The Long Roll
left the room and returned with a glass of milk. "Mrs. Cleave said you
was to drink this--Yes, Miss Miriam, do!--There now! Don't you want to
lie down?"
"No, no!" said Miriam. "I don't want to do anything but sit here and
watch.--Look at that old, old woman with the basket on her arm! I know
what is in it--Things for her son; bread and a little meat and shirts
she has been making him--There's another helping her, as old as she is.
I mean to die young."
The people went by like figures on a frieze come to life. The room in
which the two girls sat was on the ground floor of a small,
old-fashioned house. Outside the window was a tiny balcony, with a
graceful ironwork railing, and heavy ropes and twists of wistaria shaded
this and the window. The old brick sidewalk was almost immediately
below. For the most part the people who passed went by silently, but
when there was talking the two behind the wistaria could hear. A nurse
girl with her charges came by. "What's a 'cisive battle, honey? Yo'd
better ask yo' pa that. Reckon it's where won't neither side let go. Why
won't they? Now you tell me an' then I'll tell you! All I knows is,
they're gwine have a turrible rumpus presently, an' yo' ma said tek you
to yo' gran'ma kaze she gwine out ter git jes' ez near the battle an'
yo' pa ez she kin git!" Nurse and children passed, and there came by an
elderly man, stout and amiable-looking. His face was pale, his eyes
troubled; he took off his straw hat, and wiped his forehead with a large
white handkerchief. Appearing from the opposite direction, a young man,
a case of surgeon's instruments in his hand, met him, and in passing
said good-day. The elder stopped him a moment, on the hot brick pavement
before the wistaria. "Well, doctor, they're all out Mechanicsville way!
I reckon we may expect to hear the cannon any moment now. I saw you at
Gilland's, didn't I, yesterday?"
"Yes, I am there--"
"Well, if by ill luck my boy is wounded and brought there, you'll look
out for him, eh? Youngest boy, you know--Blue eyes, brown hair. I'm on
the Ambulance Committee. We've got a string of wagons ready on the
Nine-Mile road. You look out for him if he's brought in--"
The surgeon promised and each went his way. Three women passed the
window. One was knitting as she walked, one was in deep black, and a
third, a girl, carried a great silver pitcher filled with iced drink for
some near-by convalescent. Two men came next. A negro followed, bearing
a spade. One of the two was in broadcloth, with a high silk hat. "I told
them," he was saying, "better bury her this morning, poor little thing,
before the fighting begins. _She_ won't mind, and it will be hard to
arrange it then--" "Yes, yes," said the second, "better so! Leave
to-morrow for the Dead March from 'Saul.'"
They passed. A church bell began to ring. Miriam moved restlessly. "Is
not mother coming back? She ought to have let me go with her. I can't
knit any more,--the needles are red hot when I touch them,--but I can
sew. I could help her.--If I knew which sewing-room she went to--"
Christianna's hand timidly caressed her. "Better stay here, Miss Miriam.
I'm going to give you another glass of milk now, directly--There's a
soldier passing now."
It proved but a battered soldier--thin and hollow-eyed, arm in a sling,
and a halt in his walk. He came on slowly, and he leaned for rest
against a sycamore at the edge of the pavement. Miriam bent out from the
frame of wistaria. "Oh, soldier! don't you want a glass of milk?"
"Oh, soldier" looked nothing loath. He came over to the little balcony,
and Miriam took the glass from Christianna and, leaning over, gave it to
him. "Oh, but that's nectar!" he said, and drank it. "Yes--just out of
hospital. Said I might go and snuff the battle from afar. Needed my
pallet for some other poor devil. Glad I'm through with it, and sorry he
isn't!--Yes, I've got some friends down the street. Going there now and
get out of this sun. Reckon the battle'll begin presently. Hope the
Accomac Invincibles will give them hell--begging your pardon, I'm sure.
That milk certainly was good. Thank you, and good-bye, Hebe--two Hebes."
He wavered on down the street. Christianna looked after him critically.
"They oughtn't to let that thar man out so soon! Clay white, an' thin as
a bean pole, an' calling things an' people out of their names--"
Men and women continued to pass, the church bell to ring, the hot wind
to blow the dust, the sun to blaze down, the sycamore leaves to rustle.
A negro boy brought a note. It was from Margaret Cleave. "_Dearest:
There is so much to do. I will not come home to dinner nor will Cousin
Harriet neither. She says tell Sarindy to give you two just what you
like best. Christianna must look after you. I will come when I can._"
Sarindy gave them thin crisp toast, and a pitcher of cool milk, and a
custard sweetened with brown sugar. Sarindy was excited. "Yaas, Lawd,
dar's sho' gwine ter be doin's this day! What you reckon, Miss Miriam?
Dar's er lady from South Callina stayin' cross't de street, 'n' she's
got er maid what's got de impidence ob sin! What you reckon dat yaller
gal say ter me? She say dat South Callina does de most ob de fightin'
'n' de bes' ob it, too! She say Virginia pretty good, but dat South
Callina tek de cake. She say South Callina mek 'em run ebery time!
Yaas'm! 'n' I gits up 'n' I meks her er curtsy, 'n' I say ter her,
'Dat's er pretty way ter talk when you're visitin' in Virginia, 'n' ef
dat's South Callina manners I'se glad I wuz born in Virginia!' Yaas'm.
'N' I curtsy agin, 'n' I say, 'Ain' nobody or nothin' ever lay over
Virginia fer fightin' 'n' never will! 'N' ef Virginia don' mek 'em run
ebery time, South Callina needn't hope ter!' 'N' I asks her how come she
never hear ob Gineral Stonewall Jackson? Yaas'm. 'N' I curtsy ter her
ebery time--lak dis! 'N' ain' she never hear ob Gineral Lee? An' I ain'
er doubtin' dat Gineral Wade Hampton is a mighty fine man--'deed I knows
he is--but ain' she never heard ob Gineral Johnston? 'N' how erbout
Gineral Stuart--Yaas'm! 'n' the Black Troop, 'n' the Crenshaw Battery,
'n' the Purcell Battery. Yaas'm! 'n' the Howitzers, 'n' the Richmon'
Blues--Yaas'm! I sho' did mek her shet her mouf!--Braggin' ter er
Virginia woman ob South Callina!"
The two went back to the large room. The air was scorching. Miriam
undressed, slipped her thin, girlish arms into a muslin sacque, and lay
down. Christianna drew the blinds together, took a palm-leaf fan and sat
beside her. "I'll fan you, jest as easy," she said, in her sweet,
drawling voice. "An' I can't truly sing, but I can croon. Don't you
want me to croon you 'Shining River'?"
Miriam lay with closed eyes. A fly buzzed in the darkened room. The fan
went monotonously to and fro. Christianna crooned "Shining River" and
then "Shady Grove." Outside, on the brick pavement, the sound of feet
went by in a slender stream.
"Shady Grove! Shady Grove--
Going to Church in Shady Grove--"
The stream without grew wide and deep, then hurrying. Christianna looked
over her shoulder, then at Miriam. The latter's long lashes lay on her
cheek. Beneath them glistened a tear, but her slight, girlish bosom rose
and fell regularly. Christianna crooned on,
"Shady Grove! Shady Grove--
Children love my Shady Grove--"
_Boom! Boom!--Boom, Boom! Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom!_
Miriam started up with a cry. Outside the window a hoarse and loud voice
called to some one across the street. "That's beyond Meadow Bridge! D'
ye know what I believe? I believe it's Stonewall Jackson!" The name came
back like an echo from the opposite pavement. "Stonewall Jackson!
Stonewall Jackson! He thinks maybe it's Stonewall Jackson!"
_Boom--Boom--Boom--Boom, Boom!_
Miriam rose, threw off the muslin sacque and began to dress. Her eyes
were narrowed, her fingers rapid and steady. Christianna opened the
window-blinds. The sound of the hurrying feet came strongly in, and with
it voices. "The top of the Capitol!--see best from there--I think the
hills toward the almshouse--Can you get out on the Brook turnpike?--No;
it is picketed--The hill by the President's House--try it!" Christianna,
turning, found Miriam taking a hat from the closet shelf. "Oh, Miss
Miriam, you mustn't go--"
Miriam, a changed creature, steady and sure as a fine rapier, turned
upon her. "Yes, I am going, Christianna. If you like, you may come with
me. Yes, I am well enough.--No, mother wouldn't keep me back. She would
understand. If I lay there and listened, I should go mad. Get your
bonnet and come."
The cannon shook the air. Christianna got her sunbonnet and tied the
strings with trembling fingers. All the wild rose had fled from her
cheeks, her lips looked pinched, her eyes large and startled. Miriam
glanced her way, then came and kissed her. "I forgot it was your first
battle. I got used to them in Winchester. Don't be afraid."
They went out into the hot sunshine. By now the greater part of the
stream had hurried by. They saw that it flowed eastward, and they
followed. The sun blazed down, the pavement burned their feet. The
mountain girl walked like a piece of thistledown; Miriam, light and
quick in all her actions, moved beside her almost as easily. It was as
though the hot wind, rushing down the street behind them, carried them
on with the dust and loosened leaves. There were other women, with
children clinging to their hands. One or two had babes in their arms.
There were old men, too, and several cripples. The lighter-limbed and
unencumbered were blown ahead. The dull sound rocked the air. This was a
residence portion of the city, and the houses looked lifeless. The doors
were wide, the inmates gone. Only where there was illness, were there
faces at the window, looking out, pale and anxious, asking questions of
the hurrying pale and anxious folk below. The cannonading was not yet
continuous. It spoke rather in sullen thunders, with spaces between in
which the heart began to grow quiet. Then it thundered again, and the
heart beat to suffocation.
The wind blew Miriam and Christianna toward the President's House. Tall,
austere, white-pillared, it stood a little coldly in the heat. Before
the door were five saddle horses, with a groom or two. The staff came
from the house, then the President in grey Confederate cloth and soft
hat. He spoke to one of the officers in his clear, incisive voice, then
mounted his grey Arab. A child waved to him from an upper window. He
waved back, lifted his hat to the two girls as they passed, then, his
staff behind him, rode rapidly off toward the sound of the firing.
Miriam and Christianna, turning a little northward, found themselves on
a hillside thronged with people. It was like a section of an
amphitheatre, and it commanded a great stretch of lowland broken here
and there by slight elevations. Much of the plain was in forest, but in
some places the waist-deep corn was waving, and in others the wheat
stood in shocks. There were marshes and boggy green meadows and old
fields of pine and broom sedge. Several roads could be seen. They all
ran into a long and low cloud of smoke. It veiled the northern horizon,
and out of it came the thunder. First appeared dull orange flashes,
then, above the low-lying thickness, the small white expanding cloud
made by the bursting shell, then to the ear rushed the thunder. On the
plain, from the defences which rimmed the city northward to the battle
cloud, numbers of grey troops were visible, some motionless, some
marching. They looked like toy soldiers. The sun heightened red splashes
that were known to be battle-flags. Horsemen could be seen galloping
from point to point. In the intervals between the thunders the hillside