow!"
"That's the spirit. In the morning you followed on?"
"Yes, but Milroy and Schenck did not do badly. That was a good fetch of
theirs--firing the forest! Everywhere a great murk with tongues of
flame--smoke in nostril and eyes and the wind blowing fast. It looked
like the end of the world. Old Jack--beg pardon, sir, General
Jackson--General Jackson couldn't but smile, it was such excellent
tactics. We drew off at last, near Franklin, and the army went into camp
for a bit. Billy and I have been with a squadron of Ashby's."
"Keeping Fremont back?"
"Yes. General Jackson wanted the passes blocked. We did it pretty
thoroughly."
"How?"
"Burned all the bridges; cut down trees--in one place a mile of
them--and made abatis, toppled boulders over the cliffs and choked the
roads. If Fremont wants to get through he'll have to go round Robin
Hood's Barn to do it! He's out of the counting for awhile, I reckon. At
least he won't interfere with our communications. Ashby has three
companies toward the mountains, He's picketed the Valley straight across
below Woodstock. Banks can't get even a spy through from Strasburg. I've
heard an officer say--you know him, Major Stafford--Major Cleave--I've
heard him say that General Jackson uses cavalry as Napoleon did and as
no one has done since."
Ewell lit another cigar. "Well, I'm free to confess that old Jackson
isn't as crazy as an idiot called Dick Ewell thought him! As Milton
says, 'There's method in his madness'--Shakespeare, was it, Morris?
Don't read much out on the plains."
The younger aide had been gleeful throughout the recital. "Stonewall's a
good name, by George! but, by George! they ought to call him the Artful
Dodger--"
Maury Stafford burst into laughter. "By Heaven. Morris, you'd better
tell him that! Have you ever seen him?"
"No. They say he's real pious and as simple as they make them--but Lord!
there hasn't been anything simple about his late proceedings."
Stafford laughed again. "Religious as Cromwell, and artless as
Macchiavelli! Begins his orders with an honourable mention of God,
closes them with 'Put all deserters in irons,' and in between gives
points to Reynard the Fox--"
Ewell took his cigar from his lips. "Don't be so damned sarcastic,
Maury! It's worse than drink--Well, Deane?"
One of his troopers had appeared. "A courier has arrived, general, with
a letter from General Jackson. I left him at the mill and came back to
report. There's a nice little office there with a light and writing
materials."
Dusk filled the forest, the night came, and the stars shone between the
branches. A large white moon uprose and made the neighbouring road a
milky ribbon stretched east and west. A zephyr just stirred the myriad
leaves. Somewhere, deeper in the woods, an owl hooted at intervals, very
solemnly. Billy heaped wood upon the fire, laid his gun carefully, just
so, stretched himself beside it and in three minutes reached the deepest
basin of sleep. Allan sat with his back to the hickory, and the
firelight falling upon the leaves of a book he had borrowed from some
student in the ranks. It was a volume of Shelley, and the young man read
with serious appreciation. He was a lover of poetry, and he was glad to
meet with this poet whose works he had not been able as yet to put upon
his book-shelf, back in the little room, under the eaves of the
tollgate. He read on, bent forward, the firelight upon his ample frame,
gold of hair and beard, and barrel of the musket lying on the leaves
beside him.
O Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,
Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier?
Allan made the fire yet brighter, listened a moment to the hooting of
the owl, then read on:--
Its passions will rock thee
As the storms rock the ravens on high;
Bright reason will mock thee--
He ceased to read, turning his head, for he heard a horse upon the road,
coming from the direction of the mill. It came slowly, with much of
weariness in the very hoof sounds, then left the road for the woodside
and stopped. Ensued a pause while the rider fastened it to some sapling,
then, through the bushes, the former came toward the camp-fire. He
proved to be Maury Stafford. "The courier says General Jackson will
reach Mt. Solon about midnight. General Ewell is getting an hour's sleep
at the mill. I am not sleepy and your fire is attractive. May I keep you
company for awhile?"
Allan was entirely hospitable. "Certainly, sir! Spread your cloak just
there--the wind will blow the smoke the other way. Well, we'll all be
glad to see the army!"
"What are you reading?"
Allan showed him. "Humph!--
Its passions will rock thee
As the storms rock the ravens on high;
Bright reason will mock thee--
Well--we all know the man was a seer."
He laid the book down upon the grey cloak lined with red and sat with
his chin in his hand, staring at the fire. Some moments elapsed before
he spoke; then, "You have known Richard Cleave for a long time?"
"Yes. Ever since we were both younger than we are now. I like him better
than any one I know--and I think he's fond of me."
"He seems to have warm friends."
"He has. He's true as steel, and big-minded. He's strong-thewed--in and
out."
"A little clumsily simple sometimes, do you not think? Lawyer and
soldier grafted on Piers Ploughman, and the seams not well hidden? I
would say there's a lack of grace--"
"I have not noticed it," said Allan dryly. "He's a very good leader."
The other smiled, though only with the lips. "Oh, I am not decrying him!
Why should I? I have heard excellent things of him. He is a favourite,
is he not, with General Jackson?"
"I don't think that General Jackson has favourites."
"At least, he is no longer in disfavour. I remember toward the close of
the Romney expedition--"
"Oh, that!" said Allan, "that was nothing." He put down his pipe. "Let
me see if I can explain to you the ways of this army. You don't know
General Jackson as we do, who have been with him ever since a year ago
and Harper's Ferry! In any number of things he's as gentle as a woman;
in a few others he--isn't. In some things he's like iron. He's rigid in
his discipline, and he'll tolerate no shade of insubordination, or
disobedience, or neglect of duty. He's got the defect of his quality,
and sometimes he'll see those things where they are not. He doesn't