The Long Roll
from wherever he's been!" went the rumour. Headquarters was established
in a hut or two near the ruined railroad. Arriving here, he summoned his
staff and sent for Ewell. While the former gathered he read a report,
forwarded from Munford in the rear. "Scout Gold and Jarrow in from the
Valley. Fremont still fortifying at Strasburg--thinks you may be at
Front Royal. Shields at Luray considers that you may have gone to
Richmond, but that Ewell remains in the Valley with forty thousand men.
Banks at Winchester thinks you may have gone against Shields at Luray,
or King at Catlett's, or Doubleday at Fredericksburg, or gone to
Richmond--but that Ewell is moving west on Moorefield!"
"Good! good!" said Jackson. Staff arrived, and he proceeded to issue
rapid and precise orders. All given, staff hurried off, and the general
spoke to Jim. "Call me when General Ewell comes." He stretched himself
on a bench in the hut. "I am suffering," he said, "from fever and a
feeling of debility." He drew his cloak about him and closed his eyes.
It was but half an hour, however, that he slept or did not sleep, for
Ewell was fiery prompt.
The Army of the Valley entered upon a forced march through country both
difficult and strange. It had been of late in the possession of the
enemy, and the enemy had stretched felled trees across forest roads and
burned the bridges spanning deep and sluggish creeks. Guides were at
fault, cross-roads directions most uncertain. The wood grew intolerably
thick, and the dust of the roads was atrocious; the air cut away by the
tall green walls on either hand; the sun like a furnace seven times
heated. Provisions had not come up in time at Beaver Dam Station and the
troops marched upon half-rations. Gone were the mountains and the
mountain air, present was the languorous breath of the low country. It
had an upas quality, dulling the brain, retarding the step. The men were
very tired, it was hot, and a low fever hung in the air.
They marched until late of a night without a moon, and the bugles waked
them long ere dawn. A mist hung over all the levels, presaging heat.
_Column Forward!_ To-day was a repetition of yesterday, only accented.
The sun girded himself with greater strength, the dust grew more
stifling, the water was bad, gnats and mosquitoes made a painful cloud,
the feet in the ragged shoes were more stiff, more swollen, more
abraded. The moisture in the atmosphere weakened like a vapour bath. The
entire army, "foot cavalry" and all, marched with a dreadful slowness.
_Press Forward--Press Forward--Press Forward--Press Forward!_ It grew to
be like the humming insects on either hand, a mere noise to be expected.
"Going to Richmond--Going to Richmond--Yes, of course we're going to
Richmond--unless, indeed, we're going a roundabout way against McDowell
at Fredericksburg! Richmond will keep. It has kept a long time--ever
since William Byrd founded it. General Lee is there--and so it is all
right--and we can't go any faster. War isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Oh, hot, hot, hot! and skeetery! and General Humidity lives down this
way. _Press Forward--Press Forward--Press Forward. If that noise don't
stop I'll up with my musket butt and beat somebody's brains out!_"
Ashland was not reached until the late evening of this day. The men fell
upon the earth. Even under the bronze there could be seen dark circles
under their eyes, and their lips were without colour. Jackson rode along
the lines and looked. There were circles beneath his own eyes, and his
lips shut thin and grey. "Let them rest," he said imperturbably, "until
dawn." There rode beside him an officer from Lee. He had now the
latter's General Order, and he was almost a day behind.
Somewhat later, in the house which he occupied, his chief of staff,
Ewell and the brigadiers gone, the old man, Jim, appeared before him.
"Des you lis'en ter me er minute, gineral! Ob my sartain circumspection
I knows you didn't go ter bed las' night--nurr de night befo'--nurr de
night befo' dat--'n' I don' see no preperation for yo' gwine ter bed
dish-yer night! Now, dat ain' right. W'at Miss Anna gwine say w'en she
heah erbout hit? She gwine say you 'stress her too much. She gwine say
you'll git dar quicker, 'n' fight de battle better, ef you lie down
erwhile 'n' let Jim bring you somethin' ter eat--"
"I have eaten. I am going to walk in the garden for awhile."
He went, all in bronze, with a blue gleam in his eye. Jim looked after
him with a troubled countenance. "Gwine talk wif de Lawd--talk all night
long! Hit ain' healthy. Pray an' pray 'n' look up ter de sky 'twel he
gits paralysis! De gineral better le' me tek his boots off, 'n' go ter
bed 'n' dream ob Miss Anna!"
At three the bugles blew. Again there was incalculable delay. The sun
was up ere the Army of the Valley left Ashland. It was marching now in
double column, Jackson by the Ashcake road and Merry Oaks Church, Ewell
striking across country, the rendezvous Pole Green Church, a little
north and east of Mechanicsville and the Federal right. The distance
that each must travel was something like sixteen miles.
The spell of yesterday persisted and became the spell of to-day. Sixteen
miles would have been nothing in the Valley; in these green and glamoury
lowlands they became like fifty. Stuart's cavalry began to appear,
patrols here, patrols there, vedettes rising stark from the broom sedge,
or looming double, horsemen and shadow, above and within some piece of
water, dark, still, and clear. Time was when the Army of the Valley
would have been curious and excited enough over Jeb Stuart's troopers,
but now it regarded them indifferently with eyes glazed with fatigue. At
nine the army crossed the ruined line of the Virginia Central, Hood's
Texans leading. An hour later it turned southward, Stuart on the long
column's left flank, screening it from observation, and skirmishing
hotly through the hours that ensued. The army crossed Crump's Creek,
passed Taliaferro's Mill, crossed other creeks, crept southward through
hot, thick woods. Mid-day came and passed. The head of the column turned
east, and came shortly to a cross-roads. Here, awaiting it, was Stuart
himself, in his fighting jacket. Jackson drew up Little Sorrel beside
him. "Good-morning, general."
"Good-morning, general--or rather, good-afternoon. I had hoped to see
you many hours ago."
"My men are not superhuman, sir. There have occurred delays. But God is
over us still."
He rode on. Stuart, looking after him, raised his brows. "In my opinion
A. P. Hill is waiting for a man in a trance!"
The army turned southward again, marching now toward Totopotomoy Creek,
the head of the column approaching it at three o'clock. Smoke before the
men, thick, pungent, told a tale to which they were used. "Bridge on
fire!" It was, and on the far side of the creek appeared a party in blue
engaged in obstructing the road. Hood's Texans gave a faint cheer and
dashed across, disappearing in flame, emerging from it and falling upon
the blue working party. Reilly's battery was brought up; a shell or two
fired. The blue left the field, and the grey pioneers somehow fought the
flames and rebuilt the bridge. An hour was gone before the advance could
cross on a trembling structure. Over at last, the troops went on,
southward still, to Hundley Corner. Here Ewell's division joined them,
and here to the vague surprise of an exhausted army came the order to
halt. The Army of the Valley went into bivouac three miles north of that
right which, hours before, it was to have turned. It was near sunset. As
the troops stacked arms, to the south of them, on the other side of
Beaver Dam Creek, burst out an appalling cannonade. Trimble, a veteran
warrior, was near Jackson. "That has the sound of a general engagement,
sir! Shall we advance?"
Jackson looked at him with a curious serenity. "It is the batteries on
the Chickahominy covering General Hill's passage of the stream. He will
bivouac over there, and to-morrow will see the battle--Have you ever
given much attention, general, to the subject of growth in grace?"
CHAPTER XXX
AT THE PRESIDENT'S
A large warehouse on Main Street in Richmond had been converted into a
hospital. Conveniently situated, it had received many of the more
desperately wounded from Williamsburg and Seven Pines and from the
skirmishes about the Chickahominy and up and down the Peninsula. Typhoid
and malarial cases, sent in from the lines, were also here in
abundance. To a great extent, as June wore on, the wounded from
Williamsburg and Seven Pines had died and been buried, or recovered and
returned to their regiments, or, in case of amputations, been carried
away after awhile by their relatives. Typhoid and malaria could hardly
be said to decrease, but yet, two days before the battle of
Mechanicsville, the warehouse seemed, comparatively speaking, a cool and
empty place.
It was being prepared against the battles for which the beleaguered city
waited--waited heartsick and aghast or lifted and fevered, as the case
might be. On the whole, the tragic mask was not worn; the city
determinedly smiled. The three floors of the warehouse, roughly divided
into wards, smelled of strong soap and water and home-made
disinfectants. The windows were wide; swish, swish! went the mops upon
the floors. A soldier, with his bandaged leg stretched on a chair before
him, took to scolding: "Women certainly are funny! What's the sense of
wiping down walls and letting James River run over the floors? Might be
some sense in doing it _after_ the battle! Here, Sukey, don't splash
that water this a-way!--Won't keep the blood from the floor when they
all come piling in here to-morrow, and makes all of us damned
uncomfortable to-day!--Beg your pardon, Mrs. Randolph! Didn't see you,
ma'am.--Yes, I should like a game of checkers--if we can find an island
to play on!"
The day wore on in the hospital. Floors and walls were all scrubbed,
window-panes glistening, a Sunday freshness everywhere. The men agreed
that housecleaning was all right--after it was over. The remnant of the
wounded occupied the lower floor; typhoid, malaria, and other ills were
upstairs. Stores were being brought in, packages of clothing and lint
received at the door. A favorite surgeon made his rounds. He was cool
and jaunty, his hands in his pockets, a rose in his buttonhole. "What
are you malingerers doing here, anyhow? You're eating your white bread,
with honey on it--you are! Propped up and walking around--Mrs. McGuire
reading to you--Mrs. Randolph smilingly letting you beat her at her own
game--Miss Cooper writing beautiful letters for you--Miss Cary leaving
really ill people upstairs just because one of you is an Albemarle man
and might recognize a home face! Well! eat the whole slice up to-day,
honey and all! for most of you are going home to-morrow. Yes, yes!
you're well enough--and we want all the room we can get."
He went on, Judith Cary with him. "Whew! we must be going to have a
fight!" said the men. "Bigger'n Seven Pines."
"Seven Pines was big enough!"
"That was what I thought--facing Casey's guns!--Your move, Mrs.
Randolph."
The surgeon and nurse went on through cool, almost empty spaces. "This
is going," said the surgeon crisply, "to be an awful big war. I
shouldn't be surprised if it makes a Napoleonic thunder down the
ages--becomes a mighty legend like Greece and Troy! And, do you know,
Miss Cary, the keystone of the arch, as far as we are concerned, is a
composition of three,--the armies in the field, the women of the South,
and the servants."
"You mean--"
"I mean that the conduct of the negroes everywhere is an everlasting
refutation of much of the bitter stuff which is said by the other side.