Chapter 77
Colonel Fauquier Cary, riding by, heard the last remark and answered it.
"Ma.r.s.e Robert and Longstreet are marching by the road we've marched before them. To-night, perhaps, we'll be again a united family."
"Colonel, are we going to have a battle?"
"I wasn't at the council, friends, but I can tell you what I think."
"Yes, yes! We think that you think pretty straight--"
"McCall and Heintzelman and Fitz John Porter have joined General Pope."
"Yes. So we hear."
"And others of the Army of the Potomac are on the way."
"Yes, undoubtedly."
"But are not here yet."
"No."
"Well, then, I think that the thing above all others that General Lee wants is an immediate battle."
He rode on. The men to whom he had been speaking looked after him approvingly. "He's a fine piece of steel! Always liked that whole family--Isn't he a cousin of ----? Yes. Wonder what he thinks about that matter! Heigho! Look at the stealing light and the grey shadows!
Mana.s.sas!"
Cary, riding by Ewell's lines, came upon Maury Stafford lying stretched beneath an oak, studying, too, the old battlefield. The sun was up; the morning cool, fresh, and pure. Dismounting, Cary seated himself beside the other. "You were not in the battle here? On the Peninsula, were you not?"
"Yes, with Magruder. Look at that shaft of light."
"Yes. It strikes the crest of the hill--just where was the Stonewall Brigade."
Silence fell. The two sat, brooding over the scene, each with his own thoughts. "This field will be red again," said Stafford at last.
"No doubt. Yes, red again. I look for heavy fighting."
"I saw you when you came in with A. P. Hill on the second. But we have not spoken together, I think, since Richmond."
"No," said Cary. "Not since Richmond."
"One of your men told me that, coming up, you stopped in Albemarle."
"Yes, I went home for a few hours."
"All at Greenwood are well and--happy?"
"All at Greenwood are well. Southern women are not precisely happy. They are, however, extremely courageous."
"May I ask if Miss Cary is at Greenwood?"
"She remained at her work in Richmond through July. Then the need at the hospital lessening, she went home. Yes, she is at Greenwood."
"Thank you. I am going to ask another question. Answer it or not as you see fit. Does she know that--most unfortunately--it was I who carried that order from General Jackson to General Winder?"
"I do not think that she knows it." He rose. "The bugles are sounding. I must get back to Hill. General Lee will be up, I hope, to-night. Until he comes we are rather in the lion's mouth. Happily John Pope is hardly the desert king." He mounted his horse, and went. Stafford laid himself down beneath the oak, looked sideways a moment at Bull Run and the hills and the woods, then flung his arm upward and across his eyes, and went in mind to Greenwood.
The day pa.s.sed in a certain still and steely watchfulness. In the August afternoon, Jeb Stuart, feather in hat, around his horse's neck a garland of purple ironweed and yarrow, rode into the lines and spoke for ten minutes with General Jackson, then spurred away to the Warrenton turnpike. Almost immediately Ewell's and Taliaferro's divisions were under arms and moving north.
Near Groveton they struck the force they were going against--King's division of McDowell's corps moving tranquilly toward Centreville. The long blue column--Doubleday, Patrick, Gibbon, and Hatch's brigades--showed its flank. It moved steadily, with jingle and creak of accoutrements, with soldier chat and laughter, with a band playing a quickstep, with the rays of the declining sun bright on gun-stock and bayonet, and with the deep rumble of the accompanying batteries. The head of the column came in the gold light to a farmhouse and an apple orchard. Out of the peace and repose of the scene burst a roar of grey artillery.
The fight was fierce
As for the infantry, grey and blue, they were seasoned troops. There was no charging this golden afternoon. They merely stood, blue and grey, one hundred yards apart, in the sunset-flooded apple orchard, and then in a twilight apple orchard, and then in an apple orchard with the stars conceivably s.h.i.+ning above the roof of smoke, and directed each against the other a great storm of musketry, round shot, and canister.
It lasted two and a half hours, that tornado, and it never relaxed in intensity. It was a bitter fight, and there was bitter loss. Doubleday and Gibbon suffered fearfully, and Ewell and Taliaferro suffered. Grey and blue, they stood grimly, and the tornado raged. The ghosts of the quiet husbandmen who had planted the orchard, of the lovers who may have walked there, of the children who must have played beneath the trees--these were scared far, far from the old peaceful haunt. It was a bitter fight.
Stafford was beside Ewell when the latter fell, a sh.e.l.l dreadfully shattering his leg. The younger man caught him, drew him quite from poor old Rifle, and with the help of the men about got him behind the slight, slight shelter of one of the little curtsying trees. Old d.i.c.k's face twitched, but he could speak. "Of course I've lost that leg! ----! ---- ----! Old Jackson isn't around, is he? Never mind! Occasion must excuse. Go along, gentlemen. Need you all there. Doctors and chaplains and the teamsters, and d.i.c.k Ewell will forgather all right ----! ----! d.a.m.n you, Maury, I don't want you to stay! What's that that man says? Taliaferro badly wounded ----! ---- ----! Gentlemen, one and all you are ordered back to your posts. I've lost a leg, but I'm not going to lose this battle!"
Night came with each stark battle line engaged in giving and receiving as deadly a bombardment as might well be conceived. The orchard grew a place tawny and red and roaring with sound. And then at nine o'clock the sound dwindled and the light sank. The blue withdrew in good order, taking with them their wounded. The battle was drawn, the grey rested on the field, the loss of both was heavy.
Back of the apple orchard, on the long natural terrace where he had posted his six guns, that tall, blond, very youthful officer whom, a little later, Stuart called "the heroic chivalric Pelham," whom Lee called "the gallant Pelham," of whom Stonewall Jackson said, "Every army should have a Pelham on each flank"--Major John Pelham surveyed the havoc among his men and horses. Then like a good and able leader, he brought matters s.h.i.+pshape, and later announced that the Horse Artillery would stay where it was for the night.
The farmhouse in the orchard had been turned into a field hospital.
Thither Pelham's wounded were borne. Of the hurt horses those that might be saved were carefully tended, the others shot. The pickets were placed. Fires were kindled, and from a supply wagon somewhere in the rear scanty rations brought. An emba.s.sy went to the farmhouse. "Ma'am, the major--Major Pelham--says kin we please have a few roasting ears?"
The emba.s.sy returned. "She says, sir, just to help ourselves. Corn, apples--anything we want, and she wishes it were more!"
The six guns gleamed red in the light of the kindled fires. The men sat or lay between them, tasting rest after battle. Below this platform, in the orchard and on the turnpike and in the woods beyond, showed also fires and moving lights. The air was yet smoky, the night close and warm. There were no tents nor roofs of any nature. Officers and men rested in the open beneath the August stars. Pelham had a log beneath a Lombardy poplar, with a wide outlook toward the old field of Mana.s.sas.
Here he talked with one of his captains. "Too many men lost! I feel it through and through that there is going to be heavy fighting. We'll have to fill up somehow."
"Everybody from this region's in already. We might get some fifteen-year-olds or some sixty-five-year-olds, though, or we might ask the department for conscripts--"
"Don't like the latter material. Prefer the first. Well, we'll think about it to-morrow--It's late, late, Haralson! Good-night."
"Wait," said Haralson. "Here's a man wants to speak to you."
Running up the hillside, from the platform where were the guns to a little line of woods dark against the starlit sky, was a cornfield--between it and the log and the poplar only a little gra.s.sy depression. A man had come out of the cornfield. He stood ten feet away--a countryman apparently, poorly dressed.
"Well, who are you?" demanded Pelham, "and how did you get in my lines?"
"I've been," said the man, "tramping it over from the mountains. And when I got into this county I found it chock full of armies. I didn't want to be taken up by the Yankees, and so I've been mostly travelling by night. I was in that wood up there while you all were fighting. I had a good view of the battle. When it was over I said to myself, 'After all they're my folk,' and I came down through the corn. I was lying there between the stalks; I heard you say you needed gunners. I said to myself, 'I might as well join now as later. We've all got to join one way or another, that's clear,' and so I thought, sir, I'd join you--"
"Why haven't you 'joined,' as you call it, before?"
"I've been right sick for a year or more, sir. I got a blow on the head in a saw mill on Briony Creek and it made me just as useless as a bit of pith. The doctor says I am all right now, sir. I got tired of staying on Briony--"
"Do you know anything about guns?"
"I know all about a shotgun. I could learn the other."
"What's your name?"