I MEET AN EX-SLAVE
In this narrative of adventure it would but waste the reader's time to indulge in any extended description of military movements. The interest of my story centres around individuals rather than the great events of history, and I will touch these but briefly, so as to make the surrounding conditions sufficiently clear. It was noon the following day when I reached headquarters with my report, only to find that rumors of the combined movements of Johnston's and Beauregard's forces had already penetrated our lines. I could merely add details to the information previously received. The result was the immediate strengthening of our position to repel any possible attack. None occurred however, except desultory skirmishing. Later we learned the reason to be the failure of Chambers to appear, his march having been retarded by heavy rains.
At the end of this period of waiting our army was well prepared for action, the troops eager to test the strength of the enemy. Impatient of delay, and suspecting the probable cause of the Confederate quietness, we finally took the aggressive, determined to regain our former position south of the river. An. early morning attack won us the bridge and the town beyond, while heavy forces rushed the available fords, and after some severe fighting, obtained foothold on the opposite bank. Hastily throwing up intrenchments these advance troops succeeded in repulsing two charges before nightfall. This brought an end to hostilities. During the hours of darkness reinforcements were hurried across the stream. By dawn the opposing forces were about evenly mated, and every man in either line knew a battle was imminent.
In this emergency the need of every soldier was felt, and I was returned to my regiment for duty. We were the first to trot over the recaptured bridge, and through the deserted streets of the village. Impelled by a curiosity which could not be resisted I wheeled my horse and rode up the gravelled driveway to Judge Moran's door, but to my vigorous knocking there was no response. The shades were drawn at the windows, the house silent, and yet I felt convinced the old partisan was within, watching from some point of vantage. Yet if I believed this, the same silence and refusal to respond also served to convince me that Miss Hardy was no longer there. She was a vastly different type, and would exhibit interest even in the coming of the enemy. Ay! and she would have seen me, and not for one moment could I be made to believe that she would treat me with contempt.
I rode back slowly to rejoin the column of horsemen, glancing over my shoulder at the house, my mind busily occupied with the stirring events which had transpired there. She had gone with the Confederate troops, and had probably already been safely returned to her own home. Moran might have departed also, but more likely he remained to look after his property. I wondered who was her escort for the long ride--would it be Captain Le Gaire, sufficiently recovered from his injuries for this service, yet scarcely capable of active military duty? If so, he was with her still, a guest at "The Gables," sufficiently an invalid to be interesting, and to require attention, but with tongue in good repair. I was glad I had told my story first; the gentleman would experience some difficulty in changing Miss Willifred's opinion of the affair.
The gray dust cloud hung about us, almost obscuring the files of plodding troopers; to right and left the flankers showed dark against the green of the fields, and far in front an occasional carbine barked as some suspicious scout fired at a skulking figure. Once this would have been full of interest, but now it was mere routine, the sturdy veterans of the Ninth riding soberly forward, choked with dust, their hats drawn low over their eyes, wearied by a long night in the saddle. I glanced proudly down those ranks of fighting men, glad to be with them once again, but my thought drifted back to Billie, for this was the road we had travelled together. It seemed a long while ago, and much might happen before we should meet again, if ever we did. I might be killed in battle, or Le Gaire might insist upon an immediate marriage. This last was what I most feared, for I believed that if this could only be sufficiently delayed, she would learn to know the man better, and refuse to be sacrificed. The engagement rather mystified me, for it was clear enough no blind love on her part was responsible for its existence; at least she had begun to perceive his shallowness, and resented his attempt at bullying. I even began to believe that some one else had now come into her life, whose memory would serve to increase the feeling of dissatisfaction. Le Gaire was not the kind that wears well--he could not improve upon acquaintance; and, while I was no connoisseur of women, yet I could not persuade myself that her nature was patient enough not to revolt against his pretensions. I was no egotist, no lady-killer, but I recognized now that I loved this girl, and had read in her eyes the message of hope. Mine was, at least, a fighting chance, and fighting was my trade. I liked it better so, finding the lady more alluring because of the barrier between us, the zest of combat quickening my desire. Already I began to plan meeting her again, now that the campaign had turned our faces southward. Back beyond those wooded hills some freak of fate must lead me right, some swirl of fortune afford me opportunity. I was of the school of Hope, and Love yielded courage.
I looked back down the long hill, so silent and deserted that gray morning when we were driving together, but now dark with the solid masses of marching troops. It was a stirring scene to soldier eyes, knowing these men were pressing sternly on to battle. They seemed like a confused, disorganized mob, filling the narrow road, and streaming out through the fields; yet I could read the meaning of each detached movement, as cavalry, artillery, infantry, staff and wagon trains, met and separated, swinging into assigned positions, or making swift detour. Hoarse voices shouted; bugles pealed; there was the rumble of wheels, the pounding of hoofs, the tramp of feet, and over all the cloud of dust, through which the sun shone redly. The intense vividness of the picture gave me a new memory of war. Suddenly a battery of artillery, out of sight on the distant crest, opened fire, the shrieking shells plunging down into the ploughed field at our left, and casting the soft dirt high in air. Our advance spread wide into skirmish line, the black dots representing men flitting up the steep side of the hill, white spirals of smoke evidencing their musket fire. Behind them was a grim mass of infantry, silent and ominous, swinging forward like a huge snake. The men of the Ninth straightened up, their eyes glowing, but it was soon over with--the snake uncoiled, flinging a tail gleaming with steel over the ridge, and the troopers sank back wearily into their saddles.
As I turned again to glance over my shoulder I noticed a man riding at the right of the second file. His face was new to me, and so peculiar was it that I continued to stare, unable to determine whether the fellow was white or colored. He was in private's uniform, but carried no arms, and for head covering, instead of the hat worn by the Ninth, had an infantry cap perched jauntily on his curly black hair. But his face was clear, and his cheeks rosy, and he sat straight as an arrow in the saddle. I drew back my horse and ranged up beside him, inspired by curiosity. The eyes turned toward me undoubtedly betrayed negro blood.
"I do not remember seeing you before," I said, wiping the dust from my lips. "Are you a new recruit?"
"I'se Col'nel Cochran's man," he answered, without salute, but with the accent of education oddly mixed with dialect.
"Oh, I see--what has become of Sam?"
"He done took sick, an' de col'nel wanted a man right away, so he picked me."
"Did you belong around here?"
"Well, no, not exactly belong round yere, but I'se travelled dese parts some considerable. I was born down in Louisiana, sah."
"Not so very long ago either," I ventured, feeling a peculiar interest in the fellow. "Were you a slave?"
His rather thin lips closed over his white teeth, and his fingers gripped the saddle pommel.
"Yes,"--the word snapped out. "I'se nineteen, sah, an' my mother was a slave. I reckon my father was white 'nough, but that don't count fo' much--I'se a nigger just de same. Dat's bad 'nough, let me tell yo', but it's worse to be yo' own father's nigger."
I had nothing to say to this outburst, feeling that back of it were facts into which I had no right to probe, and we rode along quietly. Then he spoke, glancing aside at me:
"Dey won't be no 'portant fightin' long yere, sah, not fo' 'bout ten miles."
"How do you figure that out?"
"'Cause de lay ob de groun' ain't right, fo' one thing, an' 'cause all de Confed intrenchments was back yander."
"Yonder--where?"
"In behind de log church at de Three Corners--done know dat country mighty well."
I turned and faced him, instantly suspicious.
"Now see here; you do know that country, and a bit too well for a man riding in the ranks. Where did you come from? Were you in the Confederate service? Let's have this straight."
"Suah," with frankness. "I done tol' de col'nel all how it was. I was wid my Massa from Louisiana, an' he was a captain, sah! 'Bout two weeks ago he lef' me down yander on de pike wid orders fo' to stay dere till he done come back. But it wa'n't no job fo' me, sah, an' so I skipped out de first night, an' joined up wid de Yanks. I reckon I knows 'bout whar I belongs in dis yere fightin', an' I ain't nobody's slave no mor'."
The lad's earnestness impressed me, and beneath his words was evident a deep smouldering resentment, not so much against slavery as against the individual who had owned him.
"What is your name, my boy?"
"Charles Le Gaire, sah."