The Long Roll
halfway up the steps. He was speaking excitedly. Molly beckoned from
above. "Oh, Judith, it's news of the battle--"
"Yes'm," said the farmer. "Straight from Staunton--telegram to the
colonel in Charlottesville. '_Big fighting at Port Republic. Jackson
whipped Shields. Stonewall Brigade suffered heavily._'--No'm--That was
all. We won't hear details till to-morrow.--My boy John's in the
Stonewall, you know--but Lord! John always was a keerful fellow! I
reckon he's safe enough--but I ain't going to tell his mother about the
battle till to-morrow; she might as well have her sleep.--War's
pernicious hard on mothers. I reckon we'll see the bulletin to-morrow."
He was gone, riding in a sturdy, elderly fashion toward his home in a
cleft of the hills. "Major Stafford cannot stay to supper, Aunt Lucy,"
said Judith clearly. "Is that Julius in the hall? Tell one of the boys
to bring Major Stafford's horse around."
As she spoke she turned and went into the house. The group upon the
porch heard her step upon the polished stair. Unity proceeded to make
conversation. A negro brought the horse around. Judith did not return.
Stafford, still and handsome, courteous and self-possessed, left
farewell for her, said good-bye to the other Greenwood ladies, mounted
and rode away. Unity, sitting watching him unlatch the lower gate and
pass out upon the road, hummed a line--
"Nita! Juanita! Ask thy soul if we should part!"
"I have a curious feeling about that man," said Miss Lucy, "and yet it
is the rarest thing that I distrust anybody!--What is it, Molly?"
"It's no use saying that I romance," said Molly, "for I don't. And when
Mr. Hodge said 'the Stonewall Brigade suffered heavily' he looked
_glad_--"
"Who looked glad?"
"Major Stafford. It's no use looking incredulous, for he did! There was
the most curious light came into his face. And Judith saw it--"
"Molly--Molly--"
"She did! You know how Edward looks when he's white-hot angry--still and
Greek looking? Well, Judith looked like that. And she and Major Stafford
crossed looks, and it was like crossed swords. And then she sent for his
horse and went away, upstairs to her room. She's up there now praying
for the Stonewall Brigade and for Richard."
"Molly, you're uncanny!" said Unity. "Oh me! Love and Hate--North and
South--and we'll not have the bulletin until to-morrow--"
Miss Lucy rose. "I am going upstairs to Judith and tell her that I
simply know Richard is safe. There are too many broken love stories in
the world, and the Carys have had more than their share."
XXVIII
THE LONGEST WAY ROUND
Having, in a month and ten days, marched four hundred miles, fought four
pitched battles and a whole rosary of skirmishes, made of naught the
operations of four armies, threatened its enemy's capital and relieved
its own, the Army of the Valley wound upward toward the Blue Ridge from
the field of Port Republic. It had attended Shields some distance down
the Luray road. "Drive them!--drive them!" had said Jackson. It had
driven them then, turning on its steps it had passed again the
battlefield. Fremont's army, darkening the heights upon the further side
of that river of burned bridges, looked impotently on. Fremont shelled
the meadow and the wheat fields over which ambulances and surgeons were
yet moving, on which yet lay his own wounded, but his shells could not
reach the marching foe. Brigade after brigade, van, main and rear,
cavalry, infantry, artillery, quartermaster, commissary and ordnance
trains, all disappeared in the climbing forest. A cold and chilling rain
came on; night fell, and a drifting mist hid the Army of the Valley. The
next morning Fremont withdrew down the Valley toward Strasburg. Shields
tarried at Luray, and the order from Washington directing McDowell to
make at once his long delayed junction with McClellan upon the
Chickahominy was rescinded.
The rear guard of the Army of the Valley buried the dead of Port
Republic in trenches, and then it, too, vanished. To the last wagon
wheel, to the last poor straggler, all was gone. It was an idiosyncrasy
of Jackson's to gather and take with him every filing. He travelled like
a magnet; all that belonged to him went with him. Long after dark, high
on the mountain-side, an aide appeared in the rain, facing the head of
the rear brigade.
"The general says have you brought off every inch of the captured guns?"
"Tell him all but one unserviceable caisson. We did not have horses for
that."
The aide galloped forward, reported, turned, and galloped back. "General
Jackson says, sir, that if it takes every horse in your command, that
caisson is to be brought up before daylight."
The other swore. "All those miles--dark and raining!--Lieutenant
Parke!--Something told me I'd better do it in the first place!"
Brigade after brigade the Army of the Valley climbed the Blue Ridge. At
first the rain had been welcome, so weary and heated were the men. But
it never took long for the novelty of rain to wear off. Wet and silent
the troops climbed through the darkness. They had won a victory; they
were going to win others. Old Jack was as great a general as Napoleon,
and two or three hours ago it had seemed possible to his soldiers that
history might rank them with the Old Guard. But the rain was chill and
the night mournfully dark. When had they eaten? They hardly remembered,
and it was an effort to lift one leg after the other. Numbers of men
were dropping with sleep. All shivered; all felt the reaction. Back on
the plain by the river lay in trenches some hundreds of their comrades.
In the rear toiled upwards ambulances filled with wounded. There were
not ambulances enough; the wounded rode wherever there was room in any
wagon. The less badly hurt sat or lay, dully suffering, on caissons. All
as they toiled upward had visions of the field behind them. It had not
been a great battlefield, as to extent and numbers engaged, but a
horrible one. The height where the six guns had been, the gun which the
Louisianians took--the old charcoal kiln where the guns had been
planted, the ground around, the side of the ravine--these made an ugly
sight between eyelid and ball! So many dead horses!--eighty of them in
one place--one standing upright where he had reared and, dying, had been
caught and propped by a blasted pine. So many dead men, grey and blue,
lying as in pattern! And then the plain beneath, and the Stonewall's
desperate fight, and the battle in the wheat! The Federal cannon had
sheared the heads from the men. The soldiers, mounting through the
darkness in the whistling wind and rain, saw again these headless
bodies. One only, the body of a young soldier of the 2d Virginia, a
brother of the colonel of the 65th, the army was carrying with it. The
brother, wounded himself, had begged the body. At the first village
where the army halted, he would get a coffin and lay the boy in a grave
he could mark. His mother and sister could visit it then. Permission was
given. It lay now in an ambulance, covered with a flag. Cleave lay upon
the straw beside it, his arm flung across the breast. At its feet sat a
dark and mournful figure, old Tullius with his chin propped on his
knees.
The rain came down, fine as needles' points and cold. Somewhere far
below a mountain stream was rushing, and in the darkness the wind was
sighing. The road wound higher. The lead horses, drawing a gun, stepped
too near the edge of the road. The wet earth gave way. The unfortunate
brutes plunged, struggled, went down and over the embankment, dragging
the wheel horses after them. Gun, carriage, and caisson followed. The
echoes awoke dismally. The infantry, climbing above, looked down the far
wooded slopes, but incuriously. The infantry was tired, cold, and
famished; it was not interested in artillery accidents. Perhaps at times
the Old Guard had felt thus, with a sick and cold depression, kibed
spirits as well as heels, empty of enthusiasm as of food, resolution
lost somewhere in the darkness, sonority gone even from "_l'empereur_"
and "_la France_." Slowly, amid drizzling rain, brigade after brigade
made Brown's Gap and bivouacked within the dripping forest.
Morning brought a change. The rain yet fell, but the army was recovering
from the battlefield. It took not long, nowadays, to recover. The army
was learning to let the past drop into the abyss and not to listen for
the echoes. It seemed a long time that the country had been at war, and
each day's events drove across and hid the event of the day before.
Speculation as to the morrow remained, but even this hung loosely upon
the Army of the Valley. Wonderment as to the next move partook less of
deep anxiety than of the tantalization of guessing at a riddle with the
answer always just eluding you. The army guessed and guessed--bothering
with the riddle made its chief occupation while it rested for two days
and nights, beside smoky camp-fires, in a cold June rain, in the cramped
area of Brown's Gap; but so assured was it that Old Jack knew the proper
answer, and would give it in his own good time, that the guessing had
little fretfulness or edge of temper. By now, officers and men, the
confidence was implicit. "Tell General Jackson that we will go wherever
he wishes us to go, and do whatever he wishes us to do."
On the morning of the twelfth "at early dawn" the army found itself
again in column. The rain had ceased, the clouds were gone, presently up
rose the sun. The army turned its back upon the sun; the army went down
the western side of the mountains, down again into the great Valley. The
men who had guessed "Richmond" were crestfallen. They who had stoutly
held that Old Jack had mounted to this eyrie merely the better again to
swoop down upon Fremont, Shields, or Banks crowed triumphantly. "Knew it
Tuesday, when the ambulances obliqued at the top and went on down toward
Staunton! He sends his wounded in front, he never leaves them behind!
Knew it wasn't Richmond!"
Brigade by brigade the army wound down the mountain, passed below Port
Republic, and came into a lovely verdurous country, soft green grass and
stately trees set well apart. Here it rested five days, and here the
commanding general received letters from Lee.
"_Your recent successes have been the cause of the liveliest joy in
this army as well as in the country. The admiration excited by your
skill and boldness has been constantly mingled with solicitude for
your situation. The practicability of reinforcing you has been the
subject of the gravest consideration. It has been determined to do
so at the expense of weakening this army. Brigadier-General Lawton
with six regiments from Georgia is on his way to you, and
Brigadier-General Whiting with eight veteran regiments leaves here
to-day. The object is to enable you to crush the forces opposed to
you. Leave your enfeebled troops to watch the country and guard the
passes covered by your artillery and cavalry, and with your main
body, including Ewell's Division and Lawton's and Whiting's
commands, move rapidly to Ashland, by rail or otherwise as you find
most advantageous, and sweep down between the Chickahominy and the
Pamunkey, cutting up the enemy's communications, etc., while this
army attacks McClellan in front. He will then, I think, be forced to
come out of his entrenchments where he is strongly posted on the
Chickahominy, and apparently preparing to move by gradual approaches
on Richmond._"
And of a slightly earlier date.
"_Should there be nothing requiring your attention in the Valley, so
as to prevent your leaving it in a few days, and you can make
arrangements to deceive the enemy and impress him with the idea of