Читать книгу: «An Unofficial Patriot», страница 12

"Oh, Roy! Roy! my brother!" he gasped and fell upon his knees. His hand trembled so that the canteen fell from his grasp. He groped for it as the lantern lay beside him, and one hand till held the face above the earth. "Roy! Roy! can you hear me? Can you hear me? It is your brother! It is Beverly!" he cried out, but for reply there was only that gurgling groan, followed by another and another – and then silence.

"Oh, my God!" cried Beverly, "What can I do? It will kill him to try to lift those poor crushed legs and – "

The light fell on the breast, and there, for the first time, Beverly saw that it was not mud alone that lay there, but that a piece of spent shell was half crushed into Roy's side. It was plain now. Roy had fallen with that, and the retreating battery had driven over his helpless form. Beverly wiped the mud and powder from his brother's face and bent down and kissed the parted lips.

"Oh, my brother! my brother! I came too late at last! I thought all the way on the river, and then, as we dashed up that hill, I thought we had come in time to save you, and I was so glad! Roy, I prayed not to be too late! Somehow I thought you were up there. And you were here – here, with this ghastly wound – and they drove over you! O, Roy, Roy, my brother how can I ever tell mother? How can I?"

The long, gurgling moan came again. Beverly sprang to his feet and shouted for help. Shout after shout rang out. At last a reply came, and then men with a stretcher.

"I have found my brother," was all Beverly could say. His own voice seemed strange and distant to him. The men get about lifting the body from its bed of clay – the body of this spruce young officer who had been so eager that his brother should feel proud to see him in his new uniform with the first-lieutenant's straps! No one could tell what the uniform was now, and the jaunty cap and polished sword were gone! The strong young legs and the erect figure could boast of its extra inch no longer. Beverly breathed hard as the men worked. "I'm afraid he's too far gone to help now, captain. It – "

"Oh, let me lift his head! I can't pull on those poor crushed legs! Be so careful! Oh, God! oh, God! how cruel! Be so careful! – oh, Roy! Roy! – We are trying to be so careful, Roy! We try not to hurt you so! My God, how cruel! I cannot bear it, brother!"

The body was on the stretcher at last, and Beverly was wiping great beads of anguish from his own face. One poor leg was crushed near the hip, and had been hard to manage. The groans had become more distinct and frequent. Then,"Dr – dr," came from the lips.

"Here, here, give me a canteen! I lost mine down there. Quick, he wants a drink, I think. Here, brother Roy." Beverly put a hand under his head. "Here, Roy, dear, can you swallow? Oh, it hurts him so! Here, brother, my brother! Oh, Roy, I wish it were I! Can you hear me? Can you hear me, Roy?"

The men with the stretcher turned their faces away and drew their sleeves across their eyes. Even they who had worked all night with and for the dead and dying were moved anew by the young officer's sorrow. Beverly looked up hopefully.

"I think he swallowed just a little. Let us get him to a surgeon, quick. Perhaps, perhaps – " Beverly looked from one to the other and could not finish his sentence. The little group moved wearily toward the hospital tents, and Beverly ran for the surgeon of his own company.

"My God, doctor, he has been driven over, and he is wounded in the breast besides! Do you think there is any hope? Oh, how I wish it were I! Oh, doctor, can't you save him? It is my brother – my brother Roy!"

The surgeon was listening as he worked.

"The best thing that could have happened to him is that he was so deep in that mud. It has kept the fever down. It has saved his leg. It isn't badly swollen. I can set this bone. I don't think the other one is – " He was examining and talking slowly. He changed to the wound in the breast. "This is the most – this is the worst, but I don't think the lung is badly – this plaster of mud on his breast – "

"I took it nearly all off, doctor. It was very thick when I found him, and this – " Beverly took a large jagged piece of shell from his pocket. "This was down in it. I think it must have struck and stunned him, and while he was helpless those cruel wheels went over him. His body was as if he had fallen on his back, but the legs were twisted as if he had been on his side. The mud was nearly two feet deep. It was an awful place, awful! And to think that they should have driven over Roy! Do you think – ?"

"That was the best place he could have been. That mud has acted like – " The doctor was taking professional pride in the case. The wounded man groaned.

"Oh, how it seems to hurt him, doctor! Can't you – can't I – couldn't we give him something to deaden – ? He was never so strong as I. He – "

"You'd better go away, captain. You're brave enough for yourself, but you'd better go away. I'll do my level best for him. I don't think this wound is fatal – and the mud poultice was the very best thing that could have happened to him, really. The wheel that threw that did him a greater service than it did injury to his leg. I – you had better go and lie down for a while, captain. I'll do everything possible, and – well, I hope his lung is not very seriously implicated. I hope we can pull him through. I feel sure of the leg and – go and lie down. You can't do any good here, and you mustn't lose your nerve that way. If he – if I – if he regains consciousness I'll call you, Try to get a little rest for to-morrow. Try. You may be needed then. You must have your nerve then, too, if he should open his eyes and – "

"If he should open his eyes!" Beverly turned away and sat with his face in his hands. "How can I write it to mother," he moaned – "how can I? How can I? And father may not be there to help her bear it! Oh, Roy, Roy, my brother!"

CHAPTER XIX

"How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood."

When the news of the battle reached Katherine, she was still alone. Griffith had not completed the task set, and was still in the tent of the irascible General, whose chief acquaintance with the English language appeared to lie in his explosive and ever ready profanity. He swore if things went right, and he swore if they went wrong. If he liked a man, he swore at him playfully, and if he disliked him, he swore at him in wrath. His ammunition might give out, but a volley of oaths was never wanting to fire at the enemy. It sometimes seemed to Griffith the irony of fate that he should be placed in the same tent and closely associated with such a man, for, although Griffith said nothing, it grated sadly upon his ears, and he sometimes wondered if the Almighty would prosper an expedition led by this man, for Griffith had kept still, through all the years the primitive idea of a personal God who takes cognizance of the doings of men, and meets and parries them by devices and schemes of His own.

As time went on, and Lengthy Patterson recovered from his wound so as to be always in evidence, he came in for a large share of the General's explosive and meaningless oaths. Sometimes it was half in fun, more often it was in memory of the fact that Lengthy had ignored him and his questions upon their first meeting, and that up to this day the lank mountaineer took his orders and his cue from Griffith only. He had attached himself to the sharpshooters and rarely left Griffith's side. As silent and faithful as a dog he rode day after day, with watchful eyes, by the side of or just behind "the Parson," as he still called the object of his adoration. He watched Griffith narrowly. He noticed the growing sadness of the old-time merry face. He felt that something was wrong. At last the silence could be preserved no longer, he must know what the trouble was. They were near the borders of the county where Griffith's old home was. Lengthy had expected to see his face grow interested and bright, but instead there seemed to come over it a drawn and haggard look that was a puzzle and a torment to the woodsman. He ventured a remark as they rode apart from the rest. "Sick?"

"No, no, Lengthy. I'm not sick. Why?"

"Yeh never talk no mo'. Heard yeh kinder groan. Few-words-comprehends-th'-whole." Griffith turned his face full upon him.

"Lengthy, it is almost more than I can bear to do this work. I – it is – sometimes I think I cannot take them over there." He held out his hand toward the beautiful valley in the distance. They could see the thread of the river winding through the trees and out into field and farm. It was the river in which Lengthy had seen this friend of his baptized, so many years ago, when both were young men, and now both were growing gray!

Lengthy made no reply. The silence stretched into minutes. They halted for the noon meal and to feed and rest the horses. They all lay about on the hill, and Griffith talked to the engineers. They drew lines and made figures and notes. An hour later they pushed on toward the river. Lengthy and Griffith rode in front. The old mill where Pete had run away appeared in the distance. The river was very near now. A heavy sigh from Griffith broke the silence. He was looking far ahead and his face was drawn and miserable.

"What d' yeh go fer?"

Griffith did not hear. His chin had dropped upon his breast, and his face was pale. His lips moved, and the mountaineer waited. At last he said: "What yeh do hit fer?"

"What?"

"What yeh do hit fer,'f yeh don't want teh?"

"Do what? Go here?"

"Yeh?"

"I am a Union man, Lengthy. The President sent for me and asked me to do it. He made me see it was my duty. There was no one else he could trust, who knew the country. I – "

There was a long pause. The mountaineer threw his leg up over the front of his saddle, and ruminated on the new outlook. Presently Griffith went on: "Some one must do it, but – "

He lifted his face toward the blue above him; "Oh, my God, if this cup could but pass from me!!" he groaned aloud. "It seems to me I cannot cross that river! It seems to me I cannot!" His voice broke and there was silence.

"Don't need teh'."

Griffith did not hear. His eyes were closed and he was praying for light and leading, as he would have called it – for strength to do the dreaded task, if it must be done. Lengthy looked at him, and then at the not far distant river, and waited in silence. A half mile farther on he said, as if the chain of remarks had been unbroken: "Don't need teh cross. I will fer yeh."

"What?" cried Griffith, like a man who has heard and is afraid to believe.

"Said yeh didn't need teh cross. I will fer yeh. Few-words-comprehends-th'-whole," he repeated, in the same level key, looking straight at his horse's ears.

Griffith's bridle fell upon his horse's neck. Both arms lifted themselves up, and both hands spread as if to grasp something. "Oh, my God, is my prayer to be answered so soon? Do you mean – oh, Lengthy, do you mean that you will save me from this terrible trial? Do you mean – "

"I does." He was gazing straight ahead of him now, with elaborate pretense of indifference. He had begun to grasp the situation.

Griffith dropped both hands upon his uplifted face, and a cry as of one in great pain escaped him, "O-h-h," in a long quaver. The mountaineer turned his eyes. Griffith was looking straight at him now, like a hunted man who at last sees hope and rescue ahead, but dares not trust it lest it prove but an illusion. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him. The mountaineer understood.

"Yeh kin go home. I'll do hit. Few words – "

Griffith was overtaken with hysterics. He threw both arms above his head and shouted, "Glory to God in the highest! Peace and good will to men!" and covered his face with his hands to hide the emotion he could not control.

They were on the banks of the river now, and the commander dashed up. "What in hell's the matter now?" he demanded.

"Hit's the river done it," put in the mountaineer, to save his friend the need of words. "Baptized thar."

"What? What in the devil are you talking about? What in – "

He was looking at Griffith, but Lengthy broke in again with his perfectly level and emotionless voice. "Baptized thar, I sez. Few-words-comprehends-th' – "

"Will you dry up? You infernal – What does this mean?" He turned again to Griffith, who had regained his self-control. The commander usually acted upon him as a refrigerator, so incapable was he of understanding human emotion that reached beyond the limits of irritability.

"General," he began, slowly, "I have just arranged with Mr. Patterson for him to take my place as Government Guide. I can go with you no farther. That house over there in the distance" – he stretched out his hand – "used to be my old home. I love the people who live here – all about here. This river – "

A volley of oaths interrupted Griffith. The command had come up, and the staff-officers sat listening and waiting. The General was changing his first outburst into arguments. Griffith met them quite calmly. It seemed a long time now since he had found the relief he felt. It did not seem possible that it was only ten minutes ago that it had come to him.

"This man knows the country even better than I do, General. He is willing to go – to take my place – and he is perfectly loyal —loyal to me. He will – what Mr. Lincoln wanted was that the work should be done, and done by one he could trust – it was not that he wanted me to do it. I will stake my honor on this man's fidelity. He – " The word "deserter," mingled with threats, struck Griffith's ear; he did not pause to analyze it. "Mr. Lincoln told me that I was to return to him whenever I – "

"God damn Mr. Lincoln! I am in command of these troops! Mr. Lincoln didn't know he was giving me a couple of lunatics to deal with! If you attempt to leave you will be shot as a deserter, I tell you! I'll do it myself, by God!" Griffith's head dropped against his breast. He dismounted slowly and handed his bridle to the mountaineer. Lengthy hooked it over his arm and waited. Mr. Davenport deliberately knelt by the bank of the river, with his face toward the old home.

"Shoot. I will go no farther!" he said, and closed his eyes.

Instantly the mountaineer's gun went to his shoulder. His aim was at the General's breast. "Few-words-comprehends-th'-whole," he said, and the hammer clicked. The General smiled grimly.

"Get up," he said. "I had no right to make that threat. You are a private citizen. You came of your own accord. You are under Lincoln only. Get up! Can we trust this man, damn him?"

Griffith staggered to his feet. The storm had left him weak and pale. The mountaineer dismounted and stood beside him.

"You mean to take my place in good faith – to lead them right – I know, Lengthy; but tell him so for me," Griffith asked, in a tired voice, taking the swarthy hand in his. "You will do your best as a guide in my place, won't you?"

Lengthy's response was unequivocal. "I will," he said in his monotonous tone, and somehow, as they stood hand in hand with the curious group of men about them, the reply reminded every one of the response in the marriage service, and a smile ran around as the men glanced at each other.

"You promise to do all in your knowledge and power to enable them to get accurate knowledge and make their maps, don't you, Lengthy?"

"I do."

The similitude struck even the commander, and when Griffith turned, the irascible General was trying to cover a smile.

"Are you satisfied, General? I will stake my life on both his capacity to do it – even better than I – and on his honor when he promises to do it for me. Are you satisfied?"

"Have to be satisfied, I guess. Mount! March!"

Griffith lifted the hard, brown, rough hand in both of his and gravely kissed it. "You are the truest friend I ever had, Lengthy. God bless and protect you! Good-bye."

The mountaineer laid the great hand on the palm of its fellow, and looked at it gravely as he rode.

"Kissed it, by gum!" He gazed at the spot in silent awe. "Few-words-comp – " His voice broke, and he rode away at the head of the command, still holding the sacred hand on the palm of the one not so consecrated, and looked at it from time to time with silent, reverential admiration. His gun lay across his saddle, and the horse took the ford as one to the manner born. On the farther bank he turned and looked back. Griffith waved his handkerchief, and every man in the command joined in the salute when Lengthy's shout rang out, "Three cheers for the Parson!"

Even the General's hat went up, and Griffith rode back alone over the path he had but just come, alone – and unguarded – but with a great load lifted from his shoulders, bound for Washington to make his final report to the President, and then return to the ways and haunts of peace.

"Homeward bound! homeward bound! thank God!" he said, aloud, "with life's worst and hardest duty done. Surely, surely, my part of this terrible straggle is over! It has shadowed me for twenty long years. The future shall be free. Peace has come for me at last!"

CHAPTER XX

"The days of youth are the days of gladness."

"Dear Mother," wrote Howard, "I forgot to write last week, but then there wasn't the first thing to tell, so it don't matter. We're just loafing here in camp waiting for the next move. We had a little scrap with the Johnnies ten days ago, but it didn't come to anything on either side. They are sulking in their tents and we are dittoing in ours. But what I began this letter to tell is really funny, and I don't want to forget to write it. The other day a slabsided old woman (you never did see such a funny looking creature. She was worse than the mountaineer class in Virginia, or even than those Hoosiers out there on that farm near ours.) Well, she came to our camp from some place back in the country and asked to see our 'doctor man.' She seemed to think there was but one.

"One of the surgeons had a talk with her, and it turned out that her 'ole man,' as she called her husband, was 'mighty bad off with breakbone fever,' and she had come to see if the Yankee doctor man wouldn't have some kind of stuff that would cure him the first dose. These kinds of folks think our officers and doctors are about omnipotent, because our men are so much better fed and clothed and equipped than the Johnnies are.

"'Ef yoh can't gimme sumpin' fer my ole man, doctah, he's jes boun' ter die,' she kept saying over and over. Well, the doctor questioned her, and came to the conclusion that a good sweat would be about the proper caper to recommend, and he told her to cover him up well, and then to take some sage – they all have that in the garden and mighty little else – and, said he, 'take about so much and put it in something and then measure out exactly one quart of water and boil it and pour over the sage. Then make him drink it just as hot as he can. Now don't forget so much sage and exactly a quart of water.'

"'Yeh think thet's agoin't' cuah (cure) my ole man, doctah?' says she.

"'I think it is the best thing for him now. Be sure to make it as I told you – so much sage and a quart of water.'

"'You kin bet I'll fix her up all right, doctah, ef thet's a goin't' cuah my ole man.' Then she tramped back home. The next day she appeared bright and early, and wanted that doctor man again. 'Well, my good woman, I hope your husband is feeling a good deal easier after his sweat. I —

"'Naw 'e hain't nuther. My ole man, he hain't scooped out on the inside like you Yanks is, I reckon.'

"She looked pretty worried. 'How's that? How's that?' asked the doctor.

"'Wal,' says she, 'I jest hoofed hit home es quick es ever I could, an' I tuck an' medjured out thet there sage an' the water – jest edzactly a quat – an' I fixed her up an tuck hit t' the ole man. I riz his head up, mister – fer he's powerful weak – an' he done his plum best t' swaller hit, but the fust time he didn't git mo'n halft down till he hove the hull of hit up agin. I went back and I medjured up thet there sage agin an' the water an' tried him agin, but he hove her up 'fore he got haift down. But I never stopped till I tries her agin, an' that time, doctah, he didn't git halft down. Now, doctah, thet there ole man er mine he don't hold but a pint. I reckon you Yanks is scooped out thinner than what we alls is.'

"We boys just yelled, but the poor soul loped off to her pint-measure old man without seeing a bit of fun in it. She was mad as a wet hen when the doctor told her she needn't make him drink it all at one fell swoop. She vowed he had told her that the first time, and it's my impression that she now suspects the Yankees of trying to burst her old man. I've laughed over it all day, so I thought I'd write it to you, but it don't seem half so funny in writing as it was to hear it.

"Give little Margaret this ring I put in. I cut it out of a piece of laurel root. I expect it is too big for her, but she can have some fun with it I reckon. There isn't any more news, only one of our cannons exploded the other day. It didn't do much damage. I'm not sure that I've spelled some of these words right, but my unabridged is not handy and I'm not sorry.

"I always hated to look for words. I wish you'd tell some of the town boys to write to me. Letters go pretty good in camp and some fellows get a lot. I don't get many. It's hard to answer them if you get many, though, so I don't know which is worst. This is the longest one I ever wrote in my life. I forgot to tell you to tell Aunt Judy I met a fellow from Washington and he said the twins were in jail, but they were let out to work on some Government intrenchments near by. I don't know what they were in for. The fellow didn't know about our other niggers. Said he thought Mark and Phillis were dead because he used to see them but hadn't for a long time. Said Sallie worked for his mother sometimes and that is how he knew so much about them. Two or three of the boys got shot last night putting cartridges in the fire to monkey with the other fellows. None of'em hit yours truly. My hand is plum woah out, as Aunt Judy would say, holding this pen – and the thing has gone to walking on one leg. I guess I broke the point off the other side jabbing at a fly. Good-bye. Write soon,

"Howard,

"P.S. – I forgot to say I am well, and send love. I wish I had some home grub.

"Foxy Leathers got a bully box last week. He gave me nearly half of his fruit cake. The other boys didn't know he had one. They got doughnuts – but even doughnuts are a lot better than the grub we get. H."

The box of "home grub," was speedily packed and sent, and while it lasted it made merry the hearts of his mess. Howard said in one of his letters that he was growing very tall. He said that the boys declared that "if it had not been for his collar he would have been split all the way up, as he had run chiefly to legs." Howard, however, expressed it as his own unbiased opinion that it was jealousy of his ability to walk over the fences that they had to climb which prompted the remark. "Foxy has to climb for it and I put one leg over and then I put the other over – and there you are," he said. Camp life agreed with him, and the restraints of home no longer rasping his temper, he seemed to be the gayest of the gay. Nothing troubled him. He slept and ate wherever and whenever and whatever fell to his lot; lived each day as it came and gave no thought to its successor. He counted up on his fingers when he wrote home last, and tried to remember to write about once a week, because his mother begged that he would, and not at all because the impulse to do so urged him or because he cared especially to say anything. He liked to get letters, but he knew he was sure of those from home whether he wrote or not, and so his replies had that uncertainty of date dependent upon luck. No sense of responsibility weighed upon him, and his mother's anxiety impressed him – when he thought of it at all – as a bit of womanish nonsense; natural enough for a woman, but all very absurd. He had no deeper mental grasp upon it, and indeed the whole ethical nature of this boy seemed embryonic; and so it was that his camp life was the happiest he had ever known – the happiest he would ever know.