ON" 
 

 THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
'/ 
 
^'AS WE WENT MARCHING ON" 
 
 2r Storg of tlje Ular 
 
 By G. W. HOSMEE, M.D. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 
 1885 
 
Copyright, 1885, by Harper &; Brothers. 
 
 All rigfUs mervcd. 
 
"AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 ON THE PICKET-LINE. 
 
 Across onr front, and not very far away, ran a 
 road tliat led from Culpepper on the south toward 
 Lost Mountain and Ashby's Gap on the north ; and 
 the Colonel passed some time every night on that 
 road. One glorious, silent, starlight night he ex- 
 plored it as usual, accompanied only by Captain 
 Pembroke, who was then acting as major — for the 
 major had been killed at Malvern Hills. They had 
 ridden with customary care a mile, perhaps, beyond 
 our last picket, and toward the south, when the Col- 
 onel heard a sound ahead which he stopped to con- 
 sider. He was soon satisfied there was a horseman 
 coming down this road toward them. He heard 
 clearly in a few moments the jingle of accoutre- 
 ments, and then a voice singing the Southern dog- 
 gerel, "Hurrah for the bonnie blue flag, that 
 bears a single star." It was a Confederate soldier, 
 therefore ; but were there more behind him ? Was 
 
 602960 
 
it a case that required a rapid ride to our lines that 
 the men might be put under arms to be ready for 
 any possibility, or was this merely some straggler 
 unaware that there were Union troops near by ? Or 
 was this horseman, indeed, the bait to a trap ? 
 
 Dave had often laughed at the simplicity of cer- 
 tain of our newly-fledged regimental and brigade 
 commanders, who had only come down South to be 
 caught in some easy trap and be marched away pris- 
 oners by Mosby or others of that kidney. Indeed 
 for mishaps of that sort there was no sympathy, and 
 the old man knew it would never do to be caught 
 in that way. 
 
 And yet if he should ride away from this possi- 
 ble trap and give an alarm in camp ! 
 
 An old soldier does not put his men under arms 
 after taps for slight reasons, and never on suspi- 
 cion. Hasty and inconsiderate alarms are common 
 where soldiers are new to their duty ; but they did 
 not occur in old Dave's camp. In the few moments 
 before the stranger came into view over the hill in 
 front, the Colonel judged that it would be safe to 
 see clearly what was behind this night-rambler, and 
 then if he was alone they would take him ; for a 
 pi-isoncr is an article of value in all cases where in- 
 formation in regard to the movements of the enemy 
 is so scarce as it was with us at that period. He 
 may not mean to tell you anything, but he cannot 
 help it. The mere name of his regiment or divi- 
 sion tells what troops are near you. 
 
 And a soldier is always proud to tell the name of 
 
ON THE PICKET-LINE. 5 
 
 Ills commander, because lie glories in the achieve- 
 ments of his own corps. Between Manassas and 
 Gainesville, in tliat very campaign, one of our com- 
 panies got a fellow who wouldn't say a word — held 
 his mouth as tight as a bear-trap. But when he was 
 asked, with an indifferent air, what army he was in, 
 he lifted up his head and said, " General Long- 
 street's, sir." Well, that fact was of wonderful con- 
 sequence to us. It had been supposed that we were 
 on Stonewall Jackson's flank, and that he was cut 
 off ; but here was Longstreet in front. That fellow 
 saved our army from' wasting five thousand men in 
 a vain battle : yet his fixed purpose was not to give 
 any information. 
 
 Dave, who knew all the value of a prisoner, con- 
 sequently led Pembroke into the shadow of the 
 woods, and they waited for the stranger, who came 
 in sight in a very little while. 
 
 He was a handsome figure in the starlight. He 
 sat with an easy and gallant air a tall bay, whose fine 
 limbs they saw would bother them greatly if she 
 had a chance to run for her rider's liberty, and 
 whose restiveness showed that an easy gait was taken 
 for some other reason than consideration for hei*. 
 
 Confederate soldiers whose uniforms could be 
 fairly called fresh or brilliant were seldom, seen on 
 our front at any place or time ; for they were not 
 put near, apparently, till the tough experiences of a 
 soldier's life had dimmed the bravery of the first 
 suit, and a second suit was an unknown fact. But 
 this soldier's suit was less dingy than common. His 
 
6 "AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 gray seemed to have a gloss of newness ; and Lis 
 buttons and gold lace and other frippery, though 
 their glitter was perhaps exaggerated by the decep- 
 tive illumination of the stars, seemed to declare 
 themselves ignorant of the vicissitudes of a cam- 
 paign. 
 
 Dave consequently indulged doubts whether this 
 could be one of Lee's men. If he was, he had 
 joined Lee's army lately, and the army was not far 
 away; for this fellow seemed to come out of a 
 bandbox. Yet there was about him so much of the 
 style of an old soldier he could not be a mere recruit. 
 Altogether, there was enough in the circumstance 
 to mystify our two friends hidden in the shadow of 
 the wood by the roadside ; but this puzzle did not 
 distract their thoughts from the principal doubt of 
 the moment. Was he alone? They soon felt sure 
 that he was, for the road was clear for several hun- 
 dred yards behind him, and no sound came from 
 that direction. 
 
 But deliberation was soon cut short, for just as 
 the stranger came opposite our hidden friends his 
 keen nag turned her nose almost as if she were a 
 pointer to Dave and Pembroke in the shadow, and 
 she gave an energetic snort, and Pembroke's horse 
 whinnied an answer ; whereupon the stranger drew 
 up suddenly, and scanned for a second that point 
 of animated gloom by the wayside ; but before he 
 had resolved the doubts in his mind, or determined 
 a line of action, Dave gave the word, and tlie two 
 charged together, and with cocked pistols held 
 
OIT THE PICKET-LINE. 7 
 
 against his head at either side ahnost before he knew 
 it, he had no discretion. To surrender was the only 
 possible course for a rational creature. 
 
 The prisoner now rode into our lines between his 
 captors. His light-heartedness was gone ; and that 
 buoyant gajety which had found vent in the popu- 
 lar refrain was replaced by a despondency so sudden 
 and deep as to seem to old Dave almost unmanly. 
 He thouo;ht tlie natural fortitude or bravado of a 
 youngster — even if not reinforced by the defiant 
 spirit of an enemy — should enable one to face an 
 always imminent mischance with more resolution 
 than appeared in the prisoner. Dave thought it 
 natural that a soldier should be in the dumps in such 
 circumstances ; but to be so terribly down as this fel- 
 low was seemed to him to imply some more than 
 ordinary apprehension : and from that to the notion 
 that it was necessary to know particularly all about 
 this prisoner was not far. 
 
 " Why," said Dave, " if you had been taken as a 
 spy inside our lines, and were to be hanged in half 
 an hour, you could not be more broken up." 
 
 "If it were only facing death for myself," said 
 the reb, quietly, " I am too familiar with that ex- 
 perience to heed it a great deal." 
 
 " Ah ! then there is more in the case than jour 
 life or death ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Your capture concerns the welfare of others ?" 
 
 "' Yes, sir ; at least of another." 
 
 Dave's mystification was only made deeper. Was 
 
8 "AS WE WEN"T MARCHING ON." 
 
 this fellow really a spy, thus surprised into a half- 
 confession, and regarding his own fate as trivial in 
 comparison with tlie consequences his capture would 
 produce for his brigade or division ? And what did 
 '^ another" mean ? Had he an accomplice ? 
 
 Old Dave, Pembroke, and the prisoner went into 
 the old man's tent, and the captive was called upon to 
 give an account of himself. The story he told was 
 so simple and covered the case so completely that 
 the old man was hardly satisfied with it, for his sus- 
 picions once awakened were not easily lulled. 
 
 The prisoner's name was Arthur "Willoughby, his 
 home was near Front Royal, and he was a soldier in 
 the rebel Army of l!^orthern Virginia. In the battle 
 of the Seven Pines he had been engaged with his 
 regiment in the attempt to drive our fellows down 
 the Williamsburg road ; but in that action he had 
 been wounded and taken to Richmond. There he 
 had been prostrated throngh the whole of June and 
 part of July ; had finally got on foot, but was yet 
 unfit for duty; and as Richmond was crowded with 
 men wounded in the later battles, he had started for 
 his home, in the hope to recuperate there, and had 
 stopped for some days, almost exhausted, at Orange 
 Court-house. 
 
 He knew nothing whatever of the immediate 
 movements of the Confederate forces. 
 
 Old Dave did not believe this story, and he said 
 severely : 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me, sir, that jou, a soldier, 
 riding at night a good nag such as yours, and within 
 
ON THE PICKET-LINE. 9 
 
 maybe ten or twenty miles of the advance of Lee's 
 army, have not had the curiosity to inquire as to the 
 whereabouts of even your own regiment?" 
 
 ^' Sir," said the prisoner with quiet dignity, ^* since 
 you do not beheve me, my own repeated declaration 
 of the same fact will not convince you; but reason 
 on the case from your own stand-point. You are as 
 near to Lee's army as I am. You have perhaps 
 been endeavoring for some time to ascertain its ex- 
 act whereabouts. From what you say I judge that 
 you do not know much about it. If with all your 
 efforts you have not acquired this knowledge, how 
 should I possess it, having made no endeavor to gain 
 it?" 
 
 " But what I do not understand," said Dave, '' is 
 that you should have made no such endeavor." 
 
 " On that side perhaps I am to blame," said the 
 other. *'Some preoccupation of mind that I may 
 call domestic has too much withdrawn mv thouo-hts 
 from my patriotic duties." 
 
 As we soon knew, the preoccupation thus referred 
 to was the real point in the case ; and what it in- 
 volved made friends for the prisoner in our camp. 
 But the Colonel got no more out of him that night. 
 
 All this happened, as I said, on the road that 
 ran across our front, and which was a few hundred 
 yards beyond our picket-line. Our battalion was 
 posted at that time far out in the valley beyond 
 Thoroughfare Gap ; and it was in August, 1862, 
 when the common trouble was for a time that 
 everybody was posted in the wrong place. 
 
10 "AS WE WENT MARCHING ON/' 
 
 From the "Westover plantation on the James 
 River, from that great fair field of grain which was 
 so beautiful when we marched into it on the day 
 after Malvern Hills, and which so soon became an 
 almost bottomless slongli of mnd, — and a slongh of 
 despond it seemed for onr army, — from the ennui, 
 and the fever, and the heat of an almost tropical 
 summer, the boys had been brought up, a brigade 
 and a division at a time ; and from the Bull Run 
 mountains to Washington the State of Virginia was 
 pretty well peppered with them, except as to points 
 where pepper was needed ; for, in the eyes of some 
 one who did not know us, it had been deemed wiser 
 to send the army by instalments to a new com- 
 mander than to send a new commander to the 
 army. 
 
 How it happened that our regiment had been sent 
 to that point out in the valley none of us ever 
 knew. Our division was not in that neighborhood ; 
 neither, so far as I know, was any other part of the 
 Army of the Potomac. But it occurred often 
 enough in our experience that when a regiment was 
 wanted for an emergency of any sort, — often also 
 only an imagined emergency, — the nearest regiment 
 to the officer who imagined the emergency was 
 caught up and sent off at race-horse speed without 
 any consideration of the way in which that practice 
 disorganized good divisions and brigades. So we 
 always supposed that we must have been some day 
 or night too near to a general possessed of more 
 authority than he knew how to use, and that this 
 
ON THE PICKET-LINE. 11 
 
 day had been one of those critical ones when the 
 movements of two Union armies made a military 
 phantasmagoria in that part of Virginia ; when 
 Lee's army was "lost," and when the prevalent 
 theory of the military authorities was that Lee was 
 heading for the Shenandoah Yalley by way of 
 Luray and Front Royal. Our duty had regard ap- 
 parently to the possibilities of that theory of the 
 enemy's operations. 
 
 But, however it came about that we were sent 
 there, there we were. 
 
 Old Dave, the Colonel, swore freely, eloquently, 
 and picturesquely on that occasion, as indeed he 
 did on nearly all occasions. His most memorable 
 achievement in that way was when General 
 Benham, the engineer, gave orders which required 
 him to put his regiment across a pontoon-bridge near 
 Fredericksburg left in front. He swore then with 
 an intense and loyal respect for tactics and the honor 
 of a soldier which would have gained for him, had 
 it been generally known, the enthusiastic admira- 
 tion of the army. On this occasion he was less 
 energetic, but his style always had freshness and 
 vigor in it. 
 
 "No chronicler can safely declare where Dave ac- 
 quired this habit which so often procures for a sol- 
 dier his only satisfaction. It may have been at 
 West Point, though that is hardly probable. More 
 likely it was on the plains ; and yet there could not 
 have been a great deal to swear at there, for in the days 
 of Dave's service the Lidians always had the worst 
 
12 "as we WE:NrT MARCHING ON." 
 
 of it. There was no doubt the usual proportion of 
 bad weather in that region, and the common share of 
 disappointments due to the delay of rations, mails, 
 and other comforts ; bnt tliese are things that rather 
 give occasion for the exercise of the habit once 
 formed than lead to its original formation. 
 
 Perhaps it was the old man's instinctive percep- 
 tion of a necessary element in military life. Old 
 soldiers have always sworn ; and what has happened 
 for thousands of years in the same occupation must 
 have some necessary I'elation to its moral moods. 
 How the army swore in Flanders everybody knows. 
 Soldiers cannot make peevish complaint ; and they 
 cannot run away. They must stand and face the 
 "cussedness of things " in whatever form it comes; 
 their only resource is to open iire. And whether 
 they open with a field-piece, or with a sulphurous 
 vocabulary, the satisfaction is the same in kind. 
 
 Despite his constant objurgations on the subject, an 
 isolated position was one that suited very well the taste 
 of the Colonel; for he rather preferred to live on the 
 picket-line, and was certainly to be found at some 
 point of it at any hour when there was a possibility 
 of a call from the enemy. He always explored per- 
 sonally every doubtful locality near -his lines inside 
 and out, and every individual picket was posted on 
 tactical and even strategic reasons, so that there 
 should be the least likelihood of his being found at 
 a disadvantage in a critical moment. 
 
 Dave was engaged in that way when TVilloughby 
 was taken. Willoughby, as hinted^ soon made 
 
ON THE PICKET-LINE. 13 
 
 friends in the regiment, and the truthful spirit of 
 his reflections upon the war helped in that respect. 
 One of the things that convinced us he always told 
 the trutli was the circumstance that he recollected a 
 piece of history which, unconsciously to him, was 
 very agreeable to our vanity. His account of the 
 Seven Pines battle was that the advance of the 
 division he was in was arrested and the tide of battle 
 stayed by tlie resistance of a regiment whicli held a 
 rail-fence on the ground immediately north of tlie 
 York River Raih-oad. Now, that rail-fence north 
 of the railroad was held by our regiment, and we 
 consequently conceived that this fellow's head was 
 more than usually level. 
 
 But in his repeated histories of that rail-fence the 
 prisoner was always disposed to consider the tenacity 
 of resistance at that point as due to the cover which 
 the fence supplied to the regiment behind it, until 
 old Maltby said, in his dry, quaint, surly way : 
 
 "Yes, there's no doubt that rail-fence protected 
 us — just as a gridiron protects a beefsteak from the 
 fire." 
 
 Not much more was said about the fence. 
 
 At that time it was not convenient to send him to 
 the rear, and consequently Wi Hough by was kept a 
 close prisoner in a tent the first night and the next 
 day, and a file of men was told off from the guard 
 to watch him. 
 
 None knew at the moment, except the Colonel and 
 Captain Pembroke, what account the prisoner had 
 given of himself; but we all thought from the strict 
 
14 
 
 way in wliicli he was put under guard that his story 
 had not satisfied the Colonel ; and there was much 
 speculation in regard to him. Who was he ? What 
 was he? Was he only an ordinary prisoner? Had 
 he come over ? Was he only a scout, and was this 
 mode of putting him under guard onl}^ played to 
 deceive possible spies of the enemy in our lines ? 
 Was he, perhaps, a spy himself? Opinions and 
 theories of this sort were commonly indulged on 
 such an occasion. 
 
 Our prisoner was regarded, in short, with that 
 sentiment of curious interest which alwa3^s centres 
 about any person who is believed to stand in some 
 critical or perilous position, or to be passing some 
 crisis of his fate. 
 
 If Willoughby cared to conceal from ordinary 
 observers that chagrin, apprehension, or despair — 
 whatever it was — that made him so cast down when 
 he was first brought into camp, his close confinement 
 could scarcely have been disagreeable to him ; but 
 he was, as we subsequently knew, a person who 
 would have preferred it the other wa}^, and who 
 cared more for sympathy than for his dignity. In- 
 deed, he did not feel that it was against his dignity 
 to be an object of commiseration. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE PEISONEJR AND HIS STOKY. 
 
 Toward nightfall the next day, the Colonel, reas- 
 sured by the tranquillity about us as to any possible 
 connection between the prisoner and a move of the 
 enemy, decided that it was unnecessary to keep the 
 young fellow under guard any longer ; so he Avas put 
 upon his parole not to escape, and given his liberty 
 from immediate restraint ; and Captain Pembroke 
 invited him to make himself at home in his mess. 
 
 From that time we saw him almost as much as we 
 saw Pembroke himself, for they were a great deal 
 together. 
 
 Willoughby was tall and well made, with the 
 graceful, easy air of a well-bred man ; but withal 
 somewhat boyish in his open demeanor, and in the 
 readiness with which he gave his confidence to any 
 one who came near. In his appearance he was a 
 Virginian out and out, for he was sallow rather than 
 bronzed by exposure ; bony rather than muscular ; 
 and his hair was worn longer than in the ITorth we 
 are used to seeing men's hair — a sort of affectation 
 caught up, it seems, by Virginians from the tradi- 
 tions of the style of the Cavaliers ; an artistic notion, 
 perhaps, of contrasting an effeminate appearance 
 with the reality of manly qualities. 
 
16 ''AS WE WEITT MARCHING OK." 
 
 He was a light-hearted fellow, and he came out 
 from his gloom under the influence of good com- 
 pany. Pie did not recover himself entirely ; but the 
 gloom came upon him only by fits and starts. He 
 would be gay, good-humored, and apparently as 
 happy as any one, taking an amused interest in 
 whatever was going on ; but any occasion of tran- 
 quillity or loneliness that threw him upon liis re- 
 membrances for occupation revived again all the 
 poignancy of his chag.rin. 
 
 Between him and Pembroke there were similar- 
 ities and differences equally notable. Pembroke 
 was a man of about the same height as Willoughb}^, 
 — and each was a little short of six feet, — but the Cap- 
 tain had the more robust air, though he was prob- 
 ably not really any larger than the other. His air 
 did not belie him, in fact, for he was a man of almost 
 marvellous physical endurance. He had clear blue 
 eyes; a skin naturally rather fair, but bronzed almost 
 to the color of an Indian by the exposures of cam- 
 paigning ; and his brown hair was cut short. He 
 w\as the most amiable and companionable man in the 
 regiment — but also the most reticent. 
 
 Indeed he talked so little, and especially so little 
 about himself, that we knew nothing of his family 
 or historj', and therefore we imagined there was 
 some mystery in it. 
 
 Supper for his mess was spread that night on a 
 cloth laid out in front of Pembroke's tent; and he, 
 the doctor, the chaplain, and the prisoner ate to- 
 gether. 
 
THE PKISOi^'EIl AND HIS STOEY. 17 
 
 Altliougli the Captain was always quiet, and Wil- 
 lougliby on this occasion diffident and shy, there was 
 never any scarcity of conversation where the doctor 
 and the cliaplain were met in one place ; for they 
 were both talkative and fitted to draw one anotlier 
 out because of a chronic j^et semi-playful antipatliy 
 that was always between them. 
 
 Willougliby was, as they sat down, just a trifle 
 startled at catching sight of the form of the table 
 upon which the cloth was spi-ead ; for of course,though 
 the cloth hid the table, the shape showed through. 
 
 JSTow they spread tlieir dishes on the top of the 
 mess-chess: but then tlieir niess-chest was a coffin. 
 This may seem rather an odd appurtenance to be 
 used in sucli a way, and may give a false impression 
 of the character of the gentlemen in that mess, as 
 making it appear that tliey indulged in a sort of 
 braggart mockery in mere vanity of indifference as 
 to things that miglit be unpleasant to others. But 
 there was nothing like that in it ; and if it showed 
 character at all, it only showed that like true soldiers 
 they always made the best of circumstances and 
 were ready to use what was useful without prejudice. 
 To "take the goods the gods provide" is a good rule 
 in view of the privations of war. 
 
 But the fact came about in a queer way, and re- 
 sulted from the thrifty spirit of ]S"orris, the private 
 who was detailed to that mess. 
 
 He found this coffin on his hands one day. Some- 
 body had sent it from the I^ortli as a proper recep- 
 tacle for the body of an officer killed at Hanover 
 2 
 
18 ''AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 Court-house, and Norris had given it shelter till 
 the body should be obtained. Bat the ground 
 where the officer lay was within the enemy's lines, 
 and the coffin seemed finally to be abandoned where 
 it wns left. 
 
 Norris carefully abstracted the white satin lining 
 and gave it to a young woman in the neighborhood, 
 who trimmed a- new Sunday bonnet with it ; and 
 into the stout mahogany box thus left he packed 
 liis traps and stores. He found that when he had 
 put his frying-pans and gridirons and dishes, and 
 some sugar and spice and other commodities there- 
 in, they packed well and did not take up so much 
 room as usual in the old ambulance- wagon in which 
 such things were carried; while tlius the coffin 
 itself was practically out of the way, as it became 
 a mere wrapper to necessary articles. 
 
 And in a spirit of true philosophy he said, " What 
 is a coffin but a wrapper, anyhow ?" 
 
 In fact the common name for those things in the 
 army was *' a wooden overcoat." 
 
 And then one day Morris's famous mess-chest de- 
 veloped an unexpected virtue which gave it an in- 
 calculable value in the eyes of that thrifty soldier. 
 In the battle of the last day of May, 1862, our camp 
 was lost by the failure of a regiment on our left to 
 hold its position ; and when it was retaken, it was by 
 the advance of another division than ours. Thus 
 the camp was for four or five hours in the hands of 
 the enemy, and for about as long a time in the hands 
 of some fellows on our side : and which gave the most 
 
THE PEISOKER AKD HIS STORY. 19 
 
 attention to plundering I don't know ; but when 
 we liad time to send some fellows there to try and get 
 our property, it was a marvellously cleaned-out place. 
 
 Blankets, clothes, extra boots and shoes, slippers, 
 clean shirts, writing-cases, precious black bottles, all 
 the little comforts of camp-life were gone. But there 
 was one thing there that the plunderers had treated 
 with absolute respect : ITorris's mess-kit was intact. 
 They had seen its shining receptacle with the top well 
 screwed down ; they had concluded that the owner 
 of it was inside, and at home, and they had left him 
 alone in his glory. 
 
 Norris was a happy man, and he said, '' Anybody 
 would be a fool to abandon a mess-chest which by 
 its shape alone can assure the safety of the things 
 you put in it. It's better than one of those salaman- 
 der iron safes, and nothing like so heavy." 
 
 So he rigged the cover with hinges, and they kept 
 their coffin and used it for a table. 
 
 The chaplain caught the glance with which Wil- 
 loughby took in this peculiar feature of the feast, 
 and said : 
 
 " Yes, it's a queer shape, isn't it ? Long and nar- 
 row, with odd protrusions at the sides, like the 
 shoulder-angles of a bastion ; but nobody ever com- 
 plains that it isn't roomy." 
 
 " Somebody might complain," said Willoughby, 
 '*' that it didn't improve his appetite." 
 
 '•' True enough," said the chaplain ; " but it never 
 affects us in that way. We are a little like the I'ats 
 a farmer had up in Vermont." 
 
20 "AS WE WENT MAKCHING ON." 
 
 "Pet rats?" 
 
 " No ; opposition rats." 
 
 "What did they do?" 
 
 " Well, they stole the farmer's cheese so persist- 
 ently that at last he had his cheese run into moulds 
 made the shape of cats." 
 
 "Because he thought cats handsome ?" said the 
 doctor. 
 
 " No ; because he thought it would bluff off the 
 rats." 
 
 " Did it ?" 
 
 " Why, the rats would eat a hole into one of those 
 cats and live there. They don't judge things by 
 superficial accidents ; and that's why I say we're 
 like 'em : we don't stop for trifles when it's feeding- 
 time." 
 
 And so they fell to. 
 
 " Did you hear, sir," said the doctor to Wil- 
 loughby as there came an interval — " did you hear, 
 sir, before you left your lines, that the Northern 
 militia was in this part of the State ?" 
 
 " No, sir," said Willoughby, " I did not hear it." 
 
 " We. received some new uniforms a little while 
 ago," said the doctor, " and we thought we should 
 be reported for militia." 
 
 "Mr. Farrington," said the chaplain to the doc- 
 tor, " that is a dull sort of joke ; and it would be 
 polite to give the foe credit for more accurate per- 
 ceptions." 
 
 " For my part," said Willoughby, with a very cour- 
 teous delicacy, "having seen your battalion drawn 
 
THE PRISOI^ER AND HIS STORY. 21 
 
 up at gnard-moiintiiig to-day, I do not believe that 
 any person with any military experience would ever 
 mistake your men for any other than well-seasoned, 
 veteran troops." 
 
 At this each one of the three instinctively lifted his 
 tin Clip of spring-water tinctured with commissary 
 whiskey, and witli a quiet inclination of the head 
 accepted the pleasant opinion as a personal favor. 
 With a happy tact Willoughby had reached the 
 liearts of all, and there was good-will among them. 
 
 So they warmed into an agreeable comradeship ; 
 and by and by "Willoughby, as he gathered that there 
 was some curiosity about him, volunteered informa- 
 tion and told his story. 
 
 He named his regiment again, and spoke with a 
 pride which they appreciated of its qualities and 
 services, and told of the enthusiasm for freedom 
 with which he and all his comrades of the same 
 neighborhood had taken up arms. 
 
 " Only," said the chaplain, " and not to interrupt 
 you, we on our side though we hear it so often from 
 your side, can never get used to your theory that it 
 is ' for freedom ' you fight, and can't comprehend 
 how you see it that way." 
 
 '•' Well, our opinions are naturally not the same 
 on that point," said Willoughby. 
 
 '• Certainly, certainly," said the chaplain. '' I onlj^ 
 mentioned it as a little difficulty your views give 
 us." 
 
 " Nobody in the world, I suppose," said the Cap- 
 tain, "can be absolutely sure that he is riglit on any 
 
22 ''AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 point whatever. But everybody lias his opinion 
 that he is right ; and when he fights, the thing he 
 lights for is that opinion ; and if he calls it the right 
 instead of his opinion of the right, he does only 
 what all men have always done." 
 
 "Well, I will accept that as a statement of my 
 position," said Willoughby. 
 
 "'And when it has all to be summed np at the 
 last day, I imagine," continued the Captain, " the true 
 point will be, not which one of a thousand varying 
 views was right, but with how much honesty, coura^ge, 
 and fidelity each man fonght for that which he be- 
 lieved to be the right." 
 
 " That is a very correct and philosophical obser- 
 vation," said the doctor. " E"ow, then, for Mr. Wil- 
 longhby's story." 
 
 "Well," said Willonghb}', "before I went to the 
 army there had been in my life a delightful expe- 
 rience ; and there was at that period a still more de- 
 lightful vista for the future." 
 
 " Lady in the case ?" said the chaplain. 
 
 "Yes, sir, that was it," said the Captain. 
 
 "Proves a man to have a healthy mind and to 
 be without a cynical sph'it to find him in love," said 
 the doctor. "She is of course the most perfect of 
 her sex." 
 
 "Well, gentlemen," said Willoughby, "'I can 
 hardly expect you to admit that, as you would natu- 
 rally have some opinions and preferences of your 
 own on this theme also ; but if your good fortune 
 had thrown you into the part of the country where 
 
THE PRISONER AKD HIS STORY. 23 
 
 I was bronglit up, and you liad been brought into 
 relation with this lady as you were with the ladies 
 whom you love or have loved, you would have 
 loved her instead of these ladies." 
 
 At this they all roused up somewhat, and the 
 doctor said : 
 
 " Yery likely, very likely ; but it's extremely 
 lucky for you that it did not happen that way ; 
 since, for my part, though I am not a very hand- 
 some man, I am successful with the women, and I 
 haven't the slightest doubt I should have cut you 
 out." 
 
 "Now, then," said the chaplain, "let us all admit 
 that she is the paragon of womankind, and that 
 she would have loved the doctor, — and so get on 
 wuth the story." 
 
 ""Well, there is not much story beyond this," said 
 Willoughby ; " I loved this lady, and the passion 
 was reciprocated. We were to be married, and in 
 that delicious anticipation lived through the entranced 
 days of the months before the war. Eut when 
 the war came, the opinions of our friends were that 
 that was not a time for marrying, and I went 
 away with my regiment, leaving the lady at her 
 home." 
 
 "Well, she will wait for yon," said the Captain. 
 
 "Certainly," said Willoughby; "but is not wait- 
 ing misery? She waited and waits. As I lay 
 wounded lately at Orange Court-house, it was agreed 
 between our families that since I was now not lit for 
 active service and apparently would not be imme- 
 
24 "AS WE WENT MARCHING ON"." 
 
 diatel}^, and as it was believed also that the war 
 was perhaps over, — for thejseem to have exaggerated 
 the effect of General Lee's victories, — it was arranged 
 on account of these things that I should go to her 
 house and that we should be married now." 
 
 "And you were on the way the other night," 
 said tlie chaplain. 
 
 " Just so. I should have been there by this time ; 
 and we would perhaps have been married to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 *' Well, upon my word !" said the chaplain ; '' that 
 was a misfortune." 
 
 And "Willoughby was comforted by the evident 
 and open sympathy of all. 
 
 " It is only deferred," said the Captain. 
 
 " True enough," said the other. " But if a tiling 
 chances to be deferred and deferred, people get a 
 superstitious fancy that it is never to happen ; and 
 who can altogether free himself from such fancies? 
 Besides, it is a time of uncertainty. Who knows 
 what may happen from day to day ? She may im- 
 gine that I am killed, or even that I have become 
 indifferent." 
 
 " She will have faith if she is the woman she 
 should be, and she will be constant," said the Cap- 
 tain ; " and an old song declares that absence makes 
 the heart grow fonder. On a point of that nature 
 an old song should be a good authority. She will 
 not love you the less for these mishajDS." 
 
 " Why, I do not apprehend that she will," said 
 Willoughby ; " but who does not desire to be with the 
 
THE PRIS0:5^ER AND HIS STORY. 25 
 
 woman lie loves? However tenderly lie may be i-e- 
 garded in his absence, a man is always ready to 
 sacrifice that advantage for what he holds to be the 
 greater one of being with the lady." 
 
 Hereupon the doctor and the chaplain rambled 
 into an extravagant discussion as to whether a man 
 perfectly in love did ever leave the lady from the 
 conviction that she would love him more if he were 
 away than by her side ; the doctor holding that that 
 might be the state of a woman's mind if the chap- 
 lain wei-e the lover— and the chaplain maintaining 
 that if the doctor were the lover the woman would 
 necessarily love him so little either present or absent 
 that the difference would be imperceptible; and 
 meanwhile the Captain and Willoughby kept on a 
 quiet chat in interchange of such notions as pre- 
 sented themselves, when, the supper being over, they 
 filled and lighted the mutual pipe— an^instrumen't 
 which the Indians did well to employ as an apparatus 
 for the ratification of treaties of peace. 
 
 They were two fine, handsome, generous fellows, 
 and friendship grew between them. 
 
 Friendship is an indulgence of the inclination of 
 two souls, and is an association without other object 
 than the indulgence of such an inclination ; for 
 where a relation of two men has any other or more 
 material impulse, it is an interested alliance and 
 not a pure friendship. It seemed to me in view of 
 this standard that that was a pure friendship. They 
 would perhaps have been friends, meeting in any 
 circumstances. But their friendship assumed a ro- 
 
26 "AS WE Yv^ENT MAKCHING ON"." 
 
 mantic aspect duo to the occasion ; for when natures 
 thns adapted for sjmpatli)^ are nnder nniforms of a 
 different color, and the fact tliat tliey are foes by 
 tlieir cause tliongli kindred souls by sentiment is 
 ever before them, duty and friendsliip are equally 
 put to severe tests. 
 
 Although the Colonel had found it difficult to 
 believe Willoughby's story, it seemed reasonable 
 enough to all the young fellows to whom Pembroke 
 repeated it. Dave's incredulity was due to the 
 fact that he gave all Southern men credit for more 
 energy in their cause than they really possessed. 
 Northern opinion at that time was that the South 
 was far ahead of us in that respect : which was not 
 true, at least not to the extreme to whicli it was be- 
 lieved. 
 
 But Dave, misled by that assumption, could not 
 believe that this fellow could be on this errand with 
 Lee on foot as he was ; youth and a fellow-feeling 
 helped the rest of us to comprehend it. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 MARCHING AND FIGHTING. 
 
 "Within a few lionrs all was movement, activity, 
 and rnsli in onr camp. 
 
 Stonewall Jackson had slipped throngli the Ball 
 Eun mountains behind us ; for as we were far enough 
 out to keep our eyes on the Shenandoah Yalley, we 
 were too far to watch the route by wdiich he came : 
 and that, moreover, was not our duty. But when it 
 was discovered that Longstreet was following Jack- 
 son on the same line, it was plain that we might be 
 cut off, and our orders were to get tlirough the gap 
 in a hilrry ; orders which contemplated that we would 
 then be in the same position with the whole army — 
 between Jackson and Lons^street. 
 
 Our right company was on the road in an hour 
 from the time we received these orders, and made 
 twelve miles before it halted, for it was a pleasant part 
 of the summer inarch ; but we were not all together 
 until somewhat later, for Pembroke, wdio had the 
 left, was compelled to get everybody on the road 
 ahead of him, and did not march himself until we 
 were half way to our bivouac. The last news we 
 received in that camp was that Pembroke had been 
 promoted and was major. 
 
 Willoughby, on parole not to escape, marched 
 with Pembroke. 
 
28 "as we wekt marching ok." 
 
 Some fellows of the cavalry communicated with 
 our pickets near daylight, and reported to the Colo- 
 nel that the head of Longstreet's column w\as north 
 of Orlean, and that if we did not get through Salem 
 the next day we would find Longstreet in our way 
 when we should reach that place. Consequently 
 the old man had us out at peep of day in the liope 
 to get through a good pull before the sun came upon 
 us. None of the struggles of a soldier's life is harder 
 than that struggle to get his eyes open and his head 
 upright when he has not more than half slept out the 
 night that follows a rapid march in the fine clear 
 air. 
 
 But we did it then, as often in other times also ; 
 and we made a good march that day, though it was 
 a hot and dusty one, and the men were a little in- 
 clined to straggle. It was not the fault of the 
 marching, therefore, that when we came in the neigh- 
 borhood of Salem, in the twilight, there was some 
 doubt whether the horsemen we saw were our cav- 
 alry or the enemy's. We pushed on, however, with 
 a line of flankers south of the place, and soon found 
 out that the enemy was near ; for two or three shots 
 gave the alarm, and presently our fellows in that di- 
 rection were popping away as fast as they could 
 load and fire. 
 
 Perhaps some of us listened to our hopes rather 
 than consulted our experience when we formed the 
 opinion that our boys out on the flank were wrong, 
 and that in the dim light they had mistaken our cav- 
 alry for that of the enemy. 
 
MARCHING AND FIGHTING. 29 
 
 But we soon got over that fancy, for in a few min- 
 utes we lieard, far beyond the firing, the clear bugle- 
 call "boots and saddles," and we knew it was the 
 enemy's bugle. Evidently, therefore, our flankers 
 to the south of our line of march were in collision 
 with the enemy's cavalry -pickets ; those pickets had 
 reported us to their main body in the rear, and that 
 main body was humping itself for a row. 
 
 Old Dave gave some rapid instructions to Pem- 
 broke, left him in command, and rode ahead in the 
 direction of our line of march, evidently to see 
 what sort of ground there was for a fight, and how 
 we could be handled to the best advantage. In 
 consequence of those orders we were formed up in 
 open column, and marched that way until word 
 came from the Colonel, Tvhen we were double- 
 quicked in the same order to a position in an or- 
 chard, to reach which we went straight forward 
 through a broken fence, for the road at that point 
 obliqued to the right. As soon as we were halted 
 we were deployed, and thus we were in line of bat- 
 tle in a jiffy, and all w^as done as handsomely as if 
 on a dress-parade. 
 
 Our line was on very good ground, which sloped 
 away in front so that the apple-trees below masked 
 us; and as the road crossed our front only about a 
 hundred yards away, there was an obstacle of 
 broken fences that would hold the cavalry under 
 our tire for a few minutes. 
 
 Our flankers, who now, in fact, formed a skirmish- 
 line, had all they could do to get in when the 
 
30 
 
 rebel cavalry came with a burst. But we were 
 ready for tliem, and gave them a blizzard that 
 emptied about twenty saddles before they knew 
 where the fire came from. They were astonished, 
 perhaps, to find a whole battalion here, and went 
 away ; but there were plenty more behind them, 
 and these were perhaps ordered to find out what 
 this meant, for in a little while they came again 
 stronger than before. 
 
 We gave them on that second occasion all that 
 any reasonable cavalrymen could possibly want; 
 for the boys, who had been dull at the tired end of 
 the march, were now revived by this bit of fun, and 
 fired with spirit. Besides, our ground was so well 
 chosen — we had them so fairly before us at the 
 road, and could hit them so well anywhere on the 
 sweeping slope of the orchard — that we punished 
 them tremendously without even tlie chance of get- 
 ting a scratch ourselves. 
 
 Naturally the enemy got tired of that and 
 seemed to give it up ; and there was one of those 
 lulls in which the only wonder with the boys is, 
 What next ? 
 
 Then there was a good deal of hurrying and 
 skurrying on the enemy's part, and some of his 
 cavalrymen pushed their way in the dim light along 
 the road across our front to find our right flank ; 
 but they never got away again to report what they 
 discovered ; and when a little later their bugles 
 sounded the recall, their horses, some of them limp- 
 ing, went away alone. 
 
MARCHIN"G AN'D FIGHTING. 31 
 
 Old Dave, an instructed, experienced, and thor- 
 ougli soldier, understood very well that he had to do 
 with the advance of Lee's army ; but he counted 
 Upon the gloom of night as likely to afford him a 
 chance to get a\^ay, and believed that, as the place 
 we were in was difficult for cavalry, he could hold 
 it till the time of gloom came. And all passed as 
 he thought ; for though three or four squadrons of 
 cavalrymen came into the village, the commanding 
 officer surveyed our position very deliberately, and 
 discreetly left us alone, satisfied, perhaps, that we 
 were safe there till daylight and sure to be his 
 game then. 
 
 And indeed the chances were that the next day 
 would be a troublesome one for us ; since, as we 
 were really making a flank-march to the enemy's 
 advance, it was probable there were as many at 
 other points on the road ahead of us as there were 
 here, for there were roads parallel to the one by 
 which the enemy had reached this place, and we 
 were ten miles from the gap. 
 
 Prospects were gloomy, therefore. Should we be 
 caught here in the morning, we must be cut up and 
 forced to surrender ; should we push on, we must ap- 
 parently fall into the enemy's hands at another 
 point. And yet the danger was not apparent enough 
 to authorize the blinking of our orders and moving 
 northward. Our only hope was that a rest here of 
 an hour would refresh us for a rapid night-march 
 in which we might slip through the enemy's fingers 
 reached out to grasp us. We must therefore lull 
 
32 
 
 his vio^ilance somewhat and act as if we intended to 
 stay here. 
 
 So the pieces were stacked, and the boys were 
 ordered to kindle iires and get their coffee and make 
 themselves as comfortable as possible. 
 
 At this time the night-air was filled witli the wild 
 music of the hungry mule. If the reader is not 
 familiarly acquainted with this animal and has not 
 heard him call at night for his over-due rations, he 
 is io:norant of the most wonderful noise that is com- 
 mon in camps — a noise that in the tonic scale of a 
 soldier's life occupies about tliree fourths of the 
 whole, the other fourtli being made up of artillery, 
 musketry, and brass bands. 
 
 But it is when the rain and the cold and a marshy 
 landscape are added to his other discomforts of hun- 
 ger, weariness, and impatience that the mule does 
 himself full justice with his voice and ^' shoots his 
 mouth" with glory. He needs to be in such a 
 country as the Chickahominy runs through, and to 
 be about two days ahead of the commissary, to be 
 raised to that height of mulish passion in wdiich he 
 pours forth his whole soul mainly through his nose 
 in a protest that startles the wilderness w^ith insane 
 echoes, which cannot tell whether tliey are answer- 
 ino: the sneezins: of a locomotive or the hootino^ and 
 diabolical laughter of thousands of tormented fiends. 
 
 Now, we were supplied on this march with an un- 
 usual number of wagons, which we had had the 
 good fortune to pick up on the way, — for all Virginia 
 was full of abandoned property of that sort, mostly 
 
MARCHING AND FIGHTING. 33 
 
 our own, — and had about twenty mules ; and wlien 
 these mules began to pour forth their hungry halle- 
 lujah, a good idea occurred to Dave. He sent 
 word immediately that the mules should not be fed. 
 He then had them driven in groups of five be- 
 hind the line up and down its length and as far to 
 the left and right as the country was clear, so that 
 their noise was multiplied, or distributed rather: 
 and the commander in front of us was an unreason- 
 able fellow if he did not report that there were 
 mules enough there to haul rations and ammunition 
 for at least two brigades. 
 
 Finally the mules were fed, for it was necessary 
 that their melody should be suppressed by a sense of 
 satisfaction before we began to move again ; but the 
 ruse was probably effective, for we were left very 
 much to ourselves. At nine we were on the road 
 again. It was then pitch dark, and would apparently 
 continue so, for it was not very clear ; and we pushed 
 forward as lively as crickets, and the head of the 
 column reached White Plains near midnight. Pem- 
 broke with the rear left Salem at about ten, appa- 
 rently undiscovered and leaving fires that would 
 burn for two or three hours. 
 
 At White Plains the intelligent contraband put 
 in an appearance, and the cavalry straggler was 
 abundantly present ; and from their united sources 
 of information it was but too certain that the ene- 
 my was at Georgetown and in full possession of 
 the road to the gap. The cavalry said that our 
 forces were nowhere near the gap on the other side 
 
34 
 
 of tlie mountains. All that news was toiigli for 
 lis. 
 
 From "White Plains there is a road northward to 
 a little place called Hopeville on the western slope 
 of the hills, and at that place there is a road over the 
 mountain ; and Dave promptly decided to go that 
 way. Oar march on this road was through a pretty 
 bit of country that under the light of the stars lost 
 no charms it had, and acquired some that it did not 
 really possess ; for it is the peculiar quality of the 
 witchery of night that it works in concert with the 
 imagination, and helps to give to any scene the 
 tone of our own thoughts, which the literal light of 
 day with its naked truth always contradicts and de- 
 nies, like a bumptious quidnunc. 
 
 Soldiers are practical enough when the time 
 comes, yet they are also the most sentimental fel- 
 lows in the world ; and in a scene like that they will 
 cover five miles easier than they will one on a flat 
 road in a swampy country. Dave reached the crest 
 of the ridge about dajdight, and rested there, and the 
 next day marched down and succeeded in joining a 
 portion of the force that was fooling around Stone- 
 wall Jackson. 
 
 But Pembroke and his company in the rear had 
 met with a mischance, due to the act of a teamster : 
 and it will be conceded by every person of experi- 
 ence that a teamster is the most certain type of the 
 foul fiend in boots. 'Next to a mule, a mule-driver 
 is the least reasonable and tractable, the most ad- 
 dicted to total depravity, of animated creatures. 
 
MARCniNO AND FIGHTI1?-G. 35 
 
 Nay, it is not certain but the mule-driver surpasses 
 tlie mule himself in that, having caught by associa- 
 tion the perverse vein of that animal's inclinations 
 and impulses, he applies that spirit of perversity with 
 the superior ingenuity of human nature. As the 
 impulses of teamsters were known, it did not sur- 
 prise Pembroke, nor the fellows generally in Com- 
 pany H, when it was discovered at dawn that the 
 rest of the battalion was not ahead of them, and 
 that they had been switched off the road in the 
 night. 
 
 On this march the was^ons had come in the rear 
 of the battalion — or all of the battalion except Com- 
 pany H, and that company was behind the wagons, 
 with orders to follow them ; and the duty of the 
 front files of that company was simph^ to keep their 
 noses against the liind wheels of the last wagon, 
 while the last files trailed far behind in order to give 
 the earliest intimation if the enemy should appear 
 in pursuit. Dave had been up and down the line 
 from front to rear a dozen times in the first two or 
 three hours ; but finding all right, and having con- 
 fidence in Pembroke, he had eventually remained 
 quietly with the advance. 
 
 !N"ow, a few miles north of White Plains a road 
 turns to the left out of the Hopewell road, and to 
 the eyes of a teamster, perverse as above described, 
 that road had a seductive aspect ; and of his own 
 motion he simply, and without a word said to any- 
 body, turned into it from the straight road, and thus 
 put astray everybody that was behind him ; nor had 
 
36 
 
 those behind any means whatever of knowing that 
 the continuity of the line was broken. At day- 
 h'ght this fellow excused himself by a story that he 
 was half asleep on his mule and thought this was 
 the right road. 
 
 Company H was thus in the wilderness of Yir- 
 ginia alone ; but fortunately one of the wagons with 
 it had some commissary's stores, and the other some 
 ammunition, and there were spades and axes in one 
 of them also. * Some fellows were sent out to sky- 
 Uide around the district and fetch in all the darkies 
 they could find ; and the darkies, examined as to the 
 roads, cleared up the problem as to where the com- 
 pany was. It was on the road from White Plains 
 to Aldie — a road that reached the crest of the 
 mountains therefore, at a point ten or twelve miles 
 north of where the battalion passed it ; and Pem- 
 broke could not liear of any roads that crossed, save 
 one many miles north of where he was. 
 
 But everybody had now been on foot about 
 twenty hours, and rest was indispensable. They 
 must sleep where they were. If they moved by 
 noon and got on that cross-road by night it would 
 get tliem to Hopewell next di\j, and the enemy 
 would probably then be there; if they counter- 
 marched expeditiously by the road they came they 
 might march right into the enemy's camp. 
 
 There seemed no chance of safety but to push on 
 for Aldie ; and to take a good rest where they were 
 was a prime necessity for a rapid march to that 
 place. 
 
CHAPTER lY. 
 
 BIVOUAC IN THE EAIN BRAXTON HOUSE. 
 
 Before sunrise, that day, every fire by which the 
 boys in Company H had gone to sleep was not only 
 dead out, but even the little heaps of cinders and 
 ashes were beaten down level by the pelting rain, 
 which came suddenly and fell pitilessly ; for far to 
 the east of the mountain there had been firing all 
 day long the day before, and the rarefaction of the 
 atmosphere so produced had stirred a movement in 
 this direction of all the vagabond vapors, and some 
 from the east, sailing low, had caught on the ridge 
 above the heads of our friends, and come down on 
 the western slope like a little deluge. 
 
 How it does rain when there is war ! 
 
 One never knows how much it rains until he has 
 put on a uniform and given up the customary 
 shelter of houses, omnibuses, cabs and umbrellas, 
 and the habit of sleeping in bed, and taken to the 
 woods, the roads and the ditches, and the occasional 
 lee side of a haystack, or an outhouse, w^ith a sheet 
 of India-rabber as his only shelter. Then, indeed, 
 he discovers that it rains always more or less, and 
 that the world is full of the noise of the pattering 
 drops as they beat on every surface presented, from 
 
38 "A3 "WE WENT MARCHING ON"/' 
 
 tlie great canopies of 'green leaves to the glistening 
 India-rubber cloak of tlie tall sentry down the road. 
 
 Blessed be the memory of the fellow who first 
 subdued to human uses that noble gum which we 
 call India rubber! How tliey got on with their 
 wars in the ages before this substance was spread 
 into blankets, ponchoes, cloaks, and overcoats is a 
 myster}'. Perhaps they had their primitive con- 
 trivances, — sheepskins with the wool on, and kin- 
 dred rain-defying raiment, — but all these must have 
 been to the India-rubber coat much as the bow and 
 arrow to a rifle ; and wars must often have petered 
 out altogether by the mere intervention of rheu- 
 matism. 
 
 Here again is a point in which the world does 
 but little justice to its lieroes. We have heard of 
 the charges of the Old Guard, and of its adamantine 
 squares ; but how little have we heard of the rheu- 
 matisms it endured ! 
 
 Our fellows on the slope of the mountain just lay 
 like fellows in the same circumstances from time 
 immemorial, and let the rain pelt itself out. On 
 ordinary occasions of bivouac, in the absence of 
 rain, the soldier spreads his gum blanket on tlie 
 earth, and lies upon that wrapped in his woollen 
 blanket ; for then the gum is a defence from the 
 dampness of the earth. He keeps it between him 
 and the enemy, and the enemy is on the under side. 
 But when the rain comes, — presto ! the enemy has 
 then developed himself in heavy force on the other 
 side, and the small assault of dampness from be- 
 
BIVOUAC IIT THE RAIN. 39 
 
 neatli is no longer worth}^ tlionglit. So everybody 
 changes position with his bhinket, doubles himself 
 in a little knot on the earth, spreads his blanket of 
 India rubber over him, and sleeps on, unconscious 
 of the little streams that find their way under the 
 edge. 
 
 And that was the way they slept liere. All 
 along the edge of the road and in the wood were 
 knobby, irregular black spots with square edges, 
 made of the spread-out India-rubber blankets, which 
 looked as if some one had distributed on the fair 
 face of nature rather plentifully the " beauty-spots" 
 of an ancient coquette. Under eacli of these lay 
 at least one soldier, and under some two or three. 
 
 Pembroke and Willoughby were better off than the 
 others ; for at the first tap of the rain they had got 
 up from the ground and crept into one of the 
 wagons, and thus, though the roof over their heads 
 was leaky, it was a great improvement on the open 
 sky when the whole visible heaven is like no other 
 rose so much as the rose of a watei-ing-pot. 
 
 Eeveille was sounded at about nine, and tliat 
 cheery medley of quaint old musical themes en- 
 livened the wet camp a little. But the boys came 
 up slowly ; for though one might suppose tliat such 
 uncomfortable beds would be abandoned with alac- 
 rity, it commonly proves otherwise. In truth, fel- 
 lows have to get themselves up from the wet earth 
 by instalments, and with care as to the kinks in 
 their backs; for if they didn't take these kinks in 
 their right and appropriate succession, they might 
 
40 "AS WE WENT MARCHING ON.'' 
 
 get themselves in a snarl. It is a point related to 
 meclianical science to get up successfully when 
 every half-inch of your length is the seat of a sep- 
 arate rheumatism. 
 
 Fires, also, were slow. It was near noon be- 
 fore the company was on foot, and it had only 
 marched about four miles ere it came to a wide 
 mountain-torrent w^hich crossed the road at right 
 angles between steep, craggy sides, and over which 
 there was no bridge. That important structure had 
 been destroyed on some critical occasion in some 
 former retreat. 'Now, the boys could have been put 
 over this obstruction on a single timber, which any 
 one of the tall trees about them would have sup- 
 plied. But the mules and wagons needed a bridge ; 
 consequently Pembroke was again tempted to aban- 
 don these wagons, as he had been upon the first 
 discovery of his unpleasant position, and at the 
 thought that, but for them, he could perhaps rejoin 
 the columu in a few hours by a march across the 
 country. 
 
 But the abandonment of material is defeat, and 
 the point of pride involved controlled him. He de- 
 cided he would build a bridge. Consequently the 
 few axes were out, and the whole company was soon 
 busy at this wet labor. Half a dozen chestnuts, that 
 made forty-foot sticks, were chopped and trimmed 
 in an extremely little while; for the tradition of 
 George Washington has descended to the nation, 
 and every boy is born with a little hatchet in his 
 hand, which he earl 3^ changes for the more effective 
 
BIVOUAC IN THE RAIN". 41 
 
 axe ; and our fellows were experts with woodman's 
 tools. 
 
 And as the men with the axes went on and 
 dropped the trees pointed out to them, the others 
 carried to their places those already down. Only 
 one serious difficulty presented itself, which was 
 the placing the first timber across the chasm. We 
 overcame that in this way : All the mule-traces fas- 
 tened together made a sling, which was rove over 
 the branch of an old chestnut that, growing at the 
 banks of the stream, had grown well out across it, so 
 that one long, lieavy limb, about twenty feet above 
 our heads, seemed like a giant arm reached out to 
 help us. With the sling passed over that and one 
 end fastened about the middle of our first timber, 
 the boys hove away on the other end of the sling, 
 and as the weight of the timber was thus suspended, 
 a baby could almost have put it in its place. We 
 cheered that little achievement with much spirit, 
 because to some of the fellows this had seemed an 
 insuperable obstacle, as we seemed to be without ma- 
 chinery; though others knew that tlie Major's in- 
 genuity was always equal to such difficulties. 
 
 Other timbers were run out on that one and put 
 in their places. Four were thus put at intervals 
 across-stream, and then lighter ones across these, till 
 a roadway was made; and on this roadway was 
 spread a thick carpet of pine twigs, held in place by 
 wet clay thrown liberally from either side. 
 
 Much of the afternoon had been consumed in 
 this labor ; and when the command w^as over and the 
 
42 
 
 bridge destroyed again, only a short marcli was 
 made beyond ere the night came; and though the 
 rain then no longer fell, the roadway was flooded, 
 and the chance to make distance on such a route 
 without daylight was very liopeless. Therefore 
 the company was halted for the night, in the ex- 
 pectation that a good rest and an early start w^ould 
 prove more advantageous in the end. 
 
 Ne:xt day a good march was made, and the pros- 
 pect was that the command would get east of the 
 nlountain that night. 
 
 Meantime events had gone forward rapidly in that 
 eastern valley. Stonewall Jackson had not been 
 crushed as he might have been by the whole weight 
 of the Army of the Potomac. Between incapacity 
 and indecision that opportunity had slipped away. 
 Other corps of Lee's army had succeeded in joining 
 him; and, admirably handled by their commanders, 
 the liardy tatterdemalions of the Confederacy had 
 made another tough day for our boys at what was 
 called the second Bull Eun battle. Once more the 
 people in Washington were gratified with a battle 
 in wdiich the possession of the city seemed at stake, 
 and which was gained by the Southern troops ; for 
 this result pleased the people of the place, who were 
 all in sympathy with the South, and it gladdened 
 some men in the government who secretly lioped 
 the rebels might get Washington and destroy it, so 
 that a Northern city might become the seat of the 
 national government. 
 
 As a result of that battle the wliole Union army 
 
BIVOUAC IN THE RAIK. 43 
 
 moved in precipitate retreat upon its base ; and 
 the wliole Southern armj, sweeping forward to the 
 invasion of Maryland, filled the valley, and part of 
 its cavalry was actually at Aldie on the afternoon 
 when Pembroke was hastening toward that place 
 up the western side of the mountain. 
 
 Fortunately this was discovered before our boys 
 got within reach of that cavalry. 
 
 '• Contrabands" came in with the information. 
 They generally did in cases of that nature. South- 
 ern people wdio suppose that the negro was faithful 
 to slavery, and !N"ortliern people who suppose he did 
 nothing to help us out in the war, never reflect 
 what it was to have always near a people who sur- 
 rounded the enemy like flies, and could come away 
 as unnoticed, and come into our lines and tell the 
 fact it was supremely necessary for us to know. 
 
 As soon as it was positively known that this report 
 was true, Pembroke determined to try and reach 
 AVinchester, in the expectation that a resolute effort 
 would be made to hold that place, and that he could 
 get there before it should be abandoned. But this 
 cavalry at Aldie might be in the way there also, 
 and he understood that he must avoid highroads and 
 would not be secure for a moment till he got to the 
 Blue Kidge. 
 
 He had at least fifteen miles before him, and 
 hoped to make it by noon. 
 
 Fortunately the region is a good marching country 
 and a mesh of by-roads ; so that if there seemed any 
 likelihood of danger from the cavalry, the command 
 
44 
 
 could be easily pat out on a by-road and lose little 
 if any time with regard to its route ; while if driven 
 altogether to one side from the road to Ashby's 
 Gap, which was the shortest, it could get through 
 at Snickers. 
 
 We made that run for Winchester with a rush. 
 There Avas some pleasure in it also ; for on those 
 picturesque roads between pleasant corn-fields and 
 reaches of woods that were not altogether a wilder- 
 ness, we were in a country then little touched by 
 the war : and this was a ti'eat to us. There were not 
 only larger green apples than we found elsewhere, 
 but there w^ere other unusual dainties. 
 
 Whenever a country has been torn up by war, 
 every pleasant addition to daily diet that might be 
 bought at a farm-house is gone, and the very land- 
 scape itself is a ghastly scene of standing chim- 
 neys from which the houses they belonged to have 
 been burned aw^ay. Even the fences have been 
 turned into fire wood. 
 
 Merrily enough, therefore, we went on, for troops 
 that move through a picturesque country in pleasant 
 weather, without unreasonable disquiet, and with 
 just enough consciousness of the enemy to keep up 
 an easy alert, have the picnic side of campaigning 
 life. ITobody grumbled, therefore, that that day's 
 march was kept on beyond the time of ordinary 
 marches, and that the deepening shadows of the 
 twilight found us still on foot. 
 
 All that day Willoughby had been different from 
 what he had been in the few days our fellows had 
 
BRAXTON HOUSE. 45 
 
 seen liiiii. He was extravagantly gay or lapsed into 
 continued silence. He was anxious, eager, uneasy, 
 nervous. This difference had caused some quiet 
 comment in the ranks ; and once when they were 
 hidden in the woods, old Maltby had almost un- 
 consciously kept the muzzle of his rifle within 
 about a foot of Willoughby's head for half an hour. 
 "Willoughby might by a shout have brought a 
 crowd in on us, but he would never have shouted 
 again. 
 
 It was at Willoughby's suggestion that the last 
 turn had been made which had brought us upon the 
 pleasantest road yet seen. It was a turn aside from 
 the straight route over the mountains, and it ran 
 through a district which perhaps owed its immunity 
 from war's ravages to the fact that it was quite 
 apart from any highroad that led to any important 
 point. Several times since we had entered this 
 region, which was about four in the afternoon, Pem- 
 broke had been on the point of ordering a halt for 
 the night ; but each time Willoughby had persuaded 
 him to keep on a little yet, on the promise of some 
 pleasant hospitality just a few miles ahead. 
 
 " Some friends of mine live on this road ; and if 
 we can pass the night near them, there's not only 
 good ' chicken-fixin's ' in the kitchen for us, but also 
 a good bottle of wine in the cellar." 
 
 Such was the promise Willoughby had made sev- 
 eral times that afternoon ; and it presented a great 
 temptation to the mind of Pembroke, as the reader 
 will readily understand if any considerable part of 
 
46 "AS WE WE^^T MARCHING ON." 
 
 his life has been filled with the monotonous diet 
 of salt-horse and hard-tack, moistened only with 
 the warm water that dribbles down the Virginia 
 ditches, or with the same water turned into an acrid 
 decoction of camp coffee. 
 
 Pembroke was just beginning to doubt whether 
 duty toward the men and his own inclination were 
 not in opposition — whether, in fact, he was justified 
 in pushing this march farther in order to procure a 
 trivial treat of good rations for himself — when, be- 
 hold 1 the goal was before them. 
 
 They were full in front of Braxton House, and a 
 pleasant surprise it was. 
 
 Beyond a lawn so wide and spacious that it was 
 rather an upland meadow than a lawn arose the 
 rarest of all sights in the State of Yirginia, a really 
 fine house ; a structure whose various additions and 
 attachments rambled away into the comfortable cir- 
 cumstances of a farm, but which presented in the 
 foreground the stately proportions and design of a 
 mansion where wealth and taste might find them- 
 selves in a congenial home. 
 
 Virginia houses are as a rule monotonous struc- 
 tures. There has come down to us from tlie 
 colonial days a tone of romantic reference to the 
 splendor of life in the Old Dominion, which we in 
 the war found to be the most baseless of fictions ; 
 for the common centre of life in the sunny South 
 is a ground-floor of two or three square rooms, with 
 a kitchen in a " lean-to ;" three or four cramped bed- 
 chambers in the one upper story ; and a piazza across 
 
BRAXTON HOUSE. 47 
 
 tlie front of the liousc — good Iiomcs for the people, 
 but not things to glorify in an architectural sense. 
 Men and women were happy in those houses. Grand 
 boys were bred there ; and on the pleasant piazzas in 
 the moonlight nights lovely girls listened with 
 happy delight to the old, old storj^ But with all 
 that, they were a disappointment to fellows who had 
 gathered somehow in the atmosphere of our histoiy 
 a notion of Virginia as the place of a more glorious 
 kind of existence. 
 
 Braxton House was, however, one of the fine ex- 
 ceptions; and its harmonious proportions and the 
 good effect of its form and position filled the be- 
 holder with pleasure ; and in that house and in the 
 grounds about it one might easily enough imagine 
 could have been passed such days of baronial splen- 
 dor as the Southern romancers dwell upon. 
 
CHAPTEE y. 
 "chicken fixings" and a plot. 
 
 As soon as Company H came into view beyond 
 tlie little curtain of woods between the house and 
 the road below it, a sort of far-away animation be- 
 came visible about the house. Chickens started in 
 an instinctive stampede for refuge, putting their 
 length to the earth in a long desperate lope ; some 
 pigs that had been loose in the wood beside the 
 house snorted and hustled away through the low 
 buslies, having heard no doubt that we were fond of 
 fresh meat ; half a dozen dogs bayed heavily from 
 unseen kennels; and old aunties and uncles hobbled 
 out from their hiding-places, and queer little picka- 
 ninnies peeped around the corners of shanties and 
 pigpens and garden-gates. 
 
 "Word spread through the house that the ** Linkum 
 sojers" were near, and more than one soul was filled 
 with dismay at this confirmation of the news already 
 abroad in that region to the effect that this district 
 was once more the seat of war. Dr. Braxton, his 
 sister, and his daughter Phoebe went to front win- 
 dows to survey the scene. Phoebe, quicker than the 
 others, caught sight of "VYilloughby on the lawn, and 
 in another moment the bolts of the front door were 
 
**CHICKEN^ fixings" AND A PLOT. 49 
 
 drawiL with nervous haste, and Phoebe rnshed into 
 tlie arms of Willoughbj, ah-eadj on the piazza. 
 
 Now, this was the fair lady to marry wdipm Wil- 
 longhby had been on his -way when taken ; and his 
 tempting offer of pleasant hospitality for the Major 
 was therefore not entirely unrelated to his own de- 
 sires and anxieties ; for, to do liim simple justice, it 
 must be said that he was not more moved by the 
 wish to see his sweetheart than by his eagerness to 
 calm the inquietude that had been caused by his 
 failure to appear at the time he was looked for. 
 
 How warm was his welcome may be imagined, as 
 well as the sentiments then indulged toward us. 
 
 While Willoughby with his friends inside ex- 
 plained the mystery of his failure to come at the 
 time he was expected, Pembroke formed the camp 
 at the lower slope of the wide lawn, near the little 
 street, and posted pickets up and down the road and 
 behind the house toward the mountain ; for he did 
 not. imagine that our march would remain indefinite- 
 ly unknown to the enemj^, and he considered trouble 
 possible. 
 
 Fires were cracked up in a marvellously short 
 time ; for the first thought in such a halt is, not rest, 
 but cookery. 
 
 Between eight and nine, Pembroke and Wood, 
 the lieutenant, the only other commissioned officer 
 with us, were invited into the house to "take a 
 meal." 
 
 Having made a hasty toilet down by the stream, 
 they were ready when the word came, and moved 
 4 
 
50 
 
 with alacrit}^ They were shown into tlie dining- 
 room, which opened upon one end of tlie piazza and 
 had heen planned witli a view to a lai-ger family than 
 usually sat in it. There was, due perhaps to its 
 deep-colored mahogany and its heavy simplicity, an 
 old-fashioned style about it, very agreeable and quiet, 
 and not fitted to distract attention from what was on 
 the table. 
 
 Everybody was there : old Dr. Braxton himself, 
 an acute man whose keen face was softened by the 
 effect of his gray hair, and who was a better man 
 than he pretended to be ; Aunt Hetty Chichester, 
 an irrepressible old rebel; and the beautiful Miss 
 Phoebe, with happy Willoughby near her. The 
 neat colored girls were trim in their best calicoes, 
 and Aunt Hetty's best " chany" teacups were drawn 
 up in column of companies. 
 
 '' We should be well pleased, gentlemen," said 
 Braxton, coming forward with a ceremonious air, 
 " if we could give you a welcome and a treat that 
 would make you forget the fatigues of such a day." 
 
 They both said they were sure of his good-will, 
 and equally confident of his ability to give it effect ; 
 and then there were ceremonious presentations all 
 around, and they sat down. 
 
 In view of all the circumstances, the Major and 
 Wood could not but consider their welcome warm. 
 They could not fail to perceive that the others were 
 those whom the fates intended should be happy, and 
 that they themselves were the villains of the drama ; 
 The representatives of evil destiny that stood in the 
 
'^CniCKEN FIXIiq-GS '" AND A PLOT. 51 
 
 way of the fulfilment of all pleasant hopes. And 
 the Major said : 
 
 " Certain! 7 it is generous for you to be able to 
 see us with any equanimity whatever." 
 
 " Why," said Aunt Hetty, peceiving quicker than 
 the others that Pembroke was thinking of his un- 
 pleasant relation as the inconvenient enemy, "we 
 know that war is war, and that no gentleman would 
 spoil sport if he could help it." 
 
 "We are very glad indeed that you appreciate 
 the case so accurately," said Pembroke. While the 
 fair Phoebe, with just a trace of timidity, turned a 
 glance of deprecation toward Aunt Hetty, possibly 
 in fear that that bold orator might go farther than 
 was desirable in the statement of the delicate posi- 
 tioD. 
 
 " We understand," said Dr. Braxton, " that when 
 gentlemen are sworn to a cause they cannot put 
 their casual inclinations in the balance against it." 
 
 " We know that you would not have stopped our 
 boy if you could have acted on your own im- 
 pulses," said Aunt Hetty. 
 
 "Shall I give you coffee, sir?" interrupted Phoe- 
 be from her vantage-ground behind the grand ar- 
 ray of white and rose-colored porcelain, and in a 
 voice indescribably musical and sympathetic. 
 
 Pembroke thought he would take some coffee 
 later, and would for the moment cultivate a more 
 intimate acquaintance with the wine, which was an- 
 nounced as Madeira, and which they naturally 
 thought should be old Madeira. 
 
52 '^AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 Dr. Braxton said it was old Madeira, " part of the 
 cargo of a sliip lost on Hatteras about the time of 
 the revolution." 
 
 Aunt Hetty hoped that Madeira was not so fatal 
 to men as it appeared to be to ships. She had 
 never heard of any that did not come from a wreck. 
 
 So the Madeira went round — a liquid topaz in 
 its cut-glass receptacle ; for the doctor was an old- 
 fashioned man and decanted his wine. He regarded 
 the time-stained label and the dust- coated bottle as 
 the contrivances of a vulgar period which demanded 
 other guarantees of the age of wine besides a gentle- 
 man's word and the wine itself. 
 
 And thus they steered safely away from themes 
 that were always difficult and dangerous in compa- 
 nies so made up. It was the standard evening meal 
 of the times ; a culinary glory that everybody loved 
 to come upon. There was but one dish-^a frica- 
 seed chicken with cream sauce ; but that and the 
 company together made a festival. 
 
 Pembroke was especially interested in the quiet 
 observation of AYilloughby's fiancee. Toward Pem- 
 broke her air was one of gracious and amiable 
 indifference, in v/hich there vv\is no sacrifice of po- 
 liteness, but from which one feels what an immeas- 
 urable distance, in the lady's eyes, there is between 
 himself and a happier man. In this the Major saw 
 only the fair damsel's devotion to her one ideal, and 
 the disposition of a true woman not to care par- 
 ticularly to shine in the eyes of all the men she 
 might meet. 
 
53 
 
 Wood was that human wonder, a silent Irish- 
 man. Silent ordinarily, that is ; but when the bottle 
 had passed and repassed between him and Braxton, 
 till thej seemed like two fellows in the line of bat- 
 tle using the same ramrod, he became fluent, and 
 the bravery of Southern men was the topic. 
 
 "The Confederate soldier," he said, "makes a 
 great deal of nyse when he fights; but he tights 
 well, and against any troops but ours he would be 
 a conqueror." This he said with his deliberate 
 drawl, mth a pause between each word, and a slow 
 utterance, as if, being a man of few words, he would 
 make them go as far as possible. 
 
 Braxton's vocabulary was also thawed out, and 
 they became a gay and cheery party and forgot in 
 the pleasures of the hour both yesterday and to-mor- 
 row ; but this was after the Madeira-bottle had been 
 relieved two or three times. They lingered long at 
 the table, — as who would not if his ordinary fare was 
 "salt horse" by the wayside? — and then they ad- 
 journed to the piazza. 
 
 By and by there was an almost imperceptible 
 distribution. Wood went down to the camp; the 
 doctor disappeared entirely; Phoebe and Wil- 
 lougliby sat together in that obscure part of the 
 piazza embowered by the heavy-growing vines; and 
 Aunt Hetty seized upon Pembroke with the will 
 of one who has not met a conversational creature 
 for many a day, and rattled at him her whole bud- 
 get of stored-np fancies. 
 
 " It is my opinion," said the old lady, " that men 
 
64 "AS WE WENT MA.RCHING ON/' 
 
 are women with the emotions left out. What do 
 you say to that ?" 
 
 ''Perhaps tlie thought is just; but I should have 
 stated it from another point of view." 
 
 "As life is a show, and we sit at the windows 
 and look out upon it, one person only can occupy 
 one place ; therefore everybody's point of view is 
 different. But come, what is yours?" 
 
 ''Well, I should say that women are men with 
 the emotions added." 
 
 " That is different, and yet the same. It disputes 
 which is the standard type, but admits my account 
 of the essential variation. But now, on your honor 
 as a gentleman and a soldier, is not that addition 
 the one point that gives all the value?" 
 
 "Aunt Hetty," said Pembrohe, — for in the frolic- 
 some humor of the moment they had caught up 
 this familiar family style, — "you are making this 
 case very difficult. Only a few moments since you 
 reasoned with me on a metaphysical basis ; now yon 
 appeal to my honoi- as a gentleman and a soldier for 
 my opinion about the ladies." 
 
 "No, sir; about woman: and this is an evasion. 
 But how do these characters differ as to truth ?" 
 
 " Well, a metaphysician cannot regard the poeti- 
 cal side of the case, and a gentleman and a soldier 
 must regard that side mainly." 
 
 Resolute not to have any nonsense in this con- 
 versation, yet a little cajoled by the Major's tone, 
 she said : 
 
"cHicKEisr fixings" and a plot. 55 
 
 **Well, then, resolve the doubt in any of tliese 
 characters." 
 
 ''In all of them," said the Major. "From the 
 stand-point of a gentleman and a soldier, jour view 
 of the value of the emotions is accurate. They are 
 the most precious pai-t of the most precious creature. 
 But a philosopher would probably say they are an 
 addition a little like tliat of one more in a boat al- 
 ready perilously full." 
 
 "Well, they do swamp it sometimes. But I'll 
 tell you this : there never was a first-rate gentleman 
 in the world who was not possessed in a great de- 
 gree of this feminine attribute. "What I under- 
 stand people to mean when they say a man has 
 heart is that he is in a great degree under the in- 
 fluence of his emotions." 
 
 " Well, it perhaps means that, if anything," said 
 the Major. 
 
 " It means that," said the old lady. " The morali- 
 ties and intellectualities and what not, are so many 
 endeavors to root out our merely human impulses, 
 as if those were weeds in the garden and we wanted 
 all the room for those rare plants. If we succeed 
 in this weeding, we make of a gay, good-hearted 
 youngster one of those correct, intolerable creatures 
 like the good boys in Sunday-school romances. 'No- 
 body is endurable to me who has not in him a spice 
 of what the world thus treats as vice, for the burst 
 of evil now and then shows that the old human 
 fountain has not gone dry. How I do adore Faust ; 
 and Goethe, who had the courage to make human 
 
56 
 
 weakness the basis of licroisin ! For to me it seems 
 tlie final test of a man's courage that he dare go 
 anywhere to satisfy tlie impulses that are in him." 
 
 " Well, that's going a great way," said the 
 Major. 
 
 " Not very ; indeed, if it were a longer journey 
 more would travel that way. People arrive at 
 Faust's goal too soon. The compensations of the 
 waj'side are therefore not an equivalent for the end. 
 Every hour of the weary days we sit here," said the 
 old lady, suddenly changing her tone, '' and won- 
 der what is to happen. I cannot but make this 
 comparison : that tlie South is a kind of national 
 woman, and the North a national man. And it 
 fills me with fear for the future." 
 
 Pembroke was afraid to answer. This was deli- 
 cate ground; and he only sat still while the old 
 ladv ran on. 
 
 '" Yes," she said, ^* the North is a masculine 
 giant, with overwhelming cold intellect and the 
 force it gives, and with the emotions — the heart — 
 bred out. It fills the idea of that myth — of the 
 giant that had no heart in his body. But the South 
 — passionate, impulsive, emotional through and 
 through — cannot, because of this very quality, use to 
 the best point even the force it has." 
 
 " But," hesitated the Major, "if the absence of 
 the emotions implies a defective nature — " 
 
 " Yes, yes," she said, interrupting, " I know 
 where you will come out ; my own reasoning leads 
 to the point that the South should be the superior 
 
^^CHicKEK fixings" a:n'd a plot. 57 
 
 ill virtue of what she is. But I did not mean su- 
 periority as determined by the test of mere force. 
 Besides, I do not try my country by this reasoning 
 to find it in fault; but by the position in which 
 such reasoning finds my country I try the world, 
 and the age in which we live. ISTations perhaps 
 thrive as they are fitted to the age ; and if the Soutli 
 fails, it will be because the age is a bad, hollow, vile 
 utilitarian one." 
 
 Good old Mrs. Chichester had set out in a mere 
 spirit of gossip, but she had inadvertently gone too 
 far, and become too deeply involved in the current 
 of her own thoughts ; and, afraid of lier nerves, 
 she got up and stepped quietly and swiftly away 
 through one of the open windows. 
 
 Aunt Hetty was gone. Dr. Braxton had not been 
 seen for an hour or more, and Pembroke could hear 
 near him only the soft murmuring of the voices of 
 Willoughby and Phoebe in the deep gloom of tlie 
 vines at the other end of the piazza. 
 
 He concluded that the day was over, and thought 
 ;0f sleep. Making a little tour across the lawn 
 to where the men lay, he saw that all was tranquil 
 there ; that the sentries were at their posts up and 
 down the road ; and that scarcely a sound was to be 
 heard save from the little camp-fires where the 
 c<)mpany darkies had cooked the supper : and there, 
 their numbers recruited by darkies of the Braxton 
 family, the happy contrabands made themselves 
 merry with music. 
 
 Then he returned to his end of the piazza, and 
 
stretched himself for shimber where the thoughtful 
 Hayward liad put a saddle for a pillow aud a blan- 
 ket for a bed. 
 
 It was the opinion of the ingenious Polysenus 
 that Bacchus conquered India very easily because 
 he went there not as a conqueror but as a jovial 
 merry-maker, hiding all things that could indicate 
 an offensive intention under cover of some part of 
 the apparatus of delight. Eibbons and finery hid 
 his weapons, and the golden cone of the thyrsis 
 wherever it appeared was but a sheath to a spear- 
 point. He put the spirit of conquest in a thin pic- 
 nic envelope of hilarity and joy. 
 
 Perhaps that stratagem was borrowed from na- 
 ture. Because so much that is deadly is beautiful 
 we might imagine that at least as much tliat is 
 beautiful is related to the deadly. Is there a more 
 beautiful line in the world than that traced in the 
 green and gold of the spotted snake ? And if con- 
 quest puts on the forms of hilarity and delight, 
 must Ave not fancy that hilarity and delight come 
 to us always as the stratagems of some sort of con- 
 quest ? 
 
 Some such absurd notions as these jostled one 
 another in the brain of Captain Pembroke, in that 
 uncertain intellectual world between thought and 
 dream, as he lay in the little rose-covered piazza, 
 weary with the labors and excitement of the day, in 
 a reverie that sloped steeply toward deep sleep. 
 
 It was a quiet, beautiful night, starry but with- 
 out a moon, and a fresh dewy air came in between 
 
59 
 
 the vines loaded witli fragrance. Some little sound 
 of voices still came from the lovers near by ; for 
 Willoughby and Phoebe were not disposed to cut 
 short the delights of an nnhoped-for interview for 
 the mere sake of physical repose. Out toward the 
 camp a few fires smouldered ; but all was still. 
 
 One mio-ht have imao'ined that this was thousands 
 of miles away from any land torn up by war. Even 
 the sentry who paced to and fro near by, his foot- 
 fall broken by the velvet sward, seemed a very 
 tranquil, peaceful presence. 
 
 Wln^, then, was Pembroke, just on the edge of 
 his slumber, — at the outpost as it w^ere of a good 
 night's rest, — troubled with fancies that behind the 
 pleasant hospitality he had enjoyed in the Braxton 
 house there mio^ht be danorer? Could there be 
 treachery in such peojDle ? No ; and yet these fan- 
 cies slipped into and tangled his otherwise pleasant 
 d reams. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 COMPANY K FIGHTS ITS WAY OUT. 
 
 Major Pembroke was suddenly awakened from a 
 deep sleep bj the heavy hand of Sergeant Hayward 
 on his arm. He started up, and the sergeant said : 
 
 "Will yon come a little away from the house, 
 sir?" 
 
 He seized his hat, sword, and revolver, and fol- 
 lowed the sergeant a dozen paces. 
 
 " There's cavalry coming up the road we marched 
 on to dny," said Hayward ; "and an old darky down 
 by the camp-fire says they're Ashby's men, and that 
 word was sent to them to-night from the house here 
 to come over." 
 
 This report did not surprise Pembroke. He had 
 thought or dreamed so much that might natnrally 
 lead up to it that it came rather as a confirmation of 
 what was already known than as fresh intelligence. 
 
 " What sort of a fellow is the darky ?" 
 
 " An old sober fellow who belongs in the neigh- 
 borhood here." 
 
 " Who reports the cavalry ?" 
 
 " Hagadorn, the corporal." 
 
 "Turn the company out. Have the men drawn 
 up as rapidly as possible, and send Lieutenant Wood 
 here." 
 
COMPANY H FIGHTS ITS WAY OUT. 61 
 
 ** Yes, sir;" and the sergeant was gone. 
 
 Pembroke liad by this time collected himself, and 
 buckled on his sword ; and as he waited for Wood 
 in the gloom about twenty paces from the house, he 
 thought with a lively impatience rather tlian with 
 rage upon the apparent treason of those whose lios- 
 pitality lie had sought for their pleasure, not his own, 
 and whose act mio^ht this nis^ht cost the lives of half 
 his men and the liberty of all. 
 
 " It is very dangerous to trust an enemy in war, 
 sir," said Wood at his elbow. 
 
 "Mr. AYood," he said," if these people have really 
 brought the cavalry down upon us, as seems prob- 
 able, that may not be the whole of their plan." 
 
 "Likely there's more behind, sir," said Wood. 
 
 "And we must be beforehand with them, and 
 have no unnecessary tenderness for them." 
 
 "Indade, sir, if we wanted a light to fight by, the 
 blaze of this house would illuminate a fine bit of 
 country." 
 
 "Not that," said Pembroke, "but this: If there 
 is a great deal of cavalry, we cannot fight it on this 
 clear level ; but we may be able to get away from 
 it in the gloom; or higher up the mountain, in the 
 woodier or rougher regions, we may find positions in 
 which we can stand off any number of them." 
 
 "It is very true, sir." 
 
 "But if these people remain in the house when 
 we leave, to communicate all they know of our force, 
 condition, and isolation, and just which way we have 
 gone, it will be much the worse for us." 
 
6;^ *'AS WE WENT MARCHING ON/' 
 
 *• Must keep the enemy in ignorance, sir." 
 
 " Therefore take half a dozen files of men and get 
 every sonl out of the honse, white, black, or yellow, 
 — go gently with the ladies, — and hurry them all np 
 the moniitain — no time to lose. The road we came 
 on winds at the north side, returns behind the house 
 here, and climbs the mountain with many doubles. 
 You can get into it from the rear by a little lane." 
 
 '' I know the way, sir," said Wood, who had in- 
 deed inspected all the strategic relations of the house 
 before they sat down to supper. 
 
 "I will come behind you with the rest in case 
 there appears to be more cavalry than we can fight 
 on this plateau. Take care to keep in communica- 
 tion ; for if it seems best to light here, I may need 
 3^our men." 
 
 "I will take care, sir," said the deliberate lieu- 
 tenant. 
 
 Pembroke hastened away through an orchard to 
 the point at which the cavalry must first reach his 
 lines ; but before he was half way there the sharp 
 report of a rifle broke the midnight silence, and 
 then came another and another. The pickets were 
 firing upon the advancing enemy. 
 
 There was a considerable body of cavalry, and 
 owing to the wonderful stillness of the night in this 
 isolated bit of countr}^ the men on guard had heard 
 the jingle of the cavalry-sabres against the saddles at a 
 great distance, and thus were very early aware of the 
 approach of this force. This discovery was facili- 
 tated by the lay of the country, which was such that 
 
COMPANY H FIGHTS ITS WAY OUT. 63 
 
 often ;i point three or four miles away by the road 
 was only half a mile away across some gulch. Con- 
 sequently the advance was not a surprise, or rather 
 it was a surprise to the cavalry; and when two 
 troopers in front of the force liad been called upon 
 to halt and had not given a satisfactory response, 
 the pickets had fired, and these first troopers had 
 gone to the right-about in a hurry. 
 
 Pembroke leaped into the road behind his men 
 just as a hastily-formed skirmish-line of the troopers 
 was descried coming forward as if to explore this 
 obstacle. He withdrew his men from the road 
 to the little elevation beside it in the orchard 
 through which he had come, and held them quietly 
 there. But the cavalrymen, not making out this 
 manoeuvre in the heavy gloom, came on coolly, and 
 at twenty paces opened fire at that point in the road 
 from which our men had delivered their first fire. 
 They were permitted to advance until they Avere 
 fairly opposite to our fellows in the orchard, and 
 then our boys gave them a fire which knocked that 
 small skirmish-line into a cocked hat. 
 
 Immediately our men were double-quicked across 
 the orchard to the camp, the pickets down the road 
 were called in, and the Avhole command was put in 
 motion to follow Lieutenant Wood ; for Pembroke 
 had learned enough in his short visit to the pickets 
 to convince him that the open plateau about Braxton 
 House was no place for Company H on this occa- 
 sion. 
 
 As the men stepped promptly away toward the 
 
64 "AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 lane tliat led to the monntain-road, tlie Major heard 
 a bngle-note, and tlie gallant cheer of a regiment, at 
 that point where the pickets had halted the enemy, 
 and then the thunder of horses' hoofs and clamor of 
 rattling accoutrem.ents, as the whole force of cavalry 
 charged down to clear the road. One of those turns 
 in the road already referred to was of use here ; for 
 while the spot wliere tlie pickets had been posted was 
 but a few hundred yards away across the orchard, 
 the cavalry wonld have to trot a mile and a half to 
 get to the gate of Braxton House ; and if they found 
 tlie trail up the mountain immediatel}", they could 
 not follow it rapidly. 
 
 Kearly the whole vocabularj^ of Southern elo- 
 quence was exhausted upon Lieutenant Wood before 
 he got tlie family fairly on the road. But the tem- 
 per of that officer Avas not in the least ruffled by the 
 torrent of words. 
 
 Phoebe had not uttered a syllable, for she had a 
 natural apprehension that there might be some new 
 danger for Willoughby in all this. She had heard 
 stories of prisoners killed to prevent rescue or 
 escape. She thought it might be such a case, and 
 she went like one in a trance, mounted on an old 
 family nag, while TVilloughby walked beside her, 
 holding her little white hand desperately in his 
 own. 
 
 Old Braxton was so recklessly savage in speech 
 that Wood put him in particular charge of a man 
 he could depend upon, with an intimation that he 
 would hold him persoiuiUy responsible for the safe 
 
COMPANY H FIGHTS ITS WAY OUT. 65 
 
 delivery at the next camp of this " unnecessarily 
 energetic old gentleman." 
 
 Aunt Hetty Chichester and a dozen old aunties 
 and uncles and pickaninnies were the troublesome 
 part of the cortege^ but by patience and resolution 
 all were put on the way, and moved rapidly up the 
 mountain. 
 
 Pembroke went through the house, found not a 
 soul there, and followed his men through the lane, 
 himself the last file-closer. He was himself '• the 
 whipsnapper to the rear-guard," as old Keyes used 
 to say. 
 
 Our fellows had a start of about half an hour; 
 for the cavalry, having discovered ont on the road 
 that it might prove expensive to come forward in too 
 much of a hurry, now came forward deliberately; 
 feeling, perhaps, sure of their prey, but conscious 
 that they might get a fire from us at any step. As 
 soon as they reached the level upon which Company 
 H had been encamped, they swept their line forward 
 rapidly and surrounded the house. It was imagined, 
 apparently, that we were there and intended to hold 
 the place. Time was consumed in making proper 
 dispositions to prevent our escape; then we were 
 summoned to surrender, and it was discovered that 
 we were gone. 
 
 " No, no," said Wood, with an apostrophe in the 
 direction of the enemy, ''we are not there. We 
 have tried the game of fighting in tinder-boxes be- 
 fore to-night." 
 5 
 
66 "AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 Thej did not hear him, but thej made certain of 
 our absence. 
 
 Wliere then were we ? Scurrying up and down, 
 to and fro, and hither and thithei', was the next resort 
 for the sohition of this difficult problem ; and at 
 last two of the cavalrymen, finding the mountain- 
 way, followed it rapidly, until they were dropped in 
 the road by the fire of our rear-guard, delivered 
 almost in their faces. Those shots told the story, 
 and soon the whole force was at our heels. 
 
 But good use had been made of the time gained. 
 "We were now two hundred feet above Braxton 
 House, and the road was rough, stony, and crooked ; 
 and a position had been selected in which we could 
 stand off indefinitely ten times as much cavalry as 
 we had just now to deal with. At the end of a 
 steep stretch in the road it turned suddenly, with a 
 sheer mountain-wall at one side and a steep abyss at 
 the other, and above the turn it followed the upper 
 edge of the mountain-wall. Here a section of men 
 posted at the turn could fire fair down the road and 
 sweep it, while others above could loose upon the 
 advancing cavalry an avalanche of loose boulders. 
 
 Here it seemed to many of us was the right place 
 to make our fight for good and all; but the Major 
 had learned that yet a little higher up the mountain 
 was a wide plateau wdiicli stretched north and south 
 for many miles, and it seemed possible to him that 
 a part of the cavalry, by making a wide detour, 
 could come down on our rear, and that our good 
 corner might prove a trap. He resolved, therefore, 
 
COMPANY H FIGHTS ITS WAY OUT. 67 
 
 only to hold this for dehay and push on. Hayward 
 was therefore put in charge of the prisoners, and 
 Wood, who was as resohite a fighter as there was in 
 the army, was put in command here, while the re- 
 mainder of the company was pushed forward across 
 the plateau. 
 
 All this was on foot while they. hunted for us he- 
 low, and when they came up we gave it to them. 
 Between the stones launched down the mountain 
 and the fire of the men posted at the turn, the in- 
 fernal fiends could not have come up that road ; yet 
 the gallant rebels tried it handsomely over and over 
 again ; and between their yells and our rifles the 
 mountain-side was a pandemonium of racket for a 
 good hour. 
 
 Meanwhile Major Pembroke with the main body 
 of the company pushed on for the point where the 
 definite rise toward the rugged top of the mountain 
 would justify a final stand, but found this difficulty : 
 the region was so far from where the boys were 
 fighting, just below the edge of the plateau, that if 
 they once left this point they could never reach the 
 other before they would be overtaken and ridden 
 down by the cavalry. It would not do to lose them 
 in that way, and a point of resistance or obstruction 
 must be found between these places. 
 
 Fortune favored us in this particular. 
 
 Much of this plateau was a wide mountain-morass ; 
 such a piece of country as is found where the streams 
 from the higher parts of a range discharge them- 
 selves on a level and do not find their way out 
 
63 '*AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 because a rocky edge all around is liiglier than tlie 
 middle. Sudden heavy rains flood such regions, 
 and this had recently been overflowed in that way. 
 There was a well-constructed road across the level, 
 but a horee got mired almost anywhere at either side 
 of it. 
 
 At a place about two miles from the crest of the 
 plateau there were twenty haystacks, the product, 
 perhaps, of all the level ; and distributed all along 
 on one side of the road were many hundred feet of 
 well-piled cordwood. 
 
 At this spot we were all halted, and there was 
 some deliberation, while the steady rattle of the fire 
 at the ridge told how coolly the fellows there were 
 giving an account of themselves to the enemy. 
 
 Then we stacked arms and carried hay. All the 
 hay was distributed on the road, two or three feet 
 deep, for as far as it would go, which was perhaps 
 -Q.ve hundred feet — though I hope no mathematical 
 fellow will try this case on me, for it was a dim night, 
 and I will not swear to the distance. Besides, I 
 won't swear to the number or size of the stacks of 
 ha3\ There might have been twenty-five. 
 
 Upon the hay we put wood, every fellow carry- 
 ing logs on his shoulders. It was chestnut, maple, 
 pine, hickory, and white oak, — the miscellaneous cut- 
 ting of a mountain country, — and it was thoroughly 
 dry. We scattered it higgledy-piggledy over the 
 hay rough and high, and also for a good way up 
 the road beyond the hay. Hagadorn, the corporal, 
 bossed this job, while the Major galloped away to 
 
COMPANY H FIGHTS ITS WAY OUT. G9 
 
 clieernp the boys at the crest, and Ilayward piislied 
 the prisoners far away ahead of us across tlie leveL 
 
 Between the Major and Lieutenant "Wood it was 
 agreed, at this time, tliat the Major should give 
 a signal from the new obstruction when all was 
 ready tliere, and that after that signal Wood could 
 come in with the men at the first s^ood chance he 
 saw. 
 
 Our job was so far advanced when the Major re- 
 turned that he had to abandon the mule with which 
 he had ridden to the crest. He could not be got 
 over the obstruction. 
 
 In twenty minutes more we were on the march 
 again, with orders that half a njile out five files 
 should be halted till the men from the crest had 
 passed them, and they were then to come in behind. 
 
 Then the signal for Wood was given, — a solitary 
 rifle-shot, — and the Major sat down to wait for him. 
 Wood chose a happy moment for his departure, 
 which was just after the repulse of a very desperate 
 attempt to storm his stronghold made by the en- 
 emy's men on foot. There was always a lapse be- 
 tween their assaults, and he judged that such a lapse 
 now would give time to get away. He had not 
 reached the new obstruction, however, before they 
 found he was gone, as was indicated by the cheer at 
 the crest, and the rush from there. He got well 
 behind the obstruction, however, before they came 
 in sight. 
 
 Only Major Pembroke remained at the obstruc- 
 tion. It was late, but there was no moon ; or if there 
 
70 *^AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 was, slie was masked by a heavy coast of clonds 
 wliicli lay low and would dim her radiance for a 
 little longer. 
 
 It was an anxious time for tlie Major as he heard 
 that cheer and rush of the cavalry, and saw Wood's 
 men clambering over the obstruction, several of 
 them badly hurt, and the detachment two short. 
 Then when it was a dead certainty that the whole 
 cavalry would be at this place in ten or fifteen min- 
 utes, he went about and rubbed matclies and 
 dropped them in the hay. 
 
 Slowly the little tongues of fire turned and 
 twisted to one side or another and sought sustenance. 
 In twenty or thirty places they labored in this way 
 for a minute or two, and then it seemed as if they 
 discovered one another and lifted themselves up 
 and spread ; and in an incredibly short space of 
 time that whole mass of hay and wood was one 
 fierce blaze. 
 
 Behind the cloud of heavy rolling smoke that 
 rose from his well-contrived fire the Major waited 
 with a little calm glee in his soul ; for he believed 
 lie had beaten them, but could not well feel sure. 
 There might be some fellow there, and probably was, 
 born on this very plateau, and if there was a patJi 
 across he would know it. 
 
 The enemy rode up furiously and fiercely, the 
 joy of success at one point cut short in the rage of 
 disappointment at another. 
 
 Some of them rode their horses fairly into the 
 fire, tliinking it a thin curtain only which they 
 
COMPANY H FIGHTS ITS WAY OUT. 71 
 
 could gallop tlirongli. But they lost their horses 
 and got out themselves badly scorched, for the 
 wood, extremely dry, had soon cauglit, and the heat 
 was terrible. Other horses, wiser than their mas- 
 ters, could not be spurred in. 
 
 " No horse but Beelzebub's own could get through 
 that without breaking his legs, not if he had forty 
 of 'em," said one old trooper ; and the truth was rec- 
 ognized. Then they tried desperately the fields at 
 either side, and gave that up ; and when at last Pem- 
 broke followed his men, the enemy had dismounted 
 and was engaged in the pleasant occupation of mak- 
 ing coffee by -the fire the Yankees had kindled. 
 
 We reached the farther side of the plateau, 
 passed a wide mountain-torrent on a little bridge, 
 sent the bridge into the chasm below with a few 
 axe-strokes, and a mile or two beyond went into 
 camp in a good defensible spot. 
 
 It was late and we needed no rocking. 
 
 We had left behind us four good men killed by 
 the fire of the cavalry at the crest. Two had died at 
 the crest, and two on this march behind the fire. 
 
 They were Corporal Silas Wainwright, and 
 privates Eichard Harrison, Ealph Sinclair, and 
 Tliomas Dalrymple. Better fellows never wore 
 blue crosses on their caps. 
 
 The teamster who had first led us wrong was prob- 
 ably killed by the enemy at Braxton. He was last 
 seen drunk and asleep in one of the outhouses there. 
 At all events, we never saw him after that night. 
 
CHAPTEK YII. 
 
 IN CAMP GIT-AWAT. 
 
 Orders were given not to make iires in camp that 
 night ; which was a very proper precantion, since, 
 as we did not in the least know of the Lay of the 
 land except immediately about us, those little cen- 
 tres of human comfort might also prove to be far- 
 seen signals, and would in that case procure for us' 
 the attention of any commander of rebel forces that 
 might be out in the valley. 
 
 But that night in that high mountain region was 
 sharp ; and the nipping and eager air was wet with 
 a cold drizzle that thickened the marrow of our 
 bones. 
 
 Eheu ! what a glory is a little camp-fire in a night 
 like that! How the cheery crackle of the "sticks 
 warms with its very music! 
 
 Fire, dear boys, if you know what it is at any 
 time in your houses and homes, on your hearth- 
 stones or in your stoves, you do not perhaps know 
 what it is to a soldier in his bivouac. 
 
 If the very planets themselves revolve around a 
 central fire, it is no doubt the original material im- 
 pulse. But there are other glories in it. What is 
 home but the fire on the hearth-stone, and the happy 
 group about it? At that blaze what souls are light- 
 
IN CAMP GIT-AWAY. 73 
 
 ed np with life ! Bat away from liome, friends, all 
 — the fire is often all tliere is of a fellow's country, 
 and the blaze of a few bits of wood relights 
 the lamp of life for the soldier every day in bad 
 times. 
 
 There was, however, one exception to the order 
 against fires, and one was kindled for the comfort of 
 the women, since it was not to be supposed they 
 would have our habit of enduring hardship. This 
 indulgence was allowed when it was found that 
 there was a corner in which they could be made 
 comfortable, and where a fire could be lighted with 
 a certainty that it could not be seen from even a very 
 little distance. 
 
 There was a dry protected spot, about which the 
 great tumbled boulders made an almost perfect wall ; 
 and giant pines towered far above this wall of stone 
 in such a way that their branches would prevent the 
 view of even a reflection of the fire. 
 
 At the farther side of this singular combination 
 of stones and trees there was a precipitous descent of 
 several hundred feet, also covered with gnarled and 
 knotted evergreens growing from crevices of the 
 rocks. In that place a shelter was made of India- 
 rubber blankets and pine foliage, and the two ladies 
 were lodged there. Three men were put on guard 
 in front of that shelter — not that they wei'e prison- 
 ers, but to protect them from intrusion. It was as- 
 sumed that the inaccessible nature of the other side 
 was protection enough there. 
 
 All this care for the women was taken at nio:ht 
 
74 
 
 before we slept, under tlie Major's orders, and was in- 
 tended, of course, as a slight compensation to them for 
 the perils and fatigues whicli liad been caused them 
 through no fault of ours. For when the game was 
 once on foot (and their side began it), we could not 
 leave anybody behind who could give information 
 about us ; and we had to suppose that these women 
 would, for, even if they were not disposed to do this, 
 information would be extorted from them by threats 
 and terror. 
 
 But the old man and Mr. Willoughby had been 
 lodged safely at another part of the camp. They 
 were prisoners. 
 
 At about daylight Major Pembroke, apparently 
 upon a mature consideration of all the facts, deter- 
 mined that we should stay where we were for that 
 day at least. 
 
 All the information we had of things in the world 
 about us was derived from the darkies who had fol- 
 lowed us at night or begun to come in early — and 
 they came that day until they were so numerous 
 that we had to compel them to form a camp of their 
 own at another point on tlie mountain. 
 
 Information of this sort was commonly accurate 
 on main facts, but cloudy on all points of detail, ex- 
 cept points as to roads, and paths through the woods, 
 and streams and bridges and villages. But accu- 
 rate information as to the whereabouts of bodies of 
 the enemy was what we wanted just now, and of 
 that there was very little. 
 
 Until we could know just how to move we might 
 
IN CAMP GIT-AWAY. 75 
 
 as well stand still, and this would rest ns all and 
 give the w^onnded fellows a chance ; so the thonght- 
 ful Major let the bojs sleep on. As it was now 
 known that there was such a body as ours in that 
 country it would not be well, of course, to stay too 
 many days in one place; and that, as we subsequently 
 knew, the Major did not forget. 
 
 'No reveille awakened us in camp that day, be- 
 cause the roll of the morning drum re-echoed from 
 the rocky cliffs might have secured for us by day as 
 much attention as the blaze of a fire by night. If 
 we had the enemy all about us, we could get away 
 only by Indian tactics. 
 
 And that is how it happened that the two ladies 
 were not aroused by the fife and drum, but first be- 
 came aware that the camp was on foot by the talk 
 they heard outside their shelter. 
 
 How they got through the apprehensions and 
 anxieties of that night it would be difficult to tell ; 
 but when we halted and they were put into that 
 safe and comparatively cosey corner, they perhaps 
 slept a little from the mere exhaustion due to so 
 much of a rough run as they had. 
 
 But the pleasant assurance that it w^as day came 
 from the voice of Hayward the sergeant, wdio 
 w^as posted at one of the approaches to their corner. 
 
 He sang with many variations of an unmusical 
 voice a chant of those days which ever returned to 
 the singular allegation : 
 
 "A soldier's life is always gay — 
 A 1 ways ga — y!" 
 
76 "AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 And as the incongruity of this declaration with 
 the present circumstances seemed to dawn npon him, 
 he added, in a less rliythmical style : 
 
 " Specially 'bout daylight follerin' a wet night 
 and a helter-skelter run in the mountains ; when the 
 aforesaid sojer wakes up stiS with the rheumatis, 
 and has to get up slow for fear of breaking into new 
 j'ints if he goes too fast ; cold through and through, 
 and wringing wet ; with an appetite like an earth- 
 quake, and no breakfast, and all the wood too 
 darned wet to burn — 
 
 ''Too wet to burn — yes, sirree ; and what's 
 worse, orders not to burn it: no fires till after rev- 
 er-lee — and, by Jingo, no rev-er-lee ! 
 
 "I'm 'nation glad I ain't the commander of these 
 troops ; for, if I was, some feller'd say I was a fool, 
 and I'd have to lick him. 
 
 " Which would be beneath my dignity as an offi- 
 cer. Correct thing would be to hang him up by the 
 thumbs, and that would be hard upon a feller for 
 only telling the truth. 
 
 " Upon the whole, it is better as it is, though it's 
 pretty bad." 
 
 " What are you growling about, Jake ?" said an- 
 other voice. 
 
 Whereupon a third voice said : 
 
 " He ain't growlin' about notliin' pertickler ; 
 lie's amusin' himself with philosophical conversa- 
 tion." 
 
 " Growlin' !" said Hay ward. " If you call that 
 growlin', you orter hear me when times is hard with 
 
IN" CAMP GIT-AWAY. 77 
 
 the bojs. If you call that growlin', -what would 
 you call the cheerful voice of the early robin when 
 there ain't no wnms? I was only goin' into per- 
 ticklers about the gayety of a soldier's life, and givin' 
 reasons for it." 
 
 Hereupon, convinced by all this miscellaneous 
 gabble, that thei-e were plenty on foot about her, the 
 old lady appeared to Hayward and proposed to give 
 him burning sticks from her sheltered fire with 
 which to start his own, upon the sole condition that 
 he should divide the coffee with her and her niece. 
 
 "Proposition accepted. Would ha' given you 
 coffee long ago if I'd know'd you wanted it, ma'am," 
 said Hayward. 
 
 And that's how the ladies got their first breakfast 
 at " Camp Git-away." 
 
 Oar boys called that first camp on the mountain- 
 top by that name, because, as they understood it, we 
 had at once got away from the enemy and with the 
 enemy ; for in their speech to " git away with" 
 some one was to outwit or outdo him, or in anyway 
 to demonstrate your own superiority. 
 
 Names for camps which involved humorous fan- 
 cies were always popular with the men, for this was 
 the soldier's fun. It was one of his ways of meet- 
 ing an unpropitious destiny by laughing at it. And 
 even the very littleness of the joke involved some- 
 times helped this effect, because the smallness of the 
 pleasantry with which we meet any given calamity 
 may indicate not so much a paucity of wit as the 
 measure of contempt for the occasion. 
 
78 *^AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 We had seven wounded men in camp, — fellows 
 not so badlj Imrt but that thej^ had been able to 
 keep up, — and at roll-call it was found we were four 
 men short. Some of the darkies who had come in 
 about daylight reported these men dead at different 
 points on the way, and a detail was sent back, 
 guided by the contrabands, to bury our boys. 
 
 As for the wounded men, it turned out that old 
 Braxton was a good surgeon, and he volunteered to 
 dress the wounds and care for the wounded if in- 
 struments could be obtained from his house. By 
 comparing notes with the darkies it was found that 
 we were not a great way from the house, though 
 the windinorroad had made the march a lono^ one. 
 
 Two adventurous fellows were ready to undertake 
 this errand, and went, accompanied by a darky of 
 tlie family, with a commission from the ladies. 
 They were away all day, and returned at night with 
 the instruments, and with news that the house had 
 been sacked by the cavalry, and part of it burned. 
 That we had not noticed that fire at the time was 
 perhaps because the flame it made must have been 
 nearly in a line with the fire we had made our- 
 selves. 
 
 In the course of the day there was assigned to a 
 comrade and myself the pleasant duty of building 
 beds upon which the women could pass the night 
 comfortably. This was a pleasant duty, because it 
 brought us near to these two ladies, and enabled us 
 to see them and hear their voices ; and for men who 
 had been so long away from home, and from the 
 
IN CAMP GIT-AAVAY. 79 
 
 sound of women's voices, this was a treat that others 
 might not appreciate. 
 
 We made them good beds on a plan common in 
 camp in those days. We went to the woods near 
 and cnt for each bed four stakes about four feet 
 long, pointed at one end and crotched at the otlier, 
 two straight rods five feet long, and six straight rods 
 eight feet long. 
 
 The four pointed stakes, placed like the posts of 
 an old-fashioned bedstead, were driven into the 
 ground about a foot deep, with the crotches so 
 turned as to hold evenly stout rods placed crosswise. 
 Into tliese crotches were then rested the five-foot 
 rods, and the eight-foot rods, placed lengthwise, were 
 rested at each end on the cross-bars. Tliese lono: 
 rods were fastened at proper intervals with twine, 
 and then were covered over nearly a foot deep with 
 an even pad of short pine-twigs, carefully placed so 
 that the stems should not protrude. 
 
 There is not a finer bed in the world than one so 
 made. The long rods give just about the elasticity 
 of a good bed-spring, and the comfort and fragrance 
 of a mattress of pine-twigs would turn the head of 
 a Sybarite. 
 
 Because the two women watched with so much 
 attention our labors in this sphere of campaigning 
 art, I thought it might also interest others to hear 
 about it ; hence the attention given to this trifle. 
 But while they watched us they could not brood upon 
 their own troubles, and any fact that turned their 
 thoughts for a moment was perhaps welcome. 
 
80 '^ AS WE WEKT MARCHING ON." 
 
 Tliey overwhelmed us with an enthusiastic admh'a- 
 tion of these contributions to tlieir comfort. Ihit we 
 could not honestly accept all tlieir compliments, for 
 we had not invented this couch. It had grown in 
 the camp somehow in the course of years, and we 
 made it as we had seen others make it. 
 
 This was the first time I clearly saw Miss Phoebe 
 Braxton. 
 
 She was a very handsome woman. 
 
 Her face was particularly fine. It was of a type 
 sometimes seen in minature portraits of the beauties 
 of a by-gone age ; beauties who have left on ivory 
 the scheme of their charms in colors dimmed by the 
 touch of time, but whose names are gone forever, 
 because the lips that loved to repeat them are dry as 
 the tinder made from mummy. 
 
 In out-of-the-way regions these faces of the fine 
 old type seem to linger ; and it is as if the counte- 
 nances of a breed of people formed themselves on 
 the people's thoughts, and the modern thoughts had 
 not yet reached these secluded spots to give a style 
 of every-day vulgarity to the girls' faces. 
 
 Phoebe's face was the face of Pauline Bona- 
 parte drawn in daintier lines, such as are character- 
 istic of our climate — the same lines without the 
 sensuous amplitude given by the blood of Corsica. 
 
 It was a long oval, finished above by gracefully 
 disposed waves of raven hair which came almost to 
 the eyebrows, and ended below by a chin as per- 
 fectly moulded as if it were the last result of nature's 
 experience in that direction. The nose was not 
 
IN CAMP GIT- A WAY. 81 
 
 protrusive nor large, and yet its graceful length 
 left no point to desire in that regard ; and it filled 
 with all the artistic effect required of any possible 
 nose the space between the fine line of the eye- 
 brows, — not arched, but perfectly straight, — and the 
 beautiful curve of lips that pouted a little. 
 
 Her voice was very pleasant. There were some 
 tones in it like the tones of a boy's voice ; so that 
 it was rather stronger and deeper than women's 
 voices generally are. This had an odd effect at 
 first, but grew upon you and proved a veritable 
 charm ; for never was a boy's voice so musical or 
 so exquisitely modulated. 
 
 She had hazel eyes, with a softened, liquid, ten- 
 der glance. She was a trifle tall, was slender, and 
 perfectly graceful in every movement. 
 
 Altogether I do not believe I ever saw before so 
 handsome and attractive a person. 
 
 She was shy to engage in conversation, though 
 evidently eager to know the detail of all that had 
 happened; but she left the pushing of these in- 
 quiries to the old lady, who exhibited an indomita- 
 ble energy in that way. 
 
 Where was Dr. Braxton ? Had anything happen- 
 ed to him? What had happened to the others? 
 Were many hurt ? Where was Willoughby ? Who 
 was killed ? Where w^ere we ? Where were we 
 going? What was to come next? These are but 
 samples of the regular file-fire of questions she 
 opened upon us and kept up. 
 
 My comrade, who was a cool fellow, with per- 
 6 
 
82 
 
 liaps just a trace of impudence in him, but witli plenty 
 of good-nature, — liis name was Sam Griffin, — said 
 in a calm, methodical wa}^, when the old lady 
 called a halt : 
 
 " Now, ma'am, to begin at the beginning. Near- 
 ly as I recom member, your first question was, 
 ' Where is Dr. Braxton ? ' " 
 
 " Yes," said the old lady, " that was very likely 
 my first question ; he's my brother. He is this 
 lady's father." 
 
 '• Oh, it's all right, ma'am ; no harm in the ques- 
 tion. Only, my pardner and me, we're pretty slow 
 about answerin' questions; and 'fore we had a 
 chance ter answer that one, you asked two or three 
 or four or five or six other ones, and the conversa- 
 tion kinder broke away, and I was tryin' to get it 
 into line again. And, as I said, I believe that ques- 
 tion was on the right of the line." 
 
 "Well, it was, then. Where is Dr. Braxton?" 
 
 "Well, ma'am, he's in the guard-house." 
 
 " The guard-house ! the guard-house !" And the 
 two ladies were filled with alarm and anxiety at 
 what this might mean. 
 
 '•What had he done? Why was he locked up? 
 Would they murder him ?" 
 
 Now, the word guard-house is generally more for- 
 midable than the fact. There is, as a rule, no house 
 in the case, as that word is commonly understood ; 
 though if the word house means merely a place of 
 abode, this was as much a house as any other. Our 
 guard-house here, as in many other places, was 
 
IN CAMP GIT-AWAT. 83 
 
 simply a marked-out limit of the ground we all 
 slept upon. This limit was a square, inclosed on 
 three sides by loose logs found near, and on the 
 fourth side was the sentry. The prisoners could have 
 stepped over the barriers at any point as easily as 
 over a chalked line, but it was perfectly under- 
 stood that to step over was death, unless permission 
 was first given. Prisoners were not often refractory 
 in that way. 
 
 It required a good deal of talking to convince the 
 ladies that the guard-house was only one other inno- 
 cent part of the mountain, and that keeping pris- 
 oners in it was only a military formality. 
 
 " Now," said Grifiin, " if yer please, I'll go on 
 with them questions. ^Was many hurt?' Well, 
 not many, if you count in proportion to the whole 
 company. But of eight that was engaged where 
 the best fighting was done, seven was hit." 
 
 " Poor fellows !" said the young lady. " I hope 
 they're not badly hurt." 
 
 " Well, ma'am," said Griffin, with a natural pathos 
 in his voice, " there's some of them fellows for 
 whom the war is over, and some for whom it is 
 pretty nigh over." 
 
 " Heaven have pity on their mothers !" said the 
 old lady. 
 
 "Yes, 'm," said Griffin, "that's, perhaps, most- 
 ly what'll be wanted in their families. But to 
 go on. 'Where are we?' Yes, 'Where are we, and 
 where are we going?' These is two questions that 
 
84 **AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 might as well be taken together. Nobody knows 
 and nobody can iind. out." 
 
 " Lost in the mountain," said the old lady. 
 
 " Jist about the way of it," said the soldier. 
 
 " Well," said the old lady, " forty thousand men 
 could be lost here and never find their way 
 out." 
 
 "Which is a consoling observation," said GriflSn. 
 
 Half the time she was in tears, and the younger 
 woman now and again paid these tributes of sym- 
 pathy to her aunt's trouble. 
 
 Thej were both exceedingly distressed at the 
 news that the house was burned. But this fact 
 seemed to fit happily into some conversation they 
 had previously had, in which the young lady had 
 maintained that they were now safer in our hands 
 than they would be at their own home, with the 
 country full of marauders, because regular troops 
 under discipline are subject to restraint, while the 
 "partisans" of Virginia were simply bandits who 
 made patriotism their pretext. 
 
 Griffin, who was always full of stories, told them 
 two or three things that had happened which seem- 
 ed to prove this. 
 
 One serious observation the old lady made was 
 that Major Pembroke did not come to see her, and 
 she felt hurt at this want of attention. 
 
 But the young lady said : 
 
 " Aunty, dear, the officer had to give us all this 
 distress on account of duty to his men, as Arthur 
 told us; and now he is, no doubt, afraid you'll scold 
 
IN CAMP GIT- AWAY. 85 
 
 liim as soon as you see liim, and does not want to 
 
 face it." 
 
 And I said, '* I guess that's jist it, miss." 
 
 I thought it was very nice in tliis little woman 
 
 to come to the Majors support in that ready way, 
 
 and I liked her for it. 
 
CHAPTER yill. 
 
 THE GEEEN-EYED MONSTER. 
 
 It is possible to find a great many men in tlie 
 world less satisfied with themselves and with their 
 lot in life than we were in that camp. There was a 
 good deal of glory in the air. We rejoiced in 
 what seemed to us all a neat victory, and felt that 
 we had shown ourselves equal to a difficult occa- 
 sion in all the qualities that such an occasion calls 
 for. This feeling would have lifted up our hearts 
 against almost any hardship ; but indeed we saw no 
 hardship in that adventurous march through the 
 mountains ; for though the way was unknown, and 
 our communications with the commissary depart- 
 ment irremediably cut, we were not very hungry 
 yet, and did not know the worst; and confidence 
 and hope made us happy. 
 
 But there was one man in that camp thoroughly 
 prostrated in the caves of despair. He had no part in 
 our pride to sustain him, nor could the splendor of 
 nature in that magnificent region make any im- 
 pression whatever upon his fancy filled entirely 
 with gloomy thoughts. 
 
 Willoughby was the most miserable man I ever 
 saw. His exhilaration at one moment and his gloom 
 
THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER. 87 
 
 at another were elements of his character; and he 
 was now at the lowest curve of all possible mental 
 depression. 
 
 And the Major also had at this time some hours 
 of gloom. 
 
 The Major, when the surprise came upon us at 
 night, and in all the subsequent endeavor, liad dealt 
 with it simply as the fact of the hour that had to 
 be faced, however it might have been brought about ; 
 but he had, as soon as the enemy was evidently off 
 our hands, given some thought to the effort to 
 fathom the hidden history of the coming of the 
 rebel cavalry, and to determine whether we owed 
 any recognition on that score to any of the persons 
 then in our camp. 
 
 Dr. Braxton, Mrs. Chichester, Miss Phoebe, 
 Captain Willoughby— could any of these have done 
 it? Could Willoughby have led us into a trap? 
 Could the others have taken an unfair advantage of 
 what seemed so much to please them ? It was hard 
 to believe either of these things; for to believe 
 either was to lose some portion of the faith the 
 Major had in all those pleasant people. 
 
 But he was not a man to hesitate between per- 
 sonal inclination and duty ; and therefore there was 
 a period of one day in which the life of Dr. Brax- 
 ton was in imminent peril, and our relations with 
 that family were likely to end in a tragedy that 
 would have raised a great Southern cry against the 
 barbarous spirit of Northern officers. 
 
 Tliere was a certain old darky who pretended 
 
88 "AS WE WEKT MARCHING ON.'^ 
 
 to know positively tliat Dr. Braxton had sent in- 
 telligence tlirougli our lines that night ; and all the 
 other darkies declared with vociferous agreement 
 not only that this was not true, but that this par- 
 ticular old darkv had a special fame in all the 
 country round for his qualifications as a liar. 
 
 NoWj this testimony was divided with all the wit- 
 nesses except one against that one ; but it did not 
 escape the Major that the crowd was declaring a 
 negative, — was declaring that it did not know some- 
 thing, — and that one darky was declaring his posi- 
 tive knowledge of a definite fact. 
 
 But the observation that the old darky had a 
 suspicious readiness to respond in any sort of ques- 
 tionincrwith the answer that he imagined would be 
 agreeable to our side cast so much doubt upon his 
 testimony that the Major saw he could not trust it; 
 therefore he did not act. 
 
 Consequently the air was not cleared up, and the 
 suspicion remained ; and while he was still full of 
 gloom upon this point, the Major called upon Wil- 
 loughby in the guard-house, lie could not have 
 thought that Willoughb}', even if he had any knowl- 
 edge, would disclose it. He may have thought he 
 could discover, at least, whether the other had a 
 guilty knowledge that would make him shy of the 
 object. 
 
 They were a gloomy pair. But Willoughby was 
 so concentrated in his own gloom that he did 'not 
 notice the Major's ; while the Major, alert to notice 
 the other's frame of mind, wondered whether this 
 
THE GREEIT-EYED MONSTER. 89 
 
 special depression was other than what might be 
 expected in the circumstances. 
 
 *' Blue-devils again ?" he said. 
 
 " Yes," said Willoughby ; ^' blue devils, and gray 
 devils, and brown devils. My mind is a chaos of 
 devils of all colors, every one worse than the 
 other. In the other world or in this there can bo 
 no torture so bad as that of tormentins: thoughts." 
 
 " Yes," said the Major ; '' I have some also." 
 
 " But at about daylight this morning I was gay 
 enongh," said Willoughby. 
 
 " Gay ?" said the Major, with some wonder in his 
 voice. 
 
 "Yes. You sec, it was this way. I had made up 
 my mind ; I had determined what I would do. I 
 had reached a desperate resolution. Concluding 
 from all that lias lately happened that association 
 with me was a bane to all my friends, I had re- 
 solved to get out of this life ; and the moment I had 
 determined on that I was as calm and happy as 
 ever I was before in all my days." 
 
 " But have you any weapon ?" 
 
 " Not even a toothpick. But I had a plan. My 
 intention was to run the guard, and to do it in a 
 defiant way, so that the sentinel would have to fire ; 
 but to do it so clumsily that he could not possibly 
 miss me." 
 
 '• That was a good plan." 
 
 " And yet I was afraid it would fail." 
 
 " And if it had failed ?" 
 
 " Then my intention was to return, overpower 
 
90 "as WE WEXT MARCHING OK." 
 
 the guardsman, and blow out my brains with liis 
 gun." 
 
 " "Well, one way or the other would have made it 
 certain, I should say. And yet this scheme that was 
 the source of so much gayety you did not carry 
 
 QUt ?" 
 
 '' ISTo ; and there again is my cursed ill-fortune. 
 The evil one put into my head a fancy that a soldier 
 has not a right to kill himself." 
 
 " An honest evil one, that." 
 
 " There came to me a thought that it is a soldier's 
 duty to endure ; and that for him to kill himself is 
 in its way a kind of — well, desertion of the colors." 
 
 " "Well, with that particular evil one I agree.*" 
 
 "And then, again, — my imagination is perhaps too 
 active, — I could not get out of my thought the 
 picture of these dear women with such an event 
 added to their other troubles ; and I cursed myself 
 for an idiot. Fancy them with my corpse on their 
 hands ; and you know yourself how disagreeable 
 fellows look when they are dead and yellow, es- 
 pecially without clean linen." 
 
 " Yes," said the Major. " In our regiment we al- 
 ways dress for battle." 
 
 " Now, Major, what could a fellow do in such cir- 
 cumstances ? You are a cool one and have got more 
 sense than I have. "What would you do if you had 
 concluded that life was not worth all this bother and 
 trouble and turmoil, and yet felt that you could not 
 honorably get out of it ?" 
 
 " It seems to me," said the Major, " that j^our 
 
THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER. 91 
 
 question takes too many things for granted, because 
 I do not believe I should ever reach your first con- 
 clusion unless I had a great deal more to bother me 
 than there is to bother you." 
 
 "More !" said "VVilloughby. '* Why, Major, just 
 think of it, now ; run over it with me. You know 
 my personal mishaps of the first night of our acquain- 
 tance — I hardly count that. But consider the posi- 
 tion of the ladies and the dear old doctor, either 
 abandoned to the possibilities of the wilderness or 
 compelled to move in the train of an enemy's force. 
 The facts themselves as they stand are not so bad as 
 the possibilities involved in case of any change. 
 Your prosperity is their only safety, and you may 
 be attacked again any night and your force per- 
 haps overwhelmed, and what then ? And but for 
 me, for my idiocy, they would have been safe at 
 home to-day, for I brought all this trouble to their 
 doors." 
 
 " Perhaps there is a divided responsibility," said 
 the Major, coolly. " You brought my command 
 there ; but my command did no harm. It halted at 
 night, and would have moved at daylight. But the 
 person who brought the rebel cavalry there did 
 worse. Who was that ?" 
 
 Willoughb}^ looked up with his open boyish air 
 and said : 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 "Whoever did that did all the mischief," said 
 the Major. " Can you guess who did it V 
 
 " ISTo." 
 
" Well, it was a foolish act to invite a battle about 
 one's lieartli-stone." 
 
 Thereupon Willoiighbj, caught by tlie words and 
 the tone, looked anew at the Major, and their eyes 
 met, and there was a silent conference in which 
 each saw and felt that there was perfect fair-play 
 in the other. 
 
 " Yes, Major," said Willoughby, " I know what 
 troubles you, and the knowledge that it would trouble 
 you has troubled me. But nobody in the circle 
 about that hearth-stone invited that battle. They do 
 not love your cause; but if they fight it, they will 
 fight fair. If you suspect any person in Dr. Brax- 
 ton's family of sending word through your lines, you 
 do a great injustice." 
 
 Somehow the air was clearer after this declara- 
 tion which did not argue anything, but only stated 
 a conviction of the sincerity of which the Major 
 was sure. 
 
 " Besides," said Willoughby, '• why is it necessary 
 to suspect any one ? It did not happen that way. 
 Did you ever hear what the old Arab said to the 
 lion-hunter ?" 
 
 ^'No." 
 
 " Well, he said — If in the wilderness yon see a 
 lion, and he seems not to see you, wait till he has 
 passed on out of sight, and then turn short around 
 and go the other way from that in which you were 
 going when you saw him ; because he saw you, and 
 is going to wait for you at some convenient point 
 in the direction in which you were moving." 
 
THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER. 93 
 
 " Well, I do not see any connection." 
 
 " What I would suggest is this. Several times 
 yesterday on the march across the valley you saw 
 bodies of partisans and kept your command hidden 
 in the woods. They seemed not to see yon. Some 
 of them probably did see yon, watched you, fol- 
 lowed you, and reported your whereabouts to larger 
 bodies, and so brought these down upon you at 
 night." 
 
 "It may have happened that way," said the 
 Major. 
 
 "It could not have happened any other way," 
 said Willoughby ; " but if there were a thousand 
 ways in which it might have happened, none of 
 them would have touched the honor of the Braxton 
 family had they not been drawn into the circle of 
 my evil destiny." 
 
 There was an interval of silence, and the Major 
 said : 
 
 " If they are drawn into the circle of your des- 
 tiny, you arc drawn into the circle of theirs. Your 
 life is associated with Phoebe's, let us say, as much 
 as hers with yours; and is there not some seliish 
 assumption in the fancy that if the superior powers 
 liave taken a hand in, they have interfered rather 
 from your side than from hers ?" 
 
 " Why, perhaps there is," said Willoughby. " It 
 did not strike me that way." 
 
 "' Just imagine, now," said Pembroke, " a divine 
 presence upon the earth like Phoebe Braxton : a 
 beauty seldom equalled ; a grace of demeanor and 
 
94 
 
 mind, and a silent sincerity and courage that rather 
 realize what we conceive of goddesses than recall 
 what we have seen in women. Just imagine all that, 
 and then consider the absurdity of supposing that 
 the heavenly forces would sway her destiny to suit 
 that of fellows such as we are, and not ours to suit 
 hers." 
 
 ^* Certainly, certainly," said Willoughby, a little 
 dazed by new thoughts. 
 
 And then as they sat wordless again for a little 
 while, and each mused on the patli of his own specu- 
 lations, "Willoughby's thought of how his friends 
 had been swept to calamity in the whirl of his ill- 
 fortune gave place to a definite notion that Pem- 
 broke's admiration for Phoebe was somewhat en- 
 thusiastic ; that Phoebe's beauty had impressed too 
 much the mind of this fortunate enemy. 
 
 From this it was but a short step for a lover's 
 fancy to the thought that Pembroke was in love 
 with Phoebe ; for how could he comprehend that 
 any one could admire Phoebe and not feel toward 
 her as he did ? 
 
 At the moment Willoughby reached that point 
 Pembroke had determined one that had floated 
 vaguely in his own mind, and he said : 
 
 '' Would it not be well to consider some way to 
 get these ladies out of camp — some place to send 
 them to — some plan by which they may be made 
 safe against the cliances of my company ?" 
 
 " Perhaps it would," said Willoughby ; but he said 
 this with a less ready assent than miglit have been 
 
THE GKEEN-EYED MONSTER. 95 
 
 expected from one who could not but have been 
 liappy at the chance to get Phoebe away from tlie 
 danger he now imagined. 
 
 For a perverse humor now suggested a wonder 
 whether the Yankee officer — in a minute the friend 
 of his romantic adventures liad become a mere 
 ''Yankee officer" — had not some undeclared pur- 
 pose behind his proposition. As the women were 
 now, they had tlie guarantee of the lionor of an 
 officer under the constant observation of his men. 
 Outside Pembroke's lines a few shots mio^ht remove 
 Willoughby and the others. Nobody could ever 
 tell who fired those shots, and Phoebe would be in 
 the hands of her new admirer without even that 
 thin defence. 
 
 Jealousy knows no limit in the extravagance of 
 its apprehensions. 
 
 "Your thought that we might be assailed and 
 overwhelmed any night," said Pembroke, "and 
 the reflection of what might then happen to them, 
 made me suppose that you would like to undertake 
 to guide them to some safe place. You can be 
 paroled to go for that purpose, if you care to, but I 
 do not urge it." 
 
 " It is true," said Willoughby, " there is a possible 
 danger here ; but outside your lines evil is even 
 raore^imminent. In this part of Virginia there is 
 no government of law, and the men in arms, though 
 they call themselves soldiers, are not always true to 
 the name." 
 
 '•You do not care, then, to make this effort?" 
 
96 *' AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Well, tlieii, I would suggest another step, also 
 with a view to the welfare of these ladies. We are 
 out of rations. Men whom we send out to forage 
 either get lost in the wilderness or are captured; 
 the}^ never return.* We are on an uncertain run, 
 and are at best so far from our destination that there 
 is likely to be suffering from hunger before we 
 reacli it. Therefore I propose that you on parole 
 leave the camp, alone, and endeavor to help us ; 
 that if you find a farm-house you send food for the 
 women ; always with the understanding that if you 
 find Union troops you report us, with the guarantee 
 of your parole, and if you fall into the hands of 
 Southern troops you are free, but must keep our 
 secret, while doing all that you may in honor to 
 help the Braxtons." 
 
 Only one thought went through Willoughby's 
 mind as he heard this out, and that was : 
 
 " He is determined to get rid of me, one way or 
 another." 
 
 Pembroke was surprised at Willoughby's in- 
 difference to this proposition, and did not know 
 what to make of it; and w^lien Willoughby said that 
 he " would like to think it over," Pembroke left 
 him, with the conviction that there was something 
 in him that he did not understand. 
 
 From that interview the Major went and called 
 
 *We bad lost in Ibis way at tbat time scvcu privates, a ser- 
 geant, and a corporal. 
 
THE GEEEN-EYED MOKSTEIl. 97 
 
 upon the ladies. His mind was easy about tlie 
 Braxtons as to tlie point at least that had been in it 
 when he first sat down with Willoughby, and some 
 reaction provoked the notion that he had done them 
 injustice, and he wished now to make such reparation 
 as there mio^ht be in courteous attention. 
 
 Every daughter of Eve has, I suppose, enongh of 
 the feminine instinct to put up a hand and feel if 
 her hair is properly adjusted as she suddenly finds 
 herself in the presence of a man ; perhaps, even, 
 every woman has enough coquetry to want to pro- 
 duce a good effect upon any man she meets — for is 
 not that the designated purpose of her charms ? It 
 is therefore not a point of great consequence that 
 nobody ever saw Phoebe in our camp but her 
 toilet was as scrupulously and daintily made as the 
 Major's own, and he was one of the men who in- 
 dulged himself to an extreme degree in that piece 
 of military foppery of wanting to be always ready 
 to die in clean linen and with his hair parted. 
 
 It must have had some peculiar effect upon the 
 Major that afternoon to find Phoebe so resplendently 
 beautiful in the simplicity of her toilet ; for his 
 call was very short. Some agitation interfered with 
 his enjoyment of that pleasant company, and soon 
 after he had left them Mrs. Chichester and Phoebe 
 came forth and also made a call upon Willoughby. 
 They talked very earnestly for many minutes; 
 they talked of tlie project of their all leaving the 
 camp together, and Phoebe was against it ; they 
 talked of Willoughby's going alone, and Phoebe was 
 7 
 
98 
 
 ill favor of it, whereupon Willoiigliby became ob- 
 stinately silent. Then Mrs. Cliichester walked away 
 a little, but Phoebe stayed with Willoughby. 
 
 Willoughby spoke suddenly and rapidly. 
 
 " The Yankee Major," he said with the irritation 
 and half-anger of a jealous man, and watching her 
 as if he spoke rather to see the effect his words 
 would have than merely to convey a thought, " the 
 Major wishes that you may love him." 
 
 " He is not so foolish," she said with a perfectly 
 natural air. " How can he imagine that I should 
 love two men at once? But he has not by word or 
 otherwise treated me in any way but with the most 
 distant and respectful courtesy." 
 
 ^* Ah, he is an adroit one. He would not go be- 
 yond cool courtesy unless certain that a more famil- 
 iar style would be welcome." 
 
 "Well, if he waits to adopt a more familiar style 
 until he shall see in my conduct some evidence that 
 it would be welcome, he will wait at least as long as 
 you, Arthur, can desire." 
 
 " You can scarcely comprehend what precautions 
 may bo necessary with such a man." 
 
 " He is a man of honor, Arthur." 
 
 " I wish you had never seen him, Phoebe." 
 
 " It was not my fault that I saw him." 
 
 " You reproach me for doing what I was tempted 
 to do by the desire to see you." 
 
 "I do not reproach you ; but if I did, it would be 
 because, having brought me into such relations, your 
 own faith is the first to fail." 
 
THE GREEN^-EYED MONSTER. 99 
 
 And thus were Arthur and Phoebe fairly started 
 down the incline of that dangerous indulgence, a 
 lover's quarrel. 
 
 "We got away from that camp at nightfall, intend- 
 ing to make five miles and rest ; one of the princi- 
 pal points involved in this short march being that 
 it was high time we changed our position, because 
 it might have been studied by some one for a night- 
 attack ; and once on foot to get away from that pos- 
 sibility, it did not seem worth while to move less 
 than five miles. We cut loose from all the darkies 
 except those we could make use of as guides, and 
 the women went with us because they were afraid 
 to be left in this wild region alone, and the Major 
 felt himself responsible for their welfare. 
 
 We made our five miles that night, and made 
 twenty the next day. Half-rations was all we had 
 now, and moving in this stony wilderness of the 
 mountain-top, we had not seen a house nor an ear 
 of corn. Some of the men got two little thin sheep 
 on the second day's march, the little remnants per- 
 haps of some larger number that had been driven 
 away to feed the enemy. At the end of our twenty- 
 five miles we called the place " Camp Hungry Man's 
 Home." From that camp the Major sent out next' 
 day ten men to skyugle through the whole region 
 for supplies and information. We never saw any 
 of those men again, though we did not march for a 
 day. At peep of day we were on foot again. This 
 was the sixth day from the time we had left Brax- 
 
100 
 
 ton House, and we had lived all this time on the 
 rations that Lieutenant Wood had hastily packed on 
 our four mules that night. But we had now reached 
 the head of the ridge or spur we were on, and were 
 descending from the mountain somewhat on the 
 western slope. The darkies said we were making 
 for Winchester. We estimated that day's march at 
 ten miles. 
 
 We halted at a place the darkies called Corksci-ew 
 Cut, though why they did not know. 
 
 It was a queer place. All one side was covered 
 by the perpendicular rocky wall of mountain at the 
 foot of which we stood and from which sloped out 
 a wide and pleasant plateau. The edge of this pla- 
 teau was the brow of another steep descent, as if the 
 mountain went down in natural terraces or great 
 steps. But we had come into this place at one end, 
 and the way down the mountain was at the other 
 end, for we were yet far above the level of the 
 valley. 
 
 We were now at a critical point in our progress. 
 If we stayed on the mountain, we should all starve to 
 death ; if we went down, we might march into the 
 enemy's lines, for we could only guess at the pos- 
 sibility of movements of troops that had taken place 
 in those days. But the boys were used to such 
 critical possibilities, and they did not lie awake 
 thinking about our position. Neither, I suppose, 
 did the ladies, because to march into a town held 
 by the enemy's troops could not especially distress 
 them. 
 
CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 willoughby's depaettjee. 
 
 In the afternoon of the day we spent in Corkscrew 
 Cut Major Pembroke invited tlie ladies and the pris- 
 oners to dine with him on the parade, and the boys 
 who had charge of the headquarters mess had a lively 
 time getting ready for that little feast. It is never 
 very easy to prepare a banquet in time of famine, 
 but the effort stimulates imagination, and that day 
 the boys actually found a lean heifer somewhere on 
 the mountain-side. 
 
 Tlie point of this little spree was the proposed 
 departure of Willoughby ; for it appears that he 
 had that day reconsidered his refusal, and sent word 
 to the Major that he would willingly try his fortune 
 as a scout in the valley. 
 
 Some of the boys joked between themselves about 
 the Major's attentiveness to the ladies. They thought 
 his heart was, maybe, caught in the glances of Miss 
 Phoebe's beautiful eyes. And as the Major was an 
 extremely handsome man and a man of the most 
 engaging and amiable manners, it was thought to be 
 rather unfortunate for Captain Willoughby that his 
 fair sweetheart had fallen into such pleasant com- 
 pany. 
 
102 
 
 My own opinion at that time was that the Major's 
 eyes had more effect upon Miss Braxton than hers 
 upon him. He could not but liave admired her. 
 I would defy any man in that respect. Neither 
 could any man have failed to react with all his 
 sympathies to the case of a refined and charming 
 little lady suddenly dragged out from the dainty 
 and maidenly reserve of her home life, and rushed 
 through such a rough bit of campaigning experience, 
 living in camp with a pretty tough crowd of soldiers, 
 carried thronsih the eds^e of a hard mountain-iio^ht 
 at the first start, and so doubtful of the future that 
 she contemplated with terror the moment when she 
 should be parted from all these rough enemies. 
 
 Therefore the Major may have felt tenderly to- 
 ward her, and no doubt did ; but it seemed to me, 
 from the moment that I saw Miss Phoebe after the 
 Major called upon the ladies for the first time in 
 '• Camp Git-away," that there was a difference in her. 
 Some change had come over the little lady's life ; 
 and I have always thought that in that little half- 
 hour when the Major had chatted with Phoebe and 
 her old aunty together, and tried perhaps to excuse 
 himself from the accusation of any presumed w^ant 
 of gallantry, then and there, the dear little woman 
 had fallen in love with that fine, courteous and gal- 
 lant gentleman. 
 
 She in all probability did not know it ; and if 
 anybody had spoken to this effect, she would have 
 resented what the observation might imply as to 
 frivolity in her affections. But the case was clear to 
 
willoughby's departure. 103 
 
 me, and I certainly did not blame ber. Willongliby 
 was no doubt a pleasant, good-looking fellow, but 
 not a man to be mentioned on tbe same day with 
 the Major. And though when a woman loves a 
 man I suppose she sees him in a very different light 
 from that in which he appears to others, yet I 
 doubt if a woman could ever get her senses so over- 
 whelmed in that kind of delusion as not to note the 
 contrast between two such men, especially if she be 
 placed with regard to them as Miss Braxton was in 
 our camp. 
 
 As the boys talked this over they kept on with 
 their preparations. We had found near by a lumber- 
 man's shed, which we had used for kindling-wood, 
 all but the door, and out of that we made a table, 
 supported upon stakes driven into the ground. For 
 seats the ladies had cracker-boxes, and the others 
 had the pads of the mule-harness with coats thrown 
 over. 
 
 Our polished tin cups and our knives and forks 
 gave the table the appearance of a bric-a-brac deal- 
 er's lay-out. 
 
 There was a beefsteak for the grand dish. It 
 was cooked by one of our fellows who could broil 
 meat over any smoky lire and without a gridiron — 
 a thing that every one can't do. His plan was to 
 have the pan very hot and very dry, — that is, no 
 grease in it, — and to put the steak in then, and turn 
 it often ; the outside burned into a little crust and 
 kept the juice in. 
 
 It was a bright company, but thej^ were a little 
 
104 ''AS WE WEKT MARCHING ON." 
 
 awkward when tliey first sat down. The old lady, 
 however, soon got them over that. 
 
 " Major Pembroke," she said, " there is one thing 
 in regard to your house here on the mountain that 
 I like very much. You have no rats." 
 
 At this sally there was a general laugh of pleasant 
 surprise. 
 
 "Yes," she went on, "it is a great advantage. 
 At Braxton we are overrun with them, and thej^ 
 are a dreadful plague. You can scarcely under- 
 stand, I suppose, what a comfort it is, when you hap- 
 pen to wake in the night, not to liear those mis- 
 chievous creatures rattling up nnd down in the wall 
 or gnawing at the beams." 
 
 "Well," said the Major, "we are delighted to 
 know that our hospitality is not entirely without its 
 agreeable side. I hope that Miss Braxton has also 
 found something that may lighten in her thoughts 
 its rougher features." 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I also have found at least one 
 good point in your house ; it is not lonesome." 
 
 As she said this with a ladylike tranquillity, ac- 
 quitting herself of an obligation to which she had 
 been challenged, her eyes turned softly and confi- 
 dently toward Willoughby, and that poor fellow 
 imagined he was the object of the pleasant thought 
 behind this observation. But I saw that he was not, 
 and I believe that old Aunt Hetty saw it also. For 
 the glance at "Willoughby was full of the confidence 
 that a girl has toward a fellow of little moment ; 
 but the timidity with which she tried to keep her 
 
willoughby's departure. 105 
 
 eyes away from those of Pembroke's and the ner- 
 vous uneasiness which she could not control told 
 another story. 
 
 "Well, ladies and gentlemen/' said Lieutenant 
 Wood, "upon me honor it is not altogether the 
 worst house we ever were in ; far from it, indeed, 
 especially when we consider the presence of the 
 ladies, and the honor they do to our table. But 
 there is one pynt in respect to which I would be 
 glad to change many a house like this against one 
 like Braxton House. We have none of the doc- 
 thor's foine old Medayrah." 
 
 Hereupon the doctor and the lieutenant dropped 
 into a pleasant consideration of the merits of the 
 different kinds of Madeira, and the thoughts thus 
 excited may have flavored the simple beverage the 
 boys had brought them. 
 
 Although there was an evident effort to be cheery 
 over that feast, it dragged a little, for all but Wil- 
 loughby ; since the ladies and the old doctor, who 
 knew of Willoughby's departure, could not but 
 feel imcertain of the issue, though it was their 
 best hope for a happy end to an enforced adven- 
 ture. Bat Willoughby himself was almost un- 
 naturally gay. This may have been another exhibi- 
 tion of that peculiarity of his character to which 
 he had referred when he told the Major how hap- 
 py he was when he had made up his mind to kill 
 himself. Doubts and uncertainties were the only 
 things that overwhelmed him. In the face of any 
 certainty, however bad, he could be gay. Thus 
 
106 
 
 having concluded to leave the camp as the Major 
 had proposed, he had suddenly become the most 
 cheerful one of the companj^, and laughed with a 
 liglit heart, and quoted Sliakspeai'e. 
 
 One quotation he made seemed so apt that old 
 Braxton thanked him for it, and said tlie words 
 comforted him. It was : 
 
 ** All places that the eye of Heaven visits 
 Are to a wise man ports and happy havens." 
 
 IS'obody lingered at table, therefore, and as it 
 was determined that Willoughbj should start at 
 once, while there was yet a bit of daylight, he was 
 accompanied on his way by all those who had sup- 
 ped with him. But the Major and Lieutenant Wood 
 only went about twenty yards beyond our pickets ; 
 while the ladies and the doctor went a good way 
 farther, and did not return until the Major had be- 
 gun to feel a little uneasy about them. 
 
 Willoughby went ahead upon his adventure as 
 cheerily, perhaps, aside from his hysterical gayety, 
 as any other man could possibly have gone with the 
 same incentives at once to go and to stay. 
 
 He had his freedom in his hands, but in the cir- 
 cumstances he probably did not set an extravagant 
 value upon it ; and what gallant young fellow leav- 
 ing his lady-love in the hands of his enemies, ex- 
 posed to all the frowns and caprices of Step-mother 
 Fortune, would have valued more highly than he did 
 this singular negative that we have deified with the 
 
TTILLOUGnUY's DEPARTURE. 107 
 
 name of freedom — this mere absence of restraint 
 upon one's will ? 
 
 Willoughby's recent experiences had taught him 
 the wisdom of a careful advance in any region which 
 might be held by troops ; so that from the moment 
 he left the camp, even on the rugged rocky crest of 
 the hill, he was attentive to every sight and sound. 
 In that spirit he went on until he gained the line of 
 heavy timber half way down the mountain ; and 
 through the dim grand aisles of the woodland — 
 aisles whose arches were pillared by oaks and chest- 
 nuts of a century's growth — he kept his way in the 
 same spirit, startled many a time by the scurry of 
 the squirrel and the scream of the jay, but finding 
 ever that his solitude was complete as to humanity. 
 
 He had avoided every opportunity to get imme- 
 diately down into the valley by old wood-roads or 
 neighborhood paths, because these are generally 
 through a somewhat open region, and he appre- 
 hended that if he approached any spot in the pos- 
 session of either our men or the enemy, he would 
 be seen as soon as he saw, and might not be able to 
 get away even if he chose. Consequently he lost a 
 great deal of time in keeping along the wooded 
 brow of the mountain for many a mile to find a spot 
 from which he could study the valley before going 
 down to it. 
 
 He found at last an apparently satisfactory place. 
 There was a sort of arm of the mountain-land, a 
 kind of wooded promontory which ran out into the 
 valley almost at a right angle with the general dircc- 
 
108 
 
 tion of the ridge, and from which he rightly judged 
 he could get a view above and below of the open 
 region, while it was probable that a road skirted at 
 its extremity the foot of this high point. 
 
 But here he found the same difficulty that he had 
 found all along the side of the main ridge : it was 
 easier to scan the far, far-away parts of the valley than 
 to inspect parts nearer by, because the whole slope 
 here also was timbered, and at any point he might 
 place himself his view was intercepted by the tops 
 of trees whose roots were thirty or forty or even a 
 hundred feet below him. He was sure, however, 
 that sooner or later he w^ould find an open place 
 from which he could get a good lookout, and so he 
 continued his tramp. But now he began to hear 
 familiar noises ; first a far-away bugle-call came so 
 faintly, yet so naturally, that it hardly attracted his 
 attention, for at that moment he was critically con- 
 sidering in his inmost thought whether it was be- 
 cause Phoebe's eyebrows were in line with one 
 another and made almost two parts of a straight line 
 that her forehead had so fine an effect, and why 
 nature had not made all women's eyebrows that 
 way. 
 
 But the distant bugle-call was repeated, and there 
 was a far-away screaming of hungry mules ; and one 
 sound following another, it suddenly dawned upon 
 the Captain's mind, with all the effect of a grand 
 discovery, that the air about him was filled with the 
 noises of an army encamped or on the march. 
 
 What army was it ? 
 
WJLLOUGHBY^S DEPARTURE. 109 
 
 If it was a Southern army, did he want to make 
 liimself known, return to his dut}", and leave Phccbe 
 in the mountains in such circumstances? If it was 
 a ]^orthern army, what was best to be done ? 
 
 But he must first ascertain what army it was, and 
 ascertain quickly, because there was not a great deal 
 of daylight left. 
 
 In the hope to get a glimpse of what was going 
 on in the direction from which these sounds came, 
 and perhaps to be able to see enough to solve the 
 doubt as to what troops they were he heard, the 
 Captain conceived the notion of surveying the scene 
 from the branches of one of the tall trees about 
 him. If one is already on the side of a mountain 
 he is not, to be sure, a great deal higher for being at 
 the top of a tree, but that little elevation of thirty 
 or forty feet puts him above the surrounding obsta- 
 cle of the foliage of other trees ; and in fact a tree 
 top was a very common site for a signal-station with 
 the armies on both sides. 
 
 He selected his tree in a little while — a tall, enor- 
 mous chestnut which stood just at the outermost 
 point of the promontory. As the mountain-side 
 fell away somewhat steeply at that place, the top of 
 this tree stood out in the forest almost as a church- 
 steeple does in a landscape ; yet from the ground at 
 the root of this tree the view of the valley was en- 
 tirely shut out by the tops of the trees that grew on 
 the downward slope. 
 
 Now the stem of this patriarch of the woods stood 
 like a doric column, straight and smooth for thirty 
 
110 ''^AS WE WENT MARCniXG ON." 
 
 feet witliont a branch, and larger about than the 
 bulge of a large barrel. 
 
 Consequently to mount into the branches of this 
 tree by climbing its own stem in the usual way was 
 not possible, for no human arms could grasp itwitli 
 " purchase" enough to sustain a man's weight ; but 
 the problem thus presented of how to get up had 
 been solved by the superabundant readiness of pro- 
 lific Nature, who miglit almost be supposed to have 
 imagined that such a need would arise. 
 
 "Within the space shaded by tlie branches of 
 the chestnut several smaller trees had sprouted, but 
 had not flourished. They maintained a doubtful 
 existence in the shadow of the giant, as small traders 
 do in the presence of some great monopolist. They 
 were nature's reserve of recruits, ready to fill the 
 place of the veteran when he should go down in 
 some tremendous battle of the November elements. 
 In this second line of the forest army one tree was 
 more vigorous than the others, and had puslied liis 
 way to the sunshine, sending a straight stem far up 
 between the branches of the senior. This was a thrifty 
 oak of ten summers whose stem Avas just of convenient 
 size for climbing, and whose rough coat was a help 
 to tlie climber, while above the stem of the oak was 
 against one of the main branches of the chest- 
 nut. 
 
 Up this smaller tree Captain Willougliby went 
 with comparative ease and celerity, and reaching the 
 branch against which it grew, made his way along 
 that to a point on the chestnut from which he had a 
 
willoughby's departure. Ill 
 
 good lookout, and could see all tliat was then to be 
 seen in the valley. 
 
 But tills was not a great deal, for the night had 
 come as suddenly as if a curtain were drawn. Here 
 and there in the landscape he could see a fire like 
 the bivoiiac-fire of troops halted for the night ; he 
 could hear also the far-away murmur of moving 
 regiments and wagons, but could get no definite 
 information from any of these facts. 
 
 He had had his climb for nothing; but no, not 
 entirely for nothing, because he now made one 
 pleasant discovery. 
 
 In some early calamity of its life this old chestnut 
 had lost the upper part of its main stem, which had 
 been broken away at that very point at which the 
 large main branches started out. Consequently 
 these main branches were disposed like the frame of 
 a crib, and the space between was a roomy hollow 
 filled just now with an inviting bed of leaves, the 
 leaves of many summers, perhaps, which had gath- 
 ered and decayed there year after year. The Cap- 
 tain perceived in this a good halting- place, and a not 
 uncomfortable one in which to pass the night. 
 
 Willoughby congratulated himself upon the good 
 fortune of this discovery, as he snuggled down in 
 this happy hollow with the satisfaction of one who 
 is weary at once with worry and with bodily fatigue. 
 
 His muscles were worn w^ith his day's march ; his 
 mind was worn with anxiety as to the chances of his 
 present attempt ; and he felt that the way would 
 seem clearer to him for some hours of sleep. 
 
112 
 
 How delicious is tlie languor with wliicli we " turn 
 in" away from tlie world, from doubts, uncertain- 
 ties, dangers, discomforts, in such a moment ! 
 
 IS'ot a squirrel on the branches could be safer from 
 the scrutiny of any chance stranger who might pass 
 below than he was, and at the first peep of day he 
 would be able to see just what he might venture in 
 the valley. 
 
 In a few minutes the drowsy charm came over his 
 senses, but he did not immediately fall into a sound 
 sleep. He was perhaps rather too weary for that, 
 and in his restlessness worked himself deeper into 
 his soft bed, and found it all the pleasanter for this. 
 He did not notice, however, that his feet had worked 
 their way into what seemed a free place, had in fact 
 been forced through the loose tissue of leaves that 
 constituted his bed ; for these leaves matted together 
 only in decay did not afford a great deal of resist- 
 ance, and the feet of the sleeper were actually 
 hanging through his mattress in an undefined hollow 
 of the tree below him. He did not notice this as he 
 turned over once more in his first uneasy sleep ; but 
 that turn broke a way for his whole body through 
 the mattress of leaves, and then — 
 
 He was startled as one who dreams he has fallen 
 over a precipice ; but, crushed, bruised, hurt, and 
 left unconscious, he did not awaken to know that it 
 was onl}^ a dream. 
 
 As soon as he gathered his wits together a little, 
 his first thought was that he had fallen from the 
 tree and was lying bruised at the bottom, or among 
 
willouguby's departure. 113 
 
 tlie broken, craggy stones down the side of the hilh 
 But liow was it then that he could not stir ; that 
 he could scarcely breathe ; that his arms, straight 
 out above his head, were held there by some inde- 
 finable force, so that he could not mov^e them ; that 
 lie could not bend his body nor lift a foot? 
 
 "Was it a dream, and was this some horrible niglit- 
 mare ? 
 
 Alas, no ! Captain Willoughby was lodged in the 
 hollow of the old chestnut, far down near to its 
 roots. His bed of leaves had been only a deceptive 
 cover to this dreadful trap, for the straight, enor- 
 mous stem of the tree was only a monstrous tube, 
 like a great organ-pipe, and into this tube, his body 
 falUng from on high, and driven by its own weight, 
 was forced to the end, and there held as closely al- 
 most as if he had been built into a w\all of solid 
 masonry. 
 
 There we shall leave him for the present, vaguely 
 wondering whether the tough sapwood that bound 
 him in was the wood of his coffin, but gamely ad- 
 dressing his reasoning faculties to that grand but 
 common human problem, how to get out of the hole 
 into which a malign destiny had dropped him. 
 8 
 
CHAPTEK X. 
 
 CUE LAST CAMP-FIKE. 
 
 That evening we had a parade on the level plateau, 
 and turned out in good shape what was left of the 
 company — about twenty-two boys that had fought 
 at Yorktown, Williamsburg, Fair Oaks, Savage 
 Station, Frazer's Farm, and Malvern Hills. 
 
 The two ladies and the old doctor came out to see 
 the show, and wlien the parade was over they and 
 the Major enjoyed a promenade to and fro across the 
 front of the plateau, which was so much like the 
 battlement of an ancient fortress that an old-time 
 chevalier or feudal lord might have felt at home 
 there. 
 
 In all my marches I never saw such a sunset as 
 we saw that day. For two days the weather had 
 been dry and breezy ; and though the air was fresh 
 and still, it was summer air, and it gave one an 
 ecstatic pleasure to breathe it and live in it. Below 
 us spread that wonderful piece of country, the Shen- 
 andoah Yalley, more beautiful, I am sure, than any 
 Garden of Eden ever was ; and behind the farther 
 wall of that valley the sun went down red fierce and 
 slow like a giant at bay, disputing his ground by 
 inches, and filling the heavens with the glory of his 
 battle. 
 
OUR LAST CAMP-FIRE. 115 
 
 It was no wonder, therefore, that the Major and 
 the ladies enjoj-ed tliis promenade. 
 
 Present!}^, however, the doctor and the old lady 
 grew weary, and sat down at one end of this reach 
 of promenade ; but the Major and the fair Phoebe 
 kept on, and entertained one another with the pleas- 
 ant interchange of ideas that may flow from such 
 circumstances. 
 
 At this time I was on post as sentinel at the upper 
 end of the plateau, and as their promenade ^vhen 
 they came that way reached to within a few feet of 
 where I paced my beat, I caught from time to time, 
 and in a fragmentary way, a little of what they said ; 
 and I listened, not to hear the words, but only to 
 hear the witchery of that woman's voice ; yet the 
 words came to me, of course. 
 
 All that I heard them say ran, strangely enough, 
 upon one subject, and a pleasant subject, for it was 
 provoked by the word Cupid, and touched upon the 
 figurative representations of the passion of love. 
 Perhaps that is not an unnatural theme between a 
 gentleman and a lady who do not feel so deeply in- 
 terested in one another but that they may treat this 
 passion in a tone of pleasant raillery and laugh at the 
 littlegodasan impostor and as one who fools others. 
 
 But the tone of frivolity was all on the Major's 
 side. The lady's words were convincingly serious. 
 She clearly did not regard love as a joke. 
 
 "That a passion should be pictured as a god," 
 said Pembroke, "implies the sovereignty of pas- 
 
116 
 
 "No," said the lady, " it implies that this passion 
 is pure, disinterested, and absolute in its dominion 
 over the human soul." 
 
 And then they passed down to the other end of 
 the promenade and I did not hear ; but they appar- 
 ently kept to the same point, for as they came again 
 I heard the Major say : 
 
 " And yet under the influence of this dominion 
 see wliat happens to every one, nearly. What a 
 mad intoxication it becomes ! How duty and great 
 obligations are forgotten while men linger in the 
 enjoyment of delights which make one imagine that 
 the story of the garden of Armida is the most real 
 picture of existence." 
 
 " But," said the siren- voice, " is not this perhaps 
 intended to teach- us that our duties and obligations 
 so called are merely conventionalities, to which in a 
 perverted imagination we give an importance that 
 the}^ do not deserve ? Is it not nature's testimony 
 that in the struggle to succeed in life we have taken 
 an erroneous measure of what is important, and that 
 the fruits of this passion are worthier than the things 
 that most men pursue ?" 
 
 Then it seemed to me there was silence in heaven 
 for half an hour more or less, and they made two or 
 three turns in which I did not hear a word. Next 
 time there was more of the light raillery. 
 
 "And this little god," said the Major, "carries a 
 torch to set the world aflame with." 
 
 "No," said the lady, "I should understand that 
 he carries a torch in order that those under his do- 
 
OUR LAST CAMP-FIRE. 117 
 
 minion may see life in tlie light lie casts upon it, 
 rather than in the changeable light of common 
 day." 
 
 It seemed to me that at that moment the world 
 about these two was illumined by that peculiar radi- 
 ance, and that the mystic glimmer of the stars was 
 not in conflict with it. 
 
 They walked on, and the conversation assumed a 
 different tone. 
 
 " In one way or another," said the Major, '•' we 
 are near to the end of an association that misfor- 
 tune has inflicted upon you." 
 
 " Oh, Major Pembroke," said Miss Braxton, 
 " please say it in some other way ; for while it is a 
 misfortune, of course, — especially to Arthur and 
 Aunty and Papa, — yet there are other ways in which 
 we will more delight to remember much of all 
 this." 
 
 *' "Well," he continued, ''" I only wanted to say 
 that it is well to reflect upon the possibilities before 
 us, that we may be the more ready for whatever 
 conies, and therefore — " 
 
 " And yet," she said, interrupting, '' I thought 
 that with the many incommodities of a soldier's life 
 there was mingled the one charm of carelessness for 
 the future, and that freedom from bother which is 
 found in taking things as they come." 
 
 ''Well," said the Major, " that is rather an ideal 
 account of it than a true statement of experience in 
 our army. Where can you imagine more anxiety 
 involved than in the thought of a lost battle or a 
 
118 ^^AS WE WENT MARCHIKG ON." 
 
 lost opportunity ? And then if one liapj)ens to be re- 
 sponsible for the immediate safety of fair ladies — " 
 
 " Yes, yes," she said ; ^' bnt if we are to part so 
 soon, that will be over, and I hope you will not re- 
 member it too severely against us." 
 
 "Come what may," he said, "I shall always hold 
 it as the happiest chance of my life that I met you." 
 
 And she made a little courtesy as in a merry mock- 
 ceremony ; but the words pleased her. 
 
 ''We are now," said the Major seriously, "not 
 more than a march from some town or village in the 
 valley, and from that point we shall get to Winches- 
 ter as we are, or perhaps as prisoners. I shall wait 
 here to-morrow in hope to hear from Captain 
 Willoughby, and then go on, as advised by him or 
 without his advice ; for if he does not return or send, 
 it will be a sign in itself." 
 
 " A sign of what ?" she said. 
 
 "A sign that he has fallen into Confederate 
 hands, would not betray me, and could not send help 
 without." 
 
 "Yes," she said ; " or perhaps a sign of some new 
 misfortune. Arthur is wonderfully unlucky." 
 
 " JSTot in one respect, at least," said the Major. 
 
 But I heard no more of that conversation, though 
 it appeared to continue ; for I was relieved and went 
 to my quarters, where I heard the boys discussing 
 the manoeuvre of sending Willoughby out as a 
 scout. 
 
 Strangely enough there was a sense of relieved 
 tension ; a feeling of lightness of spirit such as old 
 
OUR LAST CAMP-FIRE. 119 
 
 soldiers experience at tlie beginniDg of a battle, be- 
 cause they comprehend that the puzzle and labor of 
 marching and manoeuvring and all the nncertaintj 
 are over and things are to be determined one way or 
 another forthwith. 
 
 This was due to the universal prevalence of the 
 opinion that Willoughby would betray us, and that 
 there would be high jinks before we wei-e all a day 
 older. 
 
 He was, if we never saw him again, only a pris- 
 oner gone, and in that sense no great loss ; departure 
 made one less mouth to feed, and he might be of 
 service to us as to supplies and other assistance. 
 
 All this was clear enough, and as clearly admit- 
 ted ; yet there were many who did not like this de- 
 parture. 
 
 Some had no other reason except simply that 
 " they did not like it." They perhaps had some in- 
 stinctive perception of possible evil consequences, 
 but could not define it. 
 
 Others, bolder or more equal to the occasion in 
 speech, put it clearly that "you can't trust one of 
 those fellows in any circumstances." They did not 
 believe that an enemy could possibly find himself 
 possessed of an advantage without using it. Conse- 
 quently they argued that Willoughby's departure 
 meant trouble for us — the destruction or capture of 
 what was left of the company through his betrayal 
 of our position to the enemy; and many a fellow lay 
 down in our camp that night in the absolute convic- 
 tion that he would be awakened to rally for the last 
 
120 
 
 desperate figlit that Company II would ever be 
 called upon to face. 
 
 My remembrance of the last waking hours of 
 that ever-memorable day is distinctly witli me yet. 
 Our mess was around a little fire, and the boys had 
 eaten their supper and lighted their pipes, and were 
 talking over Willoughby's departure and a hundred 
 other things more or less related to our position. 
 Wrapped in my blanket, and stretched on the cool 
 earth a dozen feet away, I fell into that edge of 
 dreamland where one feels half the charm of slumber, 
 yet has a w^aking consciousness of all that is going on. 
 
 As I lay that way, watching the faces of the boys 
 illumined by the little blaze of the camp-fire, — a 
 pretty picture framed in the infinite glory of the 
 night, — I heard the clear, fine voice of Charley Otis 
 recite a poem that our fellows had a great liking 
 for, and that had been written by one of our com- 
 pany. It was called *• We've Come to Stay," and 
 was as follows: 
 
 " They were uot pranked for dress parade ; 
 They wore DO plumes; no golden braid 
 
 Glistened or gleamed with lustre gay 
 On those who through the taugled vines 
 Called with a jibe across the lines, 
 
 'Heigh, Johnnie Reb, we've come to stay!' 
 
 " From Malvern IIill& to Roanoke, 
 In rain and shine and battle-smoke, 
 
 Always alert and always gay; 
 In march by night, and fight at dawn, 
 On many a field their line was drawn : 
 
 And where 'twas drawn, 'twas drawn to slay. 
 
OUR LAST CAMP-FIRE. 121 
 
 " Behind that line that could not yield 
 No rebel footstep touched the field 
 
 On which our battle-rainbow rose; 
 Behind that line of fire and steel 
 The dead might fall, the dying reel, — 
 
 But only dead or dying foes. 
 
 " Ah me! too true that battle-cry 
 Echoed to hearts then proud and high; 
 And many a grave beside the way, 
 On mountain-height, by vale and stream, 
 Or where the woodlands drowse and dream. 
 Will well attest they went to stay. 
 
 * There they yet stand as daylight falls, 
 Still sentinels on freedom's walls; 
 
 And shall stand till the final day. 
 And when his bugle-call divine, 
 Gabriel shall sound along the line. 
 
 They'll answer, ' Here! We came to stay.' " 
 
 And then another fellow gave a song in a gayer 
 note. It was a jingle the boys loved to hear, and 
 they called it " The Fringe of Steel." 
 
 "Forward! Forward! Forward! 
 
 And bugles far and fine 
 Send the brave order right and left, 
 
 And onward sweeps the line! 
 And every soldier's ready 
 
 And proudly fills his place; 
 For now at last the foe is here, 
 
 And we are face to face. 
 
 'Across the open broken ground, 
 Breast-high the river through, 
 And bravely up the other slope 
 Goes on the line of blue. 
 
122 ''AS WE WE]S"T MARCHING ON." 
 
 What tliougli some heroes here and there 
 
 The deadly reason feel? 
 The azure line sweeps grandly on, 
 
 Bearing its fringe of steel! 
 
 ** And now the air above them 
 
 Is filled with bursts of foam, 
 And many an iron messenger 
 
 Reaches his destined home; 
 And cannons play their grape-shot 
 
 As summer clouds play rain, 
 And the close file-fire wakens death, 
 
 But all alike in vain ! 
 
 "For, see, the levelled pieces 
 
 In the last mortal brunt, 
 Right at the muzzles of the guns, 
 
 Carry the fringe iu front! 
 Forward I Forward ! Forward ! 
 
 And bugles far and fine 
 Send the brave order wide and free. 
 
 And onward goes the line!" 
 
 And tlius hearing the songs and stories and gab- 
 ble of tlie boys about the lire, I drowsed away and 
 lost myself in slumber. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 CUT TO PIECES. 
 
 As nearly as I can count an hour by recollection 
 of the incidents of the night, it was at about two 
 A.M., when all seemed as peaceful in our little 
 camp as the night may be in a city of the dead, that 
 the report of a rifle-shot rang out and rattled and 
 reverberated up the hills. Every man in camp was 
 on foot in an instant. Sometimes it is true a rifle 
 is discharged by accident, even in the night ; some- 
 times a nervous soldier on picket-duty will fire at 
 what he only imagines is a man. But everybody 
 instinctively felt that there was no accident this time. 
 Every one jumped to the conclusion that they who 
 had suspected the Confederate oflicer were right ; 
 that he had betrayed our secret, and that the enemy 
 was upon us. 
 
 That shot was fired at the line of our picket down 
 the hill ; but there was scarcely time to have a doubt 
 as to its whereabouts before another shot settled it, 
 and then we heard it bang ! bang ! bang ! all up 
 and down that very short line, as when the pickets 
 all descry the same object and blaze away at it as 
 fast as they can load and fire. Our line was drawn 
 up, in shorter time than it takes to tell it, across 
 that narrow part of the plateau from which a kind 
 
124 ''AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 of blind wood-road led down tlie hill ; and as we 
 silently loaded our pieces, we could hear the shout 
 and rush of a conflict up the hillside, and knew that 
 the enemy were on our fellows, and that all would 
 come in together. 
 
 But that could not be helped, and we stood at 
 readv to receive them with at least one £:ood fire, 
 and with the confidence that we could give them 
 all they came for unless there was enough of them 
 to sweep around our line, which did not cover half 
 the width of the plateau. 
 
 " Take care to fire above our boys as they come 
 in," said the Major. 
 
 And the brilliant gleam of the stars would easily 
 help us to that end. 
 
 In another second came the rush, the tumble, 
 the flight, the pursuit, helter-skelter, pell-mell, of 
 a mass of horsemen driving our fellows ; and just as 
 they came up the slope fair on a level, the Major's 
 voice rang over the din, clear and loud : 
 
 ''Fire!" 
 
 We fired like one man ; and then the front rank 
 at the order fixed bayonets, went forward a pace, 
 and dropped to receive cavalry, while we behind 
 pegged away at the mass. Our first fire of about 
 fourteen rifles staggered them, or perhaps knocked 
 the head of their column into a cocked hat, for there 
 was a moment's lull in the noise ; and there was a 
 gleam of hope that if some of them did not scram- 
 ble down to our left and find the end of the line 
 we might beat them off. 
 
CUT TO PIECES. 125 
 
 Bat it was only a gleam. There were a great many 
 behind those who first came, and tliey were not the 
 sort of fellows we liad had on onr hands at Braxton 
 House, but regular cavalry from a North Carolina 
 regiment ; and though astonished at our first fire, 
 they swept in an instant later and filled the whole 
 plateau, and rode us down front and rear. There 
 was a desperate conflict of four or five minutes, 
 when our line was broken. Sabres and bayonets 
 encountered with the fine jingle of such metal; 
 clubbed muskets and carabines came down on men's 
 heads ; there were shouts and groans and curses, — 
 and Company II was done for. Every man of our 
 little party was either dead or wounded. It was 
 the most complete calamity I ever saw. 
 
 Exactly how long a time elapsed I don't know, 
 nor what was the occasion of the delay; for, dazed 
 and hurt, I had almost lost the power of observation 
 or reflection ; but after a while I heard near me an 
 ofiicer report to him who was the commander of this 
 cavalry that this 
 
 '^ Seemed to be Yankee soldiers from east of the 
 mountain; that there were twenty-four; that the 
 ofiicers were killed or mortally wounded ; that there 
 were twelve men dead of the Yankees, and fifteen 
 of their own ; that all the remainder of the Yankees 
 were hurt, and that ten of their own men were too 
 badly hurt to go on." 
 
 " They fought like the deuce, Charley," said the 
 commander as he sat sidewise on his horse and 
 smoked a pipe, " for such a little party." 
 
126 
 
 "Yes, sir; they were tongli fellows." 
 
 " They must be from the Army of the Potomac." 
 
 " Well, sir, they wasn't militia." 
 
 " It's singular they should be here. Hi, there ! 
 send word to the captain of the right company to 
 keep a sharp lookout ahead; there must be more, 
 certainly. And, Charley, leave the dead and mor- 
 tally wounded where they are, but take half a dozen 
 files and send the other wounded with our wounded 
 down the mountain." 
 
 This order rather surprised me ; but I could not 
 then give myself any account of why it should 
 surprise me. 
 
 Then in a little while I heard the movements of 
 this force like the rush of a storm ; and certainly it 
 had come upon us like a mounted whirlwind, as it 
 moved away over the mountain in the direction 
 from which we had reached this accursed spot. The 
 order which 1 had heard given with regard to us was 
 acted upon so energetically that by daylight we 
 were all in the street of some little village near the 
 foot of the mountain, the wounded rebs sharing 
 with us the refreshment of the cups of coffee they 
 made by the roadside. 
 
 Some of our boys, as we went down the mountain, 
 talked about the fight in that spirit of free criticism 
 of the officers that was perhaps too common in our 
 army. Many wondered whether it would have been 
 possible for us to whip the cavalry if we had been 
 differently handled, and thought that a small body 
 of infantry like ours should be equal to a regiment 
 
CUT TO PIECES. 127 
 
 of cavalry on such a hillside. That might be true 
 as to some hillsides ; but on this succession of easy- 
 slopes the cavalry was not at a great disadvantage. 
 
 One fellow thought we could have done better 
 if we had been spread through the woods, flanking 
 the road by which the cavalry advanced, and had 
 thence peppered them with skirmish-iire. 
 
 Another thought we would have been posted that 
 way if we had not been surprised. 
 
 " Well," said the first, " what right has a company 
 of a veteran regiment to be surprised, anyhow ?" 
 
 In short, there was the usual array of military 
 knowledge ; but a generous silence about the Major, 
 which would not have been observed if he had not 
 perished in the conflict. 
 
 In my opinion, infantry can never hold its ground 
 against cavalry in such a case ; that is, if there is 
 plenty of cavalry, and the cavalry knows what it 
 wants to do, and is determined to do it. Plenty of 
 stories I know are told about adamantine squares, 
 and all that; but a good deal of it is romance, and 
 the rest is nonsense. Suppose only one horseman 
 comes, and you put a dozen bullets into his nag and 
 two or three into him, and have got a line of bayonets 
 ready. He jumps his horse fair into your square 
 just as he's two or three paces away. You kill 'em 
 both, of course, but horse and man fall on your line. 
 The mere dead weight of the horse's body, not to 
 mention his struggling as he kicks and sprawls, opens 
 two or three files. Half a dozen other horsemen 
 follow at that point, and your square is gone. 
 
128 
 
 That's the ^Yay it seems to me, though wc 
 never liad much of that. As for those squares of 
 tlie Old Guard at Waterloo which ai-e always quoted, 
 I don't believe the storv. It is a romantic exagger- 
 ation to glorify a little more the subjects of a line 
 old legend. Perhaps the cavalry had other fish to 
 fry just then, and could not attend to those old 
 duffers. Perhaps it was the correct tactical thing 
 in that battle to leave the squares alone, and go for 
 the fellows that were on the run. Either that, or it 
 was not first-rate cavahy. 
 
 Commonly every cavalryman is ready to let an- 
 other cavalryman liave the glory of being the first 
 man in the square, and that sort of generosit}^ saves 
 the square. 
 
 One of our fellows exhibited all the way down 
 the hill a great deal of distress for a reason that 
 seemed rather comic to the rest of us. 
 
 " Imagine it !'' he said, " what a name for a fight — 
 Corkscrew Cut ! Why, when it appears in there- 
 ports that our company fought till the last man was 
 down at Corkscrew Cut, the boys will only laugh. 
 All the glory will be lost in the thought of such a 
 ridiculous name ;" and thereupon he launched out 
 into a tirade against the absurdity of Southern 
 names, and the commonplace character of the names 
 of our battles by comparison with the names of the 
 fights in the ancient wars. 
 
 But another one of the fellows, a college man, 
 used him up on that point about the ancient names, 
 thouojh he agreed with him that it was disgusting 
 
CUT TO PIECES. 129 
 
 to be killed or wounded at a place with such a name 
 as Corkscrew Cut. 
 
 " As for the ancient names," said this fellow, 
 " they were just like our names, often only de- 
 scriptions of natural facts — combinations of familiar 
 syllables; but they have a dignity for us due to 
 their association witli great events rather than with 
 mere incident of topography. Thermopylae, for in- 
 stance, means the pass at the hot springs ; but such 
 a phrase as the fight at Hot Springs Pass will 
 never get at the roots of your hair as do those won- 
 derful words, tlie fight at Thermopylae." 
 
 In the village we learned that General Pope had 
 been pulverized on the eastern side of the mountains 
 a few days before ; that all of Lee's army was 
 sweeping into Maryland and Pennsylvania; and 
 that it would be at Philadelphia in a few days, as 
 the Army of the Potomac was cut to pieces. 
 
 That was their story. 
 
 Down this valley also some part of the invading 
 force was in motion — we did not learn what part ; 
 but as we were far to one side of their march in 
 this little village, there was no surgeon to help us. 
 Then suddenly came to me a thought of old Dr. 
 Braxton. Where was he ? Where were they ? 
 And I remembered that in the report made to the 
 ofiicer I had not heard a word about women. Had 
 they been hurt in the melee^ or had they at the first 
 alarm crept away and hidden in some crevice of the 
 mountain, guided by the old darkies, who seemed to 
 know every 'coon-hole in all that region ? My head 
 9 
 
130 
 
 was not very clear tlien ; but I remember that it 
 occurred to me that as the women were not men- 
 tioned, and as this cavahy went over the mountain, 
 it was possible that it had not been sent for us espe- 
 cially, and that consequently the Secesh officer 
 Arthur might have had no hand in our fate ; but 
 appearances were against him, and nobody else 
 thought as I did about it. 
 
 In the course of that day there came a great many 
 darkies about us, women and pickaninnies or very 
 old men ; and they were all eager to help us to some 
 little comforts of food and sympathy when not ob- 
 served by the guards or by the vindictive white 
 women near. Toward night there was one old man 
 whose odd demeanor attracted my attention ; and ob- 
 serving him closely, I saw that he was one who had 
 been with the Braxton family, and who was the 
 Major's principal help as to ways through the moun- 
 tain. Immediately my imagination ran wild with 
 the fancy that his appearance here was with some 
 purpose, and that he had a communication to make 
 to some of us. Presently I made a pretext of want- 
 ing to take a few steps down to the end of the barn- 
 yard that served for the time as guard-house ; so I 
 called this fellow to lend me his shoulder, as my leg 
 had a sabre-cut and I could by this time not bear 
 my weight on that side. He came as if unwillingly, 
 grumbling and cursing the Yankees ; and this I saw 
 was an adroit ruse on the old fellow's part to de- 
 ceive the guard. As I bore my elbow on his shoul- 
 der and walked slowly with a great deal of pain, he 
 
CUT TO PIECES. 131 
 
 said, in a style that showed his appreciation of time : 
 
 " Corp'ral, I seen de Major. He's done gone dead. 
 In his pocket I found dis letter. What shall I do 
 with it ?" And he held close to him so I could see just 
 it, a letter he had found in the Major's pocket. It 
 was addressed '' To Keuben Pettibone, Esq., Port- 
 land, Maine. This letter is to be posted only if found 
 on my dead body ;" and below some one had writ- 
 ten — perhaps this old Sambo — " done gone knockt 
 on hed wid but eend muskit." 
 
 As he hastily thrust this into his coat again, I 
 said to him : 
 
 " It ought to go North. Can you send it?" 
 
 " Shuah, corp'ral, shuah 1 Send it by de grape- 
 vine telegraph." 
 
 That was a postal arrangement much in use then, 
 and equivalent to the " underground railroad " for 
 forbidden travel between the sections. 
 
 " Send it, then," I said ; " it may be of great im- 
 portance to his family." 
 
 " Send it shuah, boss ; wish to golly dis old nigger 
 could do more dan dat." 
 
 " Where are the ladies ?" I said. 
 
 " Guess day'm safe nu£E in de mountains, cor- 
 p'ral." And before I could get more from him he 
 slipped away and was gone ; nor was his coming or 
 going much more observed than would have been 
 that of one more fly in a swarm. 
 
 But what had really happened in the mountains 
 was as follows : 
 
 As soon as the cavalry had swept away, and the 
 
132 *'AS WE WENT MARCHIKG ON." 
 
 guard detailed had got fairly started down the 
 mountains with the wounded, this old darky had 
 been the first to creep out of the hole in which he 
 had lain hidden through the fight. It was not yet 
 daylight, but he had fumbled around in the hope that 
 he could be of some help to those left on the field. 
 He had found them all, however, beyond his sur- 
 gery. Then the thought of valuables or papers had 
 occurred to him ; but the IS^orth Carolina fellows 
 had been ahead of him there, and all he had found 
 was this letter in the Major's pocket which he had 
 shown me, and which now, therefore, went forward 
 with the strange additions to its superscription. 
 
 But the Major was not then really dead ; though 
 the old uncle, who was not an adept in symptoms, 
 was justified in believing that he was, since he had 
 received such injuries of the brain as simulated that 
 condition. ]^o doubt the surgeon of the cavalry 
 had reported him mortally wounded. 
 
 Some hours later the field was looked over by 
 more instructed eyes than those of the old darky. 
 Dr. Braxton and the two ladies had, it appears, been 
 on foot almost as soon as any of us that night at the 
 first shot ; and foreseeing what might happen, they 
 had clambered by a narrow zigzag path almost up the 
 perpendicular wall of the mountain, and looked down 
 upon the field as if from a swallow's nest in the side 
 of a cliff, or as if from a cliff-house like those in 
 the Arizona mountains. As soon as the broadening 
 light showed that there was no one on foot below, 
 but only dead or dying men, they all came down. 
 
CUT TO PIECES. 133 
 
 Miss Phoebe was a brave little spirit, not dis- 
 mayed by the presence of death. She found the 
 body of the Major, and was the first to discover 
 that there was life in him yet. She watched and 
 was sure she could observe his respiration. Her 
 father soon confirmed her opinion. He found that 
 the Major had a bullet in his brain, and had his 
 skull fractured, perhaps hit with the butt end of a 
 cavalry carabine, but that he was not dead yet. 
 
 Thereupon Miss Phoebe declared that she would 
 not leave while he was alive, or that he must be car- 
 ried to some place of refuge in the mountains where 
 he could be cared for. The old doctor was not a 
 hard-hearted man, as we all knew ; but surgeons are 
 apt to suppose that a man w^ho has but a few hours 
 to live can die as well in one place as another ; and 
 as the Major's hurts were certainly mortal, he ap- 
 plied that reasoning to this case. 
 
 But Phoebe said : 
 
 " Father, we are Christians, at least ; and this offi- 
 cer, though he thought himself compelled to do 
 toward us acts that were those of an enemy, did all 
 with a high-minded gentlemanly courtesy that it 
 would be barbarous in us to forget when evil has 
 come upon him.'' 
 
 "Yes, brother," said Aunt Hetty; "Phoebe is 
 right about this. We cannot leave him to die like a 
 stricken animal by the wayside." 
 
 " And besides," said Phoebe, '- if one of our own 
 circle — dear me ! it is terrible to say it, but it must 
 
134 
 
 be said, and will be said — if Arthur had a hand in 
 this !" 
 
 " Arthur !" said the old gentleman, as if such a 
 thought had not dawned upon him. " Impossible, 
 child!" 
 
 " He was dreadfully angry when he went away," 
 said Phoebe. 
 
 And Aunt Hetty tried to say a word, but broke 
 down in an overwhelming burst of tears. 
 
 Thereupon the doctor went away to see some 
 other wounded ones, and left them to their own 
 devices. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AT SKIBBEVAN. 
 
 From tlie spot where lie was knocked over, the 
 Major was carried by the contrabands whom Phoebe 
 called to help her, to a place called Skibbevan, 
 about a mile or two away by rough mountain foot- 
 paths. It was the thoughtfulness of one of the 
 colored assistants that suggested this refuge ; for 
 little Phoebe was at her wits' ends on this subject 
 She knew they were too far from Braxton House to 
 go there with the wounded man, even if Braxton 
 House still had a roof upon it ; and where else to 
 go she could not imagine, for she probably did not 
 know at just what point of the mountain they then 
 were. 
 
 Then a yellow girl of about Phoebe's age who 
 stood by, and who was in full sympathy with the 
 lady in this gentle service, said softly: 
 
 '' Might take him to our house, Missus Phoebe." 
 
 '•What is your house ?" 
 
 " Skibbevan." 
 
 " Yes," said Phoebe, " that is it ; take him there. 
 I'm glad you spoke. You are Agate?" 
 
 " Yes, miss." 
 
 So they went to Agate's home. 
 
 Skibbevan was Phoebe's own property. It had 
 
136 "AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 been left her bj an aunt wlio Lad died in Phoebe's 
 infancy. But it was not a productive estate ; and 
 -when Agate's mother — old Kaomi, who had been 
 Phoebe's nurse — married a miller, the place had 
 been given them for a home, and they ground corn 
 and oats for use at Braxton House to pay the rent. 
 And now for the first time in her life Phoebe re- 
 joiced that she was the owner of this hitherto 
 nearly worthless old place. 
 
 Skibbevan was a stone mill, crumbled with age ; 
 for it had been built many and many a year before, 
 and in the times when no house was of use in that 
 region unless it was also a fort. There was a tra- 
 dition that it was the first home of a civilized man 
 whose windows ever looked across the Shenandoah 
 Yalley. It stood in a croft scooped in the side of 
 the mountain, perhaps by the action of the ancient 
 torrent, the remains of which now placidlj^ turned 
 the old wheel of the mill ; and it was so placed that 
 the edges of the croft completely hid the house from 
 the view of those coming down the valley or going 
 up, and to get a fair view of it from the valley one 
 had to be well to the other side of that picturesque 
 expanse and very nearly opposite the mill. Its 
 builder's name had passed away forever from the 
 memory of man, but from its own name it was 
 reasoned that the builder had been some adventur- 
 ous Englishman of the early colonial times who, in 
 the Turkish wars or as a prisoner in the hands of 
 the Saracens, had acquired some Eastern lore, since 
 Skibbevan was supposed to be a corruption of the 
 
AT SKIBBEVAN". 137 
 
 name of one of the four Beautiful Places, or para- 
 dises, of Oriental story. 
 
 Persons who pretended to know, but whose pre- 
 tended knowledge may liave been all imagination, 
 said that in the days when Greenway Court was a 
 famous scene of colonial hospitality, many hardy 
 adventurers who went to and fro between that 
 forest home and tide- water tried different paths and 
 went different ways into the wilderness, and, sick- 
 ened with the experiences and disappointments of 
 the life of the time, made themselves homes here 
 as in the bosom of primitive nature, and that Skib- 
 bevan was built for one of these. 
 
 In recent times there had been added to the old 
 stone structure, on the other side fi-om the mill- 
 wdieel, a wooden wing, with two capacious rooms 
 on the ground-floor, and an ample piazza ; and thus 
 it was altogether a roomy and habitable place, 
 kept in good order by neat old Naomi and her 
 energetic and industrious husband Hiram. 
 
 " De Lord help us ! who's dat voice I hear down 
 dar ?" said old jSTaomi from the kitchen in the tower, 
 as Phoebe gave some directions to the men and 
 women when they reached the steps of the piazza. 
 " Dat my blessed child, slmah." 
 
 And in another second the old woman was out 
 and held Phoebe in her arms, with all the natural 
 impulse and energy of a warm heart. 
 
 "Heard drefful news, drefful news," she said. 
 "Heard dat sojers carry away old doctor. Aunt 
 
138 "AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 Hetty, my baby, everybody; burn Braxton House, 
 ruin de whole world. And all dis night I pray to do 
 Lord Jesus to help us out of dis, and dere, now, you 
 comes like a voice from heaven to comfort yer old 
 Naomi. But land o' Goshen ! what's dis ?" she 
 said, as her eye caught in the folds of the shawl the 
 blood-stained face of tlie Major. 
 
 Agate, who saw that Phoebe could not stand much 
 of this, hastily led the old woman away, and the 
 others carried the Major up and laid liim gently on 
 the piazza. 
 
 " In a jiffy," as the old woman said, Agate had 
 told her all that had taken place, and given her such 
 a glimpse of the circumstances as to show the need 
 of discretion and tranquillity, both for the sake of 
 the wounded man and the already overwrought sen- 
 sibilities of the lady ; and then JSTaomi and Agate 
 came in together, and soon prepared in front of the 
 laro^e window of the best room a comfortable fresh 
 bed, upon which the Major was laid. 
 
 Naomi managed heroically to hold her tongue 
 until this was done, and all she said then was : 
 
 " Bless us, chile, how dis will 'stonish Hiram ! But 
 Hiram's doin' bosin's work with all de men he could 
 get over to Braxton, tryin' to put out de fiah." 
 
 Water was bi'ought, and Phcebe herself, kneeling 
 down beside the bed, washed the pale, handsome 
 face of the Major with her dainty white taper 
 fingers, and disentangled his hair, matted in masses 
 with the clotted blood. 
 
 " Massy on us !" said Xaomi, as they all thus saw 
 
AT SKIBBEVAN". 139 
 
 tliG Major's face, ^' dat's a miglity handsome man. 
 But 'tain't Mas'r Art'ur." 
 
 They all wanted to help; but Phoebe seemed 
 jealous that any but she should touch him, and 
 herself placed his head upon the pillow and moist- 
 ened his lips with fresh cool water. For an instant, 
 however, she felt faint, and nearly fell to the floor 
 as she came upon tlie bruised mouth of the wound 
 where the ball had entered his skull, and from which 
 the blood still slowly oozed away. 
 
 Agate lifted her up and led her out to the piazza, 
 and said softly : 
 
 '^ He is as comfortable now as you can make him. 
 Leave him for a little. It's too much for any one." 
 
 Naomi rushed away to the kitchen to prepare a 
 cup of coffee, because she was " sure her dear baby 
 needed something to strengthen her ;" but the poor 
 old woman was as anxious on this occasion to conceal 
 the outburst of her own clamorous sorrow as to help 
 Phoebe. Agate a moment later slipped away to the 
 kitchen also ; and Phoebe, left alone, went into the 
 room again, kneeled beside the bed, and put up the 
 prayer of a pure-hearted, gentle, earnest little 
 maiden. 
 
 " God grant that this wound may not be mortal ; 
 that all those whose hearts will be broken to hear 
 of his death may be spared that blow." 
 
 She could not accept as the last word the calm 
 declaration of surgical science that the bullet which 
 penetrates a man's brain necessarily destroys life. 
 She had a hope beyond that, and she put her hopes 
 
140 '' AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 in her prayers — a grand help in such difficulties, for 
 under the worst inflictions the person who has not the 
 heart to say a word to any other person about them 
 finds a happy resource in those silent appeals of 
 faith which need not be limited by any conventional 
 views of facts, nor by anybody's opinion of what is 
 or is not possible. It is only in prayer that people 
 can still express the hope that that will happen 
 which judgment declares is impossible. 
 
 In halt an hour Aunt Hetty arrived also ; for she 
 had followed more slowly the steps of Phoebe, be- 
 cause Skibbevan was an immediate and accessible 
 refuge ; and some hours later the old doctor came, 
 because where Phoebe and Hetty were was the 
 world to him. 
 
 They all stayed there quietly that day. Hetty, 
 Naomi, and Agate watching Phoebe; Phoebe be- 
 side the Major ; and the old doctor on the piazza 
 pacing to and fro, chafing at his trouble as at a chain, 
 and from time to time stopping in front of the open 
 window to watch from that little distance the Major 
 on his bed, and then with a negative shake of the 
 head, of which perhaps he was scarcely conscious, 
 continuing his to-and-fro march. 
 
 It was planned that at night the doctor should 
 go over the mountain to ascertain the real state of 
 Braxton House, to see what could be saved, and 
 to stay there if this might prevent wanton destruc- 
 tion of the property by stragglers and marauders. 
 Meanwhile Hetty and Plioebe were entirely at 
 home at Skibbevan. 
 
AT SKIBBEVAN. 141 
 
 Before he departed at niglit, the doctor went in 
 and examined once more the Major's wounds. He 
 thought the penetrating wound was made bj a pis- 
 tol-ball, and in the close hand-to-hand iight, for the 
 hair was burned as if bv the flash of the pistol. 
 
 ** He has a hard head," said the doctor, " or that ball 
 would have gone completely through and out at the 
 other side. Unless," he continued, '*' the Confede- 
 rate cartridges are made with bad powder; and 
 probably they are. Everybody cheats our govern- 
 ment and people." 
 
 But the doctor satisfied himself that the ball had 
 really pierced the skull and entered the brain. He 
 believed it had ranged upward. It went in some- 
 where above the left ear, and was lying near the 
 top of the head. But he would not put in an instru- 
 ment to ascertain this. 
 
 "Poor fellow," he said, " he is near enough to his 
 end. I will not poke out with probes the little that 
 is left of his life. For a Northern man he was the 
 most thorough gentleman I ever met." 
 
 Perhaps if the doctor's opinion of the Major had 
 been a trifle less favorable, he might have finished 
 him then and there with his probes, as I believe I 
 have seen many a fine fellow finished in a field-hos- 
 pital. 
 
 It was the doctor's opinion, furthermore, that in 
 addition to the wound from the bullet there Avas a 
 fracture of the skull from a bad blow on the top of 
 the head ; but this wound did not now seem to him 
 as bad as he at first thought it. 
 
142 
 
 ^' Nevertheless," he said, " the biiTlet-wound is 
 more than enough. He cannot live." 
 
 By this time some change had taken place in the 
 condition of the Major. He had at first been cold, 
 and those who had tried to connt the beat of his 
 pulse could not find the pulse. This Avas tlie con- 
 dition that made the old Sambo who had first gone 
 to him before day believe ho was dead ; and this 
 state was produced probably by the overwhelming 
 shock due to the great injuries the brain had re- 
 ceived. But later in the day he had rallied a little 
 from this; his pulse had become perceptible and 
 there was some warmth, and he had shown as much 
 life as is implied in the feeling of thirst, for when 
 Phoebe moistened his lips he drew them into his 
 mouth as if to get the fluid that was left upon 
 them. 
 
 " He appeared at first," said the doctor, " as if 
 he would die without recovering from the shock ; 
 and they are apt to die that way from these se- 
 vere lesions of the brain. But there is a reaction, 
 and there will be fever, and maybe delirium and 
 mania, and he will die exhausted from these, or 
 from the pressure of blood as hemorrhage con- 
 tinues within the skull. Reaction, as it comes on, 
 has sometimes an encouraging effect, because it 
 seems to be a recovery of the vital forces. It is 
 only, however, the slower way of dying fi-om such 
 wounds. He cannot recover ; not but what men 
 have recovered from dreadful wounds of the brain 
 perhaps as bad as this. Baron Larrey gives such 
 
AT SKIBBEVAN. l-io 
 
 a case. But this will not resemble that. He cannot 
 live short of a miracle." 
 
 " But miracles happen," said Phoebe, who caught 
 these last words. 
 
 Now, the old doctor did not believe that miracles 
 happen; but he would not disturb Phoebe on that 
 point, so he went out and said no more. 
 
 Some of this account of the condition of her pa- 
 tient Phoebe heard ; the rest was gently suggested 
 rather than told her ; but she stayed by the Major 
 and kept up her hopes just the same, and all that 
 night she and Agate watched by turns at the bed- 
 side, and Naomi prayed out in the mill. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE PETTIBONE FAMILY. 
 
 Slowly and less surely than was common, the let- 
 ter found upon Pembroke's body went on its way 
 to the ITorth, as the old uncle had said it would, by 
 "grapevine telegraph." Now, the "grapevine tele- 
 graph" and the " underground" railroad were organ- 
 izations of the same general nature ; that is to say, as 
 the one carried forbidden passengers by secret and 
 difficult ways, the other transmitted communications 
 surreptitiously if not always swiftly. From hand 
 to hand of trusty negroes it went down the valley 
 and over the Potomac, until it was actually deposited 
 in the post-office at Frederick City in Maryland. 
 But from that point northward its journey was 
 slower, for near Baltimore the whole mail fell into 
 the hands of a troop of rebel raiders, and the pouch 
 which contained this letter was, with others that the 
 enemy were unable to carry away, cast into the 
 Potomac River. Many months later these pouches 
 were fished out of the river, and the mail went once 
 more on its northward way. 
 
 As we have seen, the letter was addressed to 
 Reuben Pettibone, Esq., and it will probably in- 
 terest the reader to know that this Reuben Petti- 
 bone was the Major's father-in-law. 
 
THE PETTIBONE FAMILY. 145 
 
 Eciibcn Pettibone had been a very prosperous 
 man in his time, and with that gentle and excellent 
 woman his wife, his daughter Lsetitia, and his son 
 Jack, had been regarded by many of his neighbors 
 as the salt of the earth ; for they were rich, perhaps 
 a trifle proud, which does not hurt as the world 
 goes, and they seldom neglected tlie assertion of 
 their superiority to ordinary mortals. Mrs. Petti- 
 bone was in these particulars an exception. She 
 w^as simpler and gentler, a very lovable old lady ; 
 while for the others people felt regard, respect, 
 esteem, but seldom used with relation to them 
 words of a warmer quality. 
 
 In the heyday of the family fortunes Lsstitia 
 had become the wife of Geoffrey Pembroke, for she 
 was a girl who had her way in the family ; and while 
 Pembroke was not so rich a man as Pettibone would 
 have liked for his daughter, he was not very poor ; 
 and he was the very man for whom twenty other 
 girls were dying, wherefore Lsetitia was determined 
 to have him. Pembroke was much envied, for it 
 was a " good match." Papa was very rich, and the 
 girl was certainly handsome, and of an amiable dis- 
 position so far as anybody could know without the 
 opportunity that domestic life gives for a more inti- 
 mate test. 
 
 But it proved an ill-assorted marriage, and they 
 were not happy. Lsetitia's temper was of a sort 
 that made it very difficult for any one to be happy 
 near her ; and the domestic position of a son-in-law 
 does not often assist in such a case. Sons-in-law 
 10 
 
146 "AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 liave a status that varies from tliat of warm affection 
 to that of a scarcely-disguised common enemy ; and 
 while this status may depend in a great many cases 
 upon the man's nature, it is oftener determined by 
 the nature of his wife. Life in the Pettibone 
 family had become nearly impossible to Pembroke ; 
 life in a home of his own there was no chance for, 
 since the rich girl brought up in one way would not 
 live in another ; and a point of dissolution was near 
 when another trouble came. 
 
 Peuben Pettibone, who was not an extremely rich 
 man, had made some unfortunate speculations early 
 in the war, and while he was in difficulty with this 
 struggle there were suddenly developed with his 
 signature some very heavy notes which he said were 
 forgeries. But this declaration the bankers did not 
 accept; they do not commonly accept a theory 
 against their own interest. They were forgeries, 
 however, and Pettibone would not pay. 
 
 Then arose the inquiry. If Peuben Pettibone did 
 not make these notes, who did? The bankers 
 alleged that it was some member of his famil}^, and 
 in their secret investigations they even named Jack 
 Pettibone, the son, a wild fellow, a spendthrift and 
 scapegrace. As soon as Reuben and Harriet, liis 
 wife, heard this they feared it might be true, and 
 they brooded over it many days, and talked over it 
 many nights ; and the pride was taken out of 
 Reuben, and he was like another man. 
 
 Between Reuben and Harriet it was judged that 
 to be poor was a less fearful thing than such a 
 
THE PETTIBONE FAMILY. 147 
 
 stigmca; that the disgrace could not be endured 
 even if it came alone ; while they saw beyond it the 
 chances of State prison for Jack, who was, however, 
 just now safely out of reach in Europe. 
 
 But just as hard-fisted Reuben had been brought 
 to this point the bank detectives came forward and 
 muddled thinks beautifully with a new theory. 
 They had satisfied themselves that it was not the 
 son, but the son-in-law. As soon as this word was 
 whispered to Eeuben in profound secrecy, he tight- 
 ened his jaws, and buttoned up his pocket, and 
 would not pay. " That fellow might go to prison 
 and rot there for all he cared." But Jack's mother, 
 too wise to venture a judicial investigation on that 
 point, held that the decision to pay must be main- 
 tained, and the notes were paid ; but the glory of 
 the Pettibone family was cut down, and they lived 
 in a different style and in a smaller house. 
 
 AH could stand this fall easier than Lastitia ; and 
 if she had really loved Pembroke the sacrifice might 
 have been easy for her; but as she weighed him 
 in the scale against her pride, she hated him as the 
 cause of this dreadful mortification. And he, poor 
 fellow, went quietly on and never heard a syllable of 
 the implication of his name, for that part alone no 
 one had ventured to tell him. It was as if they all 
 held tenaciously by this last thread of theory that 
 seemed to save the good name of Jack, and were 
 afraid it might be broken. 
 
 But this point came out — was *' thrown up" to 
 Pembroke in a moment of ansrer. 
 
148 "AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 Lgetitia's life, as now shaped, seemed like penury 
 to lier by comparison with what had been, and she 
 reproached herself daily as one who had brought 
 into the family the author of this disaster, and it 
 seemed to her an outrage that Pembroke should take 
 things so calmly and even seem to be happier than 
 before. Wherefore she said to him one day as she 
 found him in a merry humor : 
 
 " You ought to be ashamed to laugh in this house, 
 where your crime has made so many people miser- 
 able." 
 
 He looked at her for a moment in mute amaze- 
 ment, and then said : 
 
 " Oh ! do they say I had something to do with it?" 
 
 " They know that you did it," she said, and in a 
 few indignant sentences she laid before him the 
 latest form of the detective theory. 
 
 lie made no answer to all this, but went out on 
 the piazza, lit a cigar, and paced to and fro there for 
 an hour. 
 
 He was a thoughtful, calm, wise fellow. An in- 
 tuition, a sympathy between himself and the only 
 other affectionate soul in that house, Jack's poor old 
 mother, helped him to understand the case ; and the 
 image of that poor mother as she might be if awak- 
 ened from this delusion of the detectives swam in 
 his mind. 
 
 He did not go into the house again, but when all 
 was quiet he buttoned up his coat, walked across the 
 fields to town, caught a night train to Boston, went 
 thence to New York, enlisted in a regiment then 
 
THE rEXTIBOl^E FAMILY. 149 
 
 there on its way to the war, and about ton days later 
 was lip to his knees in the Virginia mnd. 
 
 Jack's mother was the only one upon whom this 
 departure had much effect ; for Geoffrey also called 
 her mother, and was always a pleasant presence to 
 her, and she was uneasy and fidgety until they heard 
 where Pembroke was from some one who saw him 
 in the army. 
 
 For months together, then, the desolate mother 
 sat in the little window-space, wordless but busy ; 
 and the steel rods came and went, came and went, 
 all that winter as she knitted socks for soldiers. 
 They kept up no communication with Geoffrey ; but 
 some day some of these socks might make his feet 
 the warmer; or if some other mother's knitting 
 warmed his feet, hers might warm the feet of that 
 other mother's boy. 
 
 And Jack ! — who could tell ? They never heard 
 of him any more; but like a boy wdio loved his 
 country he might have come home and enlisted too, 
 and might be in the swamps of Virginia, loading and 
 firing for the Union like the rest of them ; and she 
 might be so happy as to clothe those dear feet, even. 
 
 And so the white thin fingers worked on forever 
 in the little sunshiny window, and the kitten in the 
 sunny place on the floor played with the ball of yarn, 
 till there came a day when Harriet did not feel 
 strong enough to get up from her bed. 
 
 They sat with her a few days and a few nights. 
 On the fourth day, just about dawn, Reuben, who 
 was then alone with her, lieard her calm, clear voice 
 
150 "AS. WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 call his name, and went to the bedside. Her face 
 was white with a bluish ashy whiteness, and the 
 features sharper than before. She said to him : 
 
 "Dear Keuben, be very gentle always to Geoffrey ; 
 and if it should be Jack after all" — a hiccough stop- 
 ped her voice for a moment, and then she went on 
 again — " if it should be Jack, never forget the great 
 generosity of Geoffrey's silence." 
 
 And that was the last the gentle, loyal mother 
 ^versaid. Alas! no one had stood between her and 
 the blow. She had understood that Jack was the 
 culprit, though the very fiction of another's guilt had 
 eased it for her a little. But her words w^ere a rev- 
 elation to Reuben and never went out of his mind ; 
 for to him Geoffrey's departure had been a '* flight," 
 and a flight meant guilt. 
 
 But while the irentle mother's thoue'hts had in all 
 
 C5 CD 
 
 the time before her death been upon the comfort of 
 the far-away ones, Lsetitia had been much occupied 
 in an altogether different way. She had had good 
 legal advice to the effect that the departure of Pem- 
 broke was an abandonment, and that abandonment 
 was a good cause for divorce. She had regularly 
 sought a divorce, therefore, and despite the inevita- 
 ble delays of the law her application made hopeful 
 progress nntil it was known that Pembroke was in 
 the army. Then the case went on more slowly, and 
 was not completed when that missive arrived which 
 we have heard of in Virginia. 
 
 . Pembroke's letter to Pettibone was in these 
 w^ords : 
 
THE PETTIBONE FAMILY. 151 
 
 " In a stray copy of a Portland paper I saw the 
 notice of mother's death ; and if slie ever believed 
 that the notes were forged by me, I hope she be- 
 lieved it to the last. Between her and a dreadful 
 blow I was always willing to stand at any cost to 
 myself. 
 
 " But neither you nor Lsetitia are persons with 
 heart enough to be much hurt on that side ; and a 
 wound coming through your pride is what I would 
 wish you may have. Be assured, therefore, by this 
 declaration, if you were not before, that those for- 
 geries were never done by me. It has been always 
 my intention to tell you this face to face when the 
 right time should come ; but a soldier is not sure of 
 hil life from hour to hour, and I take precaution 
 that you may surely know it. This letter is written 
 to be carried upon my person— marked with direc- 
 tions that if at any time I shall be found dead upon 
 a field of battle, this letter will be posted by the 
 person who buries me. 
 
 " You can receive it only in those circumstances. 
 At the same time, therefore, that it takes from your 
 pride the consolation that I do not mean you shall 
 have at my cost, it will give you the good news that 
 I am no more. 
 
 " Yours as you may take me, 
 
 " Geoffkey Pembroke." 
 
 In the tranquil tone of this rather blunt missive— 
 that was cynical, yet did not parade its cynicism ; that 
 called the dead one mother, yet had no hysterical 
 
152 
 
 tenderness in it; that was as sincere and downright 
 as Pettibone liad known him who wrote it from his 
 boyhood np — the father saw the full dawn of a truth 
 that had already glimmered at the horizon of his 
 thoughts. 
 
 ^' And he is dead too," said Heuben ; "and she is 
 dead, and Jack is gone. Only two left of us. Well, 
 well ! How pleasant it must be to lie down and 
 forget all !" 
 
 Reuben gave one indication that this communica- 
 tion did not run in the commonplace groove of 
 life. He did not mention it toLsetitia. She never- 
 theless soon knew all about it, for the singular super- 
 scription had attracted attention in the post-office, 
 and had been a great deal talked about, and many 
 easy inferences were made ; so that the report spread 
 that the Pettibones had news from the army that 
 Pembroke was dead, and Lsetitia was asked about it. 
 
 Thereupon Lsetitia rushed home, ransacked her 
 father's tables and desks, found the letter and read 
 it with sarcastic comment upon its reference to her- 
 self, and with exulting satisfaction at the close. 
 
 " "Well," she said, " that changes things. I'm glad 
 I kept the mourning I wore for ma. Crape feels 
 horrid against the skin, but they make it in pretty 
 shapes now. Hum! hum! What shall I wear? 
 This saves what the divorce-suit would have 
 cost." 
 
 And she sat down and reflected upon the advan- 
 tageous position in society of the widoAVof a gallant 
 fellow who had died for his country. 
 
THE PETTIBONE FAMILY. 153 
 
 As a widow of that variety she would enjoy social 
 advantages of which she had been deprived. But a 
 few days before she had been a person occnpying a 
 somewhat equivocal position — a married woman 
 without a husband; abandoned, yet not free; and 
 her opinion of her absent lord was such as women 
 of a vixen-like nature commonly hold toward all 
 persons who have in any way caused them the 
 chagrin of mortified vanity. 
 
 People would now say that that quiet fellow 
 Pembroke had not been the sort of man to strut up 
 and down the street of the town in a blue coat and 
 brass buttons and exult in the empty glorifications 
 of war, but had gone away without a word and en- 
 listed as a private soldier in a regiment which had 
 proved one of excellent fighting qualities, and that 
 in such company he had won his epaulets. He 
 would therefore be suddenly a famous fellow in the 
 speeches of all men and women, and Lsetitia as his 
 bereaved widow would enjoy this jpost-rriorteTifh 
 glory. 
 
 There was a great deal of patriotic spirit in that 
 neighborhood, and such an association as Lsetitia 
 now had with the fame of a dead soldier was the 
 best possible title to social consideration. It gave 
 precedence over claims of family and even wealth ; 
 and thus it would happen that many ladies who since 
 the fall in the Pettibone fortunes had scarcely been 
 able to see Lsetitia when they met her would now 
 always see her, and rush at her with the warmth of 
 
154 
 
 fashionable adulation. She would consequently have 
 the opportunity to settle some old scores by turning 
 the cold shoulder now. 
 
 ''And I will do it, too," she said. "But shall I 
 Avear a crape bonnet or one of those new-fashioned 
 hats?" 
 
CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 MES. Pembroke's projects. 
 
 Theee was one person in Maine who was not al- 
 together pleased with the turn that things had thus 
 taken. This was Mr. Chipperton Chawpnej— or 
 Lawyer Chawpennj, as the people called him. 
 This gentleman argued that his true name was Chor- 
 penning, shortened accidentally by careless pronun- 
 ciation ; but the people insisted that it was Chawpen- 
 ny. He wrote it Chawpney, and thus compromised 
 between prejudice and theory. He was one of the 
 rising men of that region; a bright lawyer, who 
 had gained some important cases, had been in the 
 legislature, and seemed to see his way clear to a 
 fine practice at a future period. He had been Lse- 
 titia's counsel in the divorce proceedings, and was 
 an ardent admirer of the lady. 
 
 As an admirer it might be supposed he would 
 rejoice that she was now so easily free of the ante- 
 cedent matrimonial restraint, even though as a law- 
 yer he had to regret the loss of a good bit of impor- 
 tant practice. But it was not so. He had indeed 
 hoped that Lsetitia would be under obligation to his 
 devotion as an advocate for her freedom, and that 
 gratitude would open the way to her heart ; and 
 whereas in that position he w^as the only aspirant 
 
156 
 
 for the hand that he saw would be an object of pur- 
 suit, now that she was plainly, obviously, ostenta- 
 tiously free he had a score of rivals, and almost 
 despaired of his prospects in that direction. 
 
 Inspired by the diflSculties that thus presented 
 themselves, Chawpney went into the paradise in 
 which Lsetitia was now happy, and whispered 
 dreadful things. He said to somebody, one day, 
 that nobody knew of the death of Pembroke ex- 
 cept from his own account, and that he himself, as 
 counsel for several life-insurance companies, was 
 always inclined to doubt a man's report of his own 
 death. As to the notion that some wounded sol- 
 diers had confirmed the report, who had seen any 
 of these soldiers ? 
 
 This was repoi-ted ; and when it fell upon the ears 
 of those women, wives and daughters of quarter- 
 masters and sutlers, to whom as the widow of a 
 hero Lsetitia now turned the cold shoulder of su- 
 periority, it found a fertile soil and grew luxuri- 
 antly. 
 
 In a little while everybody except Lsetitia 
 seemed to know the precise detail of the circum- 
 stances by which "that fellow Pembroke" had 
 fooled his innocent and too credulous wife with a 
 story of his death. Some could even tell how he 
 had gone over to the enemy wdth a part of his com- 
 pany and invented a story to cover the dreadful 
 shame. Again there was a fall in the pride of the 
 Pettibone family, and the heart-broken Lsetitia, 
 when she heard of all this, confessed to herseK that 
 
MRS. PEMBROKE'S PROJECTS. 157 
 
 even in death — if there was any death about it — 
 her husband was " a scalawag." 
 
 Chawpney did not call upon Mrs. Pembroke to 
 offer condolences in her bereavement. Indeed, he 
 only knew her professionally, and did not venture 
 upon such a liberty. Mrs. Pembroke, however, 
 called upon him at his office in regard to the pro- 
 ceedings for divorce undertaken by him in her in- 
 terest. She wished to know the present position 
 of that suit. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Pembroke," he said, opening very 
 widely his twinkling light-colored little eyes, " you'll 
 excuse my saying so, but you astonish me a great 
 deal by this inquiry." 
 
 " Astonish you ?" she said. " How so ?" 
 
 '' Why, really, really, Mrs. Pembroke — Ah ! I see 
 how it is ; in your trouble, in the confusion of mind 
 that has followed upon this sad incident, you have 
 forgotten." 
 
 " Forgotten what ?" she said, rather shortly. 
 
 " Well, it appears by my books," he said, leisurely 
 turning over some written leaves as he spoke, " I 
 received. instructions from you, or professedly from 
 you, to discontinue entirely the proceedings for di- 
 vorce of Lsstitia Pembroke against Geoffrey Pem- 
 broke." 
 
 " Is it possible ?" she said. " Instructions from 
 me?" 
 
 " Well, unless this has been done in your name, 
 but without authority, by some other person." 
 
 " No, no," she said, " I do remember ; I did it 
 
158 "as we went marching on." 
 
 rnvrelf. It happened in tins way. At that time 
 we had just received a report from the army that 
 Mr. Pembroke had been killed in a battle ; and as 
 that would naturally make such a suit unnecessary, 
 and as in a case of death we desire to put aside and 
 forget all that is disagreeable with regard to the lost 
 ones, I wrote that in an impulsive moment." 
 
 " Yes," he said, " it was quite like your excellent 
 nature and correct taste to desire to forget the evil 
 that others had done you ; but in this case a little, as 
 you say, impulsive." 
 
 " Yes," she said, " impulsive." 
 
 "Yes," he said, "impulsive." 
 
 And then she waited and hoped he would go on ; 
 but he didn't. He could perceive when a lady had 
 come upon a pumping expedition as readily as any 
 man in Maine. 
 
 " Since that," she said, " w^e have heard some re- 
 ports that incline us to believe that there may be 
 some deception." 
 
 " Ah !" 
 
 " Yes ; we have lieard a story tliat Mr. Pembroke 
 is not really dead." 
 
 Chawpney only answered with his eyebrows, 
 which he lifted nearly to the roots of his hair — 
 whitish, short, wide-awake-looking hair. 
 
 "Perhaps," she said, "you have yourself some 
 knowledge upon this subject." 
 
 " Well," he said, " I have heard what is perhaps 
 the same report that you refer to. In fact, it has 
 been printed and discussed in all the newspapers, 
 
MRS. PEMBROKE'S PROJECTS. 159 
 
 and everybody has heard it. It is a public scandal. 
 But I have no knowledge apart from that." 
 
 "Perhaps you have heard of somewhat similar 
 cases." 
 
 " Madam," and little Chawpney assumed an air 
 of impressive energy as he said this, " the detective 
 police has a ponderous record of the names of men 
 who married in the ISTortli and, forming perhaps new 
 connections elsewhere, have procured the publication 
 of tlie report of tlieir death in battle, and who, 
 wronging our real heroes by this seizure of a fame 
 they do not deserve, are rejoicing in their villany 
 with the facile Delilahs of Southern lands. But 
 pardon my warmth ; I forgot for the moment that 
 your husband — " 
 
 " Kot at all," said Mrs. Pembroke. " My husband 
 may very likely be one of these ; and I w4sh, if the 
 proceedings can be renewed — " 
 
 '• Oh, certainly ; there has been no court since, 
 and the discontinuance is on my books merely." 
 
 " Then I wish the proceedings to go on," she said ; 
 and the bereaved widow, at Chaw^pney's suggestion, 
 gave him full authority to act for her, first as to 
 the important point of getting evidence whether 
 Pembroke were dead or alive, and next to obtain 
 the divorce if he were alive; but to push the pro- 
 ceedings with the greatest possible energy if he 
 found there was any truth in these stories of mis- 
 conduct and going over to the enemy, because she, 
 as a patriotic woman, "could not for a moment en- 
 
160 '' AS WE WE]SrT MARCHIKG Oi>." 
 
 dure the tlioiiglit of continuing relations witli a man 
 who was a traitor to liis country." 
 
 Cliawpney mentioned that afternoon to several 
 persons in the town that '• Mrs. Pembroke was a 
 noble wonian and an honor to her sex, and had 
 spoken words in his office that day which the ancient 
 Spartans would have written in letters of gold upon 
 the pediment of the temple." And the same night he 
 left for 'New York City to prosecute his inquiries 
 into the fate of " that fellow her husband." 
 
 There was at that time a daily paper called The 
 NewSy which was a convenient and recognized me- 
 dium of communication between tlie several sections 
 of the country. People in the South who wanted 
 to communicate family news to their friends resi- 
 dent in the J^orth, or to their friends who, taken 
 prisoners by the army, were detained in the North, 
 got advertisements into that paper in some way; and 
 people in the North who wanted to communicate 
 with the South put their communications into that 
 sheet as personal advertisements, with the certainty 
 that the newspaper would get through the lines, 
 though their letters would not. 
 
 Every time a copy of that sheet got through the 
 lines the Southern papers reproduced all these no- 
 tices ; and all Southern soldiers in Noi'thern prisons 
 eagerly secured it in the hope to hear from home. 
 
 Chawpney resorted to this medium. He might 
 have found some wounded soldiers of the Major's 
 regiment if he had sought diligently, but he did not 
 want the most direct information. Intelliofence col- 
 
MRS. PEMBROKE'S PROJECTS. 161 
 
 ored ill the medium of an enemy's mind might be 
 more to his purpose. He inserted an advertisement 
 calling for information of the present whereabouts 
 and condition of Geoffrey Pembroke, late a major 
 of volunteers in the Union army, and "now or 
 recently in hiding somewhere in the Shenandoah 
 Yalley." He received from a rebel soldier detained 
 as a prisoner of war at David's Island, in the East 
 River, a response which induced him to visit that 
 soldier. David's Island was a place in which several 
 hundred prisoners were kept, but not in the way 
 in which our fellows were kept at Anderson ville and 
 Libby. 
 
 David's Island was, in fact, one of Uncle Sam's 
 national watering-places. There were the salty air, 
 the stiff sea-breeze fresh from the Sound, and the 
 green water of the seaside; and there also the 
 pleasant rambles under trees such as we find in 
 a summer resort in the hilly country. Roomy, 
 clean, brightly whitewashed dormitories filled long 
 pavilions recently constructed ; and tempting long 
 tables at meal-time reminded one of summer hotels, 
 only there was more to eat than the average 
 summer hotel vouchsafes. Not one in ten of the 
 Southern soldiers, the " white trash" of the Southern 
 States, was ever half so well housed or fed at home 
 as in that prison ; and here, coming broken down 
 from Southern battle-fields, they fed up and recov- 
 ered their morale. Rampant rebels resident in the 
 North visited and encouraged them, and they dis- 
 cussed constitutional theories. 
 11 
 
162 
 
 Nothing there astonished Chawpney so much as 
 his observation of the little industries thej fell into 
 to earn money for tobacco. Uncle Sam did not sup- 
 ply tobacco. 
 
 " Why," said Chawpney, " these chivalrous gen- 
 tlemen from the Southern States can actually whittle 
 a stick, and that as handily as any Yankee that ever 
 flourished a jack-knife. From one piece of wood 
 they will cut an imitation of a whole open fan. 
 Nutmegs are nothing to it." 
 
 Now, the soldier from whom Chawpney had heard 
 was, like so many others there, a North Carolina 
 man, and belonged to that regiment which had gone 
 over Company H in the night at Corkscrew Cut. 
 He was one of those who had been wounded in that 
 collision, and was so badly wounded that he had lain 
 for a good while between life and death in one of 
 the houses in that village to wdiicli w^e were all 
 taken after the fight. Just as he had nearly recov- 
 ered he had been captured by a movement of our 
 cavalry. He consequently knew the news of the 
 neighborhood — or thought he knew it — for a period 
 of several months subsequently to the time when 
 the Major had been left for dead on the field. But 
 as the Braxtons were, in taking any care of the 
 Major, really giving aid and comfort to a wounded 
 enemy, it is to be supposed that they would keep 
 secret about it ; wherefore this soldier's news could 
 only be a series of the accumulated guesses of the 
 people down in the valley. But, guesses or real 
 news, this soldier said that the Major's wounds had 
 
MRS. PEMBROKE'S PROJECTS. 163 
 
 not proved so bad as were at first reported, and that 
 lie bad got entirely well ; and tbat if be bad not re- 
 turned be was a deserter, because tbat country was 
 now all inside tbe Notbern lines. 
 
 Meantime tbere bad been at borne in Maine some 
 reaction of opinion in tbe Major's favor ; and wben 
 Cbawpney's report was triumphantly made public 
 it was received witli indignation, and some friends 
 of tbe Major demanded tbat an inquiry so important 
 should not stop at so unsatisfactory a point. Tbere 
 was a movement started, indeed, to send some one 
 down to bunt tbe Major up, on tbe theory tbat if 
 alive he m.ust be helpless somewhere and ought to 
 be rescued ; with the alternative notion tbat if be 
 was a deserter indeed, tbe name of an honorable 
 family was involved, and tbat family should be the 
 first to give up its recreant scion. 
 
 Chawpney beard of this proposition with dismay, 
 but was equal to tbe occasion. He represented to 
 Lsetitia that she should herself go on this expedition 
 to show her duty as a good wife, and volunteered to 
 accompany her. He represented tbat Frederick in 
 Maryland, Winchester in Yirginia, Leesburg, and 
 other places were all comfortable towns in which 
 she could be as secure as at home, and from these 
 points or some one of them efficient inquiries could 
 be made. 
 
 Lsetitia saw in this scheme of an expedition some 
 attractive features, and they went. 
 
 They first went to Washington, taking some let- 
 ters of introduction to friends there ; and as it was 
 
164 
 
 now rainy weather, and the roads were taking on a 
 wintry condition, they were much advised against 
 the attempt to pursue their efforts in Virginia just 
 tlien. Washington was gay also, and Lsetitia en- 
 joj^ed its social pleasures, while Chawpney im- 
 proved the occasion to work up some political 
 schemes. They halted for a time at a pleasant 
 stage, and cultivated a knowledge of one another. 
 Lsetitia had by this time become fully aware of 
 Chawpney's ambition with respect to herself. 
 
CHAPTER XY. 
 
 DR. BRAXTON PERFORMS AN OPERATION. 
 
 Major Pembroke did not die. 
 
 Upon Dr. Braxton's return from the journey 
 made to save some of his property, he was astonished 
 to learn that the Yankee major was still alive. He 
 had at first been so certain the Major w^ould die 
 that he had hastened his own return, because of the 
 reflection that the women would be troubled with 
 the difficulties of a funeral ; and perhaps, in a true 
 scientific spirit, he had some curiosity to know the 
 precise course that ball had taken in the brain. In 
 the many miseries and disappointments of those 
 days, an interesting autopsy might have been even a 
 distraction and a consolation. 
 
 " He is a man of great vitality," said the doctor. 
 " His surviving such a wound for so many days is 
 unusual. It will soon be over, however." 
 
 But when four days more had passed and the 
 Major was certainly not losing ground, the doctor 
 began to go oftener to gaze upon him at the open 
 window, — began to arch his eyebrows, and gently 
 scratch the top of his head with the tip end of the 
 middle linger of his right hand. 
 
 "Perhaps we may help nature a little and pull 
 him through," he said. " It would be a remarkable 
 
166 *'AS WE WEl^T MARCHIl^G OK." 
 
 recovery. There has been but little apparent hem- 
 orrhage; and there cannot have been much con- 
 cealed within the skull, to judge from his condi- 
 tion. From the direction of that wound — let me see, 
 now ! — yes, it has touched the brain in front of the 
 middle meningeal artery ; it has passed perhaps 
 diagonally under or inside that artery. If I dared 
 put in a probe now ! But no ; as I would not put 
 it in at first because there was no hope, it would be 
 murder to put one in now that there may be liope. 
 Perhaps this will prove one of those marvellous 
 lucky cases." 
 
 Thus the old man constantly ran on in his 
 surgical lingo, partly talking to himself, partly to 
 those about him, as from hour to hour and from 
 day to day new features of the Major's case pre- 
 sented themselves to his acute perceptions. He was 
 rather an unusual kind of a surgeon, was this old 
 Braxton ; for he had comparatively small faith in 
 surgery, but the greatest possible faith in the recu- 
 perative forces of nature, just a little helped by sur- 
 gery over the rough places. 
 
 "At Montpellier, in Fj-ance," he said, — for the 
 doctor was a surgeon who came down from the days 
 when it was believed that no surgical education was 
 complete unless it was rounded up in the hospitals 
 of France, — " at Montpellier, in the museum of the 
 medical school there, I saw a skull with a bullet 
 held against the inner wall by spiculse of bone which 
 had grown around it. That was the skull of a vet- 
 eran of the wars of old ^N'aDoleon, and the veteran 
 
DR. BRAXTON PERFORMS AN OPERATION. 167 
 
 had carried that bullet for forty years. If one sol- 
 dier, why not another ? Then there was the crow- 
 bar case. A fellow in the J^orth, somewhere, had a 
 tamping-iron driven through his brain in careless 
 blasting, and he got well. But we must keep the 
 suppuration free. There is the case mentioned by 
 Carnochan, for instance. That fellow died because 
 the wound healed superficially and the suppuration 
 was pent in." 
 
 Sometimes the Major was an out-and-out madman 
 in his violence, and but that there was some paralysis 
 of the muscles, he might have done harm. Then his 
 delirium would soften, and he would seem to be 
 recounting various histories ; but they never could 
 make out in what he said one distinct word. He 
 seemed to sleep sometimes tranquilly, but would 
 start from it always as from a nightmare. 
 
 All the doctor did was to bleed him, and put little 
 hard rolls of lint into the eds^e of the wound. 
 
 There were in the Major's case stages of varying 
 condition ; an alternation of mania-like excitement 
 and half-dead tranquillity. Braxton thought that 
 this tranquillity was a consequence of oppression 
 through pent-up fluids that should come away but 
 could not, since a spontaneous appearance of these 
 always made a change. 
 
 As one of the periods of great excitement, with 
 heat of the head, came on, while Phoebe slept in 
 the next room, and Agate and Naomi were with the 
 Major, old N^aomi, seizing a large, sharp pair of scis- 
 sors, cut all the hair off the Major's head, quite close 
 
168 
 
 to the scalp, in order that she might apply cloths 
 wet with cool water with more facility. 
 
 Agate was indignant at this act, and said to her 
 mother : 
 
 ''De Lord didn't give you no right to cut dat 
 gentleman's hair dat way." 
 
 Bat old Naomi put her aside with a brusque 
 
 "Don't bodder me, chile. I iiussed folks wid 
 brain-fever 'fore you was thought about." 
 
 Phoebe was astonished when she came in ; but she 
 saw the advantage of this, and as she passed her 
 hand, wet with cologne and water, over the Major's 
 head, she made a discovery. At a point on the 
 unwounded side of the cranium she came upon a 
 slight protuberance, a small, round elevation of the 
 surface, of which she spoke to her father. 
 
 That was a day of great excitement for the old 
 doctor. He ran his palpigerous fingers two or three 
 times delicately over that nodule, and then straight- 
 ened himself up and passed both his hands with his 
 fingers open like rakes through his short gray hair 
 as if, feeling a need for more room in his head, he 
 would like to lift the roof off it. Then he walked 
 about the room two or three times without any ob- 
 ject, but pretending one object or another; making 
 believe to shut the door against the draught, though 
 there was no draught, or to open the window, though 
 it was open already; from all which conduct Phoebe 
 perceived that her papa was " nervous." 
 
 Then the old gentleman calmed down somewhat, 
 aud settled himself at the bedside with his fingers 
 
DR. BRAXTON PERFORMS AN OPERATION. 169 
 
 fastened as if by new nervous attacliment on that 
 nodule, and with the unmistakable face of a man 
 who reasons on what he believes he feels, but can 
 see only with the more or less clairvoyant vision of 
 the mind's eye. 
 
 At last he said : 
 
 "That must be it; the ball is there! But if 
 it is, it has been there all the time ; and how 
 did I miss it at first? That is what I cannot 
 make out. But what then? Patients must not 
 be the worse because of a surgeon's adherence to 
 theories that may be founded on error. It ought 
 to come out. And yet, since he has done so well 
 with it there, would not any operation now be an 
 interference with a healing process? "Well, well! 
 as it has been so comfortable there all these days, 
 there is no need to be precipitate." 
 
 And the doctor went out and tramped the wood- 
 land paths on the mountain-side to clear his clogged 
 thoughts. 
 
 No doubt it happens often to a good doctor to 
 stand at the turning-point where Braxton then 
 found himself. 
 
 He may touch a trouble liappily if lie acts and so 
 save a life ; yet he may also blunder clumsily into 
 some delicate proceeding of curative nature and 
 break it all up. This, if he acts ; and if he does 
 not act, the golden moment may go by at whicli a 
 touch of his art would have given victory in the 
 fight for life. 
 
 Some vio^orous exercise on the mountain-side 
 
170 '*AS WE WE1^"T 3IARCHIKG OX." 
 
 brouglit the doctor once more to clear and unper- 
 turbed perceptions. 
 
 It is one of tlie mysteries of life that an energetic 
 use of the muscles clears the mind with many per- 
 sons. Cardinal Richelieu and JS^apoleon are named 
 as persons to whom at times an almost desperate 
 physical activity was necessary. Somehow that ac- 
 tivity restores a lost equilibrium. It is as if a stream 
 of vital energy came upon the delicate cerebral 
 machinery and overwliehned the intellectual opera- 
 tions by its volume and its force ; but this stream 
 being turned to drive the mill-wheel of the muscles, 
 the mind gets no more than it wants and goes on 
 smoothly. 
 
 As soon as the doctor came in, he quietly told 
 Agate to get him her father's shaving-brush, soap, 
 and razor, which she as quietly did ; and the doctor 
 without a word more sat down beside the bed, turned 
 the Major's head easily on the pillow, and lathered 
 and shaved all the space about that little nodule, 
 making it as clean as was possible for one not much 
 used to shaving others. 
 
 Then at a sign Phoebe brought a case of instru- 
 ments from the top of Naomi's bureau, and kneeled 
 beside the bed and hid her face. 
 
 Next, as easily as you lay open a roasted chestnut 
 with your pen-knife, Braxton, with two straight cuts 
 that crossed each other at right angles, went to the 
 bone over that nodule, and carefully laid back the four 
 little flaps thus made. He discovered then that a 
 trephine, the absence of which had troubled him, 
 
DR. BUAXTON PERFORMS AN OPERATION. 171 
 
 would not have been necessary if lie had had it, for 
 the ball had reached this part of the cranium with 
 just enough force left to get clearly through the 
 inner table of the skull, and to crush but not pierce 
 the outer table ; and the comminuted fragments of 
 bone were easily picked away with a forceps. In 
 fifteen minutes from the time the doctor came in 
 he had the bullet in his hand. 
 
 In consequence of this operation the wound 
 drained itself; for the Major's head w^as pierced 
 through and through, as the ball had hit him on 
 the left side rather higher than the top of the ear, 
 but more to the front, and was taken out at about 
 the same distance above and behind the ear on the 
 other side. 
 
 Many times that night the doctor went in and felt 
 his patient's pulse ; and that night it was for the first 
 time satisfactory. There was gone from it a hard 
 point of irritation that it had never been without. 
 Now it was soft and even ; and at daylight next day 
 Braxton said for the first time confidently that he 
 believed the Major would get well. 
 
 But a shade of doubt had already come over the 
 thoughts of some, in that little home, as to the con- 
 dition he would be in intellectually if lie did in- 
 deed recover otherwise. Naomi, wdio was perhaps 
 not more acute than the others, but was certainly 
 more outspoken, had already several times in her 
 blunt words given form to a vague fear. 
 
 ^'Sure's yer born," she said, "I b'lieve dat gentle- 
 man loss his sense ; don't know what's goin' on ; 
 
172 " AS WE WEKT MARCHING ON-/' 
 
 can jes' hear and see ; can't hardly say a word ; 
 don't want to look at nothin' but Phoebe." 
 
 How they first comprehended the Major's condi- 
 tion it is liard to say. Tliere seems to be some 
 knowledge that people acquire more by absorption 
 than perception, and they are themselves unable to 
 give an account of how they came by it. Some- 
 body had at first thought that the Major did not 
 hear, because what was said did not seem to make 
 an impression on his mind, though there was no 
 mania and he was evidently more or less conscious. 
 But having their attention turned to this point of 
 possible deafness and watching acutely, they became 
 satisfied that noises did attract his attention. 
 
 He could hear, then ; but words spoken to him 
 seemed to awaken no intellectual response. He 
 would indicate by looks of unmistakable satisfaction 
 how agreeable it was to have his pillows changed, or 
 to be helped into a new position when weary with 
 one maintained for many hours ; and yet if asked 
 the minute before whether he would like this to be 
 done, he would only turn his large mild eyes toward 
 the questioner with an aspect of uninterested inquiry 
 or weary indifference. 
 
 As to all this the doctor expressed no opinion 
 until about ten days after the bullet was out, and 
 that was nearly three weeks from the time the 
 Major was hurt. By that period the Major had 
 made a marvellous progress toward recovery, yet 
 he had never spoken a word, nor seemed to under- 
 stand one. Then the old doctor said : 
 
DR. BRAXTON PERFORMS AN OPERATION. 173 
 
 "There is no dou])t tliat the third convolution 
 has been in part involved and perhaps disorganized ; 
 bnt there must also have been yet more extensive 
 interference with the functions of the hemispheres." 
 
 Tliis did not convey much information to the 
 others until Aunt Hetty, by persistent questioning 
 as to the words "convolutions," " hemispheres," etc., 
 drew out the plain English of what the doctor in- 
 tended to say ; which was that that part of the brain 
 which was most hurt by the bullet was precisely 
 the part which is the seat of the function of speech, 
 and that the Major had probably lost entirely all 
 those intellectual conceptions that lie at the root of 
 the communication of our thoughts or impressions 
 by language. And the doctor also thought that 
 the Major had lost in some greater or less degree 
 the function of memory. 
 
 Aunt Hetty was not a woman to be satisfied with 
 any half-knowledge on so new a world of facts as 
 this opened to view, and extorted little by little 
 such information as she could, until she compre- 
 hended that the loss of memory might have gone 
 so far as to have blotted out from the man's mind 
 every fact of his life recorded there ; and that if 
 the loss of speech was absolute as seemed, it might 
 remain so for what was left of life ; or the Major 
 might acquire speech again, word by word, as a 
 child does; or suddenly some day, under the in- 
 fluence perhaps of a great emotion, language, 
 memory, all would come to him again, like a blaze 
 of liojht. 
 
174 "AS WE WEiq"T MARCHIKG ON." 
 
 The doctor made a picturesque comparison to en- 
 able Aunt Hettj to distinctly understand this. 
 
 "His brain," he said, "his old brain — the brain 
 he had that night — has been overwhelmed by tlie 
 fire and heat and changes of a fierce inflammation, 
 as some of the ancient cities were overwhelmed and 
 lost in floods of lava; and a new brain, like a new 
 city, may grow above it. But some day there may 
 be a great row in the new city ; an accident may 
 crush a place through the crust, and the streets of 
 the new and the old will run together." 
 
 Meantime the Major, once in a fair way of im- 
 provement, went on rapidly, and began really to get 
 well ; and all the little company there, misled at 
 first as to his sanity by his incapacity to make it 
 evident, but understanding now how this was, saw 
 easily enongh, hour by hour, that his mind was as 
 clear as any one's except as to the fact that he was 
 without speech — or without words, rather, for he 
 had utterance and talked gibberish. 
 
 His possession of the power of speech, that is, so 
 far as the voice goes merely, was made evident in 
 a way that at first had a somewhat comical effect. 
 He seemed to watch intently the lips of persons who 
 talked, and then to endeavor by mere imitation to 
 repeat what the person said. He succeeded first 
 with Naomi. She had not the liberal vocabulary of 
 the others, perhaps, and therefore depended more 
 upon a few set phrases which answered for many 
 occasions. One of these, her customary utterance 
 of impatience, was, " Don' bodder me, tell yei*." 
 
DR. BRAXTOK PERFORMS AN OPERATIOIS'. 175 
 
 Pembroke caught this np and repeated it like a poll- 
 parrot, and it became with him a name for Naomi. 
 As soon as she came into the room he always said 
 it, to her extreme delight ; the more, perhaps, because 
 he repeated so accurately the darky intonation. 
 
 He caught a phrase from Agate also, which seemed 
 to answer with him in the same way as a sound 
 of personal identification. This was, " Some o' de 
 essence." Agate often brought him a bowl of soup, 
 which, as it was made in the kitchen from meat-juice, 
 was a kind of gravy-soup, and all such juices the 
 darkies called essence ; and when she brought in this 
 refreshment, never getting well used to his want of 
 comprehension, she always asked, as she would have 
 done with any other, if he would have " some o' de 
 essence." 
 
 He associated the sounds with the two as a child 
 calls a dog a " bow-wow." 
 
 In the same way he called the old doctor " How 
 is he now ?" because that was his customarj^ inquiry ; 
 and he called Aunt Hetty " Heigh-ho ! says Kowley," 
 for that old dame, sitting for hours quiet with 
 her thoughts, had a habit of coming out with a 
 " Heigh-ho !" and, reflecting that that expression of 
 the sense of the tediousness of things was not com- 
 plimentary to those about her, had equally acquired 
 the habit of giving her melancholy exclamation a 
 humorous turn by associating it with the old nursery- 
 rhyme. 
 
 Pembroke often brought these phrases out in 
 ways so amusingly inappropriate, or even apt, as to 
 
176 ''AS WE WEIiTT MARCHIKG OK." 
 
 make every one very merry, and tlieir laughing 
 seemed to please and cheer him. 
 
 But although the Major had no words, it is won- 
 derful how he became the autocrat of that establish- 
 ment and governed it with his eyes. But this is the 
 common attribute of an invalid around whose bed 
 or chair a little world like that revolves, and toward 
 whom are turned all the sympathies, wishes, and 
 daily and hourly thoughts of a circle of amiable 
 and generous persons. 
 
 " But he has a memory, then," said Aunt Hetty 
 one day suddenly, as they fell into a moment of 
 silence after langhing at one of these odd happen- 
 ings of the Major's names for those about him. 
 
 ^' Yes," said Phoebe ; " but papa did not say that 
 liis memory was gone in that sense. His memory 
 may be perfect for things to be learned now, but is 
 gone as to what happened before." 
 
 " It is like a slate, I suppose," said Hetty, *' from^ 
 which the sums have been wiped off, but upon 
 which new sums may be written." 
 
 ^* Or like a tree stripped in a storm upon which 
 new leaves will grow," said Phoebe. 
 
 " How I should like to know whether he was a 
 married man !" said Aunt Hetty ; and then no other 
 observation was made for that occasion. 
 
CHAPTER XYJ. 
 
 PHCEBE SEEKS COUNSEL. 
 
 Ph(ebe had passed through singular phases of ex- 
 perience in these consecutive months of psychical 
 agitation. For one, she had never believed that the 
 Major's reason was gone. That painful guess was 
 not hers. In the Major's eyes — large, soft, eloquent, 
 rational eyes, that I'oamed uneasily about the room 
 from point to point when they did not find Phoebe, 
 and rested upon her with supreme tranquillity when 
 she came into view — she saw unmistakably, as she 
 believed, that this man's intellect was a force which 
 had not yet dashed out beyond the control of ordi- 
 nary human influences. 
 
 But the little lady kept this opinion secret. 
 
 ]^ext, however, as she heard of a lost memory, 
 merely, and lost speech, and as these losses seemed to 
 indicate only that the accumulations of the intellect 
 were gone, and not the intellect itself, — as it might be 
 the loss of a treasure, but not of the tre;isure-finder, — 
 the explanation ran concurrently with her own obser- 
 vations, and she accepted it ; and the thoughts if sug- 
 gested opened to her singular speculations upon the 
 future. 
 
 Where was all this to end ? 
 12 
 
178 
 
 Before this time every one of all that little 
 company had, as if by a common truce of sym- 
 pathy, forgotten alike the thought of the morrow, 
 and lived in the daily and even hourly interest 
 they felt for the Major. Picked up at first as 
 a man slain almost in their presence, they had 
 watched over him only to do for him the best servi- 
 ces that can be done for any one ; and Phoebe, never 
 for a moment imagining that his death was not mo- 
 mentarily imminent, had passed hours on her knees 
 at the bedside with her little morocco-bound prayer- 
 book before her eyes, commending the passing life 
 to the Giver. 
 
 But as the fatal stroke was delayed, and death 
 seemed to play with hope, Phoebe earnestly prayed 
 that the brighter possibility might be realized: yet 
 always without any other thought than that of a 
 merciful little Christian who instinctively wishes 
 that the best may come to all. 
 
 And thus insensibly from point to point of expe- 
 rience she had grown — without any perception on her 
 own part, entirely without consciousness of it — into 
 such relations of deep sympathy and interest with 
 this man, into such a daily hanging upon his fate, — 
 the fate of an enemy, an accidental person in her 
 life, — that now, when it was recognized he would 
 live, she was startled and amazed as she asked her- 
 self. What then ? 
 
 Some women are themselves equal to every emer- 
 gency of life ; but those hard-headed ones are hard- 
 hearted also. They are gorgons. They are equal 
 
PHCEBE SEEKS COUNSEL. 179 
 
 to all occasions, simply because no event readies 
 an}^ sensitive point in tlieir natures. 
 
 All the lovable little women, however, instinct- 
 ively want help, and differ from one another only 
 as to the points in the compass of life toward which 
 they turn to look for it. But this is a result that is 
 determined by the character of the woman. Some 
 liave friends— men or women, as the case may be — 
 whose advice pierces all the clouds of doubt. Some 
 have a brother ; some go to mother, some to father ; 
 and some hie quietly away to a dim corner of the 
 church and pray for divine assistance. 
 
 Phoebe, if she had had a mother, would have gone 
 to her with all the vague thoughts which she could 
 not herself formulate, but which concerned the new 
 possibilities of the Majors recovery. She had no 
 mother ; and though Aunt Hetty was there, she did 
 not go to her, because that goodly dame's advice 
 would, she knew, be framed entirely on those as- 
 pects of the case which were perceptible to the in- 
 tellect ; while the cry of an impulsive heart and a 
 warm, emotional nature would not, she believed, be 
 lieard in that court. 
 
 Phoebe's only resource was a dim corner in a little 
 out-of-the-way church, to be reached by the beaiitiful 
 woodland paths, to which she went every night, 
 with Agate for company. 
 
 In those days religion w^as kept alive, like the 
 sacred fire upon the Caucasian hill, by inner im- 
 pulses, and with little assistance from church cere- 
 monial. Nevertheless the church was there ; a dim, 
 
180 
 
 silect, m^^stic corner of this stormy earth, like the 
 hither end of a solemn vista whose other end is be- 
 yond the stars ; and there, sometimes, there was 
 even service, for a tough-minded soldier-preacher 
 from Winchester now and then made godly raids 
 through the wilderness to comfort the faithful. 
 
 Phoebe was not a devotee. But they are in error 
 who suppose that the only form which piety assumes 
 in woman is an absolute negation of all of life but 
 what is related to the formalities and seasons of 
 religious services. She was not a very religious 
 person. She was not a wicked woman, certainly ; 
 far from it, indeed. ISTeither was she an oppres- 
 sively goody-goody one. She was in this respect 
 about as the world of agreeable women are. They 
 are not the devil's daughters, because they have been 
 brought up, as the phrase goes, to fear the Lord, — 
 and do indeed fear those tilings that are threatened 
 in all religious schemes. Neither are they quite 
 given up to the law and the gospel, because a 
 bright-witted little lady does not surrender the im- 
 pulses of a feminine nature to a rule that would 
 suppress even an extra blue ribbon on a summer's 
 day. 
 
 It was warm human blood that was in Phoebe's 
 veins, and not holy-water ; and yet those trips to 
 the church were a comfort to her, if for no other 
 reason than that they satisfied her mind that she 
 was taking the best advice upon her difficulties. 
 
 From that time Phoebe's thoughts and her whole 
 life ran strictly and simj)ly in the way of nature. 
 
PHCEBE SEEKS COUNSEL. 181 
 
 Destiny had thrown her and the Major together in 
 this singular way; and watching over him day by day, 
 shcjwitli all the rest indeed, had grown to feel a tender 
 regard for him. And then as his recovery had gone 
 on and made famous progress, it had fallen espe- 
 cially to her lot to sit with him through the winter 
 days in IN'aomi's room, and through the long days 
 of the next summer on that piazza ; and she had 
 indeed retanght him, so far as he knew it, his mother- 
 tongue. From that dainty mouth he had caught and 
 learned once more the wonderful trickeries of 
 speech. 
 
 That they should fall irretrievably in love with 
 one another was not merely inevitable. It would 
 have been a treason against the divine law which 
 made woman for man and man for woman, if it had 
 happened otherwise. 
 
 For the world, even, admits all the authority 
 of that divine rule, w^ith this limitation only : that 
 there shall be no existing contrary obligation. And 
 where was there any contrary obligation in this 
 case? 
 
 Arthur on one side, you will say, and the people 
 in Maine upon the other. Nobody had ever heard 
 a word of Arthur since the time he left the camp 
 that niofht about ten months before ; and when a 
 man has not made even the littlest ripple upon the 
 surface of the sea of life in that time, and when such 
 silence in a soldier coincides with a period in which 
 there has been a battle, with ten thousand killed 
 and wounded on either side, and when hundreds 
 
182 *^AS WE WEJ!5"T MARCHIKG OX.'' 
 
 of those left on " fame's eternal camping-ground " 
 were recorded as unknown, everybody assumes tliat 
 lie was probably one of tlie unrecognized dead. 
 
 As tlie Major's past life was erased from his own 
 brain, he also seemed to be as completely erased from 
 the record Uiat life elsewhere had kept of him. 
 They could not doubt that he had been reported as 
 killed that night, and that his friends, wherever and 
 whoever they were, had accepted that report as the 
 end of the story. Therefore, as he was lost to his 
 friends and they lost to him, what was there in all his 
 actual life but what had occurred in this valley ? 
 They were like two shipwrecked and cast alone on 
 some beautiful island in a summer sea — lost to the 
 world, as the world to them ; yet all the world to 
 one another. 
 
 Therefore Phoebe knew well that love for her 
 was the one impulse of Pembroke's life months be- 
 fore there could be any words exchanged upon that 
 subject ; and he knew — it was the first delicious dis- 
 covery of a new life — that, heart and soul, Phoebe 
 was his. 
 
 Neither was there any one near to be surprised as 
 all this made itself plain, for all had seen it grow. 
 With Aunt Hetty, with Naomi, with Agate, it had 
 become a matter of course. And when they went 
 to the little church one day in the beautiful sunset- 
 hour and were married, if any there thought it 
 perilous for Phoebe's future, they thought also that 
 it was an inevitable stroke of destiny. 
 
 But it might not have gone to this if Dr. Braxton 
 
PHCEBE SEEKS COUNSEL. 183 
 
 liad remained on the scene. He had indeed been 
 often made uneasy by the thought of Phoebe's re- 
 lation to the Major, and had repeatedly said to 
 Hetty, " We do not know this man's histoij ; who 
 he is or what he is. He certainly may have a wife 
 at his home in the IS'orth." Braxton had even caused 
 some inquiry to be made by his friends for a Pem- 
 broke family in New York, but had found none ; a 
 fact due, of course, to the circumstance that the 
 Major, though in a ]^ew York regiment, was from 
 another State. 
 
 Her father's objection to the marriage, if he had 
 been there to make it, would have been the last 
 word of the law to Phoebe ; but he was not there. 
 He passed in these days the greater part of his 
 time at Braxton House, coming over the mountain 
 only to visit the women and the Major from time 
 to time ; and he endured much in the endeavor to 
 save his house from marauders. He had finally, in 
 some collision of intemperate words, got into trouble 
 with the Federal authorities and been carried away 
 a prisoner to Alexandria. His absence had been a 
 new and terrible stroke of calamity to Hetty, who 
 soon made up her mind she was never to see him 
 again. She in this new trouble gave up her thoughts 
 to melancholy forebodings that dealt with the possi- 
 bilities of her own removal, in one way or another, 
 as tlie next thing to be looked for ; and then wdiat 
 was to become of Phcebe, left w^ith only ISTaomi and 
 the ITorthern soldier in this mountain wilderness. 
 In this train of thought Hetty was convinced that a 
 
184 
 
 wedding was itself a remedy, and therefore favored 
 it. 
 
 As a trifle, a very swan's-down feather, will in- 
 cline the nicely-balanced scale, even though it be 
 weighing our destinies, perhaps it was a trifle that 
 gave the last touch to this balance. 
 
 Phoebe was a good little Christian, yet she had 
 some heathen fancies. ]N"ow, with the heathen re- 
 ligion is a very practical reality, and deity is a sort 
 of universal bureau of information from which he 
 can get answers to solve all doubts that are an impedi- 
 ment to action. He therefore practises divination. 
 But do not his Christian brother and sister in fact 
 imitate him in this ? Are we not divining all the 
 time by the interpretation of signs ? 
 
 Naomi had foretold a death this year because in 
 an apple-tree on the side of the mountain she had 
 seen " wid her own eyes " nearly-ripe apples and 
 blossoms at the same time. 
 
 But there is a kind of divination almost universal 
 with the quiet country people ; so common, indeed, 
 that they practise it unconsciously. This is called 
 by the learned stichoinancy^ or sortes Yirgiliani. 
 People open a volume, and the first passage that 
 strikes the eye may be tortured into an advice, a 
 command, or an answer to their thoughts, if even 
 the remotest application can be perceived in the 
 words to the case before them. 
 
 Upon serious occasions the volume used is the 
 Holy Bible, and words that seem to have a pei'cepti- 
 ble relation to a subject of moment, if found in that 
 
PHCEBE SEEKS COUNSEL. 185 
 
 reservoir of wise counsels, are accepted almost as if 
 they really involved divine advice. 
 
 Apparently the reasoning is that the Bible is the 
 Slim of all wisdom ; that in it somewhere is counsel 
 for man upon every phase of life ; and that when 
 he needs this counsel and goes to this ready oracle 
 to get it, the volume opens in his hands as if in 
 answer to prayer at the very page that bears the 
 counsel he needs. For those who believe all else 
 that we are taught as religious truth there is not in 
 this anything ridiculously incredible. 
 
 But this magic art is practised also with other 
 books, and here even those who admit the force of a 
 Biblical passage may be in doubt unless they know the 
 plain fact that in country homes of thoughtful and sin- 
 cere people every printed book is regarded with but 
 little less reverence than the Bible itself, and is as- 
 sumed to be the last form of human wisdom upon 
 the subject with which it deals. 
 
 ]^ow, there was at Skibbevan an old leather-bound 
 folio volume of English poetry brought from Eng- 
 land in the colonial days. Hiram had found it, 
 scorched and wet, knocking around at the fire, and, 
 recognizing it as a volume that the old doctor read 
 a great deal, he had rescued it and brought it over 
 the mountain as a great treasure. 
 
 Ph«ebe, in the last phase of her trouble, resorted 
 to this grand old reservoir of wise thoughts and 
 noble words. 
 
 In the silence of her chamber she said her prayers, 
 then confidently opened the volume, and there 
 
186 ''AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 upon the fair top of the right-hand page was this 
 passage : 
 
 "Open the temple-gates uuto my love, — 
 Open them wide that she may enter in ; 
 And all the posts adorn as doth behove, 
 And all the pillars deck with garlands trim, 
 For to receive this saint with honor due 
 That cometh in to you. 
 Briog her to the high altar that she may 
 The sacred ceremonies there partake 
 The which do endless matrimony make, 
 And let the roaring organs loudly play." 
 
 And thereupon Phoebe's face fell upon the page, 
 whiter, far whiter, than that time-stained record ; 
 and she was like one dead. 
 
 Perhaps this was an ecstasy. All the saints had 
 ecstasies in the old times — a condition in which the 
 soul left the body, rambled awhile in other places, 
 and came home again ; whereupon the saint arose 
 with the certainty that the impressions made upon 
 the soul in that hour were made by the touch of 
 deity. These things happened generally upon great 
 critical occasions ; though Saint Catherine of Siena 
 went off in that way one day when she was roasting 
 mutton. But that, also, is a great critical occasion, 
 if the mutton is good. 
 
 However that may be, no saint ever arose, from 
 her ecstasy with a firmer conviction that she was a 
 possessor of revealed truth than Phoebe upon this 
 occasion ; and I should like to know what dear little 
 woman in the same circumstances would not have 
 
PH(EBE SEEKS COUKSEL. 187 
 
 perceived in this grand tranquil commendation to 
 tlie temple and to tlie marriage-ceremony a com- 
 plete response to all Phoebe's thoughts, and the 
 more complete because it was certainly the response 
 she wished to receive. 
 
 And herein let ns admire the excellence of the 
 Chinese religion ; for the Chinese, also, consult the 
 deity in the way of divination, and if the answer is 
 not the one they hoped for, they may repeat the 
 trial again and again and again, and indefinitely. 
 But if they once get the answer they want, deity 
 itself commands that they shall not try again. 
 
 There are some facts in private life so particularly 
 private that even the chronicler of our romantic 
 experiences never gets much information about 
 them ; and it was this way with the simple ceremo- 
 nies of the marriage of Phoebe Braxton to Major 
 Pembroke. 'No secret was made of it at the time, 
 to be sure ; but, for reasons which the reader will 
 presently hear about, there subsequently arose an 
 apparent need for concealing all the details of that 
 story, and little Phoebe was so successful in im- 
 pressing upon the minds of the few witnesses the 
 imperative need for secrecy that years afterwards, 
 and when all the need for secrecy had passed awa}^, 
 tliey glued their lips together at the very mention 
 of the subject — so inevitable is the effect of habit. 
 
 Perhaps my own curiosity on that subject has 
 been most stirred by a point as to which the wit- 
 nesses themselves could not have helped me — by 
 what I may call, I suppose, the psychological part 
 
188 ''AS WE WEXT MARCHIiq^G OK." 
 
 of the puzzle. How was it tliat when Pembroke 
 liad had so much of common knowledge, and even 
 language itself, knocked out of him bj the hard hits 
 of that tough night on the mountain, he had enough 
 knowledo^e of human relations left in him to know 
 when to pop the question, and to know even that 
 there was a question ? 
 
 But that is a m^^stery we must all guess at. Per- 
 haps this is knowledge so related to our primary 
 human qualities that it can only be suppressed by 
 the blow that ends life ; or if this knowledge is over- 
 whelmed, perhaps it is first in the race of recovery. 
 
 But it is certain, indeed, that Pembroke's mem- 
 ory of the past was unevenly affected, and tliat his 
 recovery was consequently uneven ; and in that ine- 
 quality the more strictly natural conceptions of the 
 mind, because related to a larger range of ideas, 
 must have had an advantage. 
 
CHAPTER XYIL 
 
 DISCOVERIES. 
 
 There were blissful days at Skibbevan ; and then 
 upon the still air of that earthly paradise canie a 
 startling report. There had reached Winchester, it 
 was said, a beautiful ladj from the North, endeav- 
 oring to gain tidings of a lost husband whose name 
 was Pembroke, and who was or had been a major 
 in the Union arm}^ 
 
 Hiram heard this stoiy at the gatherings of the 
 colored people in the valley ; for as the lady had 
 offered a reward for information of the lost one, 
 and as it was known that there had been a wounded 
 man at the mill, Hiram was asked often what his 
 name was. 
 
 Presently news came that the lady at Winchester 
 was assisted in her search by the Willoughbys and 
 Gooches and other of Arthur's relations. 
 
 These families knew nearly all the facts of this 
 history, but knew them vaguely. They had been 
 scandalized by the report of Phoebe's marriage; 
 and now that an opportunity came to get at all the 
 details without seeming themselves to take the ini- 
 tiative in a painful inquiry, they encouraged and 
 helped. 
 
 It is well known that the theory of our govern- 
 
190 ''AS WE WENT MARCHllJG ON." 
 
 ment in the war was that the States in rebellion were, 
 as tliej had been from the first, component parts 
 of our system, only that the operation of the laws 
 was interrnpted by insurrection ; and that the su- 
 premacy of the law was to be restored as tlie gov- 
 ernment made progress in putting down resistance. 
 Accepting this theor3^,theGooches — Arthur's mother 
 was of that family — said that if the officer who had 
 married Phoebe Braxton was previously married in 
 the North, he should be punished for bigamy if the 
 authorities were sincere in their theory about the 
 law. On our side it was thought that this was a 
 good opportunity to demonstrate the sincerity of 
 the government, and a regular prosecution was insti- 
 tuted. 
 
 Phoebe, as soon as she heard all this, was filled 
 with consternation and dismay. As consternation 
 implies that things generally are thrown down and 
 cast into confusion, shuffled, jumbled, and left hig- 
 gledy-piggledy, that was the state of her whole 
 mind and soul ; so that there was not a thought or 
 fancy upon which she might lay hold as an anchor 
 of hope of the position and safety of which she felt 
 certain. Or she was like one who is in the field 
 when the tipsy town is tumbled down by an earth- 
 quake, and no woman endeavoring to return home 
 can tell which is her own doorway or fireside, or 
 at what shrine she may pray without desecrating a 
 sacred service. 
 
 And as the word dismay implies that the will, 
 the sustaining force of human actions, is suddenly 
 
DISCOVERIES. 191 
 
 lost, — that the weakened nerves and muscles fall like 
 loose ribbons for want of that which made them 
 active parts of a vital unity, — so that word fitly states 
 the sudden helplessness which came over the little 
 lady. 
 
 But a sudden sweeping fire from the hot muzzles 
 of destiny will weaken any line for a moment ; yet 
 if it is a good line it rallies again. And so Phoebe 
 recovered herself, and she recovered only to open 
 upon herself a new fire of reproaching ; yet out of 
 all this came, oddly enough, the salvation of the mo- 
 ment, for it indicated a direction in which to act, 
 and to act was to satisfy some human need of her 
 nature. 
 
 " She was to blame. She had married Pembroke ; 
 he had not married her. He had been absolutely 
 unconscious of a past history; but she had known 
 there was a past, and should have known all about 
 it before she went so far, and then this trouble 
 would not have come upon him." 
 
 For she did not once conceive of this trouble save 
 as it was a calamity to him. That it was the ruin 
 of the beautiful hope of the Braxtons did not occur 
 to her. 
 
 And then came a sweeter thought. 
 
 "Well, at least her Pembroke was a new man. 
 At least in his soul, in his mind, there was no 
 other wife. It was hers, and hers alone ; but alas ! 
 the strange cruelty of destiny, that the body which 
 was also the property of the other Pembroke who 
 had been married in Maine should be responsible 
 
192 ** AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 to justice for acts done in a new-life ! But Low 
 would tlie justice of that far-away past life know 
 what had been done in this new, remote, isolated ex- 
 istence ? Tlien a thought flashed through her mind 
 that justice must liave evidence ; and she understood 
 what Hiram had said about " looking for evidence," 
 and she asked herself w^hat evidence there was of 
 Pembroke's marriage with her. 
 
 '•There is the record at the little church." 
 
 Another thought which greatly troubled Phoebe 
 was that it might not be intended really to arrest 
 the Major. She knew the names of the men who had 
 been sent on this errand as infamous for some rela- 
 tion to every act of lawlessness and brigandage ever 
 done in the country, and she no sooner heard these 
 names than the fancy flashed across her thought that 
 the real purpose was to pretend to arrest the Major, 
 to provoke liim to resistance, and to kill him while 
 resisting the ofiicers. 
 
 That, she believed, would please the Willoughbj's. 
 
 Phoebe nevertheless thought that, as there might 
 be a real intention to try the Major, lier first duty 
 was to him, and her first act should be to make it 
 difiicult to convict him if they caught him ; though 
 she intended they should not catch him if she could 
 help it. 
 
 Now, the most certain evidence of the marriage 
 was the record kept in the little church. By de- 
 stroying that she would destroy, it is true, the i-ecord 
 that her own side of her relation to the Major was 
 honorable, but she would destroy what might prove 
 
DISCOVERIES. 193 
 
 liini guilty of a crime. If it did not appear before 
 the judges at Warren ton or Winchefiter or else- 
 where tliat she was married to the Major, it would 
 appear that she had lived in illicit relations with him. 
 She was ready for whatever consequences might 
 come to her if she could save him. 
 
 And with all this thought and worry and wonder, 
 went side by side, and playing in and out and aronnd, 
 like airs upon other instruments in an orchestra, a 
 fear that the trial and what might come of it was 
 not the worst before her. 
 
 If there was a trial, there would at least be justice, 
 and the Major's condition would be taken into ac- 
 count. She never imagined that ordinary courts 
 would raise the eyebrows of incredulity over such a 
 story. She could not comprehend that any would 
 doubt what she knew so well. 
 
 But she feared what might happen if Pembroke, 
 brought into the presence of this lady from the 
 l^orth, should remember and know her. How cold 
 had been the life between them Phoebe did not 
 know. They had loved one another, she assumed ; 
 and if an earlier claim to Pembroke's love was good 
 now, what would become of her ? 
 
 At midnight two women left the old mill at Skib- 
 bevan. One was Phoebe, the other Agate. 
 
 It was not, apparently, a perilous trip from the old 
 mill to the little chapel. JSTo wild beasts infested 
 that region, nor were there any demons or witches 
 of romance there. Yet there was more danger in 
 the journey than eitlier of these women thought, for 
 13 
 
194 ''AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 there were armies in tlie valley, and the mountain 
 was a place of refuge for scores of armed ragamuf- 
 fins, half soldiers and half highwaymen. 
 
 But they went safely through all that. As in a 
 crowd if you see one you know and fix your gaze 
 upon him he is well-nigh sure to see you, while if 
 you turn your eyes away you are very apt to pass 
 unseen, so it almost appeared that their very un- 
 consciousness of the proximity of enemies kept the 
 enemies unconscious of them. 
 
 Phoebe had not all the way a thought of danger. 
 Her mind was not sufficiently free for such a mere 
 personal indulgence as the sense of fear. She was 
 too intent upon the purpose before her to consider 
 the possible accidents of the way. But Agate, who 
 had not the inspiration of such a purjDOse, and had 
 all the superstitious nature of her race, saw ghosts 
 and devils at every step. 
 
 Thus it happened that the delicate lady led the 
 way without a thought of present evil, while there 
 went trembling behind her the strong slave, who in 
 the presence of any real enemy would have fought 
 for her comrade with the courage and tenacity of a 
 she-lion. 
 
 They reached the church, and captured the heavy 
 volume they sought ; and the next consideration was 
 what should be done with it. One might suppose 
 that this doubt had been determined by the way ; 
 but in truth women seldom undertake an enterprise 
 with their minds made up as to all the points ; and 
 though Phoebe had in her mind the general purpose 
 
DISCOVERIES. 195 
 
 to put this book beyond the possibility of use as 
 evidence, she had not made up her mind liow to de- 
 stroy it, nor tliought how its destruction could be 
 accomplished. 
 
 ISTow, this volume contained tlie only evidence 
 that her relations to Pembroke were those of honest 
 matrimony, so far as she knew, and this would have 
 made it sacred in most women's eyes; but it did 
 not in hers, for was it not a document that misrht 
 prove Pembroke guilty of a crime ? 
 
 The thought, therefore, that this was the only 
 record of her marriage did not save the volume ; but 
 the thought that did save it was that it contained 
 the record of the marriages of many other women, 
 and that she had no right to imperil the welfare of 
 others when this was not absolutely necessary to 
 save her own. 
 
 So between them they carried the heavy volume 
 away and hid it in a secure crevice in a rocky recess 
 of the mountain. 
 
 Then they hurried away homeward, this time 
 with the speed of fear; for now Phoebe was conscious 
 of a guilty act. 
 
 That night there was something in the air that 
 made it difficult for any one at Skibbevan to be at 
 rest. How it is that the state of one mind or 
 soul can without any apparent personal communi- 
 cation act upon another mind or soul the philoso- 
 phers do not know ; but the fact is one of experi- 
 ence, and I am not sure that it is more difficult 
 than a score of other facts. Our very diseases have 
 
196 
 
 sucli an effect upon the atmospliere near ns that 
 they who breathe the same air get the same mala- 
 dies ; and a storm in one soul, though concealed, may 
 so affect the atmosphere as to convey that mood to 
 another soul sympathetically related to this one. 
 
 Pembroke sat in the little piazza in the drowsy 
 air of the night filled with the rhythmical noises of 
 the swinging vines and swinging trees; sat and 
 waited for Phoebe, w^ho, busy, as he supposed, at 
 some other part of the old home, would come to him 
 soon. She seemed to him to be away longer than 
 usual ; but this did not strike him as strange, did 
 not ruffle the delightful tranquillity of the patience 
 with which he waited. And as he so waited, soothed 
 by all the voices of the night, the honej^-heavy dew 
 of slumber settled upon his senses. 
 
 Suddenly he started from this sleep, and whether 
 he had slept five minutes or as many hours he could 
 not tell; but he was wide awake, and filled with a 
 definite consciousness that there was something 
 wrong on foot. But what was it? Where was 
 Phoebe ? It must relate to her. 
 
 He went about and could not find Phoebe. 
 Through the various parts of the old place all was 
 still ; apparently everybody slept. But Phoebe was 
 gone. Gone whither ? Gone for what purpose ? 
 Gone for how long ? 
 
 He wandered in and out of the different rooms 
 with these thoughts coming and going in his mind, 
 and his trouble grew almost to a panic. 
 
 And then the habit of trusting her asserted itself. 
 
DISCOVERIES. 197 
 
 How had she been safe in all these days and nights, to 
 be in danger now merely because she was out of his 
 sio:ht ? This did not altosrether calm him, but it 
 lightened the strain and kept him tranquil for a 
 time ; and then as the fever of fear began to come 
 again, he heard the light step of Phoebe on the piaz- 
 za, and in a second they were face to face. 
 
 He saw her trouble as she saw his. 
 
 And then she told him in a few swift words 
 where she had been and what she had done. 
 
 But why had she done that ? Why was it neces- 
 sary ? 
 
 Phoebe felt like one who stands beside an abyss 
 into which it is his duty to plunge, as she thought 
 in one short second how mucli there was that lie did 
 not know, and how imperative it was that all 
 should be told this very moment. 
 
 And then she began to tell him. But he did not 
 understand ; and she had to stop and reflect where 
 she should begin her story, so that it would connect 
 with the point at which his new mental life began. 
 
 " Skibbevan was not your first home," she said, 
 "and we were not your first friends." 
 
 He only looked placidly at her and waited for her 
 to go on, as if perhaps such a thought had already 
 occurred to him and he had no curiosity in regard 
 to it. 
 
 " Before that you were hurt." 
 
 He put his hand to his head unconsciously. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " your head ; and we thought 
 for many months that you would die. But in your 
 
198 
 
 recovery you did not regain the memory of your 
 past life. We never liked to say much about it ; 
 we did not know what effect it might have. But 
 now it is necessary to tell it." 
 
 " Necessary for w^hat reason ?" he said. 
 
 " Because you have to go awa}^" 
 
 " Away from here !" he said ; " from you ! Im- 
 possible ! I cannot do it. I cannot comprehend 
 that there can be any reason for it." 
 
 '* But there is. Men have come from the North 
 to arrest you. They say that when we were mar- 
 ried you committed a crime, because you had an- 
 other wife." 
 
 " Another wife !" he said. 
 
 "Yes; in the beforetime." 
 
 " Another wife— in the beforetime;" and he re- 
 peated these words mechanically over and over again, 
 and then sat silently with a strange gaze in his eyes, 
 as if some recovered intimations of an intellectual 
 pathway into the past had started his will upon the 
 strange endeavor to find in his brain points of con- 
 nection by which to aid his exploration. 
 
 " They call her," said Phoebe, with hesitation — 
 " they call her Lsetitia." 
 
 He started to his feet as if that word had touched 
 the key of some magnetic battery connected with 
 explosive substances in the cells of his brain, and 
 as if that explosion had blown away the curtain that 
 hid the past. 
 
 Phoebe half rose as he started away, and then, 
 unable to regain her feet, sank lower, and her head 
 
DISCOVERIES. 199 
 
 sank almost to lier knees, and slie rested there in 
 abject misery, for she did not know that tlie im- 
 pulse which that word had stirred was one of re- 
 pulsion — was an act of instinctive aversion to all 
 with which that name was associated ; and she list- 
 ened to her fears, and thought it was a movement 
 away from her. 
 
 He strode up and down the little room with an 
 energy strange to him then; and then retui-ning, 
 gathered her up in his strong arms, folded her ten- 
 derly to his bosom, and said softly : 
 
 '' Phoebe, my love, my only darling!" And then 
 they wept together, and he said, '-How was I hurt? 
 How did I come here?" 
 
 "You were hurt in a battle. You came as a 
 soldier." 
 
 " Yes, that is it," he said. "Where is the regi- 
 ment — and old Dave ? My God ! how long has it 
 been ?" 
 
 " You were left for dead on the field of battle. 
 I saved you — Papa and Aunt Hetty, and Agate 
 and I. You were reported dead. But she has de- 
 nied it, and has done this." 
 
 Then there was an interval of tears and caresses, 
 and she said : 
 
 " Pretended officers have left Winchester to cap- 
 ture you. They are not officers, the}^ are some of 
 the mountain ruffians, and if they find you here 
 they will murder you. You must leave before it 
 is light." 
 
 " Phoebe," he said, " I do not altogether under- 
 
200 
 
 stand it ; but you, who do, must guide mo as to 
 what is best for your welfare and for my honor." 
 
 ^' Ko evil menaces me," she said. 
 
 "Wliy, then," he said, '' the regiment — " 
 
 "Here," she said, "is the regiment." 
 
 And with a step away she opened the door of a 
 closet nearly hidden in the. wall, and showed his 
 uniform, brushed and carefully hung there with the 
 scrupulous nicety with which a little girl would put 
 up her first Sunday bonnet. 
 
 At the sight of the blue cloth, the buttons, and, 
 above all, at tlie sight of the sabre hanging by the 
 belt beside the coat, he w\as excited so that he 
 trembled for a moment and leaned upon Phoebe; 
 who in her turn was frightened, and thought de- 
 spite the long delay all this had at last been made 
 known too soon — that his brain was not yet suffi- 
 ciently recovered to stand the shock of these dis- 
 closures. 
 
 "It is too much to endure," she said. "It was 
 wrong to tell you yet." 
 
 " No," he answered, " it was right. I under- 
 stand it now." 
 
 Thereupon he reached for the sabre, and taking 
 it down drew it from the scabbard, and grasped the 
 hilt firmly as if to balance the weight of the blade 
 against the strength of his wrist ; and then, perhaps 
 because some electrical influence went from that bit 
 of steel into the man, his nerves grew steady, he 
 was calm, and in that instant appeared to recover 
 a full consciousness of all those facts of his life to 
 
DISCOVEIUES. 201 
 
 wliicli the weapon was related. It was as if it 
 needed that weight in his hand to make liim him- 
 self once more. 
 
 " Yes, Phoebe," he said, " yon are right. I must 
 go away." 
 
 And then Phcebe, who had been sustained by the 
 thought of the duty to be done, and now saw only 
 the loss before her, went down upon her knees and 
 prayed ; and Pembroke knelt speechlessly beside her, 
 only putting his hand upon her head as if with the 
 wish that he might be included in the benefit of 
 those sweet prayers. 
 
CHAPTER XYIII. 
 
 PEMBROKE ON HIS WAY TO THE AKMY. 
 
 Before dajliglit Skibbevan was as mucli aban- 
 doned as any of the homes one saw in Virginia in 
 those days when nanght was left but two melancholy 
 chimneys — the timber parts burned away, and only 
 the masonry remaining in monumental remem- 
 brance of what had been. Skibbevan was left in- 
 tact ; not a scrap of furniture displaced. But if the 
 home had been burned away, the spot could scarcely 
 have looked more desolate than the sun saw it that 
 day when late in the forenoon lie had climbed high 
 enough to peep over the crest of the mountains at 
 that scene of so much recent bliss. But the sun has 
 observed so much like that since he has been upon 
 his travels that he has no longer any feeling for the 
 pathos of it. 
 
 Phoebe and Aunt Hetty, !N"aomi and Agate, 
 were to be immediately hidden at a secure place in 
 the hills, and Hiram was to accompany the Major 
 for a way till he should put him upon a sure path 
 up the valley, that he might reach the army. Then 
 Hiram was to return, guide the women to a yet 
 deeper recess of the mountains, and, by keeping up 
 a regular communication with Skibbevan, minister 
 to their daily wants. His courage and sagacity were 
 
PEMBROKE ON HIS WAY TO THE ARMY. 203 
 
 accepted as sure guarantees that no one would cap- 
 ture Lim ; or if they did, that lie would not be a use- 
 ful witness. 
 
 Tliere was a heart-breaking farewell between 
 Phoebe and the Major at the place where the wom- 
 en were to leave the route, — in which, however, they 
 restrained themselves because of the presence of 
 the others ; and then the two groups started away 
 rapidly upon their different journeys; PhcBbe for- 
 getting, in her anxiety that he should escape this 
 immediate peril, the many other perils that were be- 
 fore him; and he somewhat distracted from this 
 present loss by the feeling of an imperative sense 
 of his duty elsewhere. 
 
 Hiram and the Major tramped resolutely onward 
 all the forenoon, seeing not a soul, and at midday 
 lunched and rested. 
 
 Hiram improved this occasion to show off a little 
 before the Major, with a kind of natural vanity flow- 
 ing from some military impulses in his nature, his 
 dexterity with the remarkable weapon he carried, 
 which had excited in the Major only a speechless 
 curiosity. 
 
 This weapon was Hiram's own contrivance, and 
 was very nearly a country blacksmith's reproduction 
 of an ancient bill. Upon the smaller extremity of 
 a staff made from an ash sapling was fastened the 
 blade of one of those short stiff scythes called brush- 
 hooks, and this blade was ground to a point in such 
 a way as to remove entirely the forward bend in the 
 blade. 
 
204 
 
 ITow, the staff was about twelve feet long, and of 
 such a size in the butt that it could have been han- 
 dled only with exertion by anybody without the giant 
 shoulders, arms, and hands of Hiram — to whom, in- 
 deed, it seemed as light as a willow switch. 
 
 With this weapon, and rushing one or two steps, 
 he could strike, with deadly aim every time, his own 
 hat suspended in the branches at a point twenty -five 
 feet from where he stood. • 
 
 " Could you strike a man that way ?" said the 
 Major. 
 
 " Sure enough, Massa Major, I can do dat," he 
 said; "and if dese fellows gives half a chance, I 
 show yer. Dey talk about ole Virginny ; and I'm as 
 good ole Yirginny as any of 'em." 
 
 It was more than an hour past noon when they 
 started forward again, striking immediately and 
 without the need of agreement in words into the 
 steady long stride of men who feel that the dis- 
 tance before them bears an unsatisfactory relation 
 to the time in which they wish to put it behind 
 them. As neither of them had that merry heart 
 which is said to go all the day, — and one of them 
 certainly had the sad heart which, on the same au- 
 thority, " tires in a mile, O " — this want and this 
 weight were equally overcome by the resolute 
 spirit that neither was without. 
 
 Suddenly Hiram, who was a few paces ahead, as 
 showing the way, stopped short, bolt upright in the 
 road, and said : 
 
 "What's dat, Major?" 
 
PEMBROKE ON HIS WAY TO THE ARMY. 205 
 
 '' Wliat ?" said Pembroke. 
 
 ^' Don't yei- hear a noise ?" 
 
 Pembroke listened, but heard no sound save the 
 little movement of the rustling leaves; but even 
 that noise was never fainter than now, for there was 
 not breeze enough to stir the heavy tree-tops, and 
 there were no lower branches here, as there seldom 
 are in the dense forest. But as their senses were 
 thus kept on the alert for a minute, there came upon 
 the still air a faint harsh noise, more like the pro- 
 test of a rusty hinge than like any sound peculiar 
 to the wild hillside. 
 
 " Perhaps some rusty well-wheel in the valley," 
 said the Major. 
 
 "Major," said Hiram, with the confidence of su- 
 perior knowledge, " dere ain't no well-wheel for ten 
 miles. People on de mountain gets water out of 
 de branches ; and down in de valley dey draws wid 
 a well-sweep. Dat's de rusty wheel of some ole 
 nigger's mule-cart ; but what ole nigger's comin' 
 on de mountain wid a mule-cart dese times ? Dat's 
 what Pm wonderin' at." 
 
 Now, Hiram's imagined familiarity with the sound 
 he heard caused it to excite his wonder rather than 
 his fear, otherwise his half-Indian instincts would 
 have caused him to hide at once ; and had he done 
 so, they would have viewed from some safe lookout 
 near by what they presently saw, but would have 
 missed the notable experiences of that day. 
 
 For scarcely had Hiram delivered his opinion on 
 the noise than there came in sight around a sharp 
 
206 '^AS WE WENT MARCHING ON. 
 
 turn in the road, two hundred yards away, a spec- 
 tacle strange to Pembroke, but apparently not alto- 
 gether strange, though startling, to Hiram. 
 
 " Dat's a nigger funeral," he said ; " but what 
 nigger is it ? Didn't hear any one was dead." 
 
 There was a rickety old open wagon drawn by a 
 mule, driven by a colored woman closely veiled, 
 who sat up at the front of the wagon, while behind 
 her in the wagon was what might well be a coffin 
 covered with a black cloth, and in the road walked, 
 in couples, following the wagon, four colored 
 women closely veiled. 
 
 " Lors a massy !" said Hiram, " what nigger can 
 dis be ? And every one of dem culled women's six 
 foot high ; and where did dey borry so many veils 
 dese times ? Come on. Major." And Hiram, with 
 a sudden air of resolution which told the Major that 
 it was a moment in which to be on his guard, started 
 ahead, and they walked side by side swiftly toward 
 the advancing cortege, each prepared for a ready 
 use of weapons. ISTow, this advance was more fortu- 
 nate than Hiram knew, for it gave to the funeral 
 party the impression that others were on the road 
 behind Hiram and the Major ; and more surprised 
 than our friends were, and not knowing what to 
 expect, these five uncommonly tall colored women 
 kept steadily on their way. 
 
 " How dey do step out !" muttered Hiram as they 
 came near ; and indeed as the gait of our acquaint- 
 ances was a good one, and the pace of the others 
 not at all that of women who are lingering on their 
 
PEMBROKE ON HIS WAY TO THE ARMY. 207 
 
 last journej with a friend, the two parties passed 
 without a word exchanged, within two or three 
 minutes of the time they first caught sight of each 
 other. 
 
 "Dey ain't neighborly niggers," said Hiram. 
 "JSTot a word, eh? Dat's mighty queer. Dar's 
 some shecoonery in dis." 
 
 ISTow, Hiram's state of mind was a very odd one. 
 Like all men of his race, his perceptions were very 
 acute, and he thus discovered at the first glimpse, — 
 " with half an eye," as the people say, — that there 
 was something wrong about that funeral. Those 
 women were all too tall ; they strode forward with 
 a free use of their feet not characteristic of persons 
 used to wearing petticoats. They were too much 
 veiled, and they were not sociable enough. Besides, 
 if any colored person was dead in all that region, 
 would he not have heard of it ? Yet, though he 
 discerned readily, he reasoned slowly, and did not 
 reach over-hastily the thought that perhaps it was 
 not a funeral, nor yet the inquiry, if it was not a 
 funeral, what was it ? 
 
 His instincts were right, however, though his rea- 
 son was slow ; for the moment that little turn in 
 the road put them out of sight of the others, making 
 a sudden sign to the Major, he started on a hard 
 run, and tlie Major followed. At this place the 
 road wound a great deal on account of the irregu- 
 larities of the mountain-side and the need of 
 skirting many steep, rocky places ; consequently the 
 view up or down the road was not open for any 
 
208 
 
 distance, and Hiram, understanding that tlie others, 
 if they returned, mnst he nearly npon their heels 
 hefore they could see them, thus ohtained five or 
 six minutes' grace in which to choose an ambush. 
 
 He had apparently fixed upon the place as he 
 ran ; for, ^oming to a point at which a smaller road 
 cut off from that they were on and descended the 
 mountain, he ran forward beyond a heavy mass of 
 boulders that stood in the angle of these two roads, 
 and, dashing behind the boulders, made liis way by 
 a rough crevice back to the face of the mass, where, 
 in an open space covered from the front by a dense 
 gro^vth of vines and brushwood, they could, unseen 
 and unheard, looking down upon the road, both see 
 and hear. 
 
 By this time, Pembroke, reasoning that if 
 those they had just passed were not what they 
 seemed, — if they were persons in disguise, — they 
 were probably on some evil errand, and might be 
 those enemies who were reported on the way to 
 capture him, became uneasy lest they should not 
 return ; for if they went on, what danger might 
 there not be for Phoebe ? 
 
 "Are these the fellows from Winchester?" he 
 said to Hiram. 
 
 '* Dat's it, suah. Major ; dat's it, suah. Dat mus' 
 be it: never reckoned dat. Dese am de fellows from 
 Winchester. Fixed demselves up like culled wumen 
 so de Linkum sojers wouldn't stop 'em." 
 
 "What will they do now?" 
 
 " Dey'U stop in de road dere, and reckon dis ting 
 
PEMBROKE OX HIS WAY TO THE AEMY. 209 
 
 a little, and den dey'll come for ns, becanse you're 
 de man dej want. But dej'll come mighty sliy, 
 and somebody'll be all mommicked up 'fore niglit. 
 Are you all ready V* 
 
 The Major had his sabre-hilt near his hand, and 
 had his revolver in his belt ; but the cartridges were 
 now so old that he did not know whether he could 
 count upon them. 
 
 He was as ready, however, as it was possible to 
 be in the circumstances, and they waited in silence. 
 
 Waiting in that way for the enemy to come — 
 waiting in a reasonably good ambush for an inevi- 
 table conflict with an overwhelming number, in 
 which it must depend upon your skill to make two 
 men equal to five — is a thing that men get used to 
 in war ; but it makes untried men impatient, and 
 stirs the old fellows to be sure not to act precipitately, 
 yet not to let the right moment go by. 
 
 Hiram had been right as to what the others would 
 do ; for in a few minutes one figure, one tall fellow 
 dressed in butternut cloth — this time without petti- 
 coats or veil, and with a rifle ready before him — ap- 
 peared in the road at the first turn in the direction 
 from which our friends had come. Seeing the way 
 clear before him, he made a sign to those behind 
 him, and hurried forward toward the next turn. 
 
 ^•If dey don't move faster dan dat, we could 'a' 
 run clean away from dem, Major," said Hiram. 
 
 ^•'But it is better this way," said the Major. 
 " They might return and pursue the women." 
 
 This was hardly said before the advance man was 
 14 
 
210 "AS WE WEKT MARCHIKG ON." 
 
 in tlie road beside the Major and Hiram ; and as lie 
 could see down botli wa3^s and did not know which 
 road to take, he waited for the others. If the Major 
 had been sure of his cartridges, he would have closed 
 the career of this fellow now, and thus have had 
 one fewer to deal with ; but the fall of a hammer 
 tliat did not explode the cartridge would not hurt 
 the foe, and would betray the hidden two, and they 
 would have been presently shot to death in the 
 hole in which they lay. 
 
 To fire upon him was therefore a risk not to be 
 taken, and the Major held his hand. 
 
 Presently the others joined the man who had 
 already arrived, and the five — all of the same sort, 
 rough customers in butternut, such as always live 
 upon the skirts of an army, and are fonder of all 
 things else pertaining to strife than the smell of 
 gunpowder — held a council of war in tlie road. 
 
 "Reckon we've lost 'em," said one. 
 
 " How could we lose 'em ?" said another. 
 
 " We uns has been durn foolish about this," said 
 a third. " If we'd followed their tracks in the road 
 from where they started to run, we'd 'a' had some- 
 thin' to lead us to jist where they're at." 
 
 "Well, now, Jim," said the first fellow in butter- 
 nut, "nobody can't please you. Soon as I seen by 
 the tracks there that they'd started to run, I sez to 
 myself, ' If we stop to look for tracks, they'll get to 
 the Yankee army before we can ketch 'em; ' and that's 
 the reason I went fast. Can't follow no tracks and 
 run, too." 
 
PEMBROKE ON HIS WAY TO THE ARMY. 211 
 
 Hereupon one who had been down the by-road 
 returned, and reported that he could not find any 
 traces of footsteps that way. 
 
 Fortunately for our friends in the crevices of the 
 boulders, these five had npon their advance halted 
 at this very spot, and between the mule and the 
 wasron and their own shufiline: about there was such 
 a confusion of traces that they did not even endeavor 
 to follow any footprint up the main road, but, con- 
 cluding hastily that, as there were no traces the other 
 way, they must have gone by the wagon-road, deter- 
 mined to push rapidly forward in that direction. 
 
 " Well, as the little road comes into the wagon- 
 road again a ways ahead," said the leader, " we 
 can cover more ground by some going each 
 way." 
 
 "Bnthe's a tough-looking fellow," said the one 
 called Jim ; " not much sick man about him ; and 
 that Hiram Braxton ain't a baby ; and dividing our 
 forces ain't a good plan with sich as them." 
 
 "Well, we won't be far away," said the first, 
 " and a shot in either road could fetch up the oth- 
 ers." 
 
 " Jist as yer like," was the answer. 
 
 So two went one way and three the other. And 
 Jim, who went with the three, called out as parting 
 advice : 
 
 " Kill him if yer see him. There ain't no other 
 chance." 
 
 And then the two lying perdu heard them dispute, 
 and, though they could not see clearly all the time. 
 
212 "AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 got glimpses occasionally which assured them of a 
 clear road for the moment. 
 
 'Now, Hiram, whose duty was to get the Major 
 safely on his way, was for waiting till these fellows 
 were well advanced, and for then following for a 
 certain distance the road taken by the two and leav- 
 ing it by a way he knew, and getting into the wet 
 region at the foot of the mountain. But the Major, 
 thinking all the time of Phoebe and of what these 
 fellows might do if disappointed, did not want to dis- 
 appoint them entirely. 
 
 "We have got the advantage," he said, "in 
 knowing their plan, and in knowing that they are 
 divided ; and if we could get at the two before they 
 reach the others, we could give a good account of 
 ourselves." 
 
 " Dat can be done. Major," said Hiram, " if must 
 be." 
 
 " How ?" said the Major. 
 
 "Dis yeah path dat dem two fellows went is 
 mighty crooked ; winds away mile and a half, and 
 comes back to de boulders 'bout kalf a mile from 
 here. It's mighty rough, but we can get dar 'fore 
 dey do." 
 
 "Forward, then," said the Major; "that's our 
 chance." 
 
 So they scrambled out of the lucky refuge to 
 which they had taken, and jumped and fell and 
 climbed and slid onward toward Hiram's strategic 
 
 o 
 
 point. It was a mighty rough way, as Hiram had 
 said, and the Major went down so badly two or 
 
PEMBROKE ON HIS WAY TO THE ARMY. 213 
 
 three times that Hiram thought he had a man with 
 a broken leg on his hands ; but they reached the 
 place, and in good time, as it proved. 
 
 Pembroke planned an ambush upon the theory 
 that the two foes coming with a little care, but not 
 with a great deal, and much as he had seen them 
 all come up to the point where he was last hidden, 
 would advance on this narrow path one some yards 
 in advance of the other. He placed himself nearest 
 to the advancing enemy, and Hiram at a place about 
 ten paces farther up the path. 
 
 His plan was to let the first man — the one with 
 the rifle — pass him, and then as the other came op- 
 posite him to kill this one with a pistol-shot, which, 
 indeed, from the place where the Major was hidden 
 would be fired from a point so near the man that the 
 shot could not but be fatal if the cartridge was good. 
 
 It was assumed that at this shot the man with the 
 rifle would wheel round and endeavor to get a shot 
 at the Major ; and as he should turn, Hiram, who 
 would be behind him, v/as to come upon him with 
 his bill. 
 
 But the Major's pistol might miss fire on account 
 of the age of the cartridges. 
 
 In that case the Major was to close with his man 
 so that the other could not fire mthout danger of 
 hitting his friend ; and while he hesitated, Hiram's 
 bill was to come into play, and then, if all went weU, 
 they would be two to one. 
 
 But not even so little a battle as this is ever 
 fought precisely as it is planned. 
 
214 ''AS WE WEKT MAKCHING OIT." 
 
 Both men came stepping forward swiftly, but on 
 tlie alert, and in the order imagined. Pembroke 
 fired as had been planned, and the cartridge was 
 good and his man fell ; but the other did not turn. 
 
 On the contrary, getting somehow over his 
 shoulder a hghtning-like glimpse of what had hap- 
 pened, he started and ran Uke a deer straight up the 
 path, with Hiram at his lieels ; for Hiram, having 
 got his part of the programme definitely in his head, 
 could not change in a hurry the conception that it 
 was his duty to hit this fellow. He gained upon him 
 enough to make a thrust that caught the fellow, but 
 very lightly, on one side of his neck ; at which 
 touch the fellow dashed away out of the path, and, 
 luckily for Hiram, the vines and branches caught 
 liis rifle, jerked it from any chance for an aim, and 
 he, seeing Hiram so near, dropped it and scrambled 
 forward in his desperate flight. 
 
 But seeing suddenly that Hiram's weapon was 
 caught in the vines, and supposing, apparently, that 
 the vines would hold Hiram long enough to give 
 him a chance for a shot, he struggled forward 
 and stooped for his rifle. But he had not counted 
 upon the length of Hiram's weapon. Hiram, push- 
 ing his way only half into the thicket, with one 
 desperate thrust drove the scythe into the fellow's 
 back, over his shoulder, as he was stooping, and 
 he never rose. Then Hiram struggled forward and 
 got the rifle himself, and got from the body of the 
 prostrate man about twenty cartridges. 
 
 Then the Major got the revolver and cartridges 
 
PEMBROKE ON HIS WAT TO THE ARMY. 215 
 
 of the other, wlio was hit in the head, and they were 
 well supplied with arms and ammunition. 
 
 ^' I was possessed to do it," said Hiram ; " I was 
 possessed to do it ! But, sure's yer born, Major, I 
 reckoned I'd missed a figure wlien I seen him run 
 dat way." 
 
 " You did it well, Hiram," said the Major. " You 
 did it like a good and brave soldier." 
 
 And Hiram's face shone like a patch of varnished 
 wall where the sun touches it. 
 
 But the shot fired would be taken by the others 
 as the signal for them, and they would be on hand 
 very shortly ; and what was to be done next? 
 
 Pembroke, seeing how little these fellows had 
 been up to this sort of fighting, and believing tlie 
 others might be as easily caught, wanted to lie in 
 wait for them also ; but Hiram was against this be- 
 cause it was not likely that five together should be 
 without one or two more skilled in bushwhacking, 
 and he believed in the choice of new ground. 
 
 Pembroke, therefore, yielding to the opinion that 
 the women would certainly be safe before these fel- 
 lows, taking care of their wounded and burying 
 their dead, could proceed to Skibbevan, even if now 
 inclined to go there, and conceding that they could 
 fight to more advantage on ground of their own se- 
 lection if pursued, accepted Hiram's plan. 
 
 They therefore started boldly backward upon tlie 
 path by which the others had come, in order not to 
 leave it in the vicinity of this conflict, though not 
 
216 "AS WE WENT MAKCHING ON." 
 
 knowing but the three on the other road might come 
 this way. 
 
 At about half a mile from the place at which the 
 dead man lay in the path, Hiram suddenly quitted 
 it by a turn to the left hand, and stepping into the 
 bed of a mountain-torrent, dry at this time, led the 
 way down the mountain by a very steep and difficult 
 zigzag. 
 
 They went on thus for an hour without a word 
 and hearing not a sound from their late pursuers, 
 and now began to find the way easy and sloping 
 into broad reaches of nearly level woodland. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 POTLTJCK. 
 
 They heard no more of tlieir foes, and all the rest 
 of that day saw not a sign of the existence in the 
 mountain of any human creature. Late in the 
 afternoon they were upon wet ground, in a sort of 
 half -swampy region near the river, and in the dim 
 light at nightfall Hiram led the way through a 
 deep swamp where any but one familiar with the 
 path would have been mired at every step ; and 
 so they reached a dry knoll in this hidden place, 
 which, it immediately occurred to the Major, was 
 perhaps a station on the "underground railroad." 
 There they ate heartily of N'aomi's provender, and 
 passed the night as little disturbed as if it had been 
 in the garden of Eden. 
 
 I^ext day they finished I^aomi's supply and got 
 an early start. They reached the river before noon, 
 and Hiram, leading the Major, hunted up and down 
 the stream to find what he evidently knew was 
 there, but could not readily discover. Eventually 
 he returned, poling a rickety old skiff, in which, 
 together, they reached the other side, partly by help 
 of the pole and partly by the current, which, carry- 
 ing them swiftly downstream, carried them across, 
 thanks to a bend in the river. 
 
218 ^'AS WE TVEI^T MAECHING ON." 
 
 Here was the end of Hiram's service, for the road 
 that the Major was to take was plain and clear from 
 this point, and ran not more than three or four hun- 
 dred yards from where thej stood. They parted at 
 the skiff, with that full-hearted grasp of the hand 
 that is exchanged only between men who have 
 some good reason to deeply know each other's 
 nature. 
 
 Hiram's eyes glistened with joy as the Major 
 said : 
 
 " Hiram, I feel safer about the women since I've 
 seen how you can use your weapon." 
 
 " Mars'r Major, if any of 'em comes dar, I'll jab it 
 into 'em ! I'll jab it into 'em !" 
 
 This was said with an energy that almost upset 
 the little skiff as the current carried her out down 
 the next reach of the river. 
 
 Pembroke went steadily on in the direction that 
 had been indicated by Hiram ; and at every stej) 
 almost gained the assurance that he was approaching 
 a very large encampment, for he could hear an 
 occasional drum-beat and a bugle-call, and the 
 screaming of many mules. But he could not for a 
 great while get even a glimpse of the country 
 before him, because he was so far down in the level 
 of the valley that the heavy timber completely ob- 
 scured the view of things beyond. 
 
 For hours he pushed on, however, and, excej^t for 
 the birds and squirrels, saw not a sign of life in the 
 woods about him ; and the foliage of the tall trees 
 was so dense that the day grew dim, and it seemed 
 
POTLUCK. 219 
 
 to be already near nightfall, wlien it was probably 
 only about the middle of the afternoon. He was in 
 the neutral belt that surrounds an active army — ^too 
 near to it for the enemy's guerillas, but too far 
 away to happen upon foragers, unless it had been 
 an organized foraging expedition. 
 
 He now changed his direction, in the hope to get 
 more speedily into the open valley, feeling the cer- 
 tainty that as the base of the army near to which 
 he now knew he was must be at Winchester, he 
 would, upon the by-roads nearer the turnpike, come 
 upon some stragglers who had wandered off from 
 the line of march, and who would have food. 
 
 In fact, this change brought him out of the heavy 
 timber and upon an open ridge, from which he got 
 a glimpse of the country and some indications of 
 the camp, but uncertain through the woods, in the 
 valley itself. 
 
 His most immediate purpose, however, was at- 
 tained. He came upon a soldier, a fine strapping 
 fellow, who was stepping out well on a kind of 
 farmers' wood-road that ran along the timber at 
 right angles with the path by which Pembroke had 
 now come out of the woods, and which consequently 
 led toward the point from Avhich the bugle-calls 
 came. The Major was at a point which the soldier 
 would reach in a few moments, and he waited ; and 
 the soldier came on with the step, not of a strag- 
 gler, but of one who wishes to get into camp. 
 
 As the soldier came within a rod, his eye caught 
 the figure of a man, and he halted and brought his 
 
220 
 
 piece up ; but as a more direct scrutiny showed the 
 uniform, he dropped the butt of his rifle to the 
 ground and sakited the Major. 
 
 " Where are you from ?" said the Major. 
 
 "Hospital at Winchester, sir; wounded at 
 Opequan ; recovered, sent forward to join my regi- 
 ment. Perhaps you can show me the way, sir ?" 
 
 " No," said the Major. " I was wounded also, and 
 have been hidden in the mountains .here a great 
 while, and want to get to the camp myself. But I 
 am a little used up and hungry." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; you are pale, not quite right yet, sir. 
 Please to sit there." And he partly supported and 
 partly pushed the Major down upon a comfortable 
 tuft of grass at the root of a large tree. 
 
 Then he dropped his knapsack, blanket, and haver- 
 sack, carefully rested his rifle on the accumulation 
 of his kit, ran two or three rods away to a little 
 vein of water he had just passed, returned with his 
 tin cup half -full of water, and, as he came forward 
 again, tipped out of his canteen into the cup a good 
 pull of whiskey, and passed it to the Major, who 
 speedily put the whole draught where it would do 
 most good. 
 
 " That win stiffen you up until you can eat, sir." 
 
 Then the soldier brought out of the recesses of 
 his bag a little store, which he had evidently laid 
 away for his own comfort, of the dainty light bis- 
 cuit for the making and baking of which the kitchen 
 Dinah possesses some secret, and which are a grate- 
 ful variation from the monotony of hard-tack, as 
 
POTLUCK. 221 
 
 well as a grand inducement for a soldier to get on 
 a by-road, since on the main road where the whole 
 army is no given number of darky women could 
 make enough for all ; but one soldier on a by-road 
 is sure to obtain this tribute of African hero-worsliip 
 and gratitude. 
 
 These little cakes had been split open while 
 warm, and a space between them filled with that 
 honey of the Shenandoah Yalley of which nobody 
 knows much but the people of the valley, and which 
 nobody has fully appreciated at its true merits but a 
 soldier who has campaigned in that country. In the 
 rush of the Major's appetite these dainties melted 
 away like snowflakes on a hot gun, and the generous 
 fellow who had turned out his treasure for an ofiicer 
 in distress said ; 
 
 " These will do till we find something more sub- 
 stantial." 
 
 As the Major thanked the soldier for his happy 
 supply of provender and the good-will with which 
 he gave it, they fell into conversation, and it was 
 agreed that they should proceed together in accord- 
 ance with a plan the soldier already had in mind, to 
 cover yet before nightfall about half the distance 
 between them and the camp, have supper, bivouac 
 on the hills, and, starting at sunrise, get into camp 
 early next day. 
 
 Eefreshed by the soldier's whiskey and cakes, the 
 Major was soon ready, and they went ahead at a 
 good gait. He was a stout fellow, the comrade 
 thus found — a well-constructed youngster, with a 
 
222 
 
 handsome, smooth face, blue eyes, and of ready 
 speech ; and from him, without showing altogether 
 Iiis want of acquaintance with recent military oper- 
 ations, the Major learned that the army then in the 
 valley, and commanded by Sheridan, was in camp 
 near the head of the valley, on a tributary of the 
 Shenandoah called Cedar Creek ; and that the 
 Major's regiment was there in an organization now 
 entitled the Sixth Corps, which had been formed 
 since the Major was wounded. 
 
 Even the name of Sheridan was new to the 
 Major, for it had not been heard much in the East 
 at the time he was knocked over ; and as he heard 
 the soldier name with pride that glorious fighting 
 organization, the Sixth Corps, he discovered that 
 he had some small share in its glory, for though its 
 name was new, yet his regiment, brigade, and divi- 
 sion were part of it, though formerly they had been 
 in the Fourth Corps under General Keyes. 
 
 More in a dream than in the full possession of his 
 senses, — in a whirl with the recent recovery of so 
 many impressions, — the Major toward the last simply 
 gave liimself up to the guidance of the soldier, and 
 followed without a word, until they suddenly came 
 to a halt in a poor little inclosure that served for a 
 farm-yard, and the Major looked up to observe the 
 soldier holding a colloquy with the farmer. 
 
 The soldier was trying to buy some choice morsel 
 of meat or bread to feed the Major, and the farmer 
 said : 
 
 "We're just eat out clean, and hain't got a 
 
POTLUCK. 223 
 
 mouthful" — wliicli was the ordinary and indeed 
 very natural refrain of the time and the place. 
 
 There were hens scratcliing around, and the sol- 
 dier said : 
 
 "What will 3'ou take for one of them hens?" 
 
 "Well, now, I can't sell none o' them hens. 
 They're the last I've got ; and when the Confeder- 
 ate army was to Winchester and 'bout hyar, I could 
 'a' sold 'em all for two dollars and a half a piece." 
 
 " Secesh money ?" 
 
 " Ye-es ; but I don't want to sell 'em for any 
 kind of money." 
 
 Just then a gun went off, and a hen that, in the 
 confidence of home habits, had strayed within three 
 or four yards of the muzzle of the soldier's piece 
 sprawled and kicked her last kick on the ground. 
 
 " Now, farmer," said the soldier, " that one ain't 
 much use to you, and I'll give you a dollar for her 
 — good money, too. You see I'm fond of chicken, 
 and here's a wounded officer that's used up and 
 wants a good feed ; so we can't stand on as much 
 ceremony as is customary." 
 
 Thereupon the soldier passed out his dollar ; and 
 though tlie farmer clutched the money eagerly 
 enough, he was inclined to continue his complaint. 
 
 "Never mind," said the soldier. "You pocket 
 the money, old man, and if you can get a dollar for 
 every chicken you've got left, my advice is, take it. 
 They give us now four days' rations to last five days ; 
 and that means to live on the country for one day, 
 and it's my opinion we do a little more. Sheri- 
 
224 
 
 dan's ordered to clear out this valley now so that 
 the Secesh can't come down it again, and he'll do 
 it. So don't monrn over this chicken, bnt save 
 your tears for greater occasions." 
 
 TJiereupon the soldier and the Major stepped out 
 again on their journey ; and when well on the road 
 once more, the soldier said : 
 
 "Like as not there was two or three of these 
 guerilla fellows hid away in that shanty, so it won't 
 do to stop near here or they'll be on us in the 
 night ; though we may have reinforcements when 
 we make a fire, for there's a good many of our fel- 
 lows in the Yarmount brigade that's just like me ; 
 that is, their time was out two or three days ago, 
 and they've enlisted again and are going to the front. 
 They're out on all the by-roads, having a nice tramp 
 for fun." 
 
 It was about an hour later that, as they forded a 
 pretty deep run, the soldier found an abandoned 
 camp-kettle, which he at once seized. 
 
 " That's the daisy," he said ; " and we might as 
 well halt now, for this will be troublesome to car- 
 ry." 
 
 So they halted, on the knoll that they mounted as 
 they left the stream, under a wide-branched, dense- 
 ly-leaved white-pine tree. Here the soldier soon 
 made a glorious fire, and also a shelter, for the Octo- 
 ber night was now nearly upon them, and the north 
 wind, blowing up the valley, somewhat open at this 
 point, whistled sharply over this exposed point, 
 even though they were over on the southern slope. 
 
POTLUCK. 225 
 
 From the abundance of dry wood near, the sol- 
 dier fed the fire ; and bringing the camp-kettle 
 about half full of water, built it upon a good foun- 
 dation of stones placed like a tripod, so that it might 
 not tip over at a critical moment. 
 
 Having made the fire and put on the kettle, he 
 skyugled around for some distance and came upon 
 a bit of ancient snake-fence, the division-line, per- 
 haps, of two estates, and brought on his shoulder 
 half a dozen stakes from this ; and these he placed 
 with one end in the ground and the other against a 
 long, low branch of the pine ; and when his rubber 
 blanket was fastened on the windward side of this 
 barrier, there was a complete defence against the 
 sharp wind. 
 
 At the same time the Major had kept the fire 
 lively, and cleanly plucked the old hen. Scarcely 
 was this much of preparation completed when it was 
 made plain that the soldier was right in his antici- 
 pations about company, for another soldier joined 
 them, and, with an easy " How are you, partner ?" to 
 the soldier and a salute to the Major, sat himself 
 do\vn at a little distance from the fire. 
 
 His eyes were suddenly riveted upon the hen, 
 fat, round, and ancient, plucked and singed as she 
 lay on the oil-cloth flap of the soldier's haversack. 
 
 "Partner," he said to the soldier, "that was a 
 layin' hen." 
 
 "Was it?" said the other. 
 
 " Yes. Will you sell the eggs ? Her wattles 
 shows she's got some." 
 15 
 
226 
 
 "Wattles, eh?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, what'Uyou give for 'em ?" said tlie other, 
 who, though generous enough to divide with all the 
 world, met a commercial proposition in a commer- 
 cial spirit, and recognized in the new-comer one who 
 should have been a contractor. 
 
 " J^ow," said the last man, who was from Massa- 
 chusetts, " I've got some nice sweet butter." 
 
 " Done," said Vermont. " Pass out your butter. 
 But you take the chance on the eggs." 
 
 " Oh yes," said the other ; and the old hen was 
 soon ripped open and Massachusetts was happy, for 
 there were really in her eggs of all sizes and every 
 degree of advancement, from one with a shell about 
 half formed down to tiny ones the size of a buck- 
 shot. There must have been about twenty very 
 near the size of bullets. 
 
 From this moment a good meal was perceptible ; 
 for Yermont had some hard bread left, there was but- 
 ter now, and the old hen was put in the j)ot. Massa- 
 chusetts balanced his tin cup on the edge of the fire 
 and boiled his eggs, and they sat down around the 
 cheery blaze and bubble, and while they were mus- 
 ino^ the fire burned. 
 
 Every pause is not awful. Sometimes there is a 
 pleasant tranquillity of spirit between comrades be- 
 side a fire that crackles, which needs not words for 
 sympathy of soul. 
 
 But they fell into conversation as Massachusetts 
 drew out his eggs and for courtesy passed them 
 
POTLUCK. 227 
 
 around on a piece of bark, each of the others taking 
 one of the little yellow bullets, not enough to en- 
 croach upon the supply, but sufficient as an ac- 
 knowledgment of the politeness. 
 
 " By Jiminy !" said Yermont, " it's lucky we 
 didn't open that hen by the farm-house. Old 
 Secesh would have wanted another dollar. He'd 'a' 
 counted every one of them as eggs, and then counted 
 every egg as a chicken ; and so they would 'a' been, 
 I suppose, in time." 
 
 " Yes," said Massachusetts ; "but before that time 
 the Secesh himself might 'a' been counted out." 
 
 " Them fellows don't count on a game only so 
 far as they see it," said Yermont. 
 
 " Last cherry-time was a year," said Massachu- 
 setts, " one of 'em had a deuce of a time with our 
 fellows about a cherry-tree. She was a beauty, that 
 tree, and just loaded with ox-hearts. Our boys was 
 bound to have 'em, and the tree was too big to 
 climb; but there were axes, so the boys cut her 
 down. Goodness, how old Yirginia did go on! 
 But as every one of them fellows might be cut 
 down themselves in half an hour, and came there 
 for that, of course they didn't stand much for one 
 tree more or less in Yirginia." 
 
 Just then a plaintive voice broke in : 
 
 " Can any of you tell me where the Second Rhode 
 Island Eegiment is ?" 
 
 They looked around, and there was another — a 
 slim, pale fellow, who had been a good deal stouter, 
 but was now stiff and used up with rheumatism. 
 
228 
 
 "Wlij, she's up in front with onr division. But 
 you won't get there to-night, partner ; come and sit 
 down by the fire." 
 
 So the new-comer, saluting the Major, sat down 
 as proposed ; and in doing so brought into view a 
 haversack whose bulging condition immediately 
 caught the eye of Yerraont. 
 
 " Got all your rations, I guess," he said. 
 
 " Yes," said Rhode Island ; " I've got lots of 
 pork and hard-tack, and no appetite. Do you want 
 some ?" 
 
 " AYliy," said Massachusetts, " some o' the pork 
 would salt the pot." 
 
 " Yes," said Vermont ; "and if you've got plenty 
 of hard-tack, some of it broken up in the pot would 
 thicken the soup." 
 
 " Well, help yourselves, boys," said Ehode Isl- 
 and ; and he put the haversack forward between 
 them. 
 
 Then, feeling that this reception made him per- 
 fectly at home, he got up and put his knapsack 
 down for a seat, and disposed his rifle safely on the 
 ground near him, and then very stiffly and pain- 
 fully sat down again. 
 
 ''This marching kills me," he said, "and I fell 
 out the other day. I wish to gracious we could get 
 the Secesh all in one corner and have it out with a 
 square fight, so that the boys could either be com- 
 fortably buried or go home." 
 
 "' Well," said Vermont, " this soup will be a great 
 
POTLUCK. 229 
 
 dish, and when you get your bellyful of it you'll 
 feel better." 
 
 "Like enough," said the other; "it smells 
 mighty nice." 
 
 And certainly a rich fragrance more delightful 
 than the odor of the pine-trees filled the air ; and the 
 eloquent bubble with which the juices of the old 
 hen responded to the warm attentions of the fire 
 made fine music for the ears of hungry men. There 
 was now in this famous camp-kettle one hen, about 
 four gallons of water, three or four pounds of hard 
 bread well broken up, and a lump of salt pork half 
 the size of a cartridge-box; while Yermont kept 
 handy his tin cup full of a little cold water which 
 he poured in from time to time as the boiling be- 
 came two active. 
 
 " Because," he said, " if it boils too hard it will 
 make the hen tough ; and that she don't need." 
 
 Suddenly they heard a rustle of leaves, a jingle 
 of accoutrements, and another soldier came briskly 
 forward and stood by the fire, and broke out elo- 
 quently, as he cast his eyes about, with : 
 
 " Be my soul, b'ys, yez are having it as comfort- 
 able here as iver I saw before in the whole course 
 of my life ! I belong to the Thirty-sixth Eegiment 
 of New York Yolunteers, and, by your laves, I'll be 
 one o' the company." 
 
 They all said " Certainly," and the Irishman was 
 immediately at home. 
 
 " And what have yez in the pot, thin, if it's a 
 fair question?" 
 
230 ''AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 '' Chicken sonp." 
 
 " Chicken soup ! Chicken soup ! Bj the mother 
 of Moses, did any one ever hear the loike o' that ? 
 And it's a moighty fine dish, that ; a moighty fine 
 dish is chicken soup. But, b'ys" — very seriously — 
 "is there iver a chicken in it V^ 
 
 At this they laughed boisterously. 
 
 '' Well, now, b'ys, ye naydn't laugh. You know 
 there's Massachusetts fellows and Rhode Island fel- 
 lows, in our brigade, and Oi have seen them make 
 moighty gud chicken soup wid pork and beans, and 
 I thought it might be some of the same." 
 
 Hereupon Yermont, with two clean crotched 
 sticks that he was using for cooking- utensils, lifted 
 the hen into view. 
 
 "Ah, the lovely darlint!" said Pat. "Howld 
 her there till I give her the grand salute;" and 
 he brought his piece up in front of him, to present 
 arms, with a ring and snap that showed his whole 
 soul was in it. And Bhode Island, entering into 
 the humor of the occasion, rolled the drum with 
 two sticks on the bottom of a tin can. 
 
 " She is a lovely craycher," said the Irishman, 
 " and fit to lie near the hearts of hayroes." 
 
 Pat's impulse stirred them all up, and they were 
 as musical as grasshoppers. 
 
 " But, b'ys," he said, " are there any perraties in 
 the pot ?" 
 
 There were none. 
 
 " Then bedad !" he said, " that's a great want. 
 But you had none, I suppose. Now, I have five or 
 
POTLUCK. 231 
 
 six here as nice as iver came out of the ground ; and 
 though I wouldn't wrong your hospitality by an im- 
 putation that a man need pay his way among sojers, 
 yet, if it's parliamentary, I would like to move that 
 the perraties be put into the pot." 
 
 The motion was put by Yermont, seconded by 
 Rhode Island, voted unanimously by Massachu- 
 setts, and the potatoes went into position on the 
 right and left of the pork, and opposite the hen, 
 who filled the whole danger-space in front of the 
 line thus formed. 
 
 And then for a good while, as the soldiers prat- 
 tled and smoked their pipes, and the fire crackled 
 away, and the Major worried about the sweet little 
 woman up the mountain, the materials in the pot 
 bubbled themselves into soup ; and at last Yer- 
 mont, cooling a cup full of it nicely, set it before 
 the Major. 
 
 And the Major, finding it of a palatable tempera- 
 ture, put the cup to his lips, and, tipping the bottom 
 gradually upward, did full honor to the contents, 
 and declared the soup was excellent ; and thereupon 
 all helped themselves and had a grand time. 
 
 Feast, feed, banquet, symposium, meal, repast, 
 revel, high jinks, and fifty other words have been 
 used to describe the more or less extraordinary 
 action of swallowing, gorging, devouring, discuss- 
 ing, taking down, or bolting food, aliment, prov- 
 ender, viands, cates, rations, keep, fare, creature 
 comforts ; but not one of them does entire justice 
 to a supper of chicken soup made by three or four 
 
332 '^AS WE AVENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 old soldiers, and eaten in the Yirginia woods beside 
 a bivouac-fire. It is a refresliment that " laps over 
 everything," as the boys said ; both for the comfort 
 it gives at the moment, and for the remembrances 
 it revives in other days when we realize a hero's 
 prophecy : 
 
 " Forsan et hsec olim meminisse juvabit" 
 
 Major Pembroke supped well on the soup and 
 shreds of the hen ; and weary with the day, and 
 worn out with anxiety, he stretched himself on the 
 carpet of dry pine-needles, and slept soundly, 
 soothed to happy slumber by the crackle of the fire 
 at his feet and the prattle of the cheery fellows 
 about him. But the others, who could sleep at any 
 time, enjoyed the hours about the fire in an intel- 
 lectual spirit. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ALONZO AND CORIANDA. 
 
 About the fire the four soldiers smoked tlieir 
 pipes, and in low tones of pleasant, brotherly col- 
 loquy fought their battles over again ; while the 
 Major, a little apart, fell into an uneasy sleep. In 
 a little while the colloquy of the soldiers dwindled 
 away to a mere fancy here and there of one or 
 another, and then they smoked in silence; but in a 
 true fellowship of good soldiers even silence is not 
 dull. 
 
 Suddenly Vermont proposed that somebody 
 should tell a story ; and the proposition was hailed 
 with the cordial surprise that might have been 
 stirred by a great discovery. 
 
 Everybody excused himself from this duty ; 
 but finally the New-Yorker agreed to relate an 
 account of some thinofs that had come to his own 
 knowledge. " It's not a story at all," lie said ; " but 
 it's almost quare enough to be a story." 
 
 They accepted this as a satisfactory compromise; 
 and he began : 
 
 " There was a gal — " And he halted as if uncer- 
 tain just how to go on. 
 
 '•Yes," said Massachusetts, "there's always a 
 gal—" 
 
234 ^'AS WE WENT MAKCHING ON^." 
 
 " Was she handsome ?" said Ehode Island. 
 
 " Handsome ? Why, of course she was," said Ver- 
 mont. "All gals are handsome, more or less ; but 
 anyhow there's never any stories abont gals that are 
 not handsome. But the others are sometimes very 
 nice ; and a tidy, sweet little gal is a masterpiece of 
 nature even if her face ain't like a copper-plate 
 picture." 
 
 " For my part," said Massachusetts, " I don't see 
 why all stories should be about gals." 
 
 " AYell, I can tell that," said Ehode Island. 
 
 " "Well, what is the reason ?" 
 
 " Stories are an account of the struggles and trials 
 and hopes and victories of some fellows ; and fel- 
 lows are generally of a mind that there's nothing in 
 the world worth all that — only gals." 
 
 " Well," said Pat, " who the deuce would any- 
 body suppose was a-tellin' this story ?" 
 
 " That's so," said Vermont. '' Go on with the 
 story." 
 
 "' "Well, there was a gal ; but I'm sorry to have to 
 inform this respectable company that she wasn't a 
 handsome gal. She wasn't one of the kind that has 
 eyes like stars and diamonds and things, and hair 
 like threads of gold, and teeth like pearls, and 
 cheeks like peaches, and lips like cherries. Oh 
 no ! Her face wasn't a fruit-stand, nor a jeweller's 
 shop-window. She was just a quiet little girl like 
 anybody else. Her eyes were pretty good eyes to 
 see with ; but sometimes they were dull enough to 
 look at. And on her hair, when she wanted to cut 
 
ALONZO AND CORIAiq-DA. 235 
 
 a dash, she put the usual quantity of tricopherous 
 aud bear's grease ; and when her face was yaller she 
 put on white dust like a dabster." 
 
 "Did you ever see her do it?" said Massa- 
 chusetts. 
 
 " NoWj see here," said Fat : " I'm a-goin' to tell 
 ye as much of this liere story or anecdote as ye 
 ought to know ; and I don't want to be interviewed 
 about it. See her do it ? Why, for all ye know 
 this gal was a fairy." 
 
 "JSTo, I don't believe she was," said Yermont. 
 ''I never heard of a fairy-gal that wasn't hand- 
 some ; and I guess fairies haven't got powder and 
 bear's-grease." 
 
 "Kow, even though tliis gal was only as hand- 
 some as other gals, she was the nicest, brightest, 
 gayest little creature that ever chased butterflies. 
 Her folks were pretty well off, and they lived in 
 good style : brown-stone front, and no ash-barrels 
 before the door. But the greatest trouble in tliat 
 family was that the gal had freckles. You might 
 imagine now that I'm travelling to get orders for a 
 diamond, hifalutin, sure cure for freckles, only that 
 ye know I'm a sojer. Besides, there wasn't any cure 
 in the universe for them freckles. The family 
 spent a fortune on it. They got poor trying to 
 find a cure for them freckles; and at last there 
 were the freckles all the same. 
 
 " So that interfered with the gal's chances in the 
 matrimony-market. She wasn't handsome, I told 
 you ; but lier face was bright, and she had been 
 
236 ^'' AS AVE WENT MARCHIIhG ON." 
 
 gay. But now the freckles spoiled tlie clear bright 
 look, and she was dull too. It spoiled her temper, 
 and made her peevish and ill-natured, and the fel- 
 lows did not take to her at all ; and she got un- 
 happy, and that made it all worse ; and she was just 
 on the edge of the old-maid part of life — " 
 
 " Why, I know forty gals just like that," said 
 Massachusetts. 
 
 " What was her name ?" said Rhode Island. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Pat, " I would have been 
 discreet and not named any names, for family rea- 
 sons ; but it was Corianda. 
 
 " But to go on. Just at that most dangerous part 
 of her life, he came — " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Alonzo." 
 
 " Three cheers for Lonz !" said Vermont. 
 
 " And he fell in love with her. It may appear 
 unreasonable. He was handsome, jovial, pleasant, 
 and might have had any girl he wanted. He was a 
 good mixture. He was dainty, a little, and liked to 
 dance with the girls ; but he could take things rough- 
 and-tumble wdth the boys as good as any of them. 
 He was full of good-humor and good-nature, and 
 wherever he was it was lively. And he was the 
 fellow that fell dead in love with Corianda. At 
 first she didn't believe it. She thought he was fool- 
 ing. It seemed impossible that he should come, as 
 you might say, out of his element of gay and daz- 
 zling life into her dull world, to fall in love with her. 
 But ho did, and she soon understood it ; and when 
 
ALONZO AND CORIANDA. 237 
 
 she understood it, it made a great difference in lier. 
 She fell in love too ; and her little soul lived in gar- 
 dens of delight. And the effect this pleasure had 
 upon her, the change it made in her soul, began to 
 show in her face, and she began to be hand- 
 some." 
 
 " JS'ow that's tough to take in," said Massachu- 
 setts. 
 
 " Yes," said the Troubadour, " she grew to be 
 handsome. So many happy thoughts, so. many 
 dainty impressions and delicious emotions, came 
 upon her, that, as all these sparkled in her eyes and 
 glowed in her face, they made her beautiful. You 
 never thought of the freckles as you looked at her ; 
 you couldn't see them. They were dazzled out of 
 sight. And love, conquering all difficulties, cast 
 a sheen of glory about him that compelled all eyes 
 to rest upon that lovely little face." 
 
 "Tliat's very pretty," said Kliode Island. "I 
 like a little hifalutin." 
 
 " Well, boys," said the Troubadour, ^* take it for 
 a fact that Corianda became a perfect little beauty 
 under the influence of a lover's eyes. Beauty 
 bloomed all over her, just as roses bloom in a gar- 
 den when the rose-bushes feel that the summer has 
 come. Why it was, I don't know. Why a plain 
 little gal should become handsome because a fellow 
 falls in love is a mystery to me ; but it is true, and 
 it's an important point in this story." 
 
 " Well, I think I know how that is," said Ehode 
 Island. 
 
238 *'AS WE WENT MAKCHING ON." 
 
 "Well, liow?" said the Troubadour. 
 
 " Don't you know how the dogwood-leaves are in 
 the woods, now that they're changing — what a dull 
 dry kind of red color they have ? But if you get 
 them so that the sun shines through them, every one 
 looks like a spot in a painted glass window, or like a 
 glass, of wine. It's the glory that comes through ; 
 and I suppose when anybody loves another person, 
 it makes a sunshine around them and through them 
 like that." 
 
 " Mebbe that's it," said the Troubadour ; " I never 
 thought of it that way. But Corianda became the 
 rage with all the boys and men. Everybody courted 
 her now, and plenty wanted to marry her, especially 
 crowds of rich fellows. She got fearful proud of 
 her beauty too, and the way she pushed all the 
 other girls into the corner was a caution. She was 
 vain and was happy. 
 
 "But of course she didn't know what it was that 
 made her handsome. She didn't know that it was 
 the spell of Alonzo's love ; and so when the crowd 
 came, she only counted Alonzo as one of them, and 
 flirted with them all. Women, ye see, don't always 
 understand the secrets of their destiny, especially 
 when a little vanity throws dust in their eyes. 
 
 " Perhaps I didn't tell you that Alonzo wasn't 
 very rich himself," said Pat. 
 
 "No, you didn't," said Vermont. 
 
 "But we understood it," said Massachusetts, 
 " because we saw right away that you was Alonzo." 
 
 "Which I am not," said Pat. "This isn't any 
 
ALONZO AND CORIANDA. 239 
 
 narrative of personal experiences ; and if it was, tliat 
 wouldn't be fair because it would only give one 
 side of the story, and might do injustice to the 
 girl." 
 
 "Musn't have any injustice to the girl," said 
 Rhode Island. 
 
 "Altliongh Corianda was happier with Alonzo 
 than with all the others together, she seemed not 
 to know it ; indeed the happiness that he caused her 
 stayed with her so much that it was still with her 
 when she was with the others, and she did not no- 
 tice where it came from. Maybe you've seen one 
 of those things they put in shop-windows which is 
 like a bowl turned on the side with pieces of look- 
 ing-glass fitted in it all arouud, and a candle at the 
 bottom, so that when the bowl turns around you 
 see that lighted candle reflected in all the little 
 looking-glasses. There is only one real candle, but 
 you can't tell where it is ; you can hardly make out 
 at what point burns the flame that you see reflected 
 on every side. That was the way with Corianda's 
 life ; there was so much love all around her that she 
 got mixed as to where the real flame was. 
 
 "Therefore, when the richest of all the crowd 
 wanted to marry her, and her friends flxed it all up, 
 she went through the ceremony just as if it was a 
 dress-parade, and married old Spondulics." 
 
 " What ! she married the other fellow ?" said 
 Massachusetts. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "She shook Lonz?" said Vermont. 
 
240 ''AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 " She did." 
 
 " I'm soriy," said Ehode Island ; *' I liked him 
 myself. I always liked those bright fellows that 
 make things gay. How did he take it ?" 
 
 " You fellows are all too fresh," said Massachu- 
 setts. "Wait till you come to the ret-ter-ri-bew- 
 shun." 
 
 "Yes," said the Troubadour, " there was plenty of 
 retribution ; for as soon as this happened, Alonzo 
 was not at the party any more, and therefore Corian- 
 da's beauty began to fade ; and her life was dull, and 
 she became just as plain and common a little woman 
 as she had been a little gal. She went out of the 
 grand ball-room of life into the cold lonely corner 
 where there's only a smoky lamp and the gardener's 
 tools." 
 
 " Served her right," said Vermont ; " and shows 
 that justice is bound to be done." 
 
 "But it is a fairy-story after all," said Ehode 
 Island. " She was rich now, though, if she wasn't 
 handsome." 
 
 "And that's a point," said Massachusetts. 
 
 " Yes, she was rich ; but she'd have given all the 
 money to be handsome again. Her hair lost its 
 gloss, and became so dull that even the second-hand 
 hair men couldn't match it when she wanted a new 
 chignon. Her teeth fell out and her cheeks fell in, 
 and she was a woe-begone spectacle. Even old 
 Spondulics made love to other women. But one 
 day old Spondulics died, and when they settled up 
 his accounts they found he was busted ; didn't leave 
 
ALONZO AND CORIAKDA. 241 
 
 lier a cent. And there she was, high and dry ; no 
 beauty, no money, and Alonzo gone." 
 
 " What did she do ?" said Yermont. 
 
 " She went into the boarding-house line. Some 
 friends of the family went security for a house and 
 furniture to give her a start. She let out some 
 rooms to lodgers, and had boarders in the others. 
 It was cheap style and pretty hard hoeing, for the 
 boarders didn't always pay. But she tried hard to 
 keep going, and primped herself up with jet ear- 
 rings ; and she wore her hair with a bang and be- 
 gan to get fat. But she struggled on, for she had one 
 hope. Her hope was that Alonzo would some day 
 come that way and take board ; and she intended to 
 put him in the second-story front room for the same 
 price for which she put other fellows in the attic ; 
 and she thought that when she should see him she'd 
 be handsome again, and that he would love her and 
 want to marry her, and that this time she wouldn't 
 make any mistake ; because, d'ye see, by this time, 
 comparing how she got handsome when he came 
 and homely when he went, she guessed at the truth 
 of it." 
 
 And here old Thirtj^-six filled his pipe, as if he 
 were near the end. 
 
 "Well, did he come ?" said Yermont. 
 
 "He didn't," said Pat. "Her preparations was 
 no use at all." 
 
 " Why didn't he ?" sympathetically queried Little 
 Ehody. 
 
 " Because there wasn't any more any Alonzo." 
 16 
 
242 
 
 This tragic declaration caused a great sensation ; 
 and tlie ITew- Yorker, seeing the great impatience of 
 the others, went on swiftly with the storj. 
 
 " Ye see, as soon as Alonzo saw how things was 
 going he went out and bought five pounds of nitro- 
 glycerine, which explodes tremendously, you know. 
 He had an apothecary mix it with something till it 
 was just like soft grease. Then he got a paint-brush 
 and painted himself all over with it; and he put on 
 his clothes very softly for fear he might explode too 
 soon, and went out. 
 
 " He'd often been bothered by those fellows that 
 sits in the horse-cars with their feet poked out and 
 don't make room for any one, and laugh if you 
 stumble over them, and tell you that your feet is 
 too big. He thought he'd fix some of 'em. So he 
 got into a horse-car. But everybody was as smooth 
 as old potheen ; and they made way for him as per- 
 lite as if they know'd what he was up to. 
 
 " But he sat down quietly, ' For,' says he to him- 
 self, ' somebody'll come in with a couple of kegs of 
 paint in a minute and he'll slap 'em down on my 
 knees, and then the fun will begin ;' and he laughed a 
 little jolly laugh as he thought about it." 
 
 " He was gone mad," said Rhode Island. 
 
 " But no painter was around that day, and there 
 didn't come into that car not even an old washer- 
 woman with a bundle of dirty clothes." 
 
 " Life is full of such disappointments," said Mas- 
 sachusetts, who was ready to rejoice in the ex2)lo- 
 sion. 
 
ALONZO AND CORIAKDA. S43 
 
 " So Alonzo got out of the car in disgust, and 
 went to the ferry, where everybody ahnost knocks 
 you down to get on the boat first ; but everybody 
 was cool and slow and went easy that time. Seemed 
 as if he couldn't get no brutal treatment anywhere. 
 
 " Just as he was thinking of this, he saw a cop on 
 the other side of the street. ' Pleeceman's the rack- 
 et,' he said ; ' pleeceman's sure for brutality every 
 time.' So he watched the pleeceman, and saw two 
 or three of them get around a gin-mill at the 
 corner and buzz. He went into that gin-mill and 
 had some gin and sugar, and put five cents down 
 on the bar, softly like. But the bar-tender said, 
 ' Come, Johnny, that wasn't no five-cent gin.' Then 
 he give the bar-tender a little jaw, and that fellow 
 ran around the end of the bar and called the cops, 
 and said there was a fellow there that wanted to 
 murder him. 
 
 " Then the cops all rushed in with their clubs 
 ready, and the bar-tender caught Alonzo by the col- 
 lar, and every one was getting a hold of him some- 
 where, and a-pulling and a-hauling, and Alonzo 
 was a-laughing softly, enjoying himself. 
 
 "But there was one pleeceman that couldn't find 
 no place to get hold ; and he hauled off with his club 
 and give Alonzo one on the head. 
 
 " Well, that fetched it ! Alonzo, ye see, had put 
 the stuff very thick in his hair. That fetched it. 
 He went off with an awful report. And them cops, 
 and the bar-tender, and the whole place was smashed 
 to smithereens. They was smashed so fine that they 
 
244 '' AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 even beat the coroner, because tbej couldn't pick 
 up enough of them for the coroner to sit on ; and 
 therefore there wasn't any inquest. 
 
 " And that," said old Thirty-six, solemnly, " is the 
 end of the history of Alonzo and Corianda." 
 
 And the boys all laughed about it, and critically 
 discussed the various points, and held that it " had 
 the bulge" on the Arabian IS'ights. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE EOAE OF BATTLE. 
 
 Some of the fellows were on foot from time to 
 time all tlirougli the night and fed the fire ; so that 
 when Yermont went at it in the gray and foggy 
 dawn to get ready for an early start, there was a 
 blaze in no time; and as the persistent activity of 
 one moved all, there were soon four cups on the fire, 
 and coffee was made, and they had a comfortable 
 breakfast. 
 
 They had scarcely got through with this when 
 they were all brought to their feet by a sudden 
 tremendous outburst of "firing, so near and so loud 
 that it seemed all around them. 
 
 Now, the sound that thus disturbed our friends 
 about the bivouac-fire was that historic noise, " the 
 roar of battle ;" and as the reader may never have 
 heard that noise, and as it is often mentioned but 
 seldom described, it may not be unprofitable to 
 endeavor to give an impression of its nature and 
 peculiarities. 
 
 Battle, let it be understood, roars, not with one 
 vocal organ, but with many organs, or indeed with 
 many thousand organs. It has more carnivorous 
 throats than all the jungles in India. There may be 
 a hundred thousand rifles, each one of which alone 
 
246 
 
 has a peremptory voice, trivial enough in itself ; but 
 when these staccato tones follow so rapidly that they 
 are blended as drops of water in the noise of the 
 rain, the muzzles that deliver them become practi- 
 cally innumerable. And there may be the mouths 
 of fiv^e hundred cannon ; and the mouths of frantic 
 horses, torn to ribbons with shot and shell; and the 
 mouths of bugles that stir the blood of the fellows 
 who are there, and of the fellows who are coming 
 up. And there are many mouths of men as the line 
 of battle advances, or as the boys are sent to storm 
 the hill and get the enemy's battery. 
 
 Therefore the roar of battle is an agglomeration 
 of various noises mingled at different times in dif- 
 ferent proportions. 
 
 But the natural order of the noises is this : 
 Perhaps during the day an occasional spurt of 
 cannonading lins wakened the far-away echoes, as 
 the first muttering thunder does an hour before the 
 storm ; and then there is perhaps an hour or two 
 or three of silence, and suddenly away at the front 
 is heard — one rifle-shot ! And then another rifle- 
 shot ! Another and another ! And then rifle-shots 
 follow as if they ran up and down a gamut : tap, 
 tap, tap — slip, slap — bang — rattlety -crack ! And so 
 until from a dropping fire of one or two shots in 
 a second it increases until it becomes nearly con- 
 tinuous, but keeps light — as the drops of a summer 
 shower that patter on the green leaves, rather than as 
 the pounding flood of the autumn storm that comes 
 upon the house-top. It is like the first tremulous 
 
THE ROAR OF BATTLE. 247 
 
 venture of the voice trying its scales, or like the tun- 
 ing up that comes before the concert. 
 
 E'ow, this noise means that the pickets away out 
 in front, or on one of the flanks, have seen the 
 enemy, and that the enemy is behaving himself in 
 a way that needs attention ; that he is coming on in 
 line through the woods or across the plain, or is 
 getting the abatis out of the way. 
 
 Then tliere is a bugle-call, clear and high, and the 
 fire ceases. 
 
 Major Thundereye, in command of the main 
 guard on that part of the front, has jumped to his 
 feet at the first shot, and from his coign of vantage 
 has taken a cool look at the enemy, and has seen thab- 
 the enemy means it ; has made out that the dirty 
 gray line of infantry stretches away to his left and 
 right; that it is an advance in force; that the big 
 dirty pocket-handkerchiefs with diagonal crosses on 
 them which the enemy calls battle-flags are in the 
 air, and that it is no use for him to waste time with 
 his boys on the first line. 
 
 Hence his bugle-note orders them to retire upon 
 their supports ; and at the same instant an orderly 
 dashes away rearward from that post to tell Thun- 
 dereye's commanding officer in the rear what Thun- 
 dereye has seen. 
 
 But the respite will be short, for the pickets have 
 not far to go, and the enemy comes on. 
 
 And now there is a rapid firing of cannon far 
 away in front, and a screaming of shells in the air, 
 and a bursting of shells behind our line ; for the 
 
248 
 
 enemy, learning by our fire that liis movement is 
 observed, comprehends that there is no surprise in 
 it, and begins to shell our position in the hope to 
 distract our attention and so help the advance of his 
 infantry. At the same moment one of our batteries 
 far away to the left sights the enemy's line as it 
 reaches a clear point, and opens lipon it ; and this 
 mutual attention, and the noisy flight of shells and 
 their explosion just over one's head, keep things from 
 becoming altogether dull. 
 
 But now the enemy is up to where he is fairly 
 under fire from Major Thunderej^e's line, which is 
 well advanced beyond the point at which the general 
 means to fight, and word has been sent to Thunder- 
 eye to hold the enemy a little and give a chance to 
 get the whole force in shape. 
 
 Thundereye does what he can, and the air vi- 
 brates with the close rattle of a steady file-fire — a 
 sound that snaps and seems about to stop, but goes 
 on ; that tears away for ten minutes, and stops the 
 enemy and then tears away again, and at last ceases 
 altogether. 
 
 Thundereye finds that he has done all he can, and 
 comes in slowly. 
 
 And now there is a real intermission. Our con- 
 siderate enemy is taking a long look at us. In front 
 of Thundereye he has reached a point at which his 
 serious attempt begins. Down to his left or to his 
 right they had not advanced so far. He must wait 
 till they get up even and complete his line ; and he 
 
THE ROAR OF BATTLE. 249 
 
 waits. And we all wait ; and some of the boys even 
 make a cnp of coffee. 
 
 Fellows in the reserve begin to wonder whether 
 it was not a false alarm ; whether the enemy had 
 not simply made a reconnoissance in force to see 
 jnst where we are, and is not now getting away 
 again. 
 
 " It's all over," says one teamster to another. 
 
 "No, 'tain't, pardner," says the other; "it's too 
 still." 
 
 And just as these doubts are floating in men's 
 minds, the canopy of heaven seems to be rent asunder 
 with the roar that suddenly arises, for the enemy 
 has started forward, and a very little movement has 
 brought him into the field of fire of all our batteries 
 placed to dispute his advance ; they have all got the 
 range, and they all open. "Cannon to right of 
 them, cannon to left of them ;" cannon over the hill, 
 cannon on the other side the river, cannon down 
 the road, cannon hidden in the woods and firing over 
 the roof of the stone house yonder ; and twenty or 
 thirty cannon blazing right in their faces with grape 
 and canister ; cannon so near that they fancy they 
 can touch them — though when they get where they 
 would touch them, the few that are left of the line 
 find it maybe twenty yards of an impassable morass 
 between. 
 
 And all the cannon are banging away at once, so 
 that it is a nearly continuous sound ; and the air vi- 
 brates with the ring of the brass and the steel, and 
 you cannot tell whether the shell that bursts within 
 
250 
 
 a yard of your head is not another cannon coming 
 into action in front of 3'ou or down the road. Al- 
 together it is a glorious row. 
 
 But all this that is merely the voice of cannon 
 you have heard before: you may hear it often 
 enough in the salvoes of days of glorification in 
 times of peace, though perhaps rather less of it at 
 once. There is another noise peculiar to battle, that 
 you do not hear except in battle — a strange, startling, 
 unearthly note. Tliis is the flight of a shell through 
 the air. It is one of the odd contradictions of 
 speech that though we say the shell flies, yet if one 
 is particularly noisy it is on account of a bad shoe. 
 Any shell makes noise enough, and the passage 
 of one through the air affects the unaccustomed 
 thought w^ith consternation ; yet there is a constant 
 tone and a harmony in it while the shoe is right. 
 The shoe is that band of lead or other soft metal 
 that enables the shell to take the grooves of the 
 cannon ; and when that is lialf torn off, the eccen- 
 tric way in wliich it cuts the air gives to the voice 
 of this bird of battle some altogether horrible varia- 
 tions. 
 
 But the most carnivorous note has yet to come. 
 
 There were twenty or thirty cannon blazing in the 
 very faces of the enemy, who, as we said, thought 
 they could touch them, and suddenly found an im- 
 passable morass between. "Well, the morass was 
 not impassable. The enemy's line with bayonets 
 fixed rushed fair at the guns : and the brigade in 
 front of the guns just melted away in the fire. 
 
THE ROAR OF BxVTTLE. 251 
 
 Half of them are dead or dying in the morass ; two 
 or three score are stuck there and can get neither 
 one way nor the other, and about a hundred have 
 struggled through and are lying flat on their faces 
 on our side the wet ground, almost under the 
 muzzles of the guns, but hidden by the heavy screen 
 of dense w^hite smoke that is accumulated in front 
 of the pieces. 
 
 And now a part of the enemy's line that w^as not 
 in front of the guns have got through the bad ground 
 more successfully, and, wheeling to right and left 
 respectively, are charging down upon the pieces, 
 while the fellows there under the muzzles are lying 
 ready to jump up and take a hand in at the right 
 moment. 
 
 In such a case the battery is helpless if it is alone. 
 But behold ! it is not alone. Lying down at just a 
 handy distance behind it are two fresh regiments of 
 our own infantry, placed there to support the guns ; 
 and as the rebs rush upon the guns with a yell of 
 triumph, their yell is turned to the demoniac wail 
 of defeat and death, for the regiments are up and 
 pouring into the heap of the enemy their close file- 
 fire. 
 
 This gives that rapid, close-packed, continuous 
 sound that is the real familiar, personal voice of 
 the srod of war — the sound that soothes the souls of 
 heroes to the eternal sleep ; the real death-rattle of 
 hostile armies. 
 
 With an empty barrel and some packs of squibs 
 one may mimic this sound about as it is heard a 
 
252 "AS WE WENT MARCHING ON.'' 
 
 mile away ; but if a fellow wants to know how it 
 sounds when it is fired fair in his face, he must go 
 and listen. Nobody can tell him. 
 
 But the rebs' attempt at the guns is pretty well 
 dusted up by the file-fire, yet they keep coming ; 
 and the fellows that lay down awhile in front of the 
 pieces are among the guns, and the battery-men are 
 fighting with clubbed rammers. Then a bugle-note 
 sounds " Cease firing," the word passes " Fix bay- 
 onets," there is a musical jingle of blue steel against 
 steel up and down the line with a suppressed cheer, 
 and in another instant away goes the line, and the rebel 
 attempt in that part of the battle disappears as the tall 
 stems in the cornfield go down where the cyclone 
 strikes. One cannot tell whether it was the bayonets 
 or the hurrah that did it. Generally it is the hur- 
 rah; but the hurrah wouldn't count if those who 
 hear it did not know that the bayonets were there. 
 
 Now, these are the separate elements of the roar 
 of battle ; and their parts follow, not in an ordinary 
 sequence, but as the parts follow in a fugue, each 
 adding its own notes to the already-gathered-up 
 accumulation of other notes. And when this row 
 tears up through the tranquil atmosphere, the 
 shivered air seems alive to a conscious horror ; the 
 sun trembles in the heavens; the hushed winds 
 scoot quietly away down the remote gulches ; the 
 women and the old men in the villages near gather 
 up their little ones and fly, and the soldiers on the 
 march shut their mouths and go forward as if there 
 were no time to be lost in gabble. 
 
THE ROAR OF BATTLE. 253 
 
 Our friends did not kear on this occasion what 
 may be called the prelude to the grand roar, because 
 there was none. This battle broke into a full diapa- 
 son, as if it began in the middle : which in fact it 
 did. And we shall now see how that came about. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " AND GLEAMS OF GLORY BEIGHTENED ALL THE DAY." 
 
 Cedak Creek's devious course is inadequately 
 pictured wlien you call it a crooked stream ; for the 
 descriptive effect of the word crooked is unequal to 
 the requirements of the occasion. Perhaps a piece 
 of badly-snarled twine laid down in a general direc- 
 tion of northwest and southeast would come as 
 near to a good map of that stream as anything you 
 could make. At the northwest end it comes out 
 of the I^orth Mountains; at the other or lower 
 end it falls into the north fork of the Shenandoah 
 Piver, and the ^North Fork at that point runs a little 
 north of east, so that these two streams inclose a 
 wedge-shaped piece of country, with the point of 
 the wedge to the south, in which our boys were 
 encamped — about forty thousand of them. 
 
 It is a rough bit of country, too, for the stream 
 runs in a deep bed the sides of which are high, pre- 
 cipitous at some points; and the inclosed wedge, 
 the region occupied by our fellows, is cut by small 
 streams that run into Cedar Creek, and a part of it 
 is thickly wooded. But there are open places, 
 
 fields with stone walls and rail-fences, and the whole 
 
 is intersected in a nearly north and south direction by 
 
GLEAMS OF GLORY. 255 
 
 a turnpike road which crosses Cedar Creek by the 
 bridge at a place about two miles from where the 
 run falls into the ]^orth Fork, and consequently 
 west of the point of the wedge. On this road, near 
 the middle of the wedge, is Middletown. 
 
 At the point of the wedge part of the Eighth 
 Corps held a fortified position. In a line precisely 
 behind that position, but a mile or more to the rear, 
 was the remainder of the corps, and these were all 
 east of the turnpike. On the other side of the pike, 
 — ^west of it, that is, — and in the point of another 
 wedge made by the line of Cedar Run and the turn- 
 pike, was the IN^ineteenth Corps. It was about 
 opposite — in an east and west sense — ^the rear divi- 
 sion of the Eighth Corps. Behind the Nineteenth, 
 again, — north and west of it, that is to say, — was the 
 Sixth Corps ; and far away to the northwest, on our 
 extreme right, was nearly all the cavalry : though 
 there was cavalry, also, far out on the left — too far 
 out, in fact. 
 
 And so placed, our boys were caught napping. 
 
 How in the world were we surprised that day ? 
 
 If there ever was a time when an army was pecu- 
 liarly on the alert with regard to the enemy, it was 
 then ; for we had made a reconnoissance to the 
 front the day before, and, as the report was not 
 satisfactory, another reconnoissance was ordered for 
 that day, and the command that was to make it was 
 actually under arms when the battle began — luckily 
 enough for us. 
 
 Our front was carefully picketed all along the 
 
25G 
 
 line of Cedar Creek to the junction with the North 
 Fork of the Shenandoah, and all along the North 
 Fork to the main stream ; and out there, somewhere, 
 we had a post of cavalry. Yet between that cavalry 
 and our camps the enemy got through so cleanly that 
 not a shot was fired by the pickets. How did it 
 happen ? 
 
 Perhaps an old campaigner may be permitted to 
 guess at it without exposing himseK to the charge 
 of telling tales ont of school. JSTear to every one of 
 the points at which the Secesh crossed the streams 
 that night there was a house. It was an October 
 night in the mountains, and the air was solid, al- 
 most, with one of those cold fogs that stiffen the 
 marrow in a man's bones. In such times and in 
 such circumstances I have known the boys to gather 
 about the fire in the house, and forget that their 
 post was outside. And a certain feeling of contempt 
 for the enemy is apt to encourage this delinquency ; 
 especially if there is a little whiskey and some of 
 the boys can tell a story or sing a good song. 
 
 How pleasant it is about the fire on such nights ! 
 How nasty and lonesome it is outside, wdth not even 
 a hope that the enemy will come ! 
 
 But if the enemy is alert and does come, and 
 surrounds the house carefully, he gets all the boys 
 before they can fire a shot, and behold ! he is in- 
 side the picket-line, and no alarm is given. And 
 it is necessary only to uncover four or five picket- 
 posts at each side of the house to make this possible ; 
 for of course the fog helps. 
 
GLEAMS OF GLORY. 257 
 
 It may be that it did not happen that way ; but if 
 it did not, it is incomprehensible how it came about 
 that, while the turning force of the enemy passed 
 the stream at three places, not a shot was fired upon 
 the picket-line at any one of those places. 
 
 But Johnny Eeb always had keen eyes for a good 
 place to get in, and he used them well that time. 
 We did not know he was near us : nobody could 
 find him the day before. But at about 2 a.m. that 
 day, in the cold and the fog, he started from his hid- 
 ing-place at Fisher's Hill, and marched as straight 
 to our weakest point as if between it and him there 
 was some magnetic relation. Kershaw marched, 
 keeping on the west side of the ]^orth Fork of 
 the Shenandoah, above the junction with Cedar 
 Kun, to the point of our wedge, reaching Cedar 
 Kun exactly in front of that advanced position of 
 the Eighth Corps which was the left of our line. 
 Gordon, Kamseur, and Pegram crossed the ISTorth 
 Fork near their camps, marched noiselessly for hours 
 between the heavy-wooded mountain and the river, 
 on the southeast of the river, and crossed the l^orth 
 Fork again below the jimction of Cedar Run at 
 two places ; and being then a good way outside of 
 our left, but on our side the river, marched due 
 north to be developed on our rear. All marched 
 silently. Their very canteens were left behind, be- 
 cause the canteen is a musical instrument, and the 
 jingle of it against the steel shoulder of a bayonet, 
 or other metallic part of the accoutrement, is a sound 
 a soldier will hear very far — especially a thirsty 
 17 
 
258 ''AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 soldier. Canteens are covered with cloth perhaps 
 to prevent this jingle. But the cloth cover of this 
 useful article is the first thing about it to give out 
 — except, of course, the contents. 
 
 Another part of the rebel army was moved against 
 our front, to be put across the bridge on the turnpike 
 when the fellows first named should open the way. 
 
 And all that time our boys in camp slept the 
 sleep of men with clear consciences. This beautiful 
 plan was manoeuvred without the least derangement ; 
 and these children of the mist gathered all about us, 
 ready to strike, at the signal, a blow that might 
 crush almost any army. And not the faintest sign of 
 it was seen or heard inside our lines. 
 
 Well, it was a pretty good test of our fellows, as 
 it would be of any soldiers in the world, for them 
 to win a battle that began in that way. 
 
 Kershaw hit first. At the given moment his 
 men arose out of the mist, dawning like supernat- 
 ural figures upon the vision of the sentinels at that 
 advanced post in the point of the wedge ; and almost 
 before the guard could fire, Kershaw's whole line 
 poked the muzzles of their pieces over the parapet, 
 delivered a volley, and swarmed in. It was like 
 snapping your finger and the place was gone. There 
 was no fighting. Many jumped from their sleep 
 to be killed or captured before their eyes were 
 well oyjen, and many tumbled away to the rear and 
 ralhed at the next position. 
 
 JSTow, that first position so completely surprised 
 was held by one division of the Eighth Corps ; but 
 between that and the camp of the other part of that 
 
GLEAMS OF GLORY. 259 
 
 corps there was a rough, steep ravine with a stream 
 at the bottom, and a distance of over a mile ; and 
 Kershaw did not make that mile in the winking of 
 an eye, while the firing that he indulged in brought 
 the whole camp to its feet. Consequently there 
 was chance for a Kttle preparation. The other di- 
 visions of the Eighth were drawn up. Two regi- 
 ments of the Mneteenth which were actually on 
 foot intending to make that reconnoissance were sent 
 over to them, and they would have taken care of 
 Kershaw well enough. 
 
 But then came the terrible second surprise. 
 
 Straight through the woods, from the east this 
 time, comes a butternut line of tough old fighters 
 who claim that they have never been beaten ; that 
 through all the desperate battles in Virginia, and 
 all the way up to Antietam and again up to Gettys- 
 burg, they have done their share and mostly had 
 their way, and that they have got the habit of it. 
 They raise that starthng yell which the men of the 
 South and West seem to have accepted from the 
 Indians, as different from the hoarse, chest-voice 
 hurrah of our Northern fellows as if it were the 
 cry of another animal. They yell and come on. 
 
 This is Gordon, who had gone through the woods 
 far to our left, and had been helped in his secrecy 
 by all the noise that Kershaw had made. Now he 
 strikes like a thunderbolt on the left of the line 
 that had been so hastily prepared to face Kershaw, 
 and then away goes that line also ; for as it looked to- 
 ward Kershaw, Gordon came upon its rear. So the 
 Eighth Corps is smashed, and Kershaw, Gordon, 
 
260 '' AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 Ramseur, and Pegram are all on the rear of tlie 
 Nineteenth Corps, while the other rebel command 
 sonth of Cedar Run is assaulting the front of the 
 same gallant corps : all of which is more than the 
 Nineteenth Corps can stand, and it goes away ; but 
 it does not go to pieces. And then the rebs rush 
 forward to grasp the fruits of victory. 
 
 But they do not go far. They stop suddenly. 
 The Sixth Corps was the next thing they saw, and 
 they saw it as the prophet saw a vision — " with the 
 face of a lion on the right side." We used to call 
 it the Supreme Court, because it gave a final deci- 
 sion on doubtful points. It was now prepared to 
 hear argument ; and Jubal Early discovered that the 
 fun was just beginning. He has observed some- 
 where, touching this part of the proceedings, that 
 " the Sixth Corps was able to take position so as to 
 arrest our progress." That was the way of it. 
 
 And this was the point at which what may fairly 
 be called the battle really began ; this was the sol- 
 diers' part of it, on our side at least ; for all before 
 had been well contrived by the rebel commanders 
 to put their fellows, without a fight, where we met 
 them now. 
 
 Bounced out without their boots, at daylight, our 
 fellows had found themselves in action before their 
 eyes were open ; and endeavoring, as good soldiers 
 will, to get to their places, they had discovered that 
 the parade was already behind the enemy's line. 
 Thus they did not lose a battle : they were stam- 
 peded without a stroke. 
 
GLEAMS OF GLORY. 261 
 
 Conseqaeiitlj the fight began when the enemy, 
 ha\ang swept through all that first zone of the 
 field, first felt bejond it that well-formed line of 
 which the heart and soul and the best part of the 
 body was the old Sixth Corps. 
 
 As when some enormous tide of the deep sweeps 
 toward the shore with the impulse of the ocean, it 
 carries before it all the wreckage of all the ships in 
 its way, and lifts and drives like autumn-leaves 
 squadrons of fisher- craft or fleets of frigates, and 
 meets no effective obstacle till it comes to the well- 
 anchored edges of the steady hills : so that tem- 
 pestuous, storming, well-nigh irresistible rush of old 
 Early's men swept unstayed across the field till it 
 came to where those fellows stood with Grecian 
 crosses on their hats — and tlien there was a fight. 
 And a good figlit it was; a tongh, stubborn, per- 
 sistent fight, in wliich the enemy came and was 
 welcome, and went and was followed; a fight 
 through obstinate hours, in whicli a little advantage 
 gained at one point was balanced by an equal advan- 
 tage at another — and many little advantages gained 
 liere and there were suddenly lost by a great stroke 
 that told at some tactical point. It was morally, at 
 this stage, such a fight as when two well-matched 
 bulls tug and push and lock horns and labor until 
 it seems that between them only superior strengtli 
 and stamina will determine the victory. 
 
 But now it was broad daylight ; and between the 
 well-risen sun and the firing, the fog was dis- 
 persed, and the fellows could sec what was i^oino* 
 
262 
 
 on. Indeed it now came to be a pretty fair battle 
 face to face, with some advantage in favor of the 
 enemy in the demoralization and dispersion of a 
 good many of onr regiments, and the loss of an 
 enormous number of guns, and the exaltation of the 
 feeling of victory in the spirit of the foe. But 
 there was a good long day before us ; there was a 
 good deal of quiet fighting to be done yet ; and the 
 enemy was getting used up, and the temptation of 
 plundering our camps which were behind him was 
 thinning his lines. Our game was to take our 
 punishment, give ground as slowly as possible, and 
 hold on. That was our game, and we played it. 
 
 Our line was formed on a ridge running nearly the 
 same as the pike. What was left of the Nineteenth 
 Corps formed on our right, and the cavalry coming 
 from everywhere got in on our left. But those 
 rebel divisions that had gone outside of our left 
 and through the woods came at us in good shape, 
 firing and yelling ; and as the Nineteenth Corps was 
 withdrawn from its camp, the way over the bridge 
 at the turnpike was thus opened to the enemy oper- 
 ating there, and comparatively fresh men of Early's 
 force now came that way and brought with them all 
 the rebel artillery. That fresh force at that place 
 took the trick. It was seen after a hard fight that 
 the place we were in was too hot, and other ground 
 was taken to the rear. But there was no running 
 away about it. "We went as if it was on parade. 
 
 If anybody imagines that we ran away across 
 that field, he must also imagine that we are poor 
 
GLEAMS OF GLORY. 263 
 
 runners, because we were three hours making two 
 miles ; for that is about the distance from the point 
 where we were first drawn up and stood like a pro- 
 tecting providence, while the stampeded fellows 
 from the first line rallied behind us, to that place in 
 the rear at which the enemy last came for us, and 
 from which we went for him. 
 
 Johnny Reb followed as we withdrew ; but every 
 now and then when he seemed to come too near 
 we were halted and gave him a dose, and then went 
 on with our movement. And so fighting from pillar 
 to post, we made our way in good order to a piece 
 of ground about two miles in rear of our camp, 
 where our line was formed at nearly a right angle 
 with the turnpike. There was marshy ground on 
 our left, and plenty of our cavalry outside of it, and 
 an open space in front ; another stream was on our 
 right, and cavalry outside of that. Early's men 
 could only come in at the front door this time. They 
 had to whip us out of that or go home in a hurry, 
 for our turn was coming. They did not whip us, and 
 our turn came. 
 
 Up the valley that day there came wliat one 
 might call a little comet in a blue coat. Away in 
 the rear we heard some unusual noise in the air 
 which made men stand and listen to make out 
 what it was. If it had been elsewhere, we would 
 have said it was cheering ; but on the road to the 
 rear there were, we knew, miles of stragglers, and 
 the straggler never hurrahs, therefore it could not 
 be tliat ; yet as we listened and the moments went 
 
204 ^'AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 on, the sound became clearer. It was cheering. 
 And then what could cheering in that direction 
 mean ? But the doubt was short ; for the sound 
 rose clearer and stronger, and suddenly swept into 
 the field itself, and the presence that it announced 
 and welcomed was that of the commander of the 
 army, Phil Sheridan. 
 
 ITever did the coming of one man into a battle 
 excite a more electrical enthusiasm, and never was 
 enthusiasm of more practical value in war. At 
 best we were holding the enemy at a stand-ofi in 
 what was for him an indecisive victory ; and that 
 enthusiasm was the impulse under which it was all 
 turned for us to as splendid a triumph as was ever 
 won by man over an exulting foe. 
 
 In such a fight as that was, the moment of 
 greatest danger for a conquering commander comes 
 just when he has won his battle. 
 
 He who through a well-contrived surprise, or 
 through a lucky perception in tactics, or by a charge 
 of irresistible impetuosity has overcome veteran 
 troops with an army famous for the gallantry of its 
 onset, must tremble for his laurels at that very 
 moment when the cheer of victory rings along his 
 lines, if at that moment there is still left enough of 
 daylight for fighting another battle. 
 
 And the facts behind this truth are what give oc- 
 casion for that military rule in virtue of which so 
 many battles are fought late in the afternoon. If 
 you can whip your enemy by nightfall, and keep 
 liim w^hipped overnight, you are safe. 
 
GLEAMS OF GLORY. 265 
 
 On the other hand — Marengo ! 
 
 Because the veteran troops that vou have driven 
 are -warmest when things are worst, and seem to 
 get into figliting trim as things go on. And as 
 tliey get waked up and worked up, and just as 
 they are in the best mood for battle, comes the 
 moment of relaxed effort on the part of the 
 victors. They are through the line ; they hold 
 the dominating tactical point of the field. It 
 is over. They stop. Then suddenly the fatigues 
 of the marching and fighting come upon them. 
 Then they remember that they were on foot all 
 night the night before ; that in marches and manoeu- 
 vres they did great labors even before the first shot 
 of the battle w^as fired, and while the beaten foe was 
 taking his ease in camp. They remember also that 
 they had neither breakfast nor dinner. They are 
 down, and the army is like an over-labored giant 
 that a child may cast. 
 
 Then rises upon the air a far-away cheer. Then 
 the scattered random firing seems to revive and to 
 become almost steady. Then a nearer cheer startles 
 all who hear it with its peculiar quality, and the ex- 
 hausted conquerors comprehend that the driven 
 veterans are coming again ; and conscious that they 
 themselves are not equal to the occasion, they refuse 
 even to try ; demoralization seizes upon them, and 
 away they go toward that indefinite point of deg- 
 radation and shame — that slum of the universe — 
 the rear ! 
 
 That is the moment when a fresh division or even 
 
266 '^AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 a fresli regiment just arrived on tlie field turns tlie 
 scale. If what comes up is a corps, there are two 
 great battles and two victories on the same day. 
 
 But this time tliere was no fresh division, or 
 brigade, or regiment ; there was only one man, the 
 commander of the army : but the sight of that little 
 tough fellow in blue riding along the lines was 
 worth two new divisions. 
 
 Sheridan reached the field, gathered up the rib- 
 bons of a lost battle, told the boys it was only an 
 accident, and showed them liow to go ahead. And 
 they did it, and the day was ours. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ON THE FIGnTING-LINE. 
 
 Time is perhaps a prejudice, for wlien we are 
 thrown out of our ordinary ways of thinking — 
 thrown out of the sphere of common observation in 
 whicli the prejudice prevails — we are entirely un- 
 conscious of time. 
 
 Nobody in a battle, for instance, can tell the 
 difference between five minutes and five Lours. 
 Upon one occasion an event that passed in two 
 or three minutes has made upon the mind an 
 impression that would be counted as equal to the 
 endurance of days ; but oftener hours count only as 
 seconds. It recalls the legend of the ancient who 
 went through the forest and heard a bird singing, 
 and listened for five minutes, and found, when he got 
 through the forest, that he had lingered five years. 
 The notes of bullets on the field of battle equally 
 charm away the conception of time. 
 
 Guessed at, however, and compared with other 
 indications, not more than half an hour could have 
 passed from the moment the noise of the battle first 
 startled our friends at their bivouac on the mountain- 
 side before every foot-path and by-road that led to- 
 ward the rear from our left was filled with confused 
 fellows with their faces away from the fire ; and 
 
268 
 
 Imndreds tliat did not find foot-paths wandered 
 away tlirongli tlie woods in random directions. Thej 
 were men in all degrees of dilapidation and disorder. 
 Many were barefoot, most of them hatless and coat- 
 less, and about half of them without arms. They 
 were universally woe-begone and heart-broken. 
 Some were in tears, crying about their regiments. 
 None seemed troubled much about himself, but all 
 were overwhelmed with the sense of an indescribable 
 calamity the nature, source, and extent of which 
 their stunned faculties had not yet been able to 
 grasp. They were *' demoralized " and *^cut to 
 pieces." 
 
 Here and there was a man fully equipped and fit 
 for service, as if he had been far enough away from 
 where the fight began to get himself in shape ; but, 
 as his regiment had never been drawn up, was not 
 equal to an individual resistance. And in fact a 
 good infantryman is good in his place in proportion 
 as he is useless elsewhere. He is like a bolt with- 
 out which a great machine is useless, but which 
 alone is only an odd bit of good metal. 
 
 This stream of humanity was encountered by our 
 little party when, having made their way across the 
 country guided by the noise of the battle, they 
 came upon a by-road about a mile behind where 
 the battle was raging at that moment. On this road, 
 almost as soon as they reached it, the Irishman 
 caught a horse saddled and bridled, and whose rider 
 had perhaps been killed in the fight. Him he 
 brought to the Major, who mounted and, assuming 
 
ON THE FIGHTING-LIKE. 269 
 
 command, called upon the fellows near to halt and 
 rally where they were. With his comrades of the 
 night as a nucleus, it was not difficult to gather a 
 force ; for the boys, though going energetically to 
 the rear, were not whipped. They were only scat- 
 tered ; and being without orders, and not knowing 
 what else to do, they were going, with the common 
 instinct of soldiers, toward a place where it would 
 be possible to form a line. In five minutes the 
 Major had fifty good fellows ; for, meeting in the 
 road a gallant-looking gentleman, sword in hand and 
 well mounted and with the shoulder-straps of a 
 major of infantry, all who came that way with arms 
 faced about and went with him; and when the 
 Major started them forward, being pretty well ex- 
 cited alread}^, they made a good deal of noise. 
 
 Upon all whom they met from that point they 
 had the appearance of a reinforcement of fresh 
 men, and plenty of others joined them ; and 
 when the Major got to a point where he caught 
 a glimpse of the fight, he had a good-sized 
 company. He called a halt and deployed his 
 men, and rode forward through the woods to see 
 what could be done. He was northeast of the vil- 
 lage of Middletown, beyond our broken left, and 
 outside the enemy's right, which had gained so much 
 ground that it was then going ahead on a line at a 
 right angle to his advance. 
 
 At about two thirds of the way across the distance 
 between Pembroke and the enemy's extreme right, 
 and in the outskirts of the village, was a substantial, 
 
270 ''AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 ancient stone house. This he determined to seize. 
 He therefore brought his men up to the edge of the 
 open land in which this house stood, formed a line 
 in the cover of the woods, and started forward in 
 good style, skirmishers well to the front, and every- 
 body cheering, as if the enemy could be hurrahed 
 out of what he had already gained. 
 
 But those cheers and the few shots the fellows 
 had a chance to fire did make an impression ; for 
 the graycoats, perceiving a newly-developed force 
 upon their rear, gave way with that superstitious 
 readiness with which even the best troops yield to 
 anything that outflanks them ; and before the 
 enemy had made out the precise natm^e and purpose 
 of this rush, Pembroke had his men filing into that 
 stone house. It was a neat and cool little operation, 
 and the boys felt proud of it. 
 
 'Now, the village of Mddletown, whose relation 
 to the field of battle we have already described, 
 was one of the important stages upon the enemy's 
 road to victory ; and as his line of battle was sweep- 
 ing triumphantly forward to seize the turnpike at 
 that important point, the rebel commander deemed 
 that it would not be well to leave in rear of his ex- 
 treme right some uncertain force in possession of 
 so tenable a point of resistance as an old stone farm- 
 house. Therefore he gave immediate attention to 
 the Major and his boys ; and the Major lost no time 
 in organizing things in the farm-house to make it 
 hot for the enemy in that neighborhood. 
 
 On the ground-floor there were heavy oaken shut- 
 
ON THE FIGHTING-LINE. 271 
 
 ters. From these strips were torn with axes found 
 in the house to give issues for the fire, and then the 
 shutters were barred. Above, they fired from the 
 open windows. Reliefs for all the points of firing 
 were hardly told off before the enemy came on in 
 line — one thin battalion. This was received with a 
 hot fire that made it thinner yet, but did not stop it. 
 It developed for the enemy the fact that this house 
 was in possession of an isolated force, and then 
 what was left of it went part to the rear and part 
 to cover behind a group of timber-sheds that stood 
 for stables or wood-houses, from which they began 
 to nick our fellows at the windows. 
 
 Scarcely had Pembroke time to consider what he 
 should do about those fellows who had happened 
 on that coign of vantage, when a shell exploded 
 over the house, and then another and another. 
 Against his stronghold the enemy had already 
 turned one of his own batteries, or one of those he 
 had taken from our fellows, and it began to rain 
 shells about Pembroke's ears. That is to say, it 
 began to rain miniature volcanoes. Cylindrical 
 bodies, a trifle smaller than tomato -cans, hurtled 
 through the air, and exploded their sulphurous con- 
 tents against the wall and the roof, and scattered 
 scraps of iron in every direction, as if junk was all 
 that the world needed at that moment. 
 
 Several shells ripped through the roof, and the 
 report came that the house was on fire in the attic ; 
 and some, rather lucky hits than good shots, came 
 through the shutters and exploded in the rooms. 
 
272 
 
 Some of the fellows were in the garret trying to 
 fight the fire there to keep the boys from getting 
 roasted out altogether ; and it was evident that this 
 stone structure, which had been a fort at first, was 
 now very likely to prove only like a box which 
 holds a pigeon in his place till the marksman is 
 ready. 
 
 Pembroke could not reciprocate these attentions 
 of the enemy, for the battery that had thus got so 
 beautifully the range of his position was below a 
 ridge in his front and out of sight, and to make a 
 sortie and endeavor to get it at the point of the 
 bayonet seemed like going at the whole right wing 
 of the rebel army with his accidental and miscella- 
 neous command. 
 
 He only waited, tlierefore ; but waited with all 
 precautions likely to save his men. He put them 
 all in the cellar but six. In the cellar they were 
 below the line of fire ; and if a shell exploded in any 
 of the ground-floor rooms, the fragments had not 
 force enough to penetrate the heavy oaken planks of 
 that floor. The fellows kept above were placed on 
 guard to watch for any opportunity, and sheltered 
 behind the angles of the stone wall. 
 
 Behind the house there was an outside issue from 
 the cellar, so that, if the fire made such headway 
 that the men could not again get up the narrow 
 cellar-way into tlfe house, they could at worst go 
 that way. 
 
 And the fire was too much for the fellows above, 
 and after a doubtful struggle asserted itself in a free 
 
ON THE FIGHTING-LINE. 273 
 
 flame that crept up and down the rafters in that 
 combustible part of the structure until the fellows 
 up there had to retire before the suffocating smoke ; 
 and the constant fire of the battery was knocking 
 to pieces all one side of the house, so that the boj^s 
 would have a pretty free fire if the enemy should 
 come again. 
 
 But yet the enemy did not come; and it even 
 seemed that there was a lull in the fire of the bat- 
 tery, and that it was kept up rather as a formality 
 than with any warlike passion. 
 
 l!^ow, the reason of this was that the enemy's 
 force liad in a great degree melted away. His men 
 had been on foot since midnight, marching and fight- 
 ing. They had had no breakfast. It was now near 
 noon; and having driven our fellows from their 
 camps, some of them had discovered bonanzas of 
 provender, and the word had gone round to others. 
 
 Glory is a dazzling prize, but men want it after 
 breakfast ; and the promise of the material satisfac- 
 tion of canned mutton, baker's bread, and a bottle 
 of whiskey will tempt famished soldiers away from 
 the noblest hopes and visions of patriotic pride. So 
 the Confederate army slipped through the fingers of 
 its officers that day, and discipline did not count ; 
 and the supplies and the portable property generally 
 that lay around loose in our abandoned camps did 
 us almost as much service as our ammunition. 
 
 Major Pembroke perceived that there was a dif- 
 ference in the spirit of the enemy's operations ; and 
 the commander who studies his enemy always gets 
 18 
 
274 "AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 a hint for any cliance that is on the cards. He 
 drew out his men, formed them on the farther side 
 of the house, — for the farther wall was still in good 
 condition, — and leaving the main body there, went 
 forward with a platoon formed as skirmishers to the 
 crest of the ridge, beyond which was the batterj^ 
 There he saw the condition of the enemy's force. 
 In the battery there were left only enough men to 
 work one gun, and the infantry force was only a 
 demoralized group of about a company, half of 
 whom seemed to be tipsy. 
 
 His appearance on the ridge aroused the enemy 
 somewhat; but the Major saw his opportunity, 
 hastily brought up his whole force, formed a good 
 line, charged the battery, captured it, and turned it 
 against the skedaddling scraps of the infantry that 
 had been posted to support it, who now went away 
 with satisfied alacrity. Luckily for him and for the 
 little party with him, this dash coincided in point of 
 time with the heroic move that had happened on 
 the main field of battle ; for before the enemy in 
 front of Pembroke recovered his surprise, he felt, in 
 common with the whole line, the impulse of the 
 great drive that had begun elsewhere and was al- 
 ready sweeping the field. 
 
 Away they all went. But the style in which they 
 went was characteristic. They did not run. They 
 did not even turn their faces with defiant de- 
 meanor. They simply gave it up and trudged 
 wearily away in the direction from which they had 
 come. It was the sullen tramp of men who had 
 
ON THE FIGHTING-LIiJE. 275 
 
 become indifferent and reckless, and who moved in 
 harmony with one another, bnt always toward the 
 rear. The infantry-fire that played into them did 
 not hurry them ; the shells that screamed and burst 
 above their heads were no more to them than snow- 
 flakes ; but the gallant officers that dashed here and 
 there and appealed to them and tried to stem the 
 current labored and died in vain. 
 
 It is a wonder of human analysis, this demeanor 
 of a beaten army : how at one minute fifty thousand 
 men for a " fantasy and trick of fame " go ahead, 
 reckless of wounds and agony and death, and at an- 
 other minute go the other way, as reckless of glory 
 and shame as they were before of pains and perils ; 
 how at one moment the flesh is forgotten for the 
 soul, and in the next the soul is forgotten under 
 some occult inspiration that is clearly of the flesh 
 fleshy. It is as if the soul were a bowstring" to the 
 body, and at the end of a hopeless battle the bow- 
 string snaps. 
 
 But in the mean time the blue line came on, and 
 the canopy of powder-smoke was lifted by the vi- 
 bration of the cheers of thirty thousand men. It is 
 a grand harmony to hear that surging murmur of 
 the cheers of conquerors, almost drowning the fire 
 of the infantry, and filling all the spaces between 
 the high notes of the artillery. 
 
 And now happened a notable thing. Major 
 Pembroke had, beyond the houses and the timber, 
 by the cheers and by the line of fire discovered the 
 general advance almost as soon as he had captured 
 
276 
 
 that battery, and perceived that his advance was 
 oblique to ours, and that he would connect by 
 keeping on ; and so he kept on. Consequently his 
 right lapped our left on the turnpike in two or three 
 minutes, and there he was in the middle of the 
 grandest whirl of glory and battle ever seen in that 
 part of Virginia. 
 
 Our regiment was just in that part of the main 
 line that was lapped on the road by the little line that 
 Pembroke brought up ; and thus it happened that 
 for a minute he, moving at the right of his line, 
 rode between it and ours, ^gut everybody was so 
 full of the one grand purpose of the moment that 
 minor thoughts, such as the recognition of individu- 
 alities or perception of persons, could scarcely have 
 made an impression ; and the shout of \dctory so 
 overwhelmed all other utterances that whatever 
 might have been said would have been understood 
 as part of that. 
 
 He was not noticed, therefore, until in a minute 
 or two it occurred to some one that just before we 
 were in front with a clear range at the enemy, and 
 now here was a blue line lapped in front of us. And 
 where did it come from, and what was it, and who 
 commanded it ? Then some one said : 
 
 " Why, here's Major Pembroke !" 
 
 And that was repeated ; and the fellows stopped 
 their firing and looked up, and spontaneously rushed 
 around him and gave him three cheers ; for to us 
 then he was like one risen from the dead. With 
 oui* joy at seeing him, and our glory over seeing 
 
ON THE FIGHTIN'G-LINE. 277 
 
 him again in that place and in those circumstances, 
 any one may guess that we were filled up, and will 
 understand how we forgot ourselves, and how the 
 foiTnation was lost, and the line became a crowd of 
 fellows nearly wild around the Major, so that all 
 the field-officers came down, upon us at once and 
 volleyed out all the tallest kind of " cuss-words." 
 
 But the Major himself straightened the lines ; for 
 he saw in a second how it was, and that he was the 
 point of the snarl. So he shouted : 
 
 " Forward, boys !" and spurred his horse to the 
 front ; and the line fell to its place by a kind of 
 moral gravitation. 
 
 And then happened to him one more mischance. 
 Some men always get hit. There are plenty of 
 fellows who were on the fighting-line all the time 
 through the whole war and never got a scratch ; 
 and there are others that simply oscillated between 
 the battle-field and the hospital. 
 
 Although the enemy's line was at this time 
 hardly firing a shot, yet in their rear they had some 
 batteries that saw our advance and shelled us ; and 
 these shells mostly went over us and burst in the 
 rear. But some burst so as to do execution in our 
 line. One of these shells burst about ten yards in 
 front of the Major, while he had his right hand in 
 the air waving us onward ; and a fragment of the 
 shell tore that right hand to ribbons. 
 
 He was not conscious of it himself, but in a little 
 while the loss of blood told upon him, and he be- 
 
278 ''AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 came pale and was shaking in the saddle. And the 
 boys near him, seeing the spurt of the blood from 
 the arteries, lifted him tenderly .down from his 
 horse and left him with the surgeons. And the line 
 went on at the heels of the flying foe. 
 
CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 THE WIFE AND THE OTHER WOMAN. 
 
 Longer and wearier rides than those a wounded 
 man takes in an ambulance-wagon from the battle- 
 field to the nearest permanent hospital are unknown 
 to human experience. For is the man not nerves all 
 over ? Is not tlie best of ambulance-wao^ons but 
 little better than a dump-cart for comfort ? And is 
 not every road in the universe a mere succession 
 of horrible inequalities nicely adapted to the pre- 
 cise limit of endurance ? If these things are not 
 so, there are many gallant old remnants of humanity 
 who have been misled by their sensations. 
 
 Pembroke got on very well with his ride, how- 
 ever; for there are agonies of thought to which the 
 worst agonies of the flesh are distractions. His arm 
 was amputated at Winchester the next day. 
 
 His recovery went on very well, and it may be 
 supposed that one who was not to be killed by the 
 hurt he had received in the fight with the cavalry 
 was sure against any ordinary injury ; yet he did 
 not come up with the greatest possible elasticity, for 
 this time there was the emotional element as a com- 
 plication. His days were uneasy, his nights often 
 sleepless, through worry over the possible fate of 
 Phoebe. 
 
From the moment lie had parted with her until 
 the hour of the battle there had been little chance 
 for his thoughts to dwell upon her dangers. Every 
 hour supplied some facts of its own. His time of 
 hiding in the swampy woods with Hiram ; their 
 narrow escapes from those who pursued so closely ; 
 his march with the soldier until from the very 
 exhaustion of nature he had slept beside the bivouac- 
 lire ; the sound of battle, and the fight, next day — 
 all these had so filled up the time with perilous 
 adventure that there had been no chance for 
 thoughts not related to what was before him. 
 
 But now in the rest and tranquillity of the hospi- 
 tal there was leisure for this painful indulgence ; 
 and the throng of delicious recollections, coupled 
 with dreadful apprehensions of what had happened 
 or might happen to the dear little woman, made a 
 terrible medley in his soul. 
 
 Perhaps at this very instant at which his thoughts 
 were so overwhelmingly concerned with her wel- 
 fare she was in some desperate need of help ; per- 
 haps it was some agony of mind on her part that 
 affected him with this thous^ht. And he would start 
 up almost with an imagination that he heard her call 
 to him. Then he would tranquillize himself with 
 tlie reflection that even if well-hidden Skibbevan 
 should be found by the troopers of either side, 
 Hiram and Agate knew still safer places in the 
 mountain where they could take her ; and he would 
 imagine her secure in these places. Then, again, 
 suppose she should hear that he was hurt and should 
 
THE WIFE AKD THE OTHER WOMAN. 281 
 
 try to reach the army ? She would be safe enougli if 
 she really reached it, but in terrible danger every 
 step of the way till then. And his imagination pict- 
 ured these perils. 
 
 All this retarded his recovery, for it kept up a 
 feverish condition of the system ; and while he was 
 counting the hours and the seconds, agonizingly im- 
 patient to be on foot and away to Skibbevan to be 
 sure of her welfare, his very impatience kept him a 
 prisoner in the surgeon's hands. 
 
 ITature, however, asserted her empire even here ; 
 and the recovery reached such a secure point that 
 the doctor named the day on which he might leave. 
 From that hour hope helped him. 
 
 Phoebe had in the mean time heard that Pembroke 
 was hurt ; for tlie story of how an officer believed to 
 be dead had suddenly appeared on the field of 
 battle, gathered a handful of soldiers together, and 
 fallen upon the enemy's rear just in the heat of the 
 fight, and had not been seen since, spread about 
 with misty uncertainties and additions, and was one 
 of a kind to especially touch the superstitious 
 fancies of the darkies ; and as it spread from one 
 to another settlement of these, it was more talked 
 over than any other part of the battle. 
 
 Hiram finally heard this ; and perceiving to whom 
 it might relate, made some inquiries, and found that 
 this was really the Major, and that the reason he had 
 not been seen since was that he was in the hospital 
 at Winchester. 
 
 As soon as this was reported to Phoebe, the brave 
 
282 
 
 little woman determined that it was her duty to go 
 there. And she went. 
 
 That is to say, she set out. Phoebe and Agate 
 went together, leaving at daylight in a rickety old 
 wagon drawn by the one remaining mule. 
 
 Phoebe's beauty was so well dissimulated in a 
 dress of the slave-women's cloth, and a brown veil 
 and poke-bonnet, that there was no likelihood of 
 danger on that account ; and in fact they reached 
 Berry ville the first night, and were safely hidden by 
 a cousin of Agate's to whose house they went. 
 
 Next day they were stopped on the road to 
 "Winchester by a cavalry-picket; and the officer, 
 upon their report that they were going to visit a 
 wounded Union officer in hospital, gave them an 
 escort of two cavalrymen, for the road was full of 
 rough customers ; and this escort went with them 
 until they reached a commodious house a few miles 
 in rear of the outpost. That house was a Sanitary 
 Commission depot, and there Phoebe was destined 
 to make a new acquaintance. 
 
 Mrs. Lgetitia Pembroke we last saw lingering in 
 Washington, to vary a little with social pleasures the 
 doleful endeavor to find her lost lord ; but we have 
 heard of her as at Winchester, offering rewards for 
 information, and in fact stirring up that attempt to 
 capture Pembroke from which he Iiad so narrowly 
 escaped, but which had broken the lethargy he lay 
 in at Skibbevan. 
 
 Comparatively idle at Winchester, Lsetitia had 
 there made the acquaintance of many of the philan- 
 
THE WIFE AND THE OTHER WOMAN". 283 
 
 tbropic men and women who ^'ran" the Sanitary 
 Commission. That was an admirable machine ; and 
 though it did sometimes supply an unnecessary 
 number of pin-cushions and other not entirely 
 essential things to fellows torn to pieces with scraps 
 of cast-iron, yet it did too much good for any 
 soldier to feel like laughing at it. And when Mrs. 
 Pembroke found out about it, it seemed to her that 
 she had now discovered the true mission of woman, 
 and she was ready to run half a dozen sanitary com- 
 missions all by herself. 
 
 She loved activity and the sense of personal im- 
 portance that fills people who fancy they are turn- 
 ing the crank of the universe ; she was intelligent, 
 acute and capable, and determined to be useful; 
 and she happened to be handy just as such a person 
 was wanted. So she was put in charge of a depot 
 newly organized at that time. 
 
 She was an energetic executive, and plunged so 
 thoroughly over head and ears into her duties that 
 for a time she altogether forgot what she came to 
 Virginia for. Especially did she have her hands 
 and her head full after the battle in the valley ; for 
 at tlie time when the hospitals filled up, the 
 resources of the national charity were also turned 
 that way, and the Commission machinery was run 
 at high pressure. Therefore, as she never thought 
 of Pembroke, so she did not hear of him ; and in- 
 deed any one of several hundred oflacers wounded 
 in the hospital was not talked about so much in the 
 neighborhood as he was at a great distance. And 
 
284 ''AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 the first slie lieard of her husband was by word sent 
 her from Washington by some chance acquaintance 
 there who read the newspapers. Inquiry verified 
 the report. Her husband was in the number of 
 those who had been badly wounded in the Last 
 battle ; he was in a hospital within a few miles of 
 where she was. 
 
 What should she do about it ? 
 
 Go to him at once, any one would say who 
 judged of the relations between the two only by 
 the way in which L?etitia had acted and spoken 
 since Pembroke's disappearance. But for some rea- 
 son she did not feel that way. She deliberated ; and 
 the woman who deliberates often saves herself from 
 the necesssity of wishing vainly that she had de- 
 liberated. 
 
 She had heard of Pembroke the day before ; she 
 had spoken of going to him ; and this morning, the 
 morning of Plioebe's arrival, she had not yet made 
 up her mind. 
 
 ISTow, a Sanitary Commission depot was in some 
 sense a sort of wayside hotel in those days ; for the 
 money collected at the ISTorth was not all spent in 
 lint and pin-cushions. All those fine ladies, and 
 gentle little women, and boisterous popular leaders, 
 and juvenile parsons, and medical students who 
 worked it had to live meanwhile; and you could not 
 happen upon a better house than theirs for a cut of 
 roast meat or a cup of coffee. 
 
 As our party drew near to this station, the hearty 
 dragoon who rode beside the wagon, and who had 
 
THE WIFE AND THE OTHER WOMAN". 285 
 
 caught glimpses of Plioebe's anxious, pale face and 
 thouorht she was huno^ry, said : 
 
 "IN'ow, ma'am, at this station jist ahead of iis, 
 Insanitary Commission Place, they'll give yon a first- 
 rate cup of coffee and pretty poor information. 
 But they ought to know all about the wounded in 
 the hospitals ahead, for there's crowds of surgeons 
 and parsons here." 
 
 Phoebe agreed that they should inquire ; and so 
 they stopped there. 
 
 Phoebe, whose errand was stated by the dragoon, 
 had welcome, comfort, and coffee forthwith from 
 the pleasant people there. And as there is no cere- 
 mony in that kind of life, the juvenile parsons and 
 medical students and young-women volunteer nurses 
 gathered around and sympathized with lier as soon 
 as they learned tliat she was interested in the fate 
 of a Union officer ; and when his name was men- 
 tioned they looked at one another, and word went up- 
 stairs, and Phoebe heard the name of Mrs. Pem- 
 broke, and, half in a dream with amazement, 
 was taken up to a large cheerful room — a sort 
 of commandant's office — to see the lady-superin- 
 tendent. 
 
 Lsetitia guessed with accurate instinct who Phoebe 
 was ; and Phoebe trembled when she saw the woman 
 into whose presence she was brought, somewliat with 
 the air of one who was called upon to give an ac- 
 count of herself. 
 
 " What is your name ?" said Lsetitia, in the same 
 sudden short way in which she might have asked 
 
286 ^'AS WE WEl^T MAECHING ON." 
 
 the reason for filling any extravagant requisition 
 npon lier supplies. 
 
 Phoebe, with as much calm as she could command, 
 said : 
 
 " Are you Mrs. Pembroke ?" 
 
 "I am," said Lsetitia. " Are you Miss Braxton ?" 
 
 Phcebe felt the scorn involved in this inquiry, 
 but said meekly : 
 
 " I am the person you suppose." 
 
 She had at least avoided the diflSculty of herself 
 declaring upon the very doubtful point as to what 
 her name really was. 
 
 "Where are you going?" said Mrs. Pembroke, 
 promptly. 
 
 " I am going to Winchester." 
 
 " For what purpose ?" 
 
 " To see if I can be of any service to Major Pem- 
 broke." 
 
 " You were going there '?" 
 
 " I am going there." 
 
 " But since I am going there myself ! You dare 
 not put yourself between man and wife." 
 
 " I dare do whatever my own perception of duty 
 tells me is right." 
 
 " Oh yes," said Lsetitia, whose words, at least, 
 had till now been perfectly polite, but who fell, 
 as she became more herself, into a tone of 
 tantalizing sarcasm — " Oh yes ; j^ou are a daring 
 woman, I have heard ; and your perceptions are cer- 
 tainly peculiar. For my part, I can scarcely con- 
 gratulate you upon your courage." 
 
THE WIFE AND THE OTHER WOMA^-. 287 
 
 "Perhaps not. People have such different no- 
 tions of what courage is." 
 
 " It ought to require a great deal of any kind for 
 a good woman to come between husband and wife." 
 
 " As for coming between husband and wife, it 
 was at first unknown to me that Major Pembroke 
 liad a wife ; and since I have known it, I have 
 doubted whether his wife would venture any peril 
 or inconvenience to go to him in a case of need." 
 
 To the various and subtle accusations involved 
 in this little account of Phoebe's motives, Lsetitia 
 responded only with a sarcastic and ironical 
 
 " Ah, you did not know !" 
 
 " How should I have known that he had a wife ?" 
 said Phoebe, returning to the charge with a per- 
 sistency which showed that the little woman's blood 
 was up. " How could any woman have even im- 
 agined it ? For more than a year he was wounded 
 and in my charge ; for more than a year I cared 
 for him. We lifted him out of the grave. And in 
 all those dreadful months no person sought him ; 
 not a soul came to inquire whether he was alive 
 or dead. He is a man that a woman will love if 
 she knows him ; and that no woman came to find 
 him, or perhaps weep upon his grave, was to me an 
 evidence that he had no wife." 
 
 " It is not to his credit that he did not tell you." 
 For as Phoebe's position so stated was unassailable, 
 Lsetitia assailed the Major. But here she was met 
 with even readier pugnacity. 
 
 " Since you are so ignorant as this implies of the 
 
condition he was in at the time, it would be consid- 
 erate to make no accusation against him." 
 
 " But since he has so ready a defender, an accu- 
 sation can do no liarm." 
 
 " Is it not a pity that since, as you say, he has a 
 wife, he should need to be defended against her 
 words 1" 
 
 " But for some time you have known that he has 
 a wife." 
 
 " Yes ; and knowing that she did not come at one 
 time, I believed she would not at another." 
 
 It began to be perceptible to Lsetitia that she 
 would gain no easy victory of words in this conflict, 
 and she gladly turned to notice some excitement 
 that had evidently occurred at the door and on the 
 stairway. 
 
 And the dragoon, who, as responsible for Phoebe, 
 had followed her up, but had remained speechless, 
 now went away downstairs, and said to his com- 
 rade in the road : 
 
 " By Jingo ! Billy, there's firing all along the line 
 up there. That little woman's tongue is the best- 
 hung piece of machinery in Virginia." 
 
 And what turned Mrs. Pembroke's attention the 
 reader will find recounted in the next chapter. 
 
CHAPTER XXY. 
 
 THE COMBAT THICKENS. 
 
 Now, that nish and excitement and stir on the 
 stairway and at that upper door which had drawn 
 Lsetitia's eyes in that direction, and which had been, 
 indeed, the pretext for her turning away from 
 Phoebe, as a beaten hawk that has assailed a youn^ 
 eagle and is loath to continue the combat, but too 
 proud to leave it, pretends to perceive fatter game 
 skipping down the wind — all that hurrah and 
 surprise and exclamation was due to another un- 
 expected arrival. 
 
 Major Pembroke had left the hospital on the Very 
 day upon which Phoebe, having learned where he 
 was, had left Skibbevan; that is to say, the day 
 before this upon which Phoebe encountered Mrs. 
 Pembroke. He had made his preparations for de- 
 parture that afternoon ; had secured a horse and 
 gone a step of the way, to sleep in a strange place — 
 a good soldier's precaution for getting an early start 
 next day. And having made that early start, he 
 v/as pushing swiftly for the mountain, and would 
 have passed both Lsetitia and Phoebe together, but 
 that some happy providence had wisely kept Agate 
 waiting in the road with the mule. 
 
 And this was a marvel, too ; because at such places 
 19 
 
290 
 
 there was a great deal of high life below stairs, and 
 no scarcity: of gallant colored fellows to be civil to 
 Agate in the kitchen, for she was a yellow beauty. 
 
 But there she was in the road-side, and there, 
 sitting and patiently waiting, she saw a well-mounted 
 officer riding that way ; and as her eyes dwelt upon 
 him, it swam into her perceptions that there was 
 something familiar in his air, and tlien that it was 
 the Major ; and she threw up her hands with a scream 
 which attracted his attention, and then sprang with 
 the agility of a leopard to a place in the roadway 
 beside him, and said : 
 
 ''Missus is here. Mars Major," and pointed to the 
 house. 
 
 And tha Major di-ew rein, leaped down, rushed 
 in, was pointed the way upstairs, went like a flash, 
 and he was the officer who burst in as the dragoon 
 came out. 
 
 Besides Phoebe and Lsetitia, there were several 
 other persons there, the various associates in the 
 superintendent's duties — a kind of small chorus to 
 this little drama. But the Major, having eyes only 
 for Phoebe, saw only her, and, striding forward, 
 seized and clasped her in his one good arm, for 
 what was left of the other was still tied up. 
 
 In this one instant of delight all the gloomy ap- 
 prehensions that had filled the Major's mind were 
 lost, for here was the beloved little woman, really, 
 positively here ; and to Phoebe this sudden recovery 
 of him whom she had thought to find once more 
 perhaps at the edge of the grave was an ecstasy. 
 
THE COMBAT THICKENS. 291 
 
 And they were sufficient for one another, and neither 
 had for a little any thought of any other creature. 
 
 Then Phcebe suddenly bethought her of the other 
 woman near, — one whom he had not seen for many 
 months more, — toward whom she did not know just 
 what his relations or his thoughts might be : and 
 the ecstasy faded suddenly from her soul. 
 
 Pembroke perceived instantly the change in her, 
 and, watching her face, seemed to feel the direction 
 of her thoughts ; and looking that way — there stood 
 Lsetitia. 
 
 Here was a predicament from which no very easy 
 issue was apparent, either by battle or retreat ; for 
 though he had in his arms the woman whom he 
 preferred before all other real or possible women 
 in the world, yet the other's position he was 
 not the man to deny. But how, with that claim 
 not denied, retain Phoebe; how at once reassure 
 Phoebe's love and yet not do what must forfeit all 
 claim to respect as a sincere and considerate gen- 
 tleman ? 
 
 But help came immediately; and came, as it so 
 often comes to those in difficulty, from the sponta- 
 neous and ready blundering of the enemy — from Lae- 
 titia's failure to perceive or consider wherein lay the 
 strength of her case. 
 
 As she observed his movement of surprise and 
 consternation, she said, in her taunting sarcastic way : 
 
 " Do not on any account let my presence inter- 
 fere with your pleasure." 
 
 This was said in that spirit of ironical mockery 
 
292 *'AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 that was most natural to her. In a second it put 
 the Major at ease — at home, as it were. Lsetitia 
 as an injured wife, conscious of the dignity of her 
 position, or as a woman with claims yet with sym- 
 pathies, might have been a difficulty ; but behold ! 
 she surrounded herself as by a magic stroke with the 
 intellectual atmosphere in which she had lived in 
 their home in Maine : and Lsetitia with a taunt on 
 her lips was easy to meet. 
 
 " If you knew all the story," said the Major, 
 gently, " you would not see occasion for embarrass- 
 ment for yourself or for any other in my being fond 
 of this lady. You might, indeed, be fond of her 
 yourself." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Lsetitia. " I am glad that I do not 
 know as much as some people. It would be more 
 than folly to know that which one ought not to 
 know to retain one's own self-respect." 
 
 " Retain your self-respect, then," said the Major 
 coolly ; " and while it is without any generous im- 
 pulse no one will envy you the possession. For my 
 part, I dearly love this woman, and my passion for 
 her is apart from any mere thought of gratitude 
 for her help ; but it grew when I was unconscious 
 of other obligations, and it has been the cause of 
 a grievous injustice to her, which all related to my 
 life should endeavor to remedy." 
 
 Herein the Major gave her an opportunity she 
 did not perceive. 
 
 There was such an evident difference in the air 
 of these two women toward this man that nobody 
 
THE COMBAT THICKENS. 293 
 
 could miss it ; for while the one assumed a defiant 
 position of self-assertion, and cared only for her own 
 case, the other had scarcely even reflected that there 
 was for her any other trouble in the world than the 
 pain in which she might find the man she loved. 
 
 And Lsetitia deepened the impression of differ- 
 ence when, without the slightest perception of the 
 feeling of the scene, she only said, with an artificial 
 effort to be sharp : 
 
 "What a habit of pretty speeches you have 
 caught up !" 
 
 That was all she saw in what he said. But having 
 thus given utterance to her vain ill-will, another 
 impression came upon her. 
 
 She dimly perceived that the Major's words as- 
 sumed that she was so related to him that Phoebe's 
 service to him was also a service to her, and that 
 this made her the nearer of the two ; and that there 
 was in this an admission that she, as a wife, was the 
 stronger on this occasion, and that she had missed 
 a point in not standing on that ground rather than 
 giving way to ill-tempered words. 
 
 But before she could make any endeavor to re- 
 cover a lost opportunity, there was another interrup- 
 tion. Our old acquaintance Chawpney stood upon 
 the threshold. 
 
 Chawpney had not had an easy time of it lately. 
 He had been warmed and cooled so often in the 
 caprices of the fair Lsetitia that his passion had in 
 some part turned to spite ; and but a short time 
 since he had heroically resolved that he would have 
 
294 
 
 liis own way on one point at least, and liad deter- 
 mined that lie would not again interfere with the 
 progress of the snit for divorce. 
 
 Previous to his last departure from Maine he had 
 provided that the suit should be j^ushed in every 
 possible way ; and upon his arrival in Washington 
 once more, he thought he discovered conditions of 
 the drama that might make a decree of little other 
 advantage to him than a gratification of spite. 
 
 He heard of Pembroke in the hospital at Win- 
 chester, and knew that Lsetitia was in the Sanitary 
 Commission service in that region, and did not 
 doubt, consequently, that they would meet and 
 reconcile their difficulties. 
 
 "Estranged couples," he thought, ''always make 
 up at last, and the other woman is always crowded 
 out of the case ; and so is the other man, by hookey !" 
 
 And then he thought not only upon his disap- 
 pointment, but upon a great deal of ridicule that he 
 might have to face ; and all this urged him to a deal 
 of telegrajihing to his legal helpers in Maine. He 
 brooded, in bilious misery, over the uncertainty of 
 woman's nature ; and thinking he might do worse 
 than go to the army himself, looked out for a sut- 
 ler's contract. 
 
 But one day there came by the post a fat, impor- 
 tant-looking package. He opened it, nervously 
 glanced hurriedly through its varied contents, but- 
 toned it in a capacious inside pocket of his coat, and 
 hurried away to the train. There might be not a 
 minute to lose, and the annoying delays on the rail- 
 
THE COMBAT THICKENS. 295 
 
 road at every step of the way to Martinsburg would 
 have given apoplexy to a more emotional person. 
 But he conquered all difficulties and obstructions ; 
 reached Winchester ; learned of the Major's depar- 
 ture ; learned where Lsetitia was ; knew that they 
 had not met, but that the danger was not over ; and 
 pushed on desperately, to arrive, as we have seen, at a 
 most critical moment, and to assist at a very delicate 
 conference. 
 
 Perhaps the reader will readily understand that he 
 was not, upon the whole, a welcome apparition to 
 Mrs. Pembroke; for the coming of a man whom 
 she had made up her mind to marry in a certain 
 contingency, and whom she had employed to hasten 
 that contingency, might deprive her of all the superi- 
 ority of her position as a dutiful and injured wife, 
 and fairly turn the tables against her. Indeed, if 
 her relations with Chawpney should now be brought 
 out, it would appear that on her part she was 
 morally in the same delinquency as the husband she 
 accused : with this aggravation, that she had coolly 
 and deliberately contrived and plotted against her 
 matrimonial obligations, while whatever Pembroke 
 had done against them had been the result of the 
 chances and confusions of destiny, spurred to en- 
 deavor new complications of amorous history by all 
 the opportunities of war. And she knew enough of 
 Chawpney to imagine that his special purpose would 
 be to make maliciously clear, in what would appear 
 to be the most innocent w\ay, whatever might be 
 against her. 
 
296 "AS WE WEKT MARCHIKG ON." 
 
 Cliawpney, with fliat vivid perception of the re- 
 lation of persons which a lawyer gets from his prac- 
 tice in courts, caught the whole situation at half a 
 glance. 
 
 Here were the wicked Iiusband, the reproaching 
 wife, and the dangerous " other woman." 
 
 " And not so very dangerous either," he said to 
 himself. "A commonplace little person, in a but- 
 ternut dress, that hangs to her figure like wet cloth. 
 iNot a bad figure, though." 
 
 He came forward with an air of cordial, familiar, 
 surprised good-nature. 
 
 " How are you. Major ? How are you ?" he said 
 with emphatic warmth, and seized upon the Major's 
 hand. " Delighted to see you again ! Great ac- 
 counts of your services, and of your wounds. All 
 the surgeons in Maine discussing your recovery. 
 Everybody proud of your valor. People say, ' One 
 of the greatest soldiers Maine has sent to the war.' 
 Ah ! how do you do, ma'am ?" he said to Phoebe, 
 and "How d'ye do, again ?" to Laetitia. 
 
 " 'SjDOse you never thought you'd see us down 
 here together, Major, eh? But we've been on a 
 queer hunt, you know, and been running part of 
 the Sanitary Commission ; and your wife — ah — that 
 is to say — ah — ^yes — that is to say — " 
 
 And the keen fellow boggled and hesitated as if 
 he was in a scrape as to words, at a loss for the right 
 one and unable to find it. And as this had the ap- 
 pearance of wishing to correct his use of the word 
 wife, every one's eyes were opened with startled 
 
THE COMBAT THICKENS. 297 
 
 curiosity ; and Laetitia, very pale, drew herself up 
 and bit her Hps, and turned upon him a look curi- 
 ously mingled of beseeching and defiance. 
 
 But Chawpney, having, as he intended, thus 
 acutely fixed the utmost degree of attention for 
 what he should say next, blurted out, in a way of 
 generous offering and apology : 
 
 " But then. Major, all the women in Portland are 
 crazy about you, and you can get forty new wives 
 if you want 'em." 
 
 "Mr. Chawpney," said Laetitia, now suddenly 
 turned scarlet, " what do you mean, sir '^" For now, 
 as what he said went so far beyond what she had 
 imagined, she really did not know what he meant. 
 
 " Forty new wives !" said the Major. " What does 
 that mean?" 
 
 "What does it mean?" said Chawpney, inno- 
 cently. " I'm astonished you don't understand. It 
 appears you don't know, then ; and I thought you 
 were talking it all over when I came in. Didn't 
 you get " — to Lsetitia — " my telegraphic dispatch ?" 
 
 " I did not get any dispatch, sir," she said with 
 cold severity, as if she would crush him for familiar 
 impertinence. But Chawpney was not to be 
 crushed on this occasion. He knew he had the 
 jury. 
 
 " Did not receive the dispatch ?" he said. " That is 
 strange, very strange; and yet in time of war I 
 suppose you never can count upon those things for 
 certainty. Then you don't know, of course ; and 
 you. Major, naturally don't know if you have not 
 
298 ' AS WE WEN"T MARCHIKG ON"/' 
 
 been told. Well, you see, the case is this : Supreme 
 Court of Maine has granted against you a decree of 
 absolute divorce." 
 
 And Chawpney delivered this word divorce with 
 an elocutionary effect, in virtue of which it filled 
 every corner and crevice of the room ; and the white 
 walls and the ceilings and the furniture seemed to 
 repeat in various encountering echoes, " Divorce, di- 
 vorce, divorce." So did everybody in the room re- 
 peat it, and the air was filled for a few minutes 
 with the word divorce. 
 
 Lsetitia sank into a chair beside the office table 
 at which she had been standing, and turned upon 
 Chawpney a despairing glance that seemed to say, 
 ^^ J^ow indeed you have done it." Phoebe drew closer 
 to Pembroke, whose arm grew hke an iron band 
 about her. All the volunteer nurses, medical stu- 
 dents, clerks, and hospital stewards about whispered 
 with one another, and Chawpney rattled on : 
 
 " Yes, here are the papers ;" and he produced that 
 fat package. " Absolute divorce ; plaintiff only can 
 re-marry in the State ; but of course out of the 
 State defendant is out of the jurisdiction." 
 
 Phoebe's eyes were fixed permanently upon Lseti- 
 tia — eyes full of sympathy and pity for another 
 woman's defeat and chagrin ; and Lsetitia, who was 
 conscious of it, would like to have been where she 
 could make faces at her. 
 
 *' Sir," she said to Chawpney, '^ I instructed you 
 to discontinue the proceedings." 
 
 ^' Yes," he said ; ^' but the court had possession of 
 
THE COMBAT THICKENS. 299 
 
 the case, and after a certain point in sucli j^roceed- 
 ings it will not stay." 
 
 " But," she said, still conscious of Phoebe's eyes, 
 '' the decree can be set aside." And Phoebe's eyes 
 turned away. 
 
 " Why, as to that," said the lawyer — " as to 
 that — hum ! — at the defendant's suit, maybe so ! 
 You see, Major, these proceedings were begun a great 
 vrhile ago. Begun, in fact, when it was doubtful 
 where you were — or indeed if you were anywhere." 
 
 " Yet begun in the opinion that I was some- 
 where," said the Major ; " for if I was not,— if I had 
 passed away, — what would be the need of a divorce ?" 
 
 " Certainly, certainly,'- said Chawpney. " As you 
 say, Major ; that's so. But there's no feeling on my 
 part ; and if you join in an application to reopen the 
 case, I shall be happy to take charge of that phase 
 of it." 
 
 " But," said the Major, " is it absolutely certain, 
 beyond all doubt or possibility of dispute, that such 
 a judgment has been rendered in the Supreme Court 
 of Maine ?" 
 
 " There is no more doubt," said the other, " than 
 that this is daylight which lights the room we are 
 in." 
 
 "Well," said the Major, "Fortune brings in 
 some ships that are not steered. As to reopen- 
 ing this case, we will consider that some other day. 
 Good-morning, madam," — to Lsetitia, — " and good- 
 morning, ladies and gentlemen. Come, Phoebe 
 dear." 
 
300 
 
 And then putting Lis good arm around the dear 
 little woman who had instinctively kept so close to 
 him, he led or lifted her to the door and down the 
 stairs, and helped her up beside Agate in the rickety 
 vehicle that waited there ; and then mounting his own 
 horse, rode away beside her. And though it was not 
 a dazzling cavalcade to look upon, many a more 
 magnificent one would have bartered all its splen- 
 dor for the supreme bliss that filled those hearts. 
 
 " * For time, the foe of famous chevisauce, 
 
 Seldom,' said Guyon, 'yields to virtue aid, 
 But in her way throws mischief and mischance, 
 
 "Whereby her course is stopped and passage stayed. 
 But you, fair sir, be not herewith dismayed, 
 
 But constant keep the way in which 5^e stand; 
 Which were it not that I am else delayed 
 
 With hard adventure which I have in hand, 
 I labor would to guide you through all fairy-land.' " 
 
CHAPTEE XXYI. 
 
 TATTOO EOLL-CALL. 
 
 L^TiTiA went home somewhat depressed in spirit 
 and mth an experience of defeat in her soul — which, 
 in fact, was the first experience of her life that had 
 ever reached that inner and remote recess of her 
 nature. 
 
 Unfortunately, the word soul, which is a very 
 good word, is used in much too glib a way for 
 people to get accurate ideas of the relation to daily 
 life of that part of our humanity to which we give 
 this name. If the possibility of a nice analysis 
 were not destroyed in this way, we might get happy 
 glimpses at the characters of persons by discover- 
 ing what facts in life had first convinced them of 
 their souls. 
 
 Lsetitia's was first reached by a sense of calami- 
 tous defeat and mortified vanity on this occasion ; 
 and she felt that if one little woman is to play at 
 skittles with other people's lives, — to have men and 
 other women stand about just where she puts them 
 and serve as manikins in a game of life entirely 
 planned by her and for her benefit, — then she needs 
 to be very sure of the fidelity of all her tools, and 
 needs in addition to have Providence on her side. 
 
 But she did not put it just that way in her reflec- 
 
302 
 
 tions. She put it, of course, in a way that kept her 
 in the right and convicted the whole human family, 
 so far as she knew it, of having conspired against 
 her. 
 
 And in this she was only under the influence of 
 common impulses ; for who sees the world from 
 any other but his or her o^vn stand-point ? Letty 
 was not, indeed, the worst woman in the world. She 
 was rather defective in the womanly attributes of 
 nature ; but the defect was one that society tends to 
 cultivate as an excellence. She could not so aban- 
 don her personal ideas and inclinations, so lose her 
 individuality under the coercion of such passion as 
 possessed her, as to feel an interest in life only in 
 the degree in which it affected another. Phoebe 
 became one with Pembroke : whatever might affect 
 that composite one reached her perceptions. For 
 what might reach only Phoebe Braxton she had lit- 
 tle care. 
 
 But whatever might happen to other human crea- 
 tures, Letty never regarded events save as they 
 might affect the welfare of Letty Pettibone. 
 
 She was not far from the type of the woman of 
 the time. 
 
 In proportion as woman is fit to live without man, 
 she is unfitted to live with him ; and many unhappy 
 marriages are due to the fact that the habit of look- 
 ing upon marriage as an optional fact has forced the 
 growth of a type of woman that can get on without 
 it. These women are more or less masculine in 
 moral and intellectual qualities. 
 
TATTOO ROLL-CALL. 303 
 
 They are independent in spirit; they have the 
 dominating instinct ; and they have the courage and 
 the talent to fight the world as formerly only men 
 fought it. But they have lost the feminine percep- 
 tion which held that the only thing in the world 
 worth a woman's conquest w^as a man. 
 
 But there came in consequence of Letty's defeat 
 a great chance to Mr. Chawpney, for he was destined 
 to extort the uncompromising admiration of the 
 brilliant Mrs. Pettibone. This happened when he 
 once opened his mind completely to that lady, who, 
 as she left him on this occasion, said to herself : 
 
 " And only to imagine that I, with all my talent 
 for understanding intellectual people, should once, 
 in complete ignorance of this man, have despised him 
 as a fool, and have regretted that idiot Pembroke !" 
 
 The occasion for this reflection was as follows : 
 
 They talked of marriage, and of their means, and 
 of Chawpney's prospects in his practice, and of what 
 might be yet realized from the Pettibone estate ; and 
 Lsetitia was of opinion that altogether it was not 
 enough ; that if she married again she must have 
 *' an establishment," and that the establishment which 
 could be set up between them with their present 
 means would not be satisfactory. 
 
 " Then," said Chawpney, " there is that ninety 
 thousand dollars." 
 
 " What ninety thousand dollars ?" 
 
 " Why, the ninety thousand that was paid for the 
 forged papers." 
 
 " Well, what about that ?" 
 
304 *'AS WE WEKT MAECHING OK." 
 
 " Why, it's my opinion that that could be recov- 
 ered ; and I'm not sure if it could not be recovered 
 with the interest, which would run it a good, round 
 sum above a hundred thousand." 
 
 "Recovered? Do you mean that it could be 
 extorted from those people again ?" 
 
 "I mean that those extortioners could be com- 
 pelled to pay it again to the rightful owners." 
 
 " You give one a wonderful surprise. Explain 
 it all to me." 
 
 " Well, you see, money that has been paid with- 
 out a valuable consideration can be recovered if the 
 parties are responsible : and they are responsible. 
 They have grown enormously rich on army con- 
 tracts." 
 
 " But consideration means what we received for 
 the money." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " We received the papers." 
 
 "No; what you obtained was the promise or 
 agreement of these people not to prosecute some 
 person for an alleged forgery." 
 
 " Yes, that is it." 
 
 " Well, that is not a legal consideration. All the 
 courts have decided, generations since, that for a 
 person to agree to do that which he has not the 
 right to do is not legally a consideration ; and of 
 course these persons had not the right to save a 
 criminal from the consequences of his crime." 
 
 " And they can be compelled to repay ?" 
 
 " That is what I believe." 
 
TATTOO KOLL-CALL. 305 
 
 " "Why, the thought of it almost takes my breath 
 away." And Letty turned her bright, keen eyes 
 upon Chawpney with a restful regard of down- 
 right admiration. 
 
 " But the others? If these people are compelled 
 to refund, they will go on with the prosecution." 
 
 "And what of that?" 
 
 " Sure enough." 
 
 "Whom will they prosecute? Perhaps Pem- 
 broke," said this little Machiavelli. 
 
 "Let them!" broke in the lady, with energy. 
 "I wish they would prosecute him and find him 
 guilty. How I should rejoice to see him well 
 landed in State prison !" 
 
 "Andif it were Jack?" 
 
 " Well, who cares ? I^ot I. But if they are to 
 prosecute Jack, they must find him, I suppose. 
 And as for father, I believe he would rather have 
 Jack in a prison, where he could go and see him, 
 than not know where he is." 
 
 And then, in an outburst of enthusiasm, the 
 lady declared that "this was the most glorious 
 thing that any one had ever imagined ;" whereupon 
 Chawpney, seizing the happy moment, "stormed 
 home" with his matrimonial project, and it was 
 then agreed that she would marry him if this case 
 were gained. 
 
 But how would Peuben take this ? Well, there 
 was no difficulty on that side. 
 
 Peuben Pettibone had grown rapidly old. Some- 
 times we observe this odd phenomenon of a man 
 20 
 
306 "AS WE WEKT MARCHING ON." 
 
 wlio seems to wear into a hale vigor, showing 
 scarcely tlie signs of his real age, but who falls into 
 senile decay in the conrse of a few months, as if 
 Time were behindhand in accounts with him and 
 forced a settlement all at once. It was so with 
 Keuben, who saw in everything about him only 
 some reminder of a lost battle, the defeat of some 
 treasured scheme or hope. He grew suddenly 
 feeble, and Lsetitia became a person of practical use- 
 fulness as she assumed control of the household and 
 of her father's affairs. 
 
 Consequently his books were all in her hands 
 and she was the dominant spirit. She found in his 
 safe all the records of that painful transaction with 
 the bankers ; and though it awakened doleful remi- 
 niscences to go over that story, she studied it with a 
 kind of fascination. She saw, in the light of what 
 Chawpney had told her, that it was possible to turn 
 destiny to account. She put the documents in the 
 lawyer's hands, and suit was promptly begun. Per- 
 sons interested in the law may read the record of 
 that famous trial in Stump Eeports, Q. X. E., iv. 
 809, 12,263. 
 
 Chawpney's great speech on the grasping tyranny 
 of corporations is, however, given in the report only 
 in a mere outline. The jury decided in favor of 
 Lsetitia without leaving their seats ; and though the 
 bankers appealed, they were compelled to pay at 
 last. It was the greatest triumph that a junior 
 lawyer ever gained in that part of the country. 
 
 Indeed the triumph was so decisive that it opened 
 
TATTOO ROLL-CALL. 307 
 
 to Cliawpney an immediate liigli-road to fortune ; 
 and if Lis contract with L?etitia had been merely 
 mercenary, he might have dropped it now. But he 
 was fond of her, and she was proud of him. So they 
 were married, and, what may seem more strange, 
 were very happ}^. 
 
 Montlis and years rolled aw^ay — if months and 
 years do roll ; though perhaps that phrase is only in- 
 tended to signify that the world rolls away and reels 
 off from its surface, like so many measures of yarn, 
 these measures of time. But perhaps we could 
 not say that months and years reeled away unless we 
 intended to signify that they were tipsy ; and, alas ! 
 they are dreadfully sober. 
 
 Months and years, however, passed in their pe- 
 culiar way, and developed a kind of unity in the 
 married life in Maine, and a more beautiful unity in 
 Braxton House, or what was left of it, where there 
 was celebrated another marriage, not tried before- 
 hand by modes of bibliomancy. Major Pembroke, 
 by the way, had, just after the occurrence of the 
 events above narrated, been set right in the eyes 
 of his comrades in the service by a court of in- 
 quiry, called upon his own demand, which investi- 
 gated his many months of continued absence with- 
 out leave, and found tliat he had not failed in his 
 oblio-ations as a soldier. This stilled some envious 
 tongues. 
 
 Finally there came a time when a discovery was 
 made in the Shenandoah Yalley in which the reader 
 of this history may feel an interest. 
 
308 
 
 On one of tlie wooded slopes half way down the 
 mountain, and only about a mile away from a road 
 at the bottom of the slope, there had stood a giant 
 chestnut-tree of which all the darkies had some in- 
 definable fear. An " old uncle" of the African va- 
 riety, who was himself a real African, had one night 
 in the time of the war — such was the story — been 
 hidden away in the woods at a moment when the 
 rebel army was rushing down the valley. He had 
 heard a strange plaintive cry which he had imagined 
 to be some person in distress ; and advancing cau- 
 tiously, filled in equal parts with fear and witli 
 charity, he had been led by the sounds to the im- 
 mediate neighborhood of this tree. But he saw no 
 one ; and though he spoke feebly and with hesita- 
 tion, he heard no answer. Yet he seemed to hear 
 sounds of a human voice, and was convinced they 
 came from that very tree. Had he been still in 
 Africa, he would have kneeled down and worshipped 
 the tree as a god or as the home of a god ; but he 
 was a very good Christian, and therefore above such 
 heathen ways. So he only raced down to the valley 
 again, prepared to face any merely human fate rather 
 than what witchery and the devil might have on 
 hand in the woods. 
 
 Indeed this old fellow never had the courage to 
 mention this incident to anybody until life seemed 
 to get a good deal calmer in the village, when, after 
 the battle of Antietam, the rebs went south again 
 and the ISTorthern regiments reappeared. He then 
 related his experience to a Northern man, a pedantic 
 
TATTOO ROLL-CALL. 309 
 
 personage full of school instruction, who listened 
 witli a wise profundity and then said : 
 
 " The ancients, who knew a great many things 
 that we don't know, talked about dryads, and hama- 
 dryads, and creatures that inhabited the trees ; and 
 I am not sure but the ancients were right. You 
 have had a remarkable experience." 
 
 So the old uncle became known as one to whom 
 supernatural secrets had been in part divulged ; and 
 the tree was pointed out and spoken of in whispers 
 and with wondering curiosity. 
 
 And in time the tree died ; and its great bare, 
 long arms, desolate and horrible in the daytime, or 
 grotesque and fantastical in the moonlight, were 
 signals from afar for all darkies travelling in that 
 region to go a roundabout way. 
 
 But one hot summer day there came a great gale, 
 a whirlwind which with irresistible force caught the 
 old monster by his giant arms with a giant's grasp, 
 and twisted him around so as to part him entirely 
 from his ancient roots at a point close to the ground. 
 Then as he lay prostrate it was perceived that he 
 had been like many other great ones — hollow-hearted 
 for years ; but it was seen also that he had a ghastly 
 secret to disclose. As the tree was torn and forced 
 away, the violence of its departure from its accus- 
 tomed place scattered all about certain bones which 
 had been contained within it ; and when these were 
 fitted together by the ingenious assistants of a cor- 
 oner, they were found to constitute an entire human 
 skeleton. There were also scraps of gray cloth and 
 
310 ''AS WE WENT MARCHING ON." 
 
 military buttons. So that the opinion was reached 
 that this man had been a Confederate soldier. But 
 who he was or how he ever came into so strange a 
 place of repose was always a mystery in the valley. 
 Hiram and Agate, who heard of all this and knew 
 somewhat of the adventures of Captain Willoughby, 
 thought they could guess at the identity of this sol- 
 dier, and thought he had perhaps taken refuge in 
 that tree at night and slipped into the hollow of its 
 tube-like trunk and died there ; for in that region 
 men sometimes perish in that way. But they agreed 
 never to mention the subject at Braxton House. 
 
 THE END. 
 
BEN-HUR : A TALE OF THE CHRIST. 
 
 By Lew. Wallace. New Edition, pp. 552. 16mo, Cloth, 
 $1 50. 
 
 Anything so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature of this 
 romance does not often appear in works of fiction. . . . Some of Mr. Wal- 
 lace's writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The scenes de- 
 Bcribed in the New Testament are rewritten with the power and skill of 
 an accomplished master of style. — y. Y. Times. 
 
 Its real basis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans at the 
 beginning of the Christian era, and this is both forcible and brilliant. . . . 
 ^Ye are carried through a surprising variety of scenes; we witness a sea- 
 fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Roman galley, domestic in- 
 teriors at Antioch, at Jerusalem, and among the tribes of the desert; pal- 
 aces, prisons, the haunts of dissipated Roman youth, the houses of pious 
 families of Israel. There is plenty of exciting incident; everything is 
 animated, vivid, and glowing. — N. Y. Tribu7ie. 
 
 From the opening of the volume to the very close the reader's interest 
 will be kept at the highest pitch, and the novel will be pronounced by all 
 one of the greatest novels of the day. — Bost07i Post. 
 
 It is full of poetic beauty, as though born of an Eastern sage, and there 
 is sufficient of Oriental customs, geography, nomenclature, etc., to greatly 
 strengthen the semblance. — Boston CommotMealth. 
 
 "Ben-Hur" is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong. 
 Meanwhile it evinces careful study of the period in which the scene is laid, 
 and will help those who read it with reasonable attention to realize the 
 nature and conditions of Hebrew life in Jerusalem and Roman life at 
 Antioch at the time of our Saviour's advent. — Examiner^ N. Y. 
 
 It is really Scripture history of Chi-ist's time clothed gracefully and 
 delicately in the flowing and loose drapery of modern fiction. . . . Few late 
 works of fiction excel it in genuine ability and interest. — N. Y. Graphic. 
 
 One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and 
 waim as life itself, and as attractive as the grandest and most heroic 
 chapters of history. — Indianapolis Journal. 
 
 The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with un- 
 wonted interest by many readers who are weary of the conventional novel 
 and romance. — Boston Journal. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New Yokk. 
 
 JKS" The above toork sent by viail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States 
 or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
UPON A CAST. 
 
 A Novel. By Charlotte Dunning, pp. 330. 16mo, 
 Cloth, $1 00. 
 
 It embodies throughout the expressions of genuine American frank- 
 ness, is well conceived, well managed, and brought to a delightful 
 and captivating close. — Albany Press. 
 
 The author writes this story of American social life in an interest- 
 ing manner. . . . The style of the writing is excellent, and the dia- 
 logue clever. — N. T. Times. 
 
 This story is strong in plot, and its characters are drawn with a 
 firm and skilful hand. They seem like real people, and their acts 
 and words, their fortunes and misadventures, are made to engage the 
 reader's interest and sympathy. — Worcester Daily Spy. 
 
 The character painting is very well done. . . . The sourest cynic 
 that ever sneered at woman cannot but find the little story vastly 
 entertaining. — Commercial Bulletin, Boston. 
 
 The life of a semi-metropolitan village, with its own aristocracy, 
 gossips, and various other qualities of people, is admirably por- 
 trayed. . . . The book fascinates the reader from the first page to 
 the last. — Boston Traveller. 
 
 The plot has been constructed with no little skill, and the charac- 
 ters — all of them interesting and worthy of acquaintance— are por- 
 trayed with great distinctness. The book is written in an entertain- 
 ing and vivacious style, and is destined to provide entertainment for 
 a large number of readers. — Christian at Work, N. Y. 
 
 One of the best — if not the very best— of the society novels of the 
 season, — Detroit Free Press. 
 
 Of peculiar interest as regards plot, and with much grace and 
 freshness of style. — Brooklyn Times. 
 
 The plot has been constructed with no little skill, and the characters 
 — all of them interesting and worthy of acquaintance — are portrayed 
 with great distinctness. — Episcopal Recorder, Philadelphia. 
 
 A clever and entertaining novel. It is wholly social, and the 
 theatre is a small one ; but the characters are varied and are drawn 
 with a firm hand ; the play of human passion and longing is well- 
 defined and brilliant ; and the movement is effective and satisfac- 
 tory. . . . The love story is as good as the social study, making alto- 
 gether an uncommonly entertaining book for vacation reading. — 
 Wilmington (Del.) Morning News. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 Habpeb & Brotubes will send the above work hy mail., postage prepaid, to 
 any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
GEORGE ELIOT'S LIFE AND WORKS. 
 
 LIBRARY EDITION. 
 
 14 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $1 25 per vol. Complete Sets, $15 75. 
 
 ADAM BEDE. Illustrated. 
 DANIEL DERONDA. 2 vols. 
 ESSAYS AND LEAVES FROM A 
 
 NOTE-BOOK. 
 FELIX HOLT, THE RADICAL. 
 
 Illustrated. 
 GEORGE ELIOT'S LIFE. By J. 
 
 W. Cross. "With Portraits and 
 
 Illustrations. 3 vols. 
 
 MIDDLEMARCH. 2 vols. 
 
 ROMOLA. Illustrated. 
 
 SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE, and 
 SILAS MARNER. Illustrated. 
 
 THE IMPRESSIONS OF THEO- 
 PHRASTUS SUCH. 
 
 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Illus- 
 trated. 
 
 POPULAR EDITION. 
 
 11 vols., 12mo, Cloth, 75 cents per vol. 
 
 ADAM BEDE. Illustrated. 
 DANIEL DEROXDA. 2 vols. 
 ESSAYS AND LEAVES FROM A 
 NOTE-BOOK. 
 
 FELIX HOLT, THE RADICAL. 
 
 Illustrated. 
 
 MIDDLEMARCH. 2 vols. 
 
 ROMOLA. Illustrated. 
 
 SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE, and 
 SILAS MARNER. Illustrated. 
 
 THE IMPRESSIONS OF THEO- 
 PHRASTUS SUCH. 
 
 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Illus- 
 trated. 
 
 PAPER EDITION. 
 
 BROTHER JACOB.— THE LIFTED VEIL. 32mo, 20 cents. 
 
 DANIEL DERONDA. 8vo, 50 cents. 
 
 FELIX HOLT. 8vo, 60 cents. 
 
 GEORGE ELIOT'S LIFE. By J. W. Cross. With Three Illustrations. 
 3 vols., 4to, 15 cents each. 
 
 MIDDLEMARCH. 8vo, 75 cents. 
 
 ROMOLA. Illustrated. 8vo, 50 cents. 
 
 SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE. 8vo, 50 cents. Separately, in 32mo : 
 The Sad Fortunes of the Rev. Amos Barton^ 20 cents ; Mr. GilfiVs 
 Love Story, 20 cents ; Ja7iet 's Repentance, 20 cents. 
 
 SILAS MARNER. 12mo, 20 cents. 
 
 THE IMPRESSIONS OF THEOPHRASTUS SUCH. 4to, 10 cents. 
 
 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. 8vo, 50 cents. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 je®^ Haepeb & Bbothebs icill send any of the above loorks by mail, postage pre- 
 paid, to any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
MISS MULOCK'S WORKS. 
 
 LIBRARY EDITION. 
 
 Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents per vol. 
 Calf, $50 
 
 A BRAVE LADY. 
 
 A HERO. 
 
 A LEGACY. 
 
 A LIFE FOR A LIFE. 
 
 A NOBLE LIFE. 
 
 AGATHA'S HUSBAND. 
 
 CHRISTIAN'S MISTAKE. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 HEAD OF THE FAMILY. 
 
 HIS LITTLE MOTHER, &c. 
 
 JOHN HALIFAX. 
 
 MISS TOMMY. 
 
 MISTRESS AND M.\ID. 
 
 Complete Sets (25 vols.), $22 50; 
 00. 
 
 Half 
 
 MY MOTHER AND I. 
 OGILVIES. 
 OLIVE. 
 
 PLAIN-SPEAKING. 
 SERMONS OUT OF CHURCH. 
 STUDIES FROM LIFE. 
 THE FAIRY BOOK. 
 THE LAUREL BUSH. 
 TWO MARRIAGES. 
 UNKIND WORD, &c. 
 WOMAN'S KINGDOM. 
 YOUNG MRS. JARDINE. 
 
 PAPER 
 
 A BRAVE LADY. lU'd. 8vo, 60 cents. 
 A LIFE FOR A LIFE. 8vo, 40 cents. 
 AGATHA'S HUSBAND. 8vo, 35 cents. 
 AVILLION, AND Other Tales. Svo, 60 cts. 
 HANNAH. Illustrated. Svo, 35 cents. 
 HIS LITTLE MOTHER, &c. 4to, 10 cents. 
 JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN. Svo, 
 
 50 cents ; 4to, 15 cents. 
 MISS TOMMY. Ill'd. 12nio, 50 cents. 
 MISTRESS AND MAID. Svo, 30 cents. 
 NOTHING NEW. Svo, 30 cents. 
 
 EDITION. 
 
 MY MOTHER AND I. Illustrated. Svo, 
 
 40 cents. 
 OGILVIES. Svo , 35 cents. 
 OLIV^E. Svo, 35 cents. 
 TLAIN-SPEAKING. 4to, 15 cents. 
 IHE HEAD OF THE FAMILY. Svo, 50 
 
 cents. 
 THE LAUREL BUSH. Ill'd. Svo, 25 cts. 
 THE WOMAN'S KINGDOM. Illustrated. 
 
 Svo, 60 cents. 
 YOUNG MRS. JARDINE. 4to, 10 cents. 
 
 JUVENILES. 
 
 A FRENCH COUNTRY FAMILY. Illus- 
 trated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
 
 COOKS FOR GIRLS. Written or Edited 
 by Miss Mulock. Illustrated. 16mo, 
 Cloth, 90 cents each. 
 
 An Only Sister.— Is i7 Thue?— Lit- 
 tle Sunshine's Holipat. — Miss JIooke. 
 — The Cousin fkom India. — Twestt 
 YeaKS Ago, 
 
 MOTHERLESS; OR, A PARISIAN FAM- 
 ILY. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
 
 OUR YEAR. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, 
 $1 00. 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE. 
 Illustrated. Square 16mo, Cloth, 90 cts. 
 
 THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE AND HIS 
 TRAVELLING CLOAK. Ill'd. Square 
 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 SONGS OF OUR YOUTH. Set to Music. Square 4to, Cloth, $2 50. 
 FAIR FRANCE. Impressions of a Traveller. ^12mo, Cloth, .$1 50. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 ^^ Hakper & Brothers will send any of the above works by mail, postage pre- 
 paid, to any part of tixe United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
CHARLES READE'S WORKS 
 
 LIBRARY EDITION. 
 
 Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00 per vol. Complete Sets, 14 vols., Cloth, 
 $12 00 ; Half Calf, $36 00. 
 
 h. SIMPLETON, AND THE WAN- 
 DERING HEIR. 
 A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION. 
 A WOMAN-HATER. 
 FOUL PLAY. 
 GOOD STORIES. 
 GRIFFITH GAUNT. 
 HARD CASH. 
 
 IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO 
 
 MEND. 
 LOVE ME LITTLE, LOVE ME 
 
 LONG. 
 PEG WOFFINGTON, &c. 
 PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE. 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE 
 
 HEARTH. 
 WHITE LIES. 
 
 A PERILOUS SECRET. 12mo, Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 PAPER EDITION. 
 A HERO AND A MARTYR. With a Portrait. 8vo, 15 cents. 
 A PERILOUS SECRET. 12mo, 40 cents ; 4to, 20 cents. 
 A SIMPLETON. 8vo, 30 cents. 
 
 A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION. Illustrated. 8vo, 25 cents. 
 A WOMAN-HATER. Illustrated. Svo, 30 cents; 12mo, 20 cents. 
 FOUL PLAY. Svo, 30 cents. 
 GOOD STORIES OF MAN AND OTHER ANIMALS. Illustrated, 
 
 12mo, 50 cents; 4to, 20 cents. 
 GRIFFITH GAUNT. Illustrated. Svo, 30 cents. 
 HARD CASH. Illustrated. Svo, 35 cents. 
 IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND. Svo, 35 cents. 
 JACK OF ALL TRADES. 16mo, 15 cents. 
 LOVE ME LITTLE, LOVE ME LONG. Svo, 30 cents. 
 MULTUM IN PARVO. Illustrated. 4to, 15 cents. 
 PEG WOFFINGTON, CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE, AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 Svo, 35 cents. 
 PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE. Illustrated. Svo, 35 cents. 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. Svo, 35 cents. 
 THE COMING MAN. 32mo, 20 cents. 
 THE JILT. Illustrated. 32mo, 20 cents. 
 THE PICTURE. 16mo, 15 cents. 
 THE WANDERING HEIR. Illustrated. Svo, 20 cents. 
 WHITE LIES. Svo, 30 cents. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 HARrER & Bbotukks tcill send any of the above works by mail, postage prepaid, 
 to any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
WILLIAM BLACK'S NOVELS. 
 
 LIBRARY EDITION. 
 
 12mo, Cloth, $1 25 per vol. Complete Sets, 15 vols., $17 50; Half Calf, 
 
 $34 15. 
 
 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 A PRINCESS OF THULE. 
 GREEN PASTURES AND PICCA- 
 DILLY. 
 IN SILK ATTIRE. 
 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE. IlPd. 
 KILMENY. 
 
 MACLEOD OF DARE. Illustrated. 
 MADCAP VIOLET. 
 
 SHANDON BELLS. Blustrated. 
 STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A 
 
 PHAETON. 
 SUNRISE. 
 THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 
 
 Illustrated. 
 THREE FEATHERS. 
 WHITE WINGS. Hlustrated. 
 YOLANDE. Illustrated. 
 
 PAPER EDITION. 
 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 8vo, 35 cents. 
 A PRINCESS OF THULE. 8vo, 50 cents. 
 AN ADVENTURE IN THULE. 4to, 10 cents. 
 GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY. 8vo, 60 cents. 
 IN SILK ATTIRE. Svo, 35 cents. 
 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE. 4to, 20 cents. 
 KILMENY. Svo, 35 cents. 
 
 MACLEOD OF DARE. Svo, Illustrated,' 60 cents; 4to, 15 cents. 
 MADCAP VIOLET. Svo, 50 cents. 
 SHANDON BELLS. Illustrated. 4to, 20 cents. 
 STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. Svo, 50 cents. 
 SUNRISE. 4to, 15 cents. 
 
 THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. Illustrated. 4to, 20 cents. 
 THE MAID OF KILLEENA, THE MARRIAGE OF MOIRA FERGUS, 
 
 and other Stories. Svo, 40 cents. 
 THE MONARCH OF MINCING-LANE. Illustrated. Svo, 50 cents. 
 THREE FEATHERS. Illustrated. Svo, 50 cents. 
 WHITE WINGS. 4to, 20 cents. 
 YOLANDE. Illustrated. 4to, 20 cents. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 HA.KPKU & Brothers loill send any of the above works by mail, postage pre- 
 paid, to a7iy part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
BOOTS AND SADDLES; 
 
 Or, Life in Dakota with General Custer. By Mrs. Eliz- 
 abeth B. Custer. With Portrait of General Custer, 
 pp. 312. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
 
 A book of adventure is interesting reading, especially when it is all tnie, 
 as is the case with " Boots and Saddles." * * * She does not obtrude the 
 fact that sunshine and solace went with her to tent and fort, but it in- 
 heres in her narrative none the less, and as a consequence " these simple 
 annals of our daily life," as she calls them, are never dull nor uninterest- 
 ing. — Evangelist^ N. Y. 
 
 Mrs. Custer's book is in reality a bright and sunny sketch of the life 
 of her late husband, who fell at the battle of " Little Big Horn." * * ♦ 
 After the war, when General Custer was sent to the Indian frontier, his 
 wife was of the party, and she is able to give the minute story of her 
 husband's varied career, since she was almost always near the scene of 
 his adventures. — Brooklyn Union. 
 
 We have no hesitation in saying that no better or more satisfactory life 
 of General Custer could have been written. Indeed, we may as well 
 speak the thought that is in us, and say plainly that we know of no bio- 
 graphical work anywhere which we count better than this. * * * Surely the 
 record of such experiences as these will be read with that keen interest 
 which attaches only to strenuous human doings ; as surely we are right 
 in saying that such a story of truth and heroism as that here told will 
 take a deeper hold upon the popular mind and heart than any work of 
 fiction can. For the rest, the narrative is as vivacious and as lightly and 
 trippingly given as that of any novel. It is enriched in every chapter with 
 illustrative anecdotes and incidents, and here and there a little life story 
 of pathetic interest is told as an episode. — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 It is a plain, straightforward story of the author's life on the plains of 
 Dakota. Every member of a Western garrison will want to read this 
 book ; every person in the East who is interested in Western life will 
 want to read it, too; and every girl or boy who has a healthy appetite 
 for adventure will be sure to get it. It is bound to have an army of read- 
 ers that few authors can expect. — FhUadelplda Press. 
 
 These annals of daily life in the army are simple, yet interesting, and 
 underneath all is discerned the love of a true woman ready for any sacri- 
 fice. She touches on themes little canvassed by the civilian, and makes a 
 volume equally redolent of a loving devotion to an honored husband, and 
 attractive as a picture of necessary duty by the soldier. — Commonwealth^ 
 Boston. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, N. Y. 
 
 SSr HAurEB & BnoTUKP.s tvill said the abov^. work by mail, pofitage prepaid, to arnj 
 part of ilie United titates or CatiMa, on receipt of the price. 
 
CHARLES NOPiDHOFPS WORKS. 
 
 POLITICS FOR YOUNG AMERICANS. By Charles Nordhoff .16mo, 
 Half Leather, 75 cents ; Paper, 40 cents. 
 
 It is a book that should be in the hand of every American boy nnd girl, This 
 book of Mr. Nordhoff '3 might be learned by heart. Each word has its value ; 
 each enumerated section has its pith. It is a complete system of political science, 
 economical and other, as applied to our American system.— X Y. Herald. 
 
 CALIFORNIA : A Book for Travellers and Settlers. By Charles Nord- 
 hoff. A New Edition* With Maps and Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, 
 $2 00. 
 
 Mr. Nordhoflfs plan is to see what is curious, important, and true, and then to 
 tell it in the simplest manner. Ilerodotns is evidently his prototype. Strong 
 sense, a Doric truthfulness, and a very earnest contempt for anything like pre- 
 tension or sensationalism, and an enthusiasm none the less agreeable because 
 straitened in its expression, are his qualities.— xV. Y. Evening Post. 
 
 THE COMMUNISTIC SOCIETIES OF THE UNITED STATES ; from 
 Personal Visit and Observation : including Detailed Accounts of the 
 Economists, Zoarites, Shakers; the Amana, Oneida, Bethel, Aurora, 
 Icarian, and other Existing Societies ; their Religious Creeds, Social 
 Practices, Numbers, Industries, and Present Condition. Bv Charles 
 Nordhoff. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $4 00. 
 
 Mr. Nordhoff has derived his materials from personal observation, having vis- 
 ited the principal Communistic societies in the United States, and taken diligent 
 note of the jieculiar features of their religious creed and practices, their social and 
 domestic customs, and their industrial and linancial arrangements. * * * With his 
 exceptionally keen powers of perception, and his habits of practised observation, 
 he could not engage in such an inquiry without amassing a fund of curious 
 information. In stating the results of his investigations, he' writes with exem- 
 plary candor and impartiality, though not without the exercise of just and sound 
 discrimination. — ^V. Y, Tribune. 
 
 CAPE COD AND ALL ALONU SHORE: STORIES. By Charles Nord- 
 hoff. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50 ; 4to, Paper, 15 cents. 
 
 Light, clever, well-written sketches.— .V. Y. Times. 
 
 A lively and agreeable volume, full of humor and incident Boston Transcript. 
 
 GOD AND THE FUTURE LIFE. The Reasonableness of Christianity. 
 
 By Charles Nordhoff. ]6mo, Cloth, $1 00. 
 
 Mr, Nordhoff's object is not so much to present a religious system as to give 
 practical and sufficient reasons for every-day beliefs. He writes strongly, clearly, 
 and in the vein that the people understand.— Boston Herald. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 t^~ JiKMVv.v. & BEOTHETis tPill Send the above works by mail, pontage prepaid, to ang 
 part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
OATS OR WILD OATS? 
 
 Cominon-sense for Young Men. By J. M. Buckley, LL.D. 
 pp. xiv., 306. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
 
 It is a good book, which ought to do good on a large scale. . . . Such 
 passages as those headed Tact, Observation, Reflection, Self-command, and 
 the like, may be read and re-read many times with advantage. — Brooklyn 
 Uhio7i. 
 
 A book which should be recommended to the consideration of every 
 young man who is preparing to go into a business career or any other in 
 which he may aspire to become an honorable, useful, and prosperous citi- 
 zen. ... Dr. Buckley knows the trials and the temptations to which 
 young men are exposed, and his book, while written in most agreeable 
 language, is full of excellent counsel, and illustrations are given by an- 
 ecdotes and by examples which the author has observed or heard of in 
 his own experience. Besides general advice, there are especial chapters 
 relating to professional, commercial, and other occupations. So good a 
 book should be widely distributed, and it will tell on the next generation. 
 — Philadelphia Bulletin. 
 
 It is a model manual, and will be as interesting to a bright, go-ahead 
 boy as a novel. — Philadelphia Record. 
 
 The scheme of the book is to assist young men in the choice of a 
 profession or life pursuit by explaining the leading principles and char- 
 acteristics of different branches of business, so that the reader may see 
 what his experiences are likely to be, and thus be enabled to make an 
 intelligent selection among the many avenues of labor. In order to make 
 his work accurate and comprehensive, Dr. Buckley has consulted mer- 
 chants, lawyers, statesmen, farmers, manufacturers, men in all walks of 
 life, and specialists of every description, visiting and examining their es- 
 tablishments, offices, and studios. From the knowledge thus gained he 
 has prepared the greater part of his book The remainder is given to 
 general advice, and contains the old maxims familiar to all young men 
 from the time of Poor Richard. Success is won by good behavior, fntelli- 
 gence, and industry. These are the " Oats." The " Wild Oats " of lazi- 
 ness, carelessness, and dissipation bring ruin, disaster, and misery. The 
 work is likely to attract readers from its practical value as a compendium 
 of facts relating to the various departments of labor rather than on ac- 
 count of its moral injunctions. It cannot help being very useful to the 
 class of young men for whom it is intended, as also to parents who have 
 boys to start out into the world. — N. Y. Times. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 t^" IIabper & BuoTHKRS icUl Send the above worJc by mail, postage prejmid. /!<? 
 any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
AMERICAN POLITICAL IDEAS, 
 
 Viewed from the Standpoint of Universal History. By John 
 FiSKE. pp.158. 12mo, Clotli, $1 00. 
 
 Mr. Fisko is ouo of the few Americans who is able to exercise 
 a dispassionate judgment upon questions wbicli liave been the 
 cause of quarrels between parties and sections. Mr. Fiske has a 
 calm way of considering our modern ideas from the standpoint 
 of universal history. — N. Y. Journal of Commerce. 
 
 We know of no treatise concerning American history which is 
 likely to exercise larger or better influence in leading Americans to 
 read between the lines of our country's annals. * * * The little 
 book is so direct and simple in the manner of its presentation of 
 truth, so attractive in substance, that its circulation is likely to 
 be wide. Its appeal is as directly to the farmer or mechanic as 
 to the philosophic student of politics or history. — iV. Y. Commercial 
 Advertiser. 
 
 There is not a line in the entire work which is not laden with 
 the richest fruits of a trained and powerful intellect. — Commercial 
 Bulletin, Boston. 
 
 When Mr. Fiske comes to discuss American history by the com- 
 parative method, he enters a field of special and vital interest to 
 all who have ever taken up this method of study. Our history, as 
 the author says, when viewed in this broad and yet impartial way, 
 acquires a new dignity. There is no need to say that Mr. Fiske's 
 pages are worthy of the most careful study. — BrooJdyn Union. 
 
 From this point of view the consideration of the political ideas 
 of this country becomes something more than a mere study of 
 history ; it constitutes a page of philosophy, a social study of the 
 most transcendant importance. Such is the spirit with which 
 Prof. Fiske handles his subject. He shows how our institutions 
 have grown and developed from the past, how they have a firm 
 basis in nature, and how they must develop in the future. The 
 lectures are important reading ; they are also pleasant reading, for 
 the literary stylo of Prof. Fiske is exceptionally pure, clear, and 
 graceful. — Boston Gazette. 
 
 A volume of great interest, and illustrates very happily some of 
 the fundamental ideas of American politics by setting forth their 
 relations to the general history of mankind. * * * We heartily 
 commend this little volume to such of our readers as desire to en- 
 large their ideas and views of the political principles underlying the 
 foundations of our system of government. — Christian at Work, N. Y. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
'^H 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
 Wi liner 
 589