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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/24071-8.txt b/24071-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d66b5a8 --- /dev/null +++ b/24071-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7017 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Special Messenger, by Robert W. Chambers + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Special Messenger + + +Author: Robert W. Chambers + + + +Release Date: December 29, 2007 [eBook #24071] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPECIAL MESSENGER*** + + +E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Project Gutenberg Online +Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 24071-h.htm or 24071-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/0/7/24071/24071-h/24071-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/0/7/24071/24071-h.zip) + + + + + +SPECIAL MESSENGER + + * * * * * * + +WORKS OF ROBERT W. CHAMBERS + + Special Messenger Iole + The Firing Line The Reckoning + The Younger Set The Maid-at-Arms + The Fighting Chance Cardigan + Some Ladies in Haste The Haunts of Men + The Tree of Heaven The Mystery of Choice + The Tracer of Lost Persons The Cambric Mask + A Young Man in a Hurry A Maker of Moons + Lorraine The King in Yellow + Maids of Paradise In Search of the Unknown + Ashes of Empire The Conspirators + The Red Republic A King and a Few Dukes + Outsiders In the Quarter + + FOR CHILDREN + + Garden-Land Mountain-Land + Forest-Land Orchard-Land + River-Land Outdoorland + + * * * * * * + + +SPECIAL MESSENGER + +by + +ROBERT W. CHAMBERS + + + + + + + +[Illustration: "Daintily her handsome horse set foot in the water." + Page 131.] + + + +D. Appleton and Company +New York--MCMIX + +Copyright, 1909, by +Robert W. Chambers +Copyright, 1904, 1905, by Harper and Brothers +Copyright, 1908, by P F Collier & Son +Copyright, 1908, by The Curtis Publishing Company + +Published, March, 1909 + + + + TO + GEORGE F. D. TRASK + + IN MEMORY OF + OUR FIRST MARTIAL EXPLOITS + IN THE NURSERY + + + + Thou hast given a banner to them that fear Thee, that + it may be displayed because of the truth.--PSALM lx, 4. + + + +PREFACE + + In the personality and exploits of the "Special Messenger," + the author has been assured that a celebrated historical + character is recognizable--Miss Boyd, the famous Confederate + scout and spy. + + It is not uncommon that the readers of a book know more + about that book than the author. + R. W. C. + + + +CONTENTS + + PART ONE + + WHAT SHE WAS + Page + + I. Noncombatants 3 + + PART TWO + + WHAT SHE BECAME + + II. Special Messenger 39 + + III. Absolution 67 + + IV. Romance 99 + + V. Red Ferry 127 + + VI. An Air Line 157 + + VII. The Pass 192 + + VIII. Ever After 223 + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + FACING PAGE + +"Daintily her handsome horse set foot in the water" Frontispiece + +"'They seem to be allfired sure of us'" 78 + +"Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and it was empty" 90 + +"'Turn around,' said the Special Messenger" 176 + +"She dropped her sunbonnet--stooped to recover it" 216 + +"White-faced, desperate, she clung to him with the tenacity + of a lynx" 220 + +"'We was there--I know that; yes, an' we had a fight'" 238 + +"'Yes,' she gasped, 'the Special Messenger--noncombatant!'" 258 + + + + + +PART ONE + +WHAT SHE WAS + +I + +NONCOMBATANTS + + +About five o'clock that evening a Rhode Island battery clanked through +the village and parked six dusty guns in a pasture occupied by some +astonished cows. + +A little later the cavalry arrived, riding slowly up the tree-shaded +street, escorted by every darky and every dog in the country-side. + +The clothing of this regiment was a little out of the ordinary. Instead +of the usual campaign head gear the troopers wore forage caps strapped +under their chins, heavy visors turned down, and their officers were +conspicuous in fur-trimmed hussar tunics slung from the shoulders of +dark-blue shell jackets; but most unusual and most interesting of all, a +mounted cavalry band rode ahead, led by a bandmaster who sat his horse +like a colonel of regulars--a slim young man with considerable yellow +and gold on his faded blue sleeves, and an easy manner of swinging +forward his heavy cut-and-thrust sabre as he guided the column through +the metropolitan labyrinths of Sandy River. + +Sandy River had seen and scowled at Yankee cavalry before, but never +before had the inhabitants had an opportunity to ignore a mounted band +and bandmaster. There was, of course, no cheering; a handkerchief +fluttered from a gallery here and there, but Sandy River was loyal only +in spots, and the cavalry pressed past groups of silent people, +encountering the averted heads or scornful eyes of young girls and the +cold hatred in the faces of gray-haired gentlewomen, who turned their +backs as the ragged guidons bobbed past and the village street rang with +the clink-clank of scabbards and rattle of Spencer carbines. + +But there was a small boy on a pony who sat entranced as the +weather-ravaged squadrons trampled by. Cap in hand, straight in his +saddle, he saluted the passing flag; a sunburnt trooper called out: +"That's right, son! Bully for you!" + +The boy turned his pony and raced along the column under a running fire +of approving chaff from the men, until he came abreast of the bandmaster +once more, at whom he stared with fascinated and uncloyed satisfaction. + +Into a broad common wheeled the cavalry; the boy followed on his pony, +guiding the little beast in among the mounted men, edging as close as +possible to the bandmaster, who had drawn bridle and wheeled his showy +horse abreast of a group of officers. When the boy had crowded up as +close as possible to the bandmaster he sat in silence, blissfully +drinking in the splendors of that warrior's dusty apparel. + +"I'm right glad you-all have come," ventured the boy. + +The bandmaster swung round in his saddle and saw a small sun-tanned face +and two wide eyes intently fixed on his. + +"I reckon you don't know how glad my sister and I are to see you down +here," said the boy politely. "When are you going to have a battle?" + +"A battle!" repeated the bandmaster. + +"Yes, sir. You're going to fight, of course, aren't you?" + +"Not if people leave us alone--and leave that railroad alone," replied +the officer, backing his restive horse to the side of the fence as the +troopers trotted past into the meadow, fours crowding closely on fours. + +"Not fight?" exclaimed the boy, astonished. "Isn't there going to be a +battle?" + +"I'll let you know when there's going to be one," said the bandmaster +absently. + +"You won't forget, will you?" inquired the boy. "My name is William +Stuart Westcote, and I live in that house." He pointed with his riding +whip up the hill. "You won't forget, will you?" + +"No, child, I won't forget." + +"My sister Celia calls me Billy; perhaps you had better just ask her for +Billy if I'm not there when you gallop up to tell me--that is, if you're +coming yourself. Are you?" he ended wistfully. + +"Do you want me to come?" inquired the bandmaster, amused. + +"Would you really come?" cried the boy. "Would you really come to visit +me?" + +"I'll consider it," said the bandmaster gravely. + +"Do you think you could come to-night?" asked the boy. "We'd certainly +be glad to see you--my sister and I. Folks around here like the Malletts +and the Colvins and the Garnetts don't visit us any more, and it's +lonesome sometimes." + +"I think that you should ask your sister first," suggested the +bandmaster. + +"Why? She's loyal!" exclaimed the boy earnestly. "Besides, you're coming +to visit _me_, I reckon. Aren't you?" + +"Certainly," said the bandmaster hastily. + +"To-night?" + +"I'll do my best, Billy." + +The boy held out a shy hand; the officer bent from his saddle and took +it in his soiled buckskin gauntlet. + +"Good night, my son," he said, without a smile, and rode off into the +meadow among a crowd of troopers escorting the regimental wagons. + +A few moments later a child on a pony tore into the weed-grown drive +leading to the great mansion on the hill, scaring a lone darky who had +been dawdling among the roses. + +"'Clar' tu goodness, Mars Will'm, I done tuk you foh de Black Hoss +Cav'ly!" said the ancient negro reproachfully. "Hi! Hi! Wha' foh you mek +all dat fuss an' a-gwine-on?" + +"Oh, Mose!" cried the boy, "I've seen the Yankee cavalry, and they have +a horse band, and I rode with them, and I asked a general when they were +going to have a battle, and the general said he'd let me know!" + +"Gin'ral?" demanded the old darky suspiciously; "who dat gin'ral dat +gwine tell you 'bout de battle? Was he drivin' de six-mule team, or was +he dess a-totin' a sack o' co'n? Kin you splain dat, Mars Will'm?" + +"Don't you think I know a general when I see one?" exclaimed the boy +scornfully. "He had yellow and gilt on his sleeves, and he carried a +sabre, and he rode first of all. And--oh, Mose! He's coming here to pay +me a visit! Perhaps he'll come to-night; he said he would if he could." + +"Dat gin'ral 'low he gwine come here?" muttered the darky. "Spec' you +better see Miss Celia 'fo' you ax dis here gin'ral." + +"I'm going to ask her now," said the boy. "She certainly will be glad to +see one of our own men. Who cares if all the niggers have run off? We're +not ashamed--and, anyhow, you're here to bring in the decanters for the +general." + +"Shoo, honey, you might talk dat-a-way ef yo' pa wuz in de house," +grumbled the old man. "Ef hit's done fix, nobody kin onfix it. But dess +yo' leave dem gin'rals whar dey is nex' time, Mars Will'm. Hit wuz a +gin'ral dat done tuk de Dominiker hen las' time de blueco'ts come to +San' River." + +The boy, sitting entranced in reverie, scarcely heard him; and it was +only when a far trumpet blew from the camp in the valley that he started +in his saddle and raised his rapt eyes to the windows. Somebody had hung +out a Union flag over the jasmine-covered portico. + +"There it is! There it is, Mose!" he cried excitedly, scrambling from +his saddle. "Here--take the bridle! And the very minute you hear the +general dashing into the drive, let me know!" + +He ran jingling up the resounding veranda--he wore his father's +spurs--and mounted the stairs, two at a jump, calling: "Celia! Celia! +You'll be glad to know that a general who is a friend of mine----" + +"Hush, Billy," said his sister, checking him on the landing and leading +him out to the gallery from which the flag hung; "can't you remember +that grandfather is asleep by sundown? Now--what is it, dear, you wish +to tell me?" + +"Oh, I forgot; truly I did, Celia--but a general is coming to visit me +to-night, if you can possibly manage it, and I'm so glad you hung out +the flag--and Moses can serve the Madeira, can't he?" + +"What general?" inquired his sister uneasily. And her brother's +explanations made matters no clearer. "You remember what the Yankee +cavalry did before," she said anxiously. "You must be careful, Billy, +now that the quarters are empty and there's not a soul in the place +except Mose." + +"But, Celia! the general is a gentleman. I shook hands with him!" + +"Very well, dear," she said, passing one arm around his neck and leaning +forward over the flag. The sun was dipping between a cleft in the +hills, flinging out long rosy beams across the misty valley. The mocking +birds had ceased, but a thrasher was singing in a tangle of Cherokee +roses under the western windows. + +While they stood there the sun dipped so low that nothing remained +except a glowing scarlet rim. + +"Hark!" whispered the boy. Far away an evening gunshot set soft echoes +tumbling from hill to hill, distant, more distant. Strains of the +cavalry band rose in the evening silence, "The Star Spangled Banner" +floating from the darkening valley. Then silence; and presently a low, +sweet thrush note from the dusky garden. + +It was after supper, when the old darky had lighted the dips--there +being no longer any oil or candles to be had--that the thrush, who had +been going into interminable ecstasies of fluty trills, suddenly became +mute. A jingle of metal sounded from the garden, a step on the porch, a +voice inquiring for Mr. Westcote; and old Mose replying with reproachful +dignity: "Mars Wes'cote, suh? Mars Wes'cote daid, suh." + +"That's my friend, the general!" exclaimed Billy, leaping from his +chair. "Mose, you fool nigger, why don't you ask the general to come +in?" he whispered fiercely; then, as befitted the master of the house, +he walked straight out into the hall, small hand outstretched, welcoming +his guest as he had seen his father receive a stranger of distinction. +"I am so glad you came," he said, crimson with pleasure. "Moses will +take your cap and cloak-- Mose!" + +The old servant shuffled forward, much impressed by the uniform revealed +as the long blue mantle fell across his own ragged sleeve. + +"Do you know why I came, Billy?" asked the bandmaster, smiling. + +"I reckon it was because you promised to, wasn't it?" inquired the +child. + +"Certainly," said the bandmaster hastily. "And I promised to come +because I have a brother about your age--'way up in New York. Shall we +sit here on the veranda and talk about him?" + +"First," said the boy gravely, "my sister Celia will receive you." + +He turned, leading the way to the parlor with inherited +self-possession; and there, through the wavering light of a tallow dip, +the bandmaster saw a young girl in black rising from a chair by the +center table; and he brought his spurred heels together and bowed his +very best bow. + +"My brother," she said, "has been so anxious to bring one of our +officers here. Two weeks ago the Yan--the Federal cavalry passed +through, chasing Carrington's Horse out of Oxley Court House, but there +was no halt here." She resumed her seat with a gesture toward a chair +opposite; the bandmaster bowed again and seated himself, placing his +sabre between his knees. + +"Our cavalry advance did not behave very well in Oxley," he said. + +"They took a few chickens _en passant_," she said, smiling; "but had +they asked for them we would have been glad to give. We are loyal, you +know." + +"Those gay jayhawkers were well disciplined for that business when +Stannard took them over," said the bandmaster grimly. "Had they behaved +themselves, we should have had ten friends here where we have one now." + +The boy listened earnestly. "Would you please tell me," he asked, +"whether you have decided to have a battle pretty soon?" + +"I don't decide such matters," said the bandmaster, laughing. + +"Why, I thought a general could always have a battle when he wanted to!" +insisted the boy, surprised. + +"But I'm not a general, Billy," replied the young fellow, coloring. "Did +you think I was?" + +"My brother's ideas are very vague," said his sister quickly; "any +officer who fights is a general to him." + +"I'm sorry," said the bandmaster, looking at the child, "but do you +know, I am not even a fighting officer? I am only the regimental +bandmaster, Billy--a noncombatant." + +For an instant the boy's astonished disappointment crushed out his +inbred courtesy as host. His sister, mortified but self-possessed, broke +the strained silence with a quiet question or two concerning the newly +arrived troops; and the bandmaster replied, looking at the boy. + +Billy, silent, immersed in reflection, sat with curly head bent and +hands folded on his knees. His sister glanced at him, looked furtively +at the bandmaster, and their eyes met. He smiled, and she returned the +smile; and he looked at Billy and smiled again. + +"Billy," he said, "I've been sailing under false colors, it seems--but +you hoisted them. I think I ought to go." + +The boy looked up at him, startled. + +"Good night," said the bandmaster gravely, rising to his lean height +from the chair beside the table. The boy flushed to his hair. + +"Don't go," he said; "I like you even if you don't fight!" + +Then the bandmaster began to laugh, and the boy's sister bit her lip and +looked at her brother. + +"Billy! Billy!" she said, catching his hands in hers, "do you think the +only brave men are those who gallop into battle?" + +Hands imprisoned in his sister's, he looked up at the bandmaster. + +"If you were ordered to fight, you'd fight, wouldn't you?" he asked. + +"Under those improbable circumstances I think I might," admitted the +young fellow, solemnly reseating himself. + +"Celia! Do you hear what he says?" cried the boy. + +"I hear," said his sister gently. "Now sit very still while Moses serves +the Madeira; only half a glass for Mr. William, Moses--no, not one drop +more!" + +Moses served the wine with pomp and circumstance; the lean young +bandmaster looked straight at the boy's sister and rose, bowing with a +grace that instantly entranced the aged servant. + +"Celia," said the boy, "we must drink to the flag, you know;" and the +young girl rose from her chair, and, looking at the bandmaster, touched +her lips to the glass. + +"I wish they could see us," said the boy, "--the Colvins and the +Malletts. I've heard their 'Bonnie Blue Flag' and their stirrup toasts +until I'm sick----" + +"Billy!" said his sister quietly. And reseating herself and turning to +the bandmaster, "Our neighbors differ with us," she said, "and my +brother cannot understand it. I have to remind him that if they were not +brave men our army would have been victorious, and there would have been +no more war after Bull Run." + +The bandmaster assented thoughtfully. Once or twice his worn eyes swept +the room--a room that made him homesick for his own. It had been a long +time since he had sat in a chair in a room like this--a long time since +he had talked with women and children. Perhaps the boy's sister divined +something of his thoughts--he was not much older than she--for, as he +rose, hooking up his sabre, and stepped forward to take his leave, she +stood up, too, offering her hand. + +"Our house is always open to Union soldiers," she said simply. "Will you +come again?" + +"Thank you," he said. "You don't know, I think, how much you have +already done for me." + +They stood a moment looking at one another; then he bowed and turned to +the boy, who caught his hand impulsively. + +"I knew my sister would like you!" he exclaimed. + +"Everybody is very kind," said the young bandmaster, looking steadily at +the boy. + +Again he bowed to the boy's sister, not raising his eyes this time; and, +holding the child's hand tightly in his, he walked out to the porch. + +Moses was there to assist him with his long blue mantle; the boy clung +to his gloved hand a moment, then stepped back into the doorway, where +the old servant shuffled about, muttering half aloud: "Yaas, suh. Done +tole you so. He bow lak de quality, he drink lak de Garnetts--what I +tole yo'? Mars Will'm, ef dat ossifer ain' er gin'ral, he gwine be +mighty quick!" + +"I don't care," said the boy, "I just love him." + +The negro shuffled out across the moonlit veranda, peered around through +the fragrant gloom, wrinkled hands linked behind his back. Then he +descended the steps stiffly, and teetered about through the shrubbery +with the instinct of a watchdog worn out in service. + +"Nuff'n to scare nobody, scusin' de hoot owls," he muttered. "Spec' +hit's time Miss Celia bolt de do', 'long o' de sodgers an' all de +gwines-on. Shoo! Hear dat fool chickum crow!" He shook his head, bent +rheumatically, and seated himself on the veranda step, full in the +moonlight. "All de fightin's an' de gwines-on 'long o' dis here wah!" he +soliloquized, joining his shriveled thumbs reflectively. "Whar de use? +Spound dat! Whar all de fool niggers dat done skedaddle 'long o' de +Linkum troopers? Splain dat!" He chuckled; a whip-poor-will answered +breathlessly. + +"Dar dat scan'lous widder bird a-hollerin'!" exclaimed the old man, +listening. "'Pears lak we's gwine have moh wah, moh daid men, moh +widders. Dar de ha'nt! Dar de sign an' de warnin'. G'way, widder bird." +He crossed his withered fingers and began rocking to and fro, crooning +softly to himself: + + "Butterfly a-flyin' in de Chinaberry tree + (Butterfly, flutter by!), + Kitty gull a-cryin' on the sunset sea + (Fly, li'l gull, fly high!), + Bully bat a-follerin' de moon in de sky, + Widder bird a-hollerin', 'Hi, dar! Hi!' + Tree toad a-trillin' + (Sleep, li'l honey! + De moon cost a shillin' + But we ain't got money!), + Sleep, li'l honey, + While de firefly fly, + An' Chuck-Will's Widder holler, + 'Hi, dar! Hi!'" + +Before dawn the intense stillness was broken by the rushing music of the +birds--a careless, cheery torrent of song poured forth from bramble and +woodland. Distant and nearer cockcrows rang out above the melodious +tumult, through which a low, confused undertone, scarcely apparent at +first, was growing louder--the dull sound of the stirring of many men. + +Men? The valley was suddenly alive with them, choking the roads in heavy +silent lines; they were in the lanes, they plodded through the orchards, +they swarmed across the hills, column on column, until the entire +country seemed flowing forward in steady streams. Sandy River awoke, +restlessly listening; lights glimmered behind darkened windows; a +heavier, vaguer rumor grew, hanging along the hills. It increased to a +shaking, throbbing monotone, like the far dissonance of summer thunder! + +And now artillery was coming, bumping down the dim street with clatter +of chain and harness jingling. + +Up at the great house on the hill they heard it--the boy in his white +nightdress leaning from the open window, and his sleepy sister kneeling +beside him, pushing back her thick hair to peer out into the morning +mist. On came the battery, thudding and clanking, horses on a long +swinging trot, gun, caisson, forge, mounted artillerymen succeeding each +other, faster, faster under the windows. A guidon danced by; more guns, +more caissons, then a trampling, plunging gallop, a rattle of +sabres--and the battery had passed. + +"What is that heavy sound behind the hills?" whispered the boy. + +"The river rushing over the shallows--perhaps a train on the trestle at +Oxley Court House--" She listened, resting her rounded chin on her +hands. "It is thunder, I think. Go to bed now for a while----" + +"Hark!" said the boy, laying his small hand on hers. + +"It is thunder," she said again. "How white the dawn is growing. Listen +to the birds--is it not sweet?" + +"Celia," whispered the boy, "that is not thunder. It is too hushed, too +steady--it hums and hums and hums. Where was that battery galloping? I +am going to dress." + +She looked at him, turned to the east and stared at the coming day. The +air of dawn was full of sounds, ominous, sustained vibrations. + +She rose, went back to her room, and lighted a dip. Then, shading the +pallid smoky flame with her hand, she opened a door and peered into the +next bedroom. "Grandfather!" she whispered, smiling, seeing that he was +already awake. And as she leaned over him, searching the dim and +wrinkled eyes, she read something in their unwonted luster that struck +her silent. It was only when she heard her brother's step on the stairs +that she roused herself, bent, and kissed the aged head lying there +inert among the pillows. + +"It is cannon," she breathed softly--"you know that sound, don't you, +grandfather? Does it make you happy? Why are you smiling? Look at me--I +understand; you want something. Shall I open the curtains? And raise the +window? Ah, you wish to hear. Hark! Horsemen are passing at a gallop. +What is it you wish--to see them? But they are gone, dear. If any of our +soldiers come, you shall see them. That makes you happy?--_that_ is what +you desire?--to see one of our own soldiers? If they pass, I shall go +out and bring one here to you--truly, I will." She paused, marveling at +the strange light that glimmered across the ravaged visage. Then she +blew out the dip and stole into the hall. + +"Billy!" she called, hearing him fumbling at the front door. + +"Oh, Celia! The cavalry trumpets! Do you hear? I'm going out. Perhaps +_he_ may pass the house." + +"Wait for me," she said; "I am not dressed. Run to the cabin and wake +Moses, dear!" + +She heard him open the door; the deadened thunder of the cannonade +filled the house for an instant, shut out by the closing door, only to +swell again to an immense unbroken volume of solemn harmony. The +bird-music had ceased; distant hilltops grew brighter. + +Down in the village lights faded from window and cabin; a cavalryman, +signaling from the church tower, whirled his flaming torch aside and +picked up a signal flag. Suddenly the crash of a rifled cannon saluted +the rising sun; a shell soared skyward through the misty glory, towered, +curved, and fell, exploding among the cavalrymen, completely ruining the +breakfasts of chief-trumpeter O'Halloran and kettle-drummer Pillsbury. + +For a moment a geyser of ashes, coffee, and bacon rained among the men. + +"Hell!" said Pillsbury, furiously wiping his face with his dripping +sleeve and spitting out ashes. + +"Young kettle-drums, he don't love his vittles," observed a trooper, +picking up the cap that had been jerked from his head by a whirring +fragment. + +"Rich feedin' is the sp'ilin' o' this here hoss band," added the +farrier, stanching the flow of blood from his scalp; "quit quar'lin' +with your rations, kettle-drums!" + +"Y'orter swaller them cinders," insisted another; "they don't cost +nothin'!" + +The band, accustomed to chaffing, prepared to retire to the ambulance, +where heretofore their fate had always left them among luggage, +surgeons, and scared camp niggers during an engagement. + +The Rhode Island battery, placed just north of the church, had opened; +the cavalry in the meadow could see them--see the whirl of smoke, the +cannoneers moving with quick precision amidst obscurity--the flash, the +recoil as gun after gun jumped back, buried in smoke. + +It lasted only a few minutes; no more shells came whistling down among +the cavalry; and presently the battery grew silent, and the steaming +hill, belted with vapor, cleared slowly in the breezy sunshine. + +The cavalry had mounted and leisurely filed off to the shelter of a +grassy hollow; the band, dismounted, were drawn up to be told off in +squads as stretcher-bearers; the bandmaster was sauntering past, buried +in meditation, his sabre trailing a furrow through the dust, when a +clatter of hoofs broke out along the village street, and a general +officer, followed by a plunging knot of horsemen, tore up and drew +bridle. + +The colonel of the cavalry regiment, followed by the chief trumpeter, +trotted out to meet them, saluting sharply; there was a quick exchange +of words; the general officer waved his hand toward the south, wheeled +his horse, hesitated, and pointed at the band. + +"How many sabres?" he asked. + +"Twenty-seven," replied the colonel--"no carbines." + +"Better have them play you in--_if you go_," said the officer. + +The colonel saluted and backed his horse as the cavalcade swept past +him; then he beckoned to the bandmaster. + +"Here's your chance," he said. "Orders are to charge anything that +appears on that road. You'll play us in this time. Mount your men." + +Ten minutes later the regiment, band ahead, marched out of Sandy River +and climbed the hill, halting in the road that passed the great white +mansion. As the outposts moved forward they encountered a small boy on a +pony, who swung his cap at them gayly as he rode. Squads, dismounted, +engaged in tearing away the rail fences bordering the highway, looked +around, shouting a cheery answer to his excited greeting; the colonel on +a ridge to the east lowered his field glasses to watch him; the +bandmaster saw him coming and smiled as the boy drew bridle beside him, +saluting. + +"If you're not going to fight, why are you here?" asked the boy +breathlessly. + +"It really looks," said the bandmaster, "as though we might fight, after +all." + +"_You, too?_" + +"Perhaps." + +"Then--could you come into the house--just a moment? My sister asked me +to find you." + +A bright blush crept over the bandmaster's sun-tanned cheeks. + +"With pleasure," he said, dismounting, and leading his horse through the +gateway and across the shrubbery to the trees. + +"Celia! Celia!" called the boy, running up the veranda steps. "_He_ is +here! Please hurry, because he's going to have a battle!" + +She came slowly, pale and lovely in her black gown, and held out her +hand. + +"There is a battle going on all around us, isn't there?" she asked. +"That is what all this dreadful uproar means?" + +"Yes," he said; "there is trouble on the other side of those hills." + +"Do you think there will be fighting here?" + +"I don't know," he said. + +She motioned him to a veranda chair, then seated herself. "What shall we +do?" she asked calmly. "I am not alarmed--but my grandfather is +bedridden, and my brother is a child. Is it safe to stay?" + +The bandmaster looked at her helplessly. + +"I don't know," he repeated--"I don't know what to say. Nobody seems to +understand what is happening; we in the regiment are never told +anything; we know nothing except what passes under our eyes." He broke +off suddenly; the situation, her loneliness, the impending danger, +appalled him. + +"May I ask a little favor?" she said, rising. "Would you mind coming in +a moment to see my grandfather?" + +He stood up obediently, sheathed sabre in his left hand; she led the way +across the hall and up the stairs, opened the door, and motioned toward +the bed. At first he saw nothing save the pillows and snowy spread. + +"Will you speak to him?" she whispered. + +He approached the bed, cap in hand. + +"He is very old," she said; "he was a soldier of Washington. He desires +to see a soldier of the Union." + +And now the bandmaster perceived the occupant of the bed, a palsied, +bloodless phantom of the past--an inert, bedridden, bony thing that +looked dead until its deep eyes opened and fixed themselves on him. + +"This is a Union soldier, grandfather," she said, kneeling on the floor +beside him. And to the bandmaster she said in a low voice: "Would you +mind taking his hand? He cannot move." + +The bandmaster bent stiffly above the bed and took the old man's hand in +his. + +The sunlit room trembled in the cannonade. + +"That is all," said the girl simply. She took the fleshless hand, kissed +it, and laid it on the bedspread. "A soldier of Washington," she said +dreamily. "I am glad he has seen you--I think he understands: but he is +very, very old." + +She lingered a moment to touch the white hair with her hand; the +bandmaster stepped back to let her pass, then put on his cap, hooked his +sabre, turned squarely toward the bed and saluted. + +The phantom watched him as a dying eagle watches; then the slim hand of +the granddaughter fell on the bandmaster's arm, and he turned and +clanked out into the open air. + +The boy stood waiting for them, and as they appeared, he caught their +hands in each of his, talking all the while and walking with them to the +gateway, where pony and charger stood, nose to nose under the trees. + +"If you need anybody to dash about carrying dispatches," the boy ran on, +"why, I'll do it for you. My father was a soldier, and I'm going to be +one, and I----" + +"Billy," said the bandmaster abruptly, "when we charge, go up on that +hill and watch us. If we don't come back, you must be ready to act a +man's part. Your sister counts on you." + +They stood a moment there together, saying nothing. Presently some +mounted officers on the hill wheeled their horses and came spurring +toward the column drawn up along the road. A trumpet spoke briskly; the +bandmaster turned to the boy's sister, looked straight into her eyes, +and took her hand. + +"I think we're going," he said; "I am trying to thank you--I don't know +how. Good-by." + +"Is it a charge?" cried the boy. + +"Good-by," said the bandmaster, smiling, holding the boy's hand tightly. +Then he mounted, touched his cap, wheeled, and trotted off, freeing his +sabre with his right hand. + +The colonel had already drawn his sabre, the chief bugler sat his +saddle, bugle lifted, waiting. A loud order, repeated from squadron to +squadron, ran down the line; the restive horses wheeled, trampled +forward, and halted. + +"Draw--sabres!" + +The air shrilled with the swish of steel. + +Far down the road horsemen were galloping in--the returning pickets. + +"Forward!" + +They were moving. + +"Steady--right dress!" taken up in turn by the company +officers--"steady--right dress!" + +The bandmaster swung his sabre forward; the mounted band followed. + +Far away across the level fields something was stirring; the colonel saw +it and turned in his saddle, scanning the column that moved forward on a +walk. + +Half a mile, and, passing a hill, an infantry regiment rose in the +shallow trenches to cheer them. Instantly the mounted band burst out +into "The Girl I Left Behind Me"; an electric thrill passed along the +column. + +"Steady! Steady! Right dress!" rang the calm orders as a wood, almost +behind them, was suddenly fringed with white smoke and a long, rolling +crackle broke out. + +"By fours--right-about--wheel!" + +The band swung out to the right; the squadrons passed on; and--"Steady! +Trot! Steady--right dress--gallop!" came the orders. + +The wild music of "Garryowen" set the horses frantic--and the men, too. +The band, still advancing at a walk, was dropping rapidly behind. A +bullet hit kettle-drummer Pillsbury, and he fell with a grunt, doubling +up across his nigh kettle-drum. A moment later Peters struck his cymbals +wildly together and fell clean out of his saddle, crashing to the sod. +Schwarz, his trombone pierced by a ball, swore aloud and dragged his +frantic horse into line. + +"Right dress!" said the bandmaster blandly, mastering his own splendid +mount as a bullet grazed its shoulder. + +They were in the smoke now, they heard the yelling charge ahead, the +rifle fire raging, swelling to a terrific roar; and they marched +forward, playing "Garryowen"--not very well, for Connor's jaw was half +gone, and Bradley's horse was down; and the bandmaster, reeling in the +saddle, parried blow on blow from a clubbed rifle, until a stunning +crack alongside of the head laid him flat across his horse's neck. And +there he clung till he tumbled off, a limp, loose-limbed mass, lying in +the trampled grass under the heavy pall of smoke. + +Long before sunset the echoing thunder in the hills had ceased; the edge +of the great battle that had skirted Sandy River, with a volley or two +and an obscure cavalry charge, was ended. Beyond the hills, far away on +the horizon, the men of the North were tramping forward through the +Confederacy. The immense exodus had begun again; the invasion was +developing; and as the tremendous red spectre receded, the hem of its +smoky robe brushed Sandy River and was gone, leaving a scorched regiment +or two along the railroad, and a hospital at Oxley Court House +overcrowded. + +In the sunset light the cavalry returned passing the white mansion on +the hill. They brought in their dead and wounded on hay wagons; and the +boy, pale as a spectre, looked on, while the creaking wagons passed by +under the trees. + +But it was his sister whose eyes caught the glitter of a gilt and yellow +sleeve lying across the hay; and she dropped her brother's hand and ran +out into the road. + +"Is he dead?" she asked the trooper who was driving. + +"No, miss. Will you take him in?" + +"Yes," she said. "Bring him." + +The driver drew rein, wheeled his team, and drove into the great +gateway. "Hospital's plum full, ma'am," he said. "Wait; I'll carry him +up. Head's bust a leetle--that's all. A day's nussin' will bring him +into camp again." + +The trooper staggered upstairs with his burden, leaving a trail of dark, +wet spots along the stairs, even up to the girl's bed, where he placed +the wounded man. + +The bandmaster became conscious when they laid him on the bed, but the +concussion troubled his eyes so that he was not certain that she was +there until she bent close over him, looking down at him in silence. + +"I thought of you--when _I_ was falling," he explained vaguely--"only of +you." + +The color came into her face; but her eyes were steady. She set the +flaring dip on the bureau and came back to the bed. "We thought of you, +too," she said. + +His restless hand, fumbling the quilt, closed on hers; his eyes were +shut, but his lips moved, and she bent nearer to catch his words: + +"We noncombatants get into heaps of trouble--don't we?" + +"Yes," she whispered, smiling; "but the worst is over now." + +"There is worse coming." + +"What?" + +"We march--to-morrow. I shall never see you again." + +After a silence she strove gently to release her hand; but his held it; +and after a long while, as he seemed to be asleep, she sat down on the +bed's edge, moving very softly lest he awaken. All the tenderness of +innocence was in her gaze, as she laid her other hand over his and left +it there, even after he stirred and his unclosing eyes met hers. + +"Celia!" called the boy, from the darkened stairway, "there's a medical +officer here." + +"Bring him," she said. She rose, her lingering fingers still in his, +looking down at him all the while; their hands parted, and she moved +backward slowly, her young eyes always on his. + +The medical officer passed her, stepping quickly to the bedside, stopped +short, hesitated, and bending, opened the clotted shirt, placing a +steady hand over the heart. + +The next moment he straightened up, pulled the sheet over the +bandmaster's face, and turned on his heel, nodding curtly to the girl +as he passed out. + +When he had gone, she walked slowly to the bed and drew the sheet from +the bandmaster's face. + +And as she stood there, dry-eyed, mute, from the dusky garden came the +whispering cry of the widow bird, calling, calling to the dead that +answer never more. + + + + +PART TWO + +WHAT SHE BECAME + +II + +SPECIAL MESSENGER + + +On the third day the pursuit had become so hot, so unerring, that she +dared no longer follow the rutty cart road. Toward sundown she wheeled +her big bony roan into a cow path which twisted through alders for a +mile or two, emerging at length on a vast stretch of rolling country, +where rounded hills glimmered golden in the rays of the declining sun. +Tall underbrush flanked the slopes; little streams ran darkling through +the thickets; the ground was moist, even on the ridges; and she could +not hope to cover the deep imprint of her horse's feet. + +She drew bridle, listening, her dark eyes fixed on the setting sun. +There was no sound save the breathing of her horse, the far sweet +trailing song of a spotted sparrow, the undertones of some hidden rill +welling up through matted tangles of vine and fern and long wild +grasses. + +Sitting her worn saddle, sensitive face partly turned, she listened, her +eyes sweeping the bit of open ground behind her. Nothing moved there. + +Presently she slipped off one gauntlet, fumbled in her corsage, drew out +a crumpled paper, and spread it flat. It was a map. With one finger she +traced her road, bending in her saddle, eyebrows gathering in +perplexity. Back and forth moved the finger, now hovering here and there +in hesitation, now lifted to her lips in silent uncertainty. Twice she +turned her head, intensely alert, but there was no sound save the cawing +of crows winging across the deepening crimson in the west. + +At last she folded the map and thrust it into the bosom of her +mud-splashed habit; then, looping up the skirt of her kirtle, she +dismounted, leading her horse straight into the oak scrub and on through +a dim mile of woodland, always descending, until the clear rushing music +of a stream warned her, and she came out along the thicket's edge into a +grassy vale among the hills. + +A cabin stood there, blue smoke lazily rising from the chimney; a hen or +two sat huddled on the shafts of an ancient buckboard standing by the +door. In the clear, saffron-tinted evening light some ducks sailed and +steered about the surface of a muddy puddle by the barn, sousing their +heads, wriggling their tails contentedly. + +As she walked toward the shanty, leading her horse, an old man appeared +at the open doorway, milking stool under one gaunt arm, tin pail +dangling from the other. Astonished, he regarded the girl steadily, +answering her low, quick greeting with a nod of his unkempt gray head. + +"How far is the pike?" she asked. + +"It might be six mile," he said, staring. + +"Is there a wood road?" + +He nodded. + +"Where does it lead?" + +"It leads just now," he replied grimly, "into a hell's mint o' rebels. +What's your business in these parts, ma'am?" + +Her business was to trust no one, yet there had been occasions when she +had been forced to such a risk. This was one. She looked around at the +house, the dismantled buckboard tenanted by roosting chickens, the ducks +in the puddle, the narrow strip of pasture fringing the darkening woods. +She looked into his weather-ravaged visage, searching the small eyes +that twinkled at her intently out of a mass of wrinkles. + +"Are you a Union man?" she asked. + +His face hardened; a slow color crept into the skin above his sharp +cheek bones. "What's that to you?" he demanded. + +"Here in Pennsylvania we expect to find Union sentiments. Besides, you +just now spoke of rebels----" + +"Yes, an' I'll say it again," he repeated doggedly; "the Pennsylvany +line is crawlin' with rebels, an' they'll butt into our cavalry before +morning." + +She laughed, stepping nearer, the muddy skirt of her habit lifted. + +"I must get to Reynolds's corps to-night," she said confidingly. "I came +through the lines three days ago; their cavalry have followed me ever +since. I can't shake them off; they'll be here by morning--as soon as +there's light enough to trace my horse." + +She looked back at the blue woods thoughtfully, patting her horse's +sleek neck. + +He followed her glance, then his narrowing eyes focused on her as she +turned her head toward him again. + +"What name?" he asked harshly, hand to his large ear. + +She smiled, raising her riding whip in quaint salute; and in a low voice +she named herself demurely. + +There was a long silence. + +"Gosh!" he muttered, fascinated gaze never leaving her; "to think that +you are that there gal! I heard tell you was young, an' then I heard +tell you was old an' fat, ma'am. I guess there ain't many has seen you +to take notice. I guess you must be hard run to even tell me who ye be?" + +She said quietly: "I think they mean to get me this time. Is there a +clear road anywhere? Even if I leave my horse and travel afoot?" + +"Is it a hangin' matter?" he asked. + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +Presently he said: "The hull blame country's crawlin' with rebel +cavalry. I was to Mink Creek, an' they was passin' on the pike, wagons +an' guns as fur as I could see. They levied on Swamp Holler at sunup; +they was on every road along the State line. There ain't no road nor cow +path clear that way." + +"And none the other way," she said. "Can't you help me?" + +He looked at her gravely, then his small eyes swept the limited +landscape. + +"A hangin' matter," he mused, scratching his gray head reflectively. +"An' if they ketch you here, I guess I'll go to Libby, too. Hey?" + +He passed his labor-worn hand over his eyes, pressing the lids, and +stood so, minute after minute, buried in thought. + +"Waal," he said, dropping his hand and blinking in the ruddy glow from +the west, "I guess I ain't done nothin' fur the Union yet, but I'm +a-goin' to now, miss." + +He looked around once more, his eyes resting on familiar scenery, then +he set down milking stool and pail and shuffled out to where her horse +stood. + +"Guess I'll hev to hitch your hoss up to that there buckboard," he +drawled. "My old nag is dead two year since. You go in, miss, an' dress +in them clothes a-hangin' onto that peg by the bed," he added, with an +effort. "Use 'em easy; they was _hers_." + +She entered the single room of the cabin, where stove, table, chair, and +bed were the only furniture. A single cheap print gown and a sunbonnet +hung from a nail at the bed's foot, and she reached up and unhooked the +garment. It was ragged but clean, and the bonnet freshly ironed. + +Through the window she saw the old man unsaddling her horse and fitting +him with rusty harness. She closed the cabin door, drew the curtain at +the window, and began to unbutton her riding jacket. As her clothing +fell from her, garment after garment, that desperate look came into her +pale young face again, and she drew from her pocket a heavy army +revolver and laid it on the chair beside her. There was scarce light +enough left to see by in the room. She sat down, dragging off her +spurred boots, stripping the fine silk stockings from her feet, then +rose and drew on the faded print gown. + +Now she needed more light, so she opened the door wide and pushed aside +the curtain. A fragment of cracked mirror was nailed to the door. She +faced it, rapidly undoing the glossy masses of her hair; then lifting +her gown, she buckled the army belt underneath, slipped the revolver +into it, smoothed out the calico, and crossed the floor to the bed +again, at the foot of which a pair of woman's coarse, low shoes stood on +the carpetless floor. Into these she slipped her naked feet. + +He was waiting for her when she came out into the yellow evening light, +squatting there in his buckboard, reins sagging. + +"There's kindlin' to last a week," he said, "the ax is in the barn, an' +ye'll find a bin full o' corn meal there an' a side o' bacon in the +cellar. Them hens," he added wistfully "is Dominickers. _She_ was fond +o' them--an' the Chiny ducks, too." + +"I'll be kind to them," she said. + +He rested his lean jaw in one huge hand, musing, dim-eyed, silent. Far +away a cow bell tinkled, and he turned his head, peering out across the +tangled pasture lot. + +"We called our caow Jinny," he said. "She's saucy and likes to plague +folks. But I don't never chase her; no, ma'am. You jest set there by +them pasture bars, kinder foxin' that you ain't thinkin' o' nothin', +and Jinny she'll come along purty soon." + +The girl nodded. + +"Waal," he muttered, rousing up, "I guess it's time to go." He looked at +her, his eyes resting upon the clothing of his dead wife. + +"You see," he said, "I've give all I've got to the Union. Now, ma'am, +what shall I tell our boys if I git through?" + +In a low, clear voice she gave him the message to Reynolds, repeating it +slowly until he nodded his comprehension. + +"If they turn you back," she said, "and if they follow you here, +remember I'm your daughter." + +He nodded again. "My Cynthy." + +"Cynthia?" + +"Yaas, 'm. Cynthy was _her_ name, you see; James is mine, endin' in +Gray. I'll come back when I can. I guess there's vittles to spare an' +garden sass----" + +He passed his great cracked knuckles over his face again, digging +hastily into the corners of his eyes, then leaned forward and shook the +rusty reins. + +"Git up!" he said thoughtfully, and the ancient buckboard creaked away +into the thickening twilight. + +She watched him from the door, lingering there, listening to the creak +of the wheels long after he had disappeared. She was deadly tired--too +tired to eat, too tired to think--yet there was more to be done before +she closed her eyes. The blanket on the bed she spread upon the floor, +laid in it her saddle and bridle, boots, papers, map, and clothing, and +made a bundle; then slinging it on her slender back, she carried it up +the ladder to the loft under the roof. + +Ten minutes later she lay on the bed below, the back of one hand across +her closed eyes, breathing deeply as a sleeping child--the most +notorious spy in all America, the famous "Special Messenger," carrying +locked under her smooth young breast a secret the consequence of which +no man could dare to dream of. + + * * * * * + +Dawn silvering the east aroused her. Cockcrow, ducks quacking, the +lowing of the cow, the swelling melody of wild birds--these were the +sounds that filled her waking ears. + +Motionless there on the bed in the dim room, delicate bare arms +outstretched, hair tumbled over brow and shoulder, she lay, lost in +fearless retrospection--absolutely fearless, for courage was hers +without effort; peril exhilarated like wine, without reaction; every +nerve and contour of her body was instinct with daring, and only the +languor of her dark eyes misled the judgment of those she had to deal +with. + +Presently she sat up in bed, yawned lightly, tapping her red lips with +the tips of her fingers; then, drawing her revolver from beneath the +pillow, she examined the cylinder, replaced the weapon, and sprang out +of bed, stretching her arms, a faint smile hovering on her face. + +The water in the stream was cold, but not too cold for her, nor were the +coarse towels too rough, sending the blood racing through her from head +to foot. + +Her toilet made, she lighted the fire in the cracked stove, set a pot of +water boiling, and went out to the doorstep, calling the feathered flock +around her, stirring their meal in a great pan the while her eyes roamed +about the open spaces of meadow and pasture for a sign of those who +surely must trace her here. + +Her breakfast was soon over--an ash cake, a new egg from the barn, a +bowl of last night's creamy milk. She ate slowly, seated by the window, +raising her head at intervals to watch the forest's edge. + +Nobody came; the first pink sunbeams fell level over the pasture; dew +sparkled on grass and foliage; birds flitted across her line of vision; +the stream sang steadily, flashing in the morning radiance. + +One by one the ducks stretched, flapped their snowy wings, wiggled their +fat tails, and waddled solemnly down to the water; hens wandered +pensively here and there, pecking at morsels that attracted them; the +tinkle of the cow bell sounded pleasantly from a near willow thicket. + +She washed her dishes, set the scant furniture in place, made up the bed +with the clean sheet spread the night before, and swept the floor. + +On the table she had discovered, carefully folded up, the greater +portion of a stocking, knitting needles still sticking in it, the ball +of gray yarn attached. But she could not endure to sit there; she must +have more space to watch for what she knew was coming. Her hair she +twisted up as best she might, set the pink sunbonnet on her head, +smoothed out the worn print dress, which was not long enough to hide her +slim bare ankles, and went out, taking her knitting with her. + +Upon the hill along the edges of the pasture where the woods cast a +luminous shadow she found a comfortable seat in the sun-dried grasses, +and here she curled up, examining the knitting in her hands, eyes lifted +every moment to steal a glance around the sunlit solitude. + +An hour crept by, marked by the sun in mounting splendor; the sweet +scent of drying grass and fern filled her lungs; the birds' choral +thrilled her with the loveliness of life. A little Southern song +trembled on her lips, and her hushed voice murmuring was soft as the +wild bees' humming: + + "Ah, who could couple thought of war and crime + With such a blessed time? + Who, in the west wind's aromatic breath, + Could hear the call of Death?" + +The gentle Southern poet's flowing rhythm was echoed by the distant +stream: + + " ... A fragrant breeze comes floating by, + And brings--you know not why-- + A feeling as when eager crowds await + Before a palace gate + Some wondrous pageant----" + +She lifted her eyes, fixing them upon the willow thicket below, where +the green tops swayed as though furrowed by a sudden wind; and watching +calmly, her lips whispered on, following the quaint rhythm: + + "And yet no sooner shall the Spring awake + The voice of wood and brake + Than she shall rouse--for all her tranquil charms-- + A million men to arms." + +The willow tops were tossing violently. She watched them, murmuring: + + "Oh! standing on this desecrated mold, + Methinks that I behold, + Lifting her bloody daisies up to God, + Spring--kneeling on the sod, + And calling with the voice of all her rills + Upon the ancient hills + To fall and crush the tyrants and the slaves + Who turn her meads to graves." + +Her whisper ceased; she sat, lips parted, eyes fastened on the willows. +Suddenly a horseman broke through the thicket, then another, another, +carbines slung, sabres jingling, rider following rider at a canter, +sitting their horses superbly--the graceful, reckless, matchless cavalry +under whose glittering gray curtain the most magnificent army that the +South ever saw was moving straight into the heart of the Union. + +Fascinated, she watched an officer dismount, advance to the house, enter +the open doorway, and disappear. Minute after minute passed; the +troopers quietly sat their saddles; the frightened chickens ventured +back, roaming curiously about these strange horses that stood there +stamping, whisking their tails, tossing impatient heads in the sunshine. + +Presently the officer reappeared and walked straight to the barn, a +trooper dismounting to follow him. They remained in the barn for a few +moments only, then hurried out again, heads raised, scanning the low +circling hills. Ah! Now they caught sight of her! She saw the officer +come swinging up the hillside, buttons, spurs, and sword hilt glittering +in the sun; she watched his coming with a calm almost terrible in its +breathless concentration. Nearer, nearer he came, mounting the easy +slope with a quick, boyish swing; and now he had halted, slouch hat +aloft; and she heard his pleasant, youthful voice: + +"I reckon you haven't seen a stranger pass this way, ma'am, have you?" + +"There was a lady came last night," she answered innocently. + +"That's the one!" he said, in his quick, eager voice. "Can you tell me +where she went?" + +"She said she was going west." + +"Has she gone?" + +"She left the house when I did," answered the girl simply. + +"Riding!" he exclaimed. "She came on a hoss, I reckon?" + +"Yes." + +"And she rode west?" + +"I saw her going west," she nodded, resuming her knitting. + +The officer turned toward the troopers below, drew out a handkerchief +and whipped the air with it for a second or two, then made a sweeping +motion with his arm, and drawing his sabre struck it downward four +times. + +Instantly the knot of troopers fell apart, scattering out and spurring +westward in diverging lines; the officer watched them until the last +horse had disappeared, then he lazily sheathed his sabre, unbuckled a +field glass, adjusted it, and seated himself on the grass beside her. + +"Have you lived here long?" he asked pleasantly, setting the glass to +his eye and carefully readjusting the lens. + +"No." + +"Your father is living, is he not?" + +She did not reply. + +"I reckon Gilson's command met him a piece back in the scrub, driving a +wagon and a fine horse." + +She said nothing; her steady fingers worked the needles, and presently +he heard her softly counting the stitches as she turned the heel. + +"He said we'd find his 'Cynthy' here," observed the youthful officer, +lowering his glass. "Are you Cynthia Gray, ma'am?" + +"He named me Cynthia," she said, with a smile. + +He plucked a blade of grass, and placing it between his white teeth, +gazed at her so steadily that she dropped a stitch, recovered it, and +presently he saw her lips resuming the silent count. He reseated himself +on the grass, laying his field glass beside him. + +"I reckon your folk are all Yankee," he ventured softly. + +She nodded. + +"Are you afraid of us? Do you hate us, ma'am?" + +She shook her head, stealing a glance at him from her lovely eyes. If +that was part of her profession, she had learned it well; for he laughed +and stretched out, resting easily on one elbow, looking up at her +admiringly under her faded sunbonnet. + +"Are you ever lonely here?" he inquired gravely. + +Again her dark eyes rested on him shyly, but she shook her head in +silence. + +"Never lonely without anybody to talk to?" he persisted, removing his +slouched army hat and passing his hands over his forehead. + +"What have I to say to anybody?" she asked coquettishly. + +A little breeze sprang up, stirring his curly hair and fluttering the +dangling strings of her sunbonnet. He lay at full length there, a +slender, athletic figure in his faded gray uniform, idly pulling the +grass up to twist and braid into a thin green rope. + +The strange exhilaration that danger had brought had now subsided; she +glanced at him indifferently, noting the well-shaped head, the boyish +outlines of face and figure. He was no older than she--and not very wise +for his years. + +Presently, very far away, the dulled report of a carbine sounded, +stirring a deadened echo among the hills. + +"What's that?" she exclaimed. + +"Yank, I reckon," he drawled, rising to his feet and fixing his field +glass steadily on the hills beyond. + +"Are you going to have a battle here?" she asked. + +He laughed. "Oh, no, Miss Cynthia. That's only bushwhacking." + +"But--but where are they shooting?" + +He pointed to the west. "There's Yankee cavalry loafing in the hills. I +reckon we'll gobble 'em, too. But don't _you_ worry, Miss Cynthia," he +added gallantly. "_I_ shall be here to-night, and by sunrise there won't +be a soldier within ten miles of you." + +"Within ten miles," she murmured; "ten miles is too near. I--I think I +will go back to the house." + +He looked down at her; she raised her dark eyes to him; then he bowed +and gallantly held out both hands, and she laid her hands in his, +suffering him to lift her to her feet. + +The brief contact set the color mounting to his sunburnt temples; it had +been a long while since he had touched a young girl's hand. + +"I wonder," she said, "whether you would care to share my dinner?" + +She spoke naturally, curiously; all idea of danger was over; she was +free to follow her own instincts, which were amiable. Besides, the boy +was a gentleman. + +"If it wouldn't be too much to ask--too inconvenient--" He hesitated, +hat in hand, handsome face brightening. + +"No; I want you to come," she answered simply, and took his hand in +hers. + +A deeper color swept his face as they descended the gentle slope +together, she amused and quietly diverted by his shyness, and thinking +how she meant to give this boyish rebel a better dinner than he had had +for many a long mile. + +And she did, he aiding her with the vegetables, she mixing johnnycake +for the entire squad, slicing the bacon, and setting the coffee to boil. + +Toward midday the scouting squad returned, to find their officer +shelling peas on the cabin steps, and a young girl, sleeves at her +shoulders, stirring something very vigorously in a large black +kettle--something that exhaled an odor which made the lank troopers lick +their gaunt lips in furtive hope. + +The sergeant of the troop reported; the officer nodded and waved the +horsemen away to the barn, where they were presently seen squatting +patiently in a row, sniffing the aroma that floated from the cabin door. + +"Did your men find the lady?" she asked, looking out at him where he +sat, busy with the peas. + +"No, Miss Cynthia. But if she went west she's run into the whole +Confederate cavalry. Our business is to see she doesn't double back +here." + +"Why do you follow her?" + +"Ah, Miss Cynthia," he said gravely, "she is that 'Special Messenger' +who has done us more damage than a whole Yankee army corps. We've got +to stop her this time--and I reckon we will." + +The girl stirred the soup, salted it, peppered it, lifted the pewter +spoon and tasted it. Presently she called for the peas. + +About two o'clock that afternoon a row of half-famished Confederate +cavalrymen sat devouring the best dinner they had eaten in months. There +was potato soup, there was johnnycake, smoking hot coffee, crisp slices +of fragrant bacon, an egg apiece, and a vegetable stew. Trooper after +trooper licked fingers, spoon, and pannikin, loosening leather belts +with gratified sighs; the pickets came cantering in when the relief, +stuffed to repletion, took their places, carbine on thigh. + +Flushed from the heat of the stove, arms still bared, the young hostess +sat at table with the officer in command, and watched him in sympathy as +he ate. + +She herself ate little, tasting a morsel here and there, drinking at +times from the cup of milk beside her. + +"I declare, Miss Cynthia," he said, again and again, "this is the finest +banquet, ma'am, that I ever sat down to." + +She only thought, "The boy was starving!" and the indulgent smile +deepened as she sat there watching him, chin resting on her linked +hands. + +At last he was satisfied, and a little ashamed, too, of his appetite, +but she told him it was a pleasure to cook for him, and sent him off to +the barn, where presently she spied him propped up in the loft window, a +map spread on his knees, and his field glass tucked under one arm. + +And now she had leisure to think again, and she leaned back in her chair +by the window, bared arms folded, ankles crossed, frowning in +meditation. + +She must go; the back trail was clear now. But she needed her own +clothing and a horse. Where could she find a horse? + +Hour after hour she sat there. He had cantered off into the woods long +since; and all through the long afternoon she sat there scheming, +pondering, a veiled sparkle playing under her half-closed lids. She saw +him returning in the last lingering sun rays, leading his saddled horse +down to the brook, and stand there, one arm flung across the crupper, +while the horse drank and shook his thoroughbred head and lipped the +tender foliage that overhung the water. There was the horse she +required! She must have him. + +A few minutes later, bridle over one arm, the young officer came +sauntering up to the doorstep. He was pale, but he smiled when he saw +her, and his weather-beaten hat swept the grass in salute as she came to +the door and looked down at him, hands clasped behind her slender back. + +"You look dreadfully tired," she said gently. "Don't you ever sleep?" + +He had been forty-eight hours in the saddle, but he only laughed a gay +denial of fatigue. + +She descended the steps, walked over to the horse, and patted neck and +shoulder, scanning limb and chest and flank. The horse would do! + +"Will you hitch your horse and come in?" she asked sweetly. + +"Thank you, ma'am." He passed the bridle through the hitching ring at +the door, and, hat in hand, followed her into the cabin. His boots +dragged a little, but he straightened up, and when she had seated +herself, he sank into a chair, closing his sunken eyes for a moment, +only to open them smiling, and lean forward on the rough table, folding +his arms under him. + +"You have been very good to us, Miss Cynthia," he said. "My men want me +to say so." + +"Your men are welcome," she answered, resting her cheek on her hand. + +There was a long silence, broken by her: "You are dying for sleep. Why +do you deny it? You may lie down on my bed if you wish." + +He protested, thanking her, but said he would be glad to sleep in the +hay if she permitted; and he rose, steadying himself by the back of his +chair. + +"I always sleep bridle in hand," he said. "A barn floor is luxury for my +horse and me." + +That would not do. The horse must remain. She _must_ have that horse! + +"I will watch your horse," she said. "Please lie down there. I really +wish it." + +"Why, ma'am, I should never venture----" + +She looked at him; her heart laughed with content. Here was an easy way +for stern necessity. + +"Sleep soundly," she said, with a gay smile; and before he could +interpose, she had slipped out and shut the door behind her. + +The evening was calm; the last traces of color were fading from the +zenith. Pacing the circle of the cabin clearing, she counted the +videttes--one in the western pasture, one sitting his saddle in the +forest road to the east, and a horseman to the south, scarcely visible +in the gathering twilight. She passed the barnyard, head lifted +pensively, carefully counting the horses tethered there. Twelve! Then +there was no guard for the northern cattle path--the trail over which +she and they had come! + +Now walking slowly back to the cabin, she dropped her slippers and +mounted the steps on bare feet, quietly opening the door. At first in +the dim light she could see nothing, then her keen ear caught the quiet +sound of his breathing, and she stole over to the bed. He lay there +asleep. + +Now seconds meant eternity, perhaps; she mounted the ladder to the +attic, tiptoed over the loose boards, felt around for her packet, and +loosened the blanket. + +By sense of touch alone she dressed, belting in the habit with her +girdle, listening, every sense alert. But her hand never shook, her +fingers were deft and steady, fastening button and buckle, looping up +her skirt, strapping the revolver to her girdle. She folded map and +papers noiselessly, tucking them into her bosom; then, carrying her +spurred boots, she crept across the boards again, and descended the +ladder without a sound. + +The fading light from the window fell upon the bed where he lay; and she +smiled almost tenderly as she stole by him, he looked so young lying +there, his curly head pillowed on his arms. + +Another step and she was beside him; another; she stopped short, and her +heart seemed to cease at the same instant. Was she deceived? Were his +eyes wide open? + +Suddenly he sat bolt-upright in the bed, and at the same instant she +bent and struck him a stunning blow with the butt of her revolver. + +Breathless, motionless, she saw him fall back and lie there without a +quiver; presently she leaned over him, tore open his jacket and shirt, +and laid her steady hand upon his heart. For a moment she remained +there, looking down into his face; then with a sob she bent and kissed +him on the lips. + + * * * * * + +At midnight, as she was riding out of the hill scrub, a mounted vidette +hailed her on the Gettysburg pike, holding her there while horseman +after horseman galloped up, and the officer of the guard came cantering +across the fields at the far summons. + +A lantern glimmered, flared up; there was a laugh, the sound of a dozen +horses backing, a low voice: "Pass! Special Messenger for headquarters!" + +Then the lantern-light flashed and went out; shadowy horsemen wheeled +away east and west, trotting silently to posts across the sod. + +Far away among the hills the Special Messenger was riding through the +night, head bent, tight-lipped, her dark eyes wet with tears. + + + + +III + +ABSOLUTION + + +Just before daylight the unshaven sentinels at headquarters halted her; +a lank corporal arrived, swinging a lighted lantern, which threw a +yellow radiance over horse and rider. Then she dismounted. + +Mud smeared her riding jacket; boots and skirt were clotted with it; so +was the single army spur. Her horse stretched a glossy, sweating neck +and rolled wisely-suspicious eyes at the dazzling light. On the gray +saddle cloth glimmered three gilt letters, C. S. A. + +"What name, ma'am?" repeated the corporal, coming closer with lifted +lantern, and passing an inquiring thumb over the ominous letters +embroidered on the saddle cloth. + +"No name," she said. "They will understand--inside there." + +"That your hoss, ma'am?" + +"It seems to be." + +"Swap him with a Johnny?" + +"No; took him from a Johnny." + +"Shucks!" said the corporal, examining the gilt letters. Then, looking +around at her: + +"Wa'll, the ginrall, he's some busy." + +"Please say that his messenger is here." + +"Orders is formuel, ma'am. I dassent----" + +She pronounced a word under her breath. + +"Hey?" + +She nodded. + +"Tain't _her_?" demanded the corporal incredulously. + +She nodded again. The corporal's lantern and jaw dropped in unison. + +"Speak low," she said, smiling. + +He leaned toward her; she drew nearer, inclining her pretty, disheveled +head with its disordered braids curling into witchlocks on her +shoulders. + +"'Tain't _the_ Special Messenger, ma'am, is it?" he inquired hoarsely. +"The boys is tellin' how you was ketched down to----" + +She made him a sign for silence as the officer of the guard came up--an +ill-tempered, heavily-bandaged young man. + +"What the ----" he began, but, seeing a woman's muddy skirt in the +lantern light, checked his speech. + +The corporal whispered in his ear; both stared. "I guess it's all +right," said the officer. "Won't you come in? The general is asleep; +he's got half an hour more, but I'll wake him if you say so." + +"I can wait half an hour." + +"Take her horse," said the officer briefly, then led the way up the +steps of a white porch buried under trumpet vines in heavy bloom. + +The door stood open, so did every window on the ground floor, for the +July night was hot. A sentry stood inside the wide hall, resting on his +rifle, sleeves rolled to his elbows, cap pushed back on his flushed +young forehead. + +There was a candle burning in the room on the right; an old artillery +officer leaned over the center table, asleep, round, red face buried in +his arms, sabre tucked snugly between his legs, like the tail of a +sleeping dog; an aide-de-camp slept heavily on a mahogany sofa, jacket +unbuttoned, showing the white, powerful muscles of his chest, all +glistening with perspiration. Beside the open window sat a thin figure +in the uniform of a signal officer, and at first when the Special +Messenger looked at him she thought he also was asleep. + +Then, as though her entrance had awakened him, he straightened up, +passed one long hand over his face, looked at her through the +candlelight, and rose with a grace too unconscious not to have been +inherited. + +The bandaged officer of the guard made a slovenly gesture, half salute, +half indicative: "The Messenger," he announced, and, half turning on his +heel as he left the room, "our signal officer, Captain West," in +deference to a convention almost forgotten. + +Captain West drew forward an armchair; the Special Messenger sank into +its tufted depths and stripped the gauntlets from her sun-tanned +hands--narrow hands, smooth as a child's, now wearily coiling up the +lustrous braids which sagged to her shoulders under the felt riding +hat. And all the while, from beneath level brows, her dark, distrait +eyes were wandering from the signal officer to the sleeping major of +artillery, to the aide snoring on the sofa, to the trumpet vines hanging +motionless outside the open window. But all she really saw was Captain +West. + +He appeared somewhat young and thin, his blond hair and mustache were +burned hay-color. He was adjusting eyeglasses to a narrow, well-cut +nose; under a scanty mustache his mouth had fallen into pleasant lines, +the nearsighted eyes, now regarding her normally from behind the +glasses, seemed clear, unusually pleasant, even a trifle mischievous. + +"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked respectfully. + +"After the general is awake--if I might have the use of a room--and a +little fresh water--" Speech died in her throat; some of the color died +in her face, too. + +"Did you wish me to awake him now? If your business is urgent I will," +said Captain West. + +She did not reply; an imperceptible twitching tightened her lips; then +the young mouth relaxed, drooping a trifle at the corners. Lying there, +so outwardly calm, her tired, faraway gaze fixed absently on him, she +seemed on the verge of slumber. + +"If your business is urgent," he was repeating pleasantly. But she made +no answer. + +Urgent? No, not now. It had been urgent a second or two ago. But not +now. There was time--time to lie there looking at him, time to try to +realize such things as triumph, accomplishment, the excitement of +achievement; time to relax from the long, long strain and lie nerveless, +without strength, yielding languidly to the reaction from a task well +done. + +So this was success? A pitiful curiosity made her eyes wistful for an +instant. Success? It had not come as she expected. + +Was her long quest over? Was this the finish? Had all ended here--here +at headquarters, whither she had returned to take up, patiently, the +lost trail once more? + +Her dark gaze rested on this man dreamily; but her heart, after its +first painful bound of astonishment, was beating now with heavy, +sickened intelligence. The triumph had come too suddenly. + +"Are you hungry?" he asked. + +She was not hungry. There was a bucket of water and a soldier's tin cup +on the window sill; and, forestalling him instinctively, she reached +over, plunged the cup into the tepid depths and drank. + +"I was going to offer you some," he said, amused; and over the brimming +cup she smiled back, shuddering. + +"If you care to lie down for a few moments I'll move that youngster off +the sofa," he suggested. + +But fatigue had vanished; she was terribly awake now. + +"Can't you sleep? You are white as death. I'll call you in an hour," he +ventured gently, with that soft quality in his voice which sounded so +terrible in her ears--so dreadful that she sat up in an uncontrollable +tremor of revolt. + +"What did you ask me?" + +"I thought you might wish to sleep for half an hour----" + +Sleep? She shook her head, wondering whether sleep would be more +merciful to her at this time to-morrow--or the next day--or ever again. +And all the time, apparently indifferent and distrait, she was studying +every detail of this man; his lean features, his lean limbs, his thin, +muscular hands, his uniform, the slim, light sabre which he balanced +with both hands across his angular knees; the spurred boots, well +groomed and well fitted; the polished cross-straps supporting field +glasses and holster. + +"Are you the famous Special Messenger?--if it is not a military +indiscretion to name you," he asked, with a glint of humor in his +pleasant eyes. It seemed to her as though something else glimmered +there, too--the faintest flash of amused recklessness, as though gayly +daring any destiny that might menace. He was younger than she had +thought, and it sickened her to realize that he was quite as amiably +conscious of her as any well-bred man may be who permits himself to +recognize the charm of an attractive woman. All at once a deathly +feeling came over her--faintness, which passed--repugnance, which gave +birth to a desperate hope. The hope flickered; only the momentary +necessity for self-persuasion kept it alive. She must give him every +chance; she must take from him none. Not that for one instant she was +afraid of herself--of failing in duty; she understood that she _could_ +not. But she had not expected this moment to come in such a fashion. No; +there was more for her to do, a chance--barely a miracle of chance--that +she might be mistaken. + +"Why do you think I am the Special Messenger, Captain West?" + +There was no sign of inward tumult under her smooth, flushed mask as she +lay back, elbows set on the chair's padded arms, hands clasped together. +Over them she gazed serenely at the signal officer. And he looked back +at her. + +"Other spies come to headquarters," he said, "but you are the only one +so far who embodies my ideal of the highly mysterious Special +Messenger." + +"Do I appear mysterious?" + +"Not unattractively so," he said, smiling. + +"I have heard," she said, "that the Union spy whom they call the Special +Messenger is middle-aged and fat." + +"I've heard that, too," he nodded, with a twinkle in his gray eyes--"and +I've heard also that she's red-headed, peppered with freckles, +and--according to report--bow-legged from too many cross-saddles." + +"Please observe my single spur," she said, extending her slender, booted +foot; "and you will notice that I don't fit that passport." + +"My idea of her passport itemizes every feature you possess," he said, +laughing; "five feet seven; dark hair, brown eyes, regular features, +small, well-shaped hands----" + +"Please--Captain West!" + +"I beg your pardon--" very serious. + +"I am not offended.... What time is it, if you please?" + +He lifted the candle, looked closely at his watch and informed her; she +expressed disbelief, and stretched out her hand for the watch. He may +not have noticed it; he returned the watch to his pocket. + +She sank back in her chair, very thoughtful. Her glimpse of the monogram +on the back of the watch had not lasted long enough. Was it an M or a W +she had seen? + +The room was hot; the aide on the sofa ceased snoring; one spurred heel +had fallen to the floor, where it trailed limply. Once or twice he +muttered nonsense in his sleep. + +The major of artillery grunted, lifted a congested face from the cradle +of his folded arms, blinked at them stupidly, then his heavy, +close-clipped head fell into his arms again. The candle glimmered on his +tarnished shoulder straps. + +A few moments later a door at the end of the room creaked and a +fully-lathered visage protruded. Two gimlet eyes surveyed the scene; a +mouth all awry from a sabre-slash closed grimly as Captain West rose to +attention. + +"Is there any fresh water?" asked the general. "There's a dead mouse in +this pail." + +At the sound of his voice the aide awoke, got onto his feet, took the +pail, and wandered off into the house somewhere; the artillery officer +rose with a dreadful yawn, and picked up his forage cap and gauntlets. + +Then he yawned again, showing every yellow tooth in his head. + +The general opened his door wider, standing wiry and erect in boots and +breeches. His flannel shirt was open at the throat; lather covered his +features, making the distorted smile that crept over them unusually +hideous. + +"Well, I'm glad to see _you_," he said to the Special Messenger; "come +in while I shave. West, is there anything to eat? All right; I'm ready +for it. Come in, Messenger, come in!" + +She entered, closing the bedroom door; the general shook hands with her +slyly, saying, "I'm devilish glad you got through, ma'am. Have any +trouble down below?" + +"Some, General." + +He nodded and began to shave; she stripped off her tight outer jacket, +laid it on the table, and, ripping the lining stitches, extracted some +maps and shreds of soft paper covered with notes and figures. + +Over these, half shaved, the general stooped, razor in hand, eyes +following her forefinger as she traced in silence the lines she had +drawn. There was no need for her to speak, no reason for him to inquire; +her maps were perfectly clear, every route named, every regiment, every +battery labeled, every total added up. + +Without a word she called his attention to the railroad and the note +regarding the number of trains. + +"We've got to get at it, somehow," he said. "What are those?" + +"Siege batteries, General--on the march." + +His mutilated mouth relaxed into a grin. + +"They seem to be allfired sure of us. What are they saying down below?" + +[Illustration: "'They seem to be allfired sure of us.'"] + +"They talk of being in Washington by the fifteenth, sir." + +"Oh.... What's that topographical symbol--here?" placing one finger on +the map. + +"That is the Moray Mansion--or was." + +"_Was?_" + +"Our cavalry burned it two weeks ago Thursday." + +"Find anything to help you there?" + +She nodded. + +The general returned to his shaving, completed it, came back and +examined the papers again. + +"That infantry, there," he said, "are you sure it's Longstreet's?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"You didn't see Longstreet, did you?" + +"Yes, sir; and talked with him." + +The general's body servant knocked, announcing breakfast, and left the +general's boots and tunic, both carefully brushed. When he had gone out +again, the Special Messenger said very quietly: + +"I expect to report on the Moray matter before night." + +The general buckled in his belt and hooked up his sword. + +"If you can nail that fellow," he said, speaking very slowly, "I guess +you can come pretty close to getting whatever you ask for from +Washington." + +For a moment she stood very silent there, her ripped jacket hanging limp +over her arm; then, with a pallid smile: + +"Anything I ask for? Did you say that, sir?" + +He nodded. + +"Even if I ask for--his pardon?" + +The general laughed a distorted laugh. + +"I guess we'll bar that," he said. "Will you breakfast, ma'am? The next +room is free, if you want it." + +Headquarters bugles began to sound as she crossed the hall, jacket +dangling over her arm, and pushed open the door of a darkened room. The +air within was stifling, she opened a window and thrust back the blinds, +and at the same moment the ringing crack of a rifled cannon shattered +the silence of dawn. Very, very far away a dull boom replied. + +Outside, in dusky obscurity, cavalry were mounting; a trooper, pumping +water from a well under her window, sang quietly to himself in an +undertone as he worked, then went off carrying two brimming buckets. + +The sour, burned stench of stale campfires tainted the morning +freshness. + +She leaned on the sill, looking out into the east. Somewhere yonder, +high against the sky, they were signaling with torches. She watched the +red flames swinging to right, to left, dipping, circling; other sparks +broke out to the north, where two army corps were talking to each other +with fire. + +As the sky turned gray, one by one the forest-shrouded hills took shape; +details began to appear; woodlands grew out of fathomless shadows, +fields, fences, a rocky hillock close by, trees in an orchard, some +Sibley tents. + +And with the coming of day a widening murmur grew out of the invisible, +a swelling monotone through which, incessantly, near and distant, +broken, cheery little flurries of bugle music, and far and farther +still, where mists hung over a vast hollow in the hills, the dropping +shots of the outposts thickened to a steady patter, running backward and +forward, from east to west, as far as the ear could hear. + +A soldier brought her some breakfast; later he came again with her +saddlebags and a big bucket of fresh water, taking away her riding +habit and boots, which she thrust at him from the half-closed door. + +Her bath was primitive enough; a sheet from the bed dried her, the +saddlebags yielded some fresh linen, a pair of silk stockings and a +comb. + +Sitting there behind closed blinds, her smooth body swathed to the waist +in a sheet, she combed out the glossy masses of her hair before braiding +them once more around her temples; and her dark eyes watched daylight +brighten between the slits in the blinds. + +The cannonade was gradually becoming tremendous, the guns tuning up by +batteries. There was, however, as yet, no platoon firing distinguishable +through the sustained crackle of the fusillade; columns of dust, hanging +above fields and woodlands, marked the courses of every northern road +where wagons and troops were already moving west and south; the fog from +the cannon turned the rising sun to a pulsating, cherry-tinted globe. + +There was no bird music now from the orchard; here and there a scared +oriole or robin flashed through the trees, winging its frightened way +out of pandemonium. + +The cavalry horses of the escort hung their heads, as though dully +enduring the uproar; the horses of the field ambulances parked near the +orchard were being backed into the shafts; the band of an infantry +regiment, instruments flashing dully, marched up, halted, deposited +trombone, clarion and bass drum on the grass and were told off as +stretcher-bearers by a smart, Irish sergeant, who wore his cap over one +ear. + +The shock of the cannonade was terrific; the Special Messenger, +buttoning her fresh linen, winced as window and door quivered under the +pounding uproar. Then, dressed at last, she opened the shaking blinds +and, seating herself by the window, laid her riding jacket across her +knees. + +There were rents and rips in sleeve and body, but she was not going to +sew. On the contrary, she felt about with delicate, tentative fingers, +searching through the loosened lining until she found what she was +looking for, and, extracting it, laid it on her knees--a photograph, in +a thin gold oval, covered with glass. + +The portrait was that of a young man--thin, quaintly amused, looking out +of the frame at her from behind his spectacles. The mustache appeared +to be slighter, the hair a trifle longer than the mustache and hair worn +by the signal officer, Captain West. Otherwise, it was the man. And hope +died in her breast without a flicker. + +Sitting there by the shaking window, with the daguerreotype in her +clasped hands, she looked at the summer sky, now all stained and +polluted by smoke; the uproar of the guns seemed to be shaking her +reason, the tumult within her brain had become chaos, and she scarcely +knew what she did as, drawing on both gauntlets and fastening her soft +riding hat, she passed through the house to the porch, where the staff +officers were already climbing into their saddles. But the general, +catching sight of her face at the door, swung his horse and dismounted, +and came clanking back into the deserted hallway where she stood. + +"What is it?" he asked, lowering his voice so she could hear him under +the din of the cannonade. + +"The Moray matter.... I want two troopers detailed." + +"Have you nailed him?" + +"Yes--I--" She faltered, staring fascinated at the distorted face, +marred by a sabre to the hideousness of doom itself. "Yes, I think so. +I want two troopers--Burke and Campbell, of the escort, if you don't +mind----" + +"You can have a regiment! Is it far?" + +"No." She steadied her voice with an effort. + +"Near _my_ headquarters?" + +"Yes." + +"Damnation!" he blazed out, and the oath seemed to shock her to +self-mastery. + +"Don't ask me now," she said. "If it's Moray, I'll get him.... What are +those troops over there, General?" pointing through the doorway. + +"The Excelsiors--Irish Brigade." + +She nodded carelessly. "And where are the signal men? Where is your +signal officer stationed--Captain----" + +"Do you mean West? He's over on that knob, talking to Wilcox with flags. +See him, up there against the sky?" + +"Yes," she said. + +The general's gimlet eyes seemed to bore through her. "Is that all?" + +"All, thank you," she motioned with dry lips. + +"Are you properly fixed? What do you carry--a revolver?" + +She nodded in silence. + +"All right. Your troopers will be waiting outside.... Get him, in one +way or another; do you understand?" + +"Yes." + +A few moments later the staff galloped off and the escort clattered +behind, minus two troopers, who sat on the edge of the veranda in their +blue-and-yellow shell jackets, carbines slung, poking at the grass with +the edges of their battered steel scabbards. + +The Special Messenger came out presently, and the two troopers rose to +salute. All around her thundered the guns; sky and earth were trembling +as she led the way through an orchard heavy with green fruit. A volunteer +nurse was gathering the hard little apples for cooking; she turned, her +apron full, as the Special Messenger passed, and the two women, both +young, looked at one another through the sunshine--looked, and turned +away, each to her appointed destiny. + +Smoke, drifting back from the batteries, became thicker beyond the +orchard. Not very far away the ruddy sparkle of exploding Confederate +shells lighted the obscurity. Farther beyond the flames of the Union +guns danced red through the cannon gloom. + +Higher on the hill, however, the air became clearer; a man outlined in +the void was swinging signal flags against the sky. + +"Wait here," said the Special Messenger to Troopers Burke and Campbell, +and they unslung carbines, and leaned quietly against their feeding +horses, watching her climb the crest. + +The crest was bathed in early sunlight, an aërial island jutting up +above a smoky sea. From the terrible, veiled maelstrom roaring below, +battle thunder reverberated and the lightning of the guns flared +incessantly. + +For a moment, poised, she looked down into the inferno, striving to +penetrate the hollow, then glanced out beyond, over fields and woods +where sunlight patched the world beyond the edges of the dark pall. + +Behind her Captain West, field glasses leveled, seemed to be intent upon +his own business. + +She sat down on the grassy acclivity. Below her, far below, Confederate +shells were constantly striking the base of the hill. A mile away black +squares checkered a slope; beyond the squares a wood was suddenly belted +with smoke, and behind her she heard the swinging signal flags begin to +whistle and snap in the hill wind. She had sat there a long while before +Captain West spoke to her, standing tall and thin beside her; some +half-serious, half-humorous pleasantry--nothing for her to answer. But +she looked up into his face, and he became silent, and after a while he +moved away. + +A little while later the artillery duel subsided and finally died out +abruptly, leaving a comparative calm, broken only by slow and very +deliberate picket firing. + +The signal men laid aside their soiled flags and began munching +hardtack; Captain West came over, bringing his own rations to offer her, +but she refused with a gesture, sitting there, chin propped in her +palms, elbows indenting her knees. + +"Are you not hungry or thirsty?" he asked. + +"No." + +He had carelessly seated himself on the natural rocky parapet, spurred +boots dangling over space. For one wild instant she hoped he might slip +and fall headlong--and his blood be upon the hands of his Maker. + +Sitting near one another they remained silent, restless-eyed, brooding +above the battle-scarred world. As he rose to go he spoke once or twice +to her with that haunting softness of voice which had begun to torture +her; but her replies were very brief; and he said nothing more. + +At intervals during the afternoon orderlies came to the hill; one or two +general officers and their staffs arrived for brief consultations, and +departed at a sharp gallop down hill. + +About three o'clock there came an unexpected roar of artillery from the +Union left; minute by minute the racket swelled as battery after battery +joined in the din. + +Behind her the signal flags were fluttering wildly once more; a priest, +standing near her, turned nodding: + +"Our boys will be going in before sundown," he said quietly. + +"Are you Father Corby, chaplain of the Excelsiors?" + +"Yes, madam." + +He lifted his hat and went away knee-deep through the windy +hill-grasses; white butterflies whirled around him as he strode, head +on his breast; the swift hill swallows soared and skimmed along the +edges of the smoke as though inviting him. From her rocky height she saw +the priest enter the drifting clouds. + +A man going to his consecrated duty. And she? Where lay her duty? And +why was she not about it? + +"Captain West!" she called in a clear, hard voice. + +Seated on his perch above the abyss, the officer lowered his field +glasses and turned his face. Then he rose and moved over to where she +was sitting. She stood up at once. + +"Will you walk as far as those trees with me?" she asked. There was a +strained ring to her voice. + +He wheeled, spoke briefly to a sergeant, then, with that subtle and +pleasant deference which characterized him, he turned and fell into step +beside her. + +"Is there anything I can do?" he asked softly. + +"No.... God help us both." + +He halted. At a nod from her, two troopers standing beside their quietly +browsing horses, cocked carbines. The sharp, steel click of the locks +was perfectly audible through the din of the cannon. + +[Illustration: "Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and it +was empty."] + +The signal officer looked at her; and her face was whiter than his. + +"You are Warren Moray--I think," she said. + +His eyes glimmered like a bayonet in sunlight; then the old half-gay, +half-defiant smile flickered over his face. + +"Special Messenger," he said, "you come as a dark envoy for me. Now I +understand your beauty--Angel of Death." + +"Are you Major Moray?" She could scarcely speak. + +He smiled, glanced at the two troopers, and shrugged his shoulders. +Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and it was empty; and +his pistol glimmered in her hand. + +"For God's sake don't touch your sabre-hilt!" she said.... "Unclasp your +belt! Let it fall!" + +"Can't you give me a chance with those cavalrymen?" + +"I can't. You know it." + +"Yes; I know." + +There was a silence; the loosened belt fell to the grass, the sabre +clashing. He looked coolly at the troopers, at her, and then out across +the smoke. + +"_This_ way?" he said, as though to himself. "I never thought it." His +voice was quiet and pleasant, with a slight touch of curiosity in it. + +"How did you know?" he asked simply, turning to her again. + +She stood leaning back against a tree, trying to keep her eyes fixed on +him through the swimming weakness invading mind and body. + +"I suppose this ends it all," he added absently; and touched the sabre +lying in the grass with the tip of his spurred boot. + +"Did you look for any other ending, Mr. Moray?" + +"Yes--I did." + +"How could you, coming into our ranks with a dead man's commission and +forged papers? How long did you think it could last? Were you mad?" + +He looked at her wistfully, smiled, and shook his head. + +"Not mad, unless you are. Your risks are greater than were mine." + +She straightened up, stepped toward him, very pale. + +"Will you come?" she asked. "I am sorry." + +"I am sorry--for us both," he said gently. "Yes, I will come. Send those +troopers away." + +"I cannot." + +"Yes, you can. I give my word of honor." + +She hesitated; a bright flush stained his face. + +"I take your word," she murmured. + +A moment later the troopers mounted and cantered off down the hill, +veering wide to skirt the head of a column of infantry marching in; and +when the Special Messenger started to return she found masses of men +threatening to separate her from her prisoner--sunburnt, sweating, +dirty-faced men, clutching their rifle-butts with red hands. + +Their officers rode ahead, thrashing through the moist grass; a forest +of bayonets swayed in the sun; flag after flag passed, slanting above +the masses of blue. + +She and her prisoner looked on; the flag of the 63d New York swept by; +the flags of the 69th and 88th followed. A moment later the columns +halted. + +"Your Excelsiors," said Moray calmly. + +"They're under fire already. Shall we move on?" + +A soldier in the ranks, standing with ordered arms, fell straight +backward, heavily; a corporal near them doubled up with a grunt. + +The Special Messenger heard bullets smacking on rocks; heard their dull +impact as they struck living bodies; saw them knock men flat. Meanwhile +the flags drooped above the halted ranks, their folds stirred lazily, +fell, and scarcely moved; the platoon fire rolled on unbroken somewhere +out in the smoke yonder. + +"God send me a bullet," said Moray.... "Why do you stay here?" + +"To--give you--that chance." + +"You run it, too." + +"I hope so. I am very--tired." + +"I am sorry," he said, reddening. + +She said fiercely: "I wish it were over.... Life is cruel.... I suppose +we must move on. Will you come, please?" + +"Yes--my dark messenger," he said under his breath, and smiled. + +A priest passed them in the smoke; her prisoner raised his hand to the +visor of his cap. + +"Father Corby, their chaplain," she murmured. + +"Attention! Attention!" a far voice cried, and the warning ran from rank +to rank, taken up in turn by officer after officer. Father Corby was +climbing to the summit of a mound close by; an order rang out, bugles +repeated it, and the blue ranks faced their chaplain. + +Then the priest from his rocky pulpit raised his ringing voice in +explanation. He told the three regiments of the Irish Brigade--now +scarcely more than three battalions of two companies each--that every +soldier there could receive the benefit of absolution by making a +sincere act of contrition and resolving, on first opportunity, to +confess. + +He told them that they were going to be sent into battle; he urged them +to do their duty; reminded them of the high and sacred nature of their +trust as soldiers of the Republic, and ended by warning them that the +Catholic Church refuses Christian burial to him who deserts his flag. + +In the deep, battle-filled silence the priest raised up his hands; three +regiments sank to their knees as a single man, and the Special Messenger +and her prisoner knelt with them. + +"_Dominus noster Jesus Christus vos absolvat, et ego, auctoritate +ipius, vos absolvo ab omvir vinculo_----" + +The thunder of the guns drowned the priest's voice for a moment, then it +sounded again, firm and clear: + +"_Absolve vos a peccatis_----" + +The roar of battle blotted out the words; then again they rang out: + +"_In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti!... Amen._" + +The officers had remounted now, their horses plunging in the smoke; the +flags were moving forward; rivers of bayonets flowed out into the +maelstrom where the red lightning played incessantly. Then from their +front crashed out the first volley of the Irish Brigade. + +"Forward! Forward!" shouted their officers. Men were falling everywhere; +a dying horse kicked a whole file into confusion. Suddenly a shell fell +in their midst, another, another, tearing fiery right of way. + +The Special Messenger, on her knees in the smoke, looked up and around +as a priest bent above her. + +"Child," he said, "what are you doing here?" And then his worn gaze fell +on the dead man who lay in the grass staring skyward through his broken +eyeglasses with pleasant, sightless eyes. + +The Special Messenger, white to the lips, looked up: "We were on our +knees together, Father Corby. You had said the amen, and the bullet +struck him--here!... He had no chance for confession.... But you +said----" + +Her voice failed. + +The priest looked at her; she took the dead man's right hand in hers. + +"He was a brave man, Father.... And you said--you said--about those who +fell fighting for--their _own_ land--absolution--Christian burial----" + +She choked, set her teeth in her under lip and looked down at the dead. +The priest knelt, too. + +"Is--is all well with him?" she whispered. + +"Surely, child----" + +"But--his was the--_other_ flag." + +There was a silence. + +"Father?" + +"I know--I know.... The banner of Christ is broader.... You say he was +kneeling here beside you?" + +"Here--so close that I touched him.... And then you said.... Christian +burial--absolution----" + +"He was a spy?" + +"What am I, Father?" + +"Absolved, child--like this poor boy, here at your feet.... What is that +locket in your hand?" + +"His picture.... I found it in his house when the cavalry were setting +fire to it.... Oh, I am tired of it all--deathly, deathly sick!... Look +at him lying here! Father, Father, is there no end to death?" + +The priest rose wearily; through the back-drifting smoke the long battle +line of the Excelsiors wavered like phantoms in the mist. Six flags +flapped ghostlike above them, behind them men writhed in the trampled, +bloody grass; before them the sheeted volleys rushed outward into +darkness, where the dull battle lightning played. + +A maimed, scorched, blackened thing in the grass near by was calling on +Christ; the priest went to him, turning once on his way to look back +where the Special Messenger knelt beside a dead man who lay smiling at +nothing through his shattered eyeglasses. + + + + +IV + +ROMANCE + + +The Volunteer Nurse sighed and spread out her slender, iodine-stained +fingers on both knees, looking down at them reflectively. + +"It is different now," she said; "sentiment dies under the scalpel. In +the filth and squalor of reality neither the belief in romance nor the +capacity for desiring it endure long.... Even pity becomes atrophied--or +at least a reflex habit; sympathy, sorrow, remain as mechanical +reactions, not spontaneous emotions.... You can understand that, dear?" + +"Partly," said the Special Messenger, raising her dark eyes to her old +schoolmate. + +"In the beginning," said the Nurse, dreamily, "the men in their +uniforms, the drums and horses and glitter, and the flags passing, and +youth--_youth_--not that you and I are yet old in years; do you know +what I mean?" + +"I know," said the Special Messenger, smoothing out her riding gloves. +"Do you remember the cadets at Oxley? You loved one of them." + +"Yes; you know how it was in the cities; and even afterward in +Washington--I mean the hospitals after Bull Run. Young bravery--the +Zouaves--the multicolored guard regiments--and a romance in every +death!" She laid one stained hand over the other, fingers still wide. +"But here in this blackened horror they call the 'seat of war'--this +festering bullpen, choked with dreary regiments, all alike, all in +filthy blue--here individuals vanish, men vanish. The schoolgirl dream +of man dies here forever. Only unwashed, naked duty remains; and its +inspiration, man--bloody, dirty, vermin-covered, terrible--sometimes; +and sometimes whimpering, terrified, flinching, base, bereft of all his +sex's glamour, all his mystery, shorn of authority, devoid of pride, +pitiable, screaming under the knife.--It is different now," said the +pretty Volunteer Nurse.--"The war kills more than human life." + +The Special Messenger drew her buckskin gloves carefully through her +belt and buttoned the holster of her revolver. + +"I have seen war, too," she said; "and the men who dealt death and the +men who received it. Their mystery remains--the glamour of a man remains +for me--because he is a man." + +"I have heard them crying like children in the stretchers." + +"So have I. That solves nothing." + +But the Nurse went on: + +"And in the wards they are sometimes something betwixt devils and +children. All the weakness and failings they attribute to women come out +in them--fear, timidity, inconsequence, greed, malice, gossip! And, as +for courage--I tell you, women bear pain better." + +"Yes, I have learned that.... It is not difficult to beguile them +either; to lead them, to read them. That is part of my work. I do it. I +know they _are_ afraid in battle--the intelligent ones. Yet they fight. +I know they are really children--impulsive, passionate, selfish, often +cruel--but, after all, they are here fighting this war--here encamped +all around us throughout these hills and forests.... They have lost none +of their glamour for me. Their mystery remains." + +The Volunteer Nurse looked up with a tired smile: + +"You always were emotional, dear." + +"I am still." + +"You don't have to drain wounds and dry out sores and do the thousand +unspeakable offices that we do." + +"Why do you do them?" + +"I have to." + +"You didn't have to enlist. Why did you?" + +"Why do the men enlist?" asked the Nurse. "That's why you and I +did--whatever the motive may have been, God knows.... And it's killed +part of me.... _You_ don't cleanse ulcers." + +"No; I am not fitted. I tried; and lost none of the romance in me. Only +it happens that I can do--what I am doing--better." + +The Nurse looked at her a trifle awed. + +"To think, dear, that you should turn out to be the celebrated Special +Messenger. You were timid in school." + +"I am now.... You don't know how afraid a woman can be. Suppose in +school--suppose that for one moment we could have foreseen our +destiny--here together, you and I, as we are now." + +The Nurse looked into the stained hollow of her right hand. + +"I had the lines read once," she said drearily, "but nobody ever said +I'd be here, or that there'd be any war." And she continued to examine +her palm with a hurt expression in her blue eyes. + +The Special Messenger laughed, and her lovely, pale face lighted up with +color. + +"Don't you really think you are ever going to be capable of caring for a +man again?" + +"No, I don't. I know now how they're fashioned, how they think--how--how +revolting they can be.... No, no! It's all gone--all the ideals, all the +dreams.... Good Heavens, how romantic--how senseless we were in school!" + +"I am still," said the Special Messenger thoughtfully. "I like men.... +A man--the right one--could easily make me love him. And I am afraid +there are more than one 'right one.' I have often been on the +sentimental border.... But they died, or went away--or I did.... The +trouble with me is, as you say, that I am emotional, and very, very +tender-hearted.... It is sometimes difficult to be loyal--to care for +duty--to care for the Union more than for a man. Not that there is any +danger of my proving untrue----" + +"No," murmured the Nurse, "loyalty is your inheritance." + +"Yes, we--" she named her family under her breath--"are traditionally +trustworthy. It is part of us--our race was always, will always +be.... But--to see a man near death--and to care for him a little--even +a rebel--and to know that one word might save him--only one little +disloyal word!" + +"No man would save _you_ at that expense," said the Nurse disdainfully. +"I know men." + +"Do you? I don't--in that way. There was once an officer--a +noncombatant. I could have loved him.... Once there was a Confederate +cavalryman. I struck him senseless with my revolver-butt--and I might +have--cared for him. He was very young.... I never can forget him. It is +hard, dear, the business I am engaged in.... But it has never spoiled my +interest in men--or my capacity for loving one of them. I am afraid I am +easily moved." + +She rose and stood erect, to adjust her soft riding hat, her youthfully +slender figure in charming relief against the window. + +"Won't you let me brew a little tea for you?" asked the Nurse. "Don't +leave me so soon." + +"When do you go on duty?" + +"In about ten minutes. It will be easier to-morrow, when we send our +sick North. Will you come in to-morrow?" + +The Special Messenger shook her head dreamily. + +"I don't know--I don't know.... Good-by." + +"Are _you_ going on duty?" + +"Yes." + +"When?" + +"Now." + +The Nurse rose and put both arms around her. + +"I am so afraid for you," she said; "and it has been so good to see +you.... I don't know whether we'll ever meet again----" + +Her voice was obliterated in the noisy outburst of bugles sounding the +noon sick-call. + +They went out together, where the Messenger's horse was tied under the +trees. Beyond, through the pines, glimmered the tents of an emergency +hospital. And now, in the open air not very far away, they could hear +picket firing. + +"Do be careful," said the blue-eyed Nurse. "They say you do such +audacious things; and every day somebody says you have been taken, or +hanged, or shot. Dear, you are so young and so pretty----" + +"So are you. Don't catch fever or smallpox or die from a scratch from a +poisoned knife.... Good-by once more." + +They kissed each other. A hospital orderly, passing hurriedly, stopped +to hold her stirrup; she mounted, thanked the orderly, waved a smiling +adieu to her old schoolmate, and, swinging her powerful horse westward, +trotted off through the woods, passing the camp sentinels with a nod and +a low-spoken word. + +Farther out in the woods she encountered the first line of pickets; +showed her credentials, then urged her horse forward at a gallop. + +"Not that way!" shouted an officer, starting to run after her; "the +Johnnies are out there!" + +She turned in her saddle and nodded reassuringly, then spurred on again, +expecting to jump the Union advance-guard every moment. + +There seemed to be no firing anywhere in the vicinity; nothing to be +seen but dusky pine woods; and after she had advanced almost to the edge +of a little clearing, and not encountering the outer line of Union +pickets, she drew bridle and sat stock still in her saddle, searching in +every direction with alert eyes. + +Nothing moved; the heated scent of the Southern pines hung heavy in the +forest; in the long, dry swale-grass of the clearing, yellow butterflies +were flying lazily; on a dead branch above her a huge woodpecker, with +pointed, silky cap, uttered a querulous cry from moment to moment. + +She strained her dainty, close-set ears; no sound of man stirred in this +wilderness--only the lonely bird-cry from above; only the ceaseless +monotone of the pine crests stirred by some high breeze unfelt below. + +A forest path, apparently leading west, attracted her attention; into +this she steered her horse and continued, even after her compass had +warned her that the path was now running directly south. + +The tree-growth was younger here; thickets of laurel and holly grew in +the undergrowth, and, attempting a short cut out, she became entangled. +For a few minutes her horse, stung by the holly, thrashed and floundered +about in the maze of tough stems; and when at last she got him free, she +was on the edge of another clearing--a burned one, lying like a path of +black velvet in the sun. A cabin stood at the farther edge. + +Three forest bridle paths ran west, east, and south from this blackened +clearing. She unbuttoned her waist, drew out a map, and, flattening it +on her pommel, bent above it in eager silence. And, as she sat studying +her map, she became aware of a tremor in the solid earth under her horse's +feet. It grew to a dull jarring vibration--nearer--nearer--nearer--and +she hastily backed her horse into the depths of the laurel, sprang to +the ground, and placed both gauntleted hands over her horse's nostrils. + +A moment later the Confederate cavalry swept through the clearing at a +trot--a jaunty, gray column, riding two abreast, then falling into +single file as they entered the bridle path at a canter. + +She watched them as they flashed by among the pines, sitting their +horses beautifully, the wind lifting the broad brims of their soft hats, +the sun a bar of gold across each sunburned face. + +There were only a hundred of them--probably some of Ashby's old riders, +for they seemed strangely familiar--but it was not long before they had +passed on their gay course, and the last tremor in the forest soil--the +last distant rattle of sabre and carbine--died away in the forest +silence. + +What were they doing here? She did not know. There seemed no logical +reason for the presence of Stuart's troopers. + +For a while, awaiting their possible collision with the Union outposts, +she listened, expecting the far rattle of rifles. No sound came. They +must have sheered off east. So, very calmly she addressed herself to the +task in hand. + +This must be the burned clearing; her map and the cabin corroborated +her belief. Then it was here that she was to meet this unknown man in +Confederate uniform and Union pay--a spy like herself--and give him +certain information and receive certain information in return. + +Her instructions had been unusually rigid; she was to take every +precaution; use native disguise whether or not it might appear +necessary, carry no papers, and let any man she might encounter make the +advances until she was absolutely certain of him. For there was an ugly +rumor afloat that the man she expected had been caught and hanged, and +that a Confederate might attempt to impersonate him. So she looked very +carefully at her map, then out of the thicket at the burned clearing. +There was the wretched cabin named as rendezvous, the little garden +patch with standing corn and beans, and here and there a yellowing +squash. + +_Why had the passing rebel cavalry left all that good food undisturbed?_ + +Fear, which within her was always latent, always too ready to influence +her by masquerading as caution, stirred now. For almost an hour she +stood, balancing her field glasses across her saddle, eyes focused on +the open cabin door. Nothing stirred there. + +At last, with a slight shiver, she opened her saddle bags and drew out +the dress she meant to wear--a dingy, earth-colored thing of gingham. + +Deep in the thicket she undressed, folded her fine linen and silken +stockings, laid them away in the saddle bags together with waist and +skirt, field glasses, gauntlets, and whip, and the map and papers, which +latter, while affording no information to the enemy, would certainly +serve to convict her. + +Dressed now in the scanty, colorless clothing of a "poor white" of the +pine woods, limbs and body tanned with walnut, her slender feet rubbed +in dust and then thrust stockingless into shapeless shoes, she let down +the dark, lustrous mass of her hair, braided it, tied it with faded +ribbon, rubbed her hands in wood mold and crushed green leaves over them +till they seemed all stained and marred with toil. Then she gathered an +armful of splinter wood. + +Now ready, she tethered her horse, leaving him bitted and saddled; +spread out his sack of feed, turned and looked once more at the cabin, +then walked noiselessly to the clearing's edge, carrying her aromatic +splinters. + +Underfoot, as she crossed it, the charred grass crumbled to powder; +three wild doves flickered up into flight, making a soft clatter and +displaying the four white feathers. A quail called from the bean patch. + +The heat was intense in the sun; perspiration streaked her features; her +tender feet burned; the cabin seemed a long way off, a wavering blot +through the dancing heat devils playing above the fire-scorched open. + +Head bent, she moved on in the shiftless, hopeless fashion of the sort +of humanity she was representing, furtively taking her bearings and +making such sidelong observations as she dared. To know the shortest way +back to her horse might mean life to her. She understood that. Also she +fully realized that she might at that very instant be under hostile +observation. In her easily excited imagination, all around her the +forest seemed to conceal a hundred malevolent eyes. She shivered +slightly, wiped the perspiration from her brow with one small bare fist, +and plodded on, clutching her lightwood to her rounded breast. + +And now at last she was nearing the open cabin door; and she must not +hesitate, must show no suspicion. So she went in, dragging her +clumsily-shod feet. + +A very young man in the uniform of a Confederate cavalry officer was +seated inside before the empty fireplace of baked clay. He had a bad +scar on his temple. She looked at him, simulating dull surprise; he rose +and greeted her gracefully. + +"Howdy," she murmured in response, still staring. + +"Is this your house?" he asked. + +"Suh?" blankly. + +"Is this your house?" + +"I reckon," she nodded. "How come you-all in my house?" + +He replied with another question: + +"What were you doing in the woods?" + +"Lightwood," she answered briefly, stacking the fragrant splinters on +the table. + +"Do you live here all alone?" + +"Reckon I'm alone when I live heah," sullenly. + +"What is your name?" He had a trick of coloring easily. + +"What may be _yoh_ name, suh?" she retorted with a little flash of +Southern spirit, never entirely quenched even in such as she seemed to +be. + +Genuine surprise brought the red back into his face and made it, worn as +it was, seem almost handsome. The curious idea came to her that she had +seen him before somewhere. At the same moment speech seemed to tremble +on his lips; he hesitated, looked at her with a new and sudden keenness, +and stood looking. + +"I expected to meet somebody here," he said at length. + +She did not seem to comprehend. + +"I expected to meet a woman here." + +"Who? Me?" incredulously. + +He looked her over carefully; looked at her dusty bare ankles, at her +walnut-smeared face and throat. She seemed so small, so +round-shouldered--so different from what he had expected. They had said +that the woman he must find was pretty. + +"Was yuh-all fixin' to meet up with _me_?" she repeated with a bold +laugh. + +"I--don't know," he said. "By the Eternal, I don't know, ma'am. But I'm +going to find out in right smart time. Did you ever hear anybody speak +Latin?" + +"Suh?" blankly; and the audacity faded. + +"Latin," he repeated, a trifle discomfited. "For instance, '_sic itur_.' +Do you know what '_sic itur_' means?" + +"Sick--what, suh?" + +"'_Sic itur!_' Oh, Lord, she _is_ what she looks like!" he exclaimed in +frank despair. He walked to the door, wheeled suddenly, came back and +confronted her. + +"Either, ma'am, you are the most consummate actress in this war drama, +or you don't know what I'm saying, and you think me crazy.... And now +I'll ask you once for all: _Is this the road_?" + +The Special Messenger looked him full in the eyes; then, as by magic, +the loveliest of smiles transfigured the dull, blank features; her round +shoulders, pendulous arms, slouching pose, melted into superb symmetry, +quickening with grace and youth as she straightened up and faced him, +erect, supple, laughing, adorable. + +"_Sic itur--ad Astra_," she said demurely, and offered him her hand. +"Continue," she added. + +He neither stirred nor spoke; a deep flush mounted to the roots of his +short, curly hair. She smiled encouragement, thinking him young and +embarrassed, and a trifle chagrined. + +"Continue the Latin formula," she nodded, laughing; "what follows, if +you please----" + +"Good God!" he broke out hoarsely. + +And suddenly she knew there was nothing to follow except death--his or +hers--realized she made an awful mistake--divined in one dreadful +instant the unsuspected counter-mine beneath her very feet--cried out as +she struck him full in the face with clenched fist, sprang back, +whipping the revolver from her ragged bodice, dark eyes ablaze. + +"Now," she panted, "hands high--and turn your back! Quickly!" + +He stood still, very pale, one sunburned hand covering the cheek which +she had struck. There was blood on it. He heard her breathless voice, +warning him to obey, but he only took his hand from his face, looked at +the blood on palm and finger, then turned his hopeless eyes on her. + +"Too late," he said heavily. "But--I'd rather be you than I.... Look out +of that window, Messenger!" + +"Put up your hands!" + +"No." + +"Will you hold up your hands!" + +"No, Messenger.... And I--didn't--know it was _you_ when I came here. +It's--it's a dirty business--for an officer." He sank down on the wooden +chair, resting his head between both hands. A single drop of blood fell +brightly from his cut cheek. + +The Special Messenger stole a swift, sidelong glance toward the window, +hesitated, and, always watching him, slid along the wall toward the +door, menacing him at every step with leveled revolver. Then, at the +door, she cast one rapid glance at the open field behind her and around. +A thrill of horror stiffened her. The entire circle of the burned +clearing was ringed with the gray pickets of rebel cavalry. + +The distant men sat motionless on their horses, carbine on thigh. Here +and there a distant horse tossed his beautiful head, or perhaps some +hat-brim fluttered. There was no other movement, not one sound. + +Crouching to pass the windows beneath the sills she crept, heedless of +her prisoner, to the rear door. That avenue to the near clustering woods +was closed, too; she saw the glitter of carbines above the laurel. + +"Special Messenger?" She turned toward him, pale as a ghost. "I reckon +we've got you." + +"Yes," she said. + +There was another chair by the table--the only other one. She seated +herself, shaking all over, laid her revolver on the table, stared at the +weapon, pushed it from her with a nervous shudder, and, ashy of lip and +cheek, looked at the man she had struck. + +"Will they--hang me?" + +"I reckon, ma'am. They hung the other one--the man you took me for." + +"Will there be a--trial?" + +"Drumhead.... They've been after you a long, long while." + +"Then--what are you waiting for?" + +He was silent. + +She found it hard to control the nervous tremor of her limbs and lips. +The dryness in her throat made speech difficult. + +"Then--if there is no chance----" + +He bent forward swiftly and snatched her revolver from the table as her +small hand fell heavily upon the spot where the weapon had rested. + +"Would you do _that_?" he said in a low voice. + +The desperate young eyes answered him. And, after a throbbing silence: +"Won't you let me?" she asked. "It is indecent to h-hang +a--woman--before--men----" + +He did not answer. + +"Please--please--" she whispered, "give it back to me--if you are +a--soldier.... You can go to the door and call them.... Nobody will +know.... You can turn your back.... It will only take a second!" + +A big blue-bottle fly came blundering into the room and filled the +silence with its noise. Years ago the big blue flies sometimes came into +the quiet schoolroom; and how everybody giggled when the taller Miss +Poucher, bristling from her prunella shoes to her stiff side-curls, +charged indignantly upon the buzzing intruder. + +Dry--eyed, dry--lipped, the Messenger straightened up, quivering, and +drew a quick, sharp breath; then her head fell forward, and, resting +inert upon the table, she buried her face in her arms. The most +dangerous spy in the Union service--the secret agent who had worked more +evil to the Confederacy than any single Union army corps--the coolest, +most resourceful, most trusted messenger on either side as long as the +struggle lasted--caught at last. + +The man, young, Southern, and a gentleman's son, sat staring at her. He +had driven his finger-nails deep into his palms, bitten his underlip +till it was raw. + +"Messenger!" + +She made no response. + +"Are you afraid?" + +Her head, prone in her arms, motioned dull negation. It was a lie and he +knew it. He looked at the slender column of the neck--stained to a +delicate amber--at the nape; and he thought of the rope and the knot +under the left ear. + +"Messenger," he said once more. "I did not know it was _you_ I was to +meet. Look at me, in God's name!" + +She opened her eyes on him, then raised her head. + +"Do you know me now?" he asked. + +"No." + +"Look!" + +He touched the scar on his forehead; but there was no recognition in her +eyes. + +"Look, I tell you!" he repeated, almost fiercely. + +She said wearily: "I have seen so many men--so many men.... I can't +remember you." + +"And I have seen many women, Messenger; but I have never forgotten +you--or what you did--or what you did----" + +"I?" + +"You.... And from that night I have lived only to find you again. +And--oh, God! To find you here! My Messenger! My little Messenger!" + +"Who are you?" she whispered, leaning forward on the table, dark eyes +dilating with hope. + +He sat heavily for a while, head bowed as though stunned to silence; +then slowly the white misery returned to his face and he looked up. + +"So--after all--_you_ have forgotten. And my romance is dead." + +She did not answer, intent now on every word, every shade of his +expression. And, as she looked, through the numbness of her desperation, +hope stirred again, stealthily. + +"Are you a friend?" Her voice scarcely sounded at all. + +"Friends die for each other," he said. "Do you expect that of me?" + +The silence between them became terrible; and at last he broke it with a +bitter laugh: + +"You once turned a boy's life to romance--riding through it--out of +it--leaving scars on his brow and heart--and on his lips the touch of +your own. And on his face your tears. Look at me once more!" + +Her breath came quicker; far within her somewhere memory awoke, groping +blindly for light. + +"Three days we followed you," he said. "On the Pennsylvania line we +cornered you; but you changed garb and shape and speech, almost under +our eyes--as a chameleon changes color, matching the leaf it hides +on.... I halted at that squatter's house--sure of you at last--and the +pretty squatter's daughter cooked for us while we hunted you in the +hills--and when I returned she gave me her bed to sleep on----" + +Her hand caught at her throat and she half rose, staring at him. + +"Her own bed to sleep on," he repeated. "And I had been three days +in the saddle; and I ate what she set before me, and slept on her +bed--fell asleep--only a tired boy, not a soldier any longer.... +And awoke to meet your startled eyes--to meet the blow from your +revolver butt that made this scar--to fall back bewildered for a +moment--half-stunned--Messenger! Do you know me now?" + +"Yes," she said. + +They looked breathlessly at one another; suddenly a hot blush covered +her neck and face; and his eyes flashed triumph. + +"You have _not_ forgotten!" he cried. + +And there, on the very edge of death itself, the bright shame glowed and +glowed in her cheeks, and her distressed eyes fell before his. + +"You kissed me," he said, looking at her. + +"I--I thought I had--killed you--" she stammered. + +"And you kissed me on the lips.... In that moment of peril you waited to +do that. Your tears fell on my face. I felt them. And I tell you that, +even had I been lying there dead instead of partly stunned, I would have +known what you did to me after you struck me down." + +Her head sank lower; the color ran riot from throat to brow. + +He spoke again, quietly, yet a strange undertone of exaltation thrilled +his voice and transfigured the thin, war-worn features she had +forgotten, so that, as she lifted her eyes to him again, the same boy +looked back at her from the mist of the long dead years. + +"Messenger," he said, "I have never forgotten. And now it is too late to +forget your tears on my face--the touch of your lips on mine. I would +not if I could.... It was worth living for--dying for.... Once--I +hoped--some day--after this--all this trouble ended--my romance might +come--true----" + +The boy choked, then: + +"I came here under orders to take a woman spy whose password was the key +to a Latin phrase. But until you stood straight in your rags and smiled +at me, I did not know it was you--I did not know I was to take the +Special Messenger! Do you believe me?" + +"Yes." + +The boy colored painfully. Then a queer, pallid change came over his +face; he rose, bent over her where she rested heavily on the table: + +"Little Messenger," he said, "I am in your debt for two blows and a +kiss." + +She lifted a dazed face to meet his gaze; he trembled, leaned down, and +kissed her on the mouth. + +Then in one bound he was at the door, signaling his troopers with drawn +sabre--as once, long ago, she had seen him signal them in the Northern +woods. + +And, through the window, she saw the scattered cavalry forming column at +a gallop, obeying every sabre signal, trotting forward, wheeling fours +right--and then--and then! the gray column swung into the western forest +at a canter, and was gone! + +The boy leaning in the doorway looked back at her over his shoulder and +sheathed his sabre. There was not a vestige of color left in his face. + +"Go!" he said hoarsely. + +"What?" she faltered. + +"Go--go, in God's name! There's a door there! Can't you see it?" + + * * * * * + +She had been gone for a full hour when at last he turned again. A bit of +faded ribbon from her hair lay on the table. It was tied in a true +lover's knot. + +He walked over, looked at it, drew it through his buttonhole and went +slowly back to the door again. For a long while he stood there, +vague-eyed, silent. It was nearly sunset when once more he drew his +sabre, examined it carefully, bent it over one knee, and snapped the +blade in two. + +Then, with a last look at the sky, and standing very erect, he closed +the door, set his back firmly against it, drew his revolver, and looked +curiously into the muzzle. + +A moment later the racket of the shot echoed through the deserted house. + + + + +V + +RED FERRY + + +When Private Allen of Kay's Cavalry deserted with headquarters' dispatch +pouch, and headed straight for Dixie, there was a great deal of +consternation and excitement on the north bank of the river, and a +considerable amount of headlong riding. But on the tenth day he slipped +through the cordon, got into the woods, and was making for the river +when a patrol shot at him near Gopher Creek, but lost him in the +impenetrable cypress swamp beyond. + +However, the pursuit was pushed forward to the very edge of the enemy's +country; Kay's troopers patrolled the north bank of the river and +watched every road and ford; east and west Ripley's and Haynes's +brigades formed impassable curtains. + +Somewhere in this vast corral lay hidden a desperate, starving man; and +it was only a question of time before the hunted creature broke cover +for the water. + +That a trooper had deserted with arms and equipment was generally known; +but that, in his nocturnal flight, he had also taken vitally important +papers was known at first only to Kay and later to the Special +Messenger, who was sent to him post-haste from corps headquarters when +the fugitive headed for the river. + +Now, the south bank of the stream being in the enemy's territory, Kay +had not ventured to station patrols above the clay banks opposite, lest +rumor of invasion bring Stuart's riders to complicate a man chase and +the man escape in the confusion. + +And he explained this to the Special Messenger at their first +conference. + +"It ought to be guarded," insisted the Messenger tranquilly. "There are +three good fords and a ferry open to him." + +"I hold the fords on this side," argued Kay; "the ferryboat lies in the +eel-grass on the south shore." + +"Stuart's riders might cross if they heard of this trouble, sir!" + +"And if they see Union troops on the south bank they'll cross, sure pop. +It won't do, Messenger. If that fellow attempts the fords we'll catch +him, sure; if he swims we may get him in the water. The Lord knows I +want him badly, but I dare not invite trouble by placing vedettes across +the stream.... There's a ferryman over there I'm worried about, too. +He'd probably come across if Allen hailed him from the woods.... And +Allen was thick with him. They used to fish together. Nobody knows what +they hatched out between them. It worries me, I can tell you--that +ferry." + +The Messenger walked to the tent door and looked thoughtfully at the +woods around her. The colonel rose from his camp stool and followed her, +muttering: + +"I might as well try to catch a weasel in a wall, or a red horse in the +mud; and how to go about it I don't know." With set jaws and an angry +spot glowing in his gaunt cheeks, he stared wickedly around him and then +at the Messenger. "_You_ do miracles, they say. Can't you do one now?" + +"I don't know, sir. Who is this deserter?" + +"Roy Allen--a sullen, unwilling dog--always malingering. He's spent half +the time in the guardhouse, half in the hospital, since he arrived with +the recruits. Somebody got an idea that he'd been hit by the sun, but +it's all bosh. He's a bad one--that's all. Can you help me out?" + +The Messenger nodded. + +"You say he's fond of fishing?" + +"Crazy about it. He was often detailed to keep us in food when rations +ran low. Then the catfish made us sick, so I stopped his fishing. Then +he took French leave." + +"I want two troopers this evening, Colonel. May I have them?" she asked +thoughtfully. "I'm going to keep house at Red Ferry for a while." + +"All right, ma'am. Look out for him; he's a bad one." + +But the Messenger shook her head, smiling. + +At ten o'clock that night the Special Messenger, mounted astride and +followed by two cavalrymen with carbines, rode down through the river +mist to Bushy Ford. + +Daintily her handsome horse set foot in the water, hesitated, bent his +long, velvety neck, sniffed, and finally drank; then, satisfied, stepped +quietly forward, hock-deep, in the swirling, yellow flood. + +"Foller them stakes, Miss," cautioned the older trooper; "I sot 'em +m'self, I did." + +"Thank you. Keep close to me, Connor. I've crossed here before it was +staked." + +"Sho!" exclaimed Connor under his breath; "she do beat 'em all!" + +Twice, having no light but the foggy stars, they missed the stakes and +her horse had to swim, but they managed to flounder safely back to the +ford each time; and after a little while her mount rose, straining +through the red mud of the shore, struggled, scrambled madly, and drew +out, dripping. + +Up a slippery, crooked ascent they rode, out into a field of uncut corn +above, then, spurring, swung at a canter eastward along the river. + +There was a dim light in the ferry house; a lubberly, fat man ran to the +open door as they drew bridle before it. When the fat man saw the blue +troopers he backed hastily away from the sill and the Messenger +dismounted and followed him into the house, heavy revolver swinging in +her gloved hand. + +"What'n hell y'goin' to do to me?" he began to whimper; "I ain't done +nothin'"; but an excess of fright strangled him, and he continued to +back away from her until he landed flat against the opposite wall. She +followed and halted before him, cocking her weapon, with a terrible +frown. She said solemnly: + +"I want you to answer me one or two questions, and if you lie to me it +will be the last time. Do you understand?" + +He nodded and moistened his thick lips, gulping. + +"Then you are the ferryman, Snuyder, are you not?" + +He nodded, utterly incapable of speech. She went on, gloomily: + +"You used to fish sometimes with a Yankee recruit named Allen--Roy +Allen?" + +"Ye-s'm," he sniveled. "There's my fish-pole an' his'n layin' onto the +roof----" + +"How did he hail you when he wanted you to come across to take him +fishing?" + +"He jest come down to the shore an' hollered twicet----" + +She bent closer, scanning his dilated eyes; speech died on his lips. + +"How did he call to you at _night_?" + +"He ain't never called me at night--so help me----" + +"No; _but in case he ever wished to fish at night?_" + +The man began to stammer and protest, but she covered him suddenly, and +her dark eyes struck fire. + +"What signal?" she asked with a menacing ring in her voice. "Quick!" + +"Cock-o'-the-pines!... It didn't mean nothin'," gasped the man; ... "It +was jest private--between fishin' friends----" + +"Go on!" + +"Yes'm.... If I heard a cock-o'-the-pines squeal I was to squeal back, +an' then he was to holler--jest friendly--'Hallo-oo! How's fishin'?' +That's all, ma'am----" + +"And you were to cross?" + +"Yes'm--jest friendly like. Him an' me was fond o' fishin'----" + +"I see. Sit down and don't move. Nobody is going to hurt you." + +She went to the door, leisurely uncocking her revolver and pushing it +through her belt. + +"Oh, Connor," she called carelessly, "please mount my friend Mr. Snuyder +on my horse, take him across the ford, and detain him as my guest at +headquarters until I return. Wait a second; I'm going to keep my +saddlebags with me." + +And a few minutes later, as the troopers rode away in the mist with +their prisoner, her gentle voice followed them: + +"Don't be rough with him, Connor. Say to the colonel that there is no +harm in him at all, but keep him in sight until I return; and _don't_ +let him go fishing!" + + * * * * * + +She began housekeeping at sunrise by taking a daring bath in the stream, +then, dressing, she made careful inventory of the contents of the house +and a cautious survey of the immediate environment. + +The premises, so unexpectedly and unwillingly abandoned by its late +obese tenant, harbored, besides herself, only one living creature--a fat +kitten. + +The ferry house stood above the dangerous south bank of the river in a +grove of oaks, surrounded for miles by open country. + +A flight of rickety, wooden stairs pitched downward from the edge of the +grassy bank to a wharf at the water's edge--the mere skeleton of a wharf +now, outlined only by decaying stringpieces. But here the patched-up +punt was moored; and above it, nailed to a dead tree, the sign with its +huge lettering still remained: + + RED FERRY + HOLLER TWICE + +sufficiently distinct to be deciphered from the opposite shore. Sooner +or later the fugitive would have to come to the river. Probably the +cavalry would catch him at one of the fords, or some rifleman might +shoot him swimming. But, if he did not know the fords, and could not +swim, there was only one ferry for him; east, west, and north he had +long since been walled in. The chances were that some night a +cock-o'-the-pines would squeal from the woods across the river, and then +she knew what to do. + +During those broiling days of waiting she had leisure enough. Seated +outside her shanty, in the shade of the trees, where she was able to +keep watch both ways--south for her own safety's sake, north for the +doomed man--she occupied herself with mending stockings and underwear, +raising her eyes at intervals to sweep the landscape. + +Nobody came into that heated desolation; neither voice nor gunshot +echoed far or near. Day after day the foliage of the trees spread +motionless under cloudless skies; day after day the oily river slipped +between red mud banks in heated silence. In sky, on earth, nothing +stirred except, at intervals, some buzzard turning, high in the blinding +blue; below, all was deathly motionless, save when a clotted cake of red +clay let go, sliding greasily into the current. At dawn the sun struck +the half-stunned world insensible once more; no birds stirred even at +sunset; all the little creatures of the field seemed dead; her kitten +panted in its slumbers. + +Every night the river fog shrouded the land, wetting the parched leaves; +dew drummed on the rotting porch like the steady patter of +picket-firing; the widow bird's distracted mourning filled the silence; +the kitten crept to its food, ate indifferently, then, settling on the +Messenger's knees, stared, round-eyed, at the dark. But always at dawn +the sun burned off the mist, rising in stupefying splendor; the oily +river glided on; not a leaf moved, not a creature. And the kitten slept +on the porch, heedless of inviting grass stems whisked for her and the +ball of silk rolled past her in temptation. + +Half lying there, propped against a tree trunk in the heated shade, +cotton bodice open, sleeves rolled to the shoulders, the Special +Messenger mended her linen with languid fingers. Perspiration powdered +her silky skin from brow to breast, from finger to elbow, shimmering +like dew when she moved. Her dark hair fell, unbound; glossy tendrils of +it curled on her shoulders, framing a face in which nothing as yet had +extinguished the soft loveliness of youth. + +At times she talked to the kitten under her breath; sometimes hummed an +old song. Memories kept her busy, too, at moments quenching the +brightness of her eyes, at moments twitching the edges of her vivid lips +till the dreamy smile transfigured her. + +But always quietly alert, her eyes scanned land and river, the bank +opposite, the open fields behind her. Once, certain of a second's +safety, she relaxed with a sigh, stretching out full length on the +grass; and, under the edge of her cotton skirt, the metal of a revolver +glimmered for an instant, strapped in its holster below her right knee. + +The evening of the fourth day was cooler; the kitten hoisted its tail +for the first time in their acquaintance, and betrayed a feeble interest +in the flight of a white dusk-moth that came hovering around the porch +vines. + +"Pussy," said the Messenger, "there's bacon in that well pit; I am going +to make a fire and fry some." + +The kitten mewed faintly. + +"I thought you'd approve, dear. Cold food is bad in hot weather; and +we'll fry a little cornmeal, too. Shall we?" + +The kitten on its small, uncertain legs followed her into one of the +only two rooms. The fat tenant of the hovel had left some lightwood and +kindling, and pots and pans necessary for such an existence as he led on +earth. + +The Messenger twisted up her hair and pinned it; then culinary rites +began, the kitten breaking into a thin purring when an odor of bacon +filled the air. + +"Poor little thing!" murmured the Messenger, going to the door for a +brief cautionary survey. And, coming back, she lifted the fry pan and +helped the kitten first. + +They were still eating when the sun set and the sudden Southern darkness +fell over woods and fields and river. A splinter of lightwood flared +aromatically in an old tin candlestick; by its smoky, wavering radiance +she heated some well water, cleaned the tin plates, scoured pan and +kettle, and set them in their humble places again. + +Then, cleansing her hands daintily, she dried them, and picked up her +sewing. + +For her, night was the danger time; she could not avoid, by flight +across the river, the approach of any enemy from the south; and for an +enemy to discover her sitting there in darkness, with lightwood in the +house, was to invite suspicion. Yet her only hope, if surprised, was to +play her part as keeper of Red Ferry. + +So she sat mending, sensitive ears on the alert, breathing quietly in +the refreshing coolness that at last had come after so many nights of +dreadful heat. + +The kitten, too, enjoyed it, patting with tentative velvet paw the skein +of silk dangling near the floor. + +But it was a very little kitten, and a very lonely one, and presently it +asked, plaintively, to be taken up. So the Messenger lifted the mite of +fluffy fur and installed it among the linen on the table, where it went +to sleep purring. + +Outside the open door the dew drummed loudly; moths came in clouds, +hovering like snowflakes about the doorway; somewhere in the woods a +tiger owl yelped. + +About midnight, lying on her sack of husks, close to the borderland of +sleep, far away in the darkness she heard a shot. + +In one bound she was at the door, buttoning her waist, and listening. +And still listening, she lighted a pine splinter, raised her cotton +skirt, and adjusted the revolver, strapping the holster tighter above +and below her right knee. + +The pulsing seconds passed; far above the northern river bank a light +sparkled through the haze, then swung aloft; and she drew paper and +pencil from her pocket, and wrote down what the torch was saying: + +"Shot fired at Muddy Ford. Look out along the river." + +And even as the red spark went out in the darkness a lonely birdcall +floated across the river--the strange squealing plaint of the great +cock-o'-the-pines. She answered, imitating it perfectly. Then a far +voice called: + +"Hallo-o-o! How's fishin'?" + +She picked up her pine candle, hurried out to the bank and crept +cautiously down the crazy, wooden stairs. Setting her torch in the iron +cage at the bow, she cast off the painter and, standing erect, swung the +long pole. Out into obscurity shot the punt, deeper and deeper plunged +the pole. She headed up river to allow for the current; the cool breeze +blew her hair and bathed her bared throat and arms deliciously; crimson +torchlight flickered crisscross on the smooth water ahead. + +Every muscle in her body was in play now; the heavy pole slanted, rose +and plunged; the water came clip! slap! clap! slap! against the square +bows, dusting her with spray. + +On, on, tossing and pitching as the boat hit the swift, deep, center +current; then the pole struck shallower depths, and after a while her +torch reddened foliage hanging over the northern river bank. + +She drove her pole into the clay as the punt's bow grated; a Federal +cavalryman--a mere lad--muddy to the knees, brier-torn, and ghastly +pale, waded out through the shallows, revolver in hand, clambered +aboard, and struck the torch into the water. + +"Take me over," he gasped. "Hurry, for God's sake! I tell you----" + +"Was it you who called?" + +"Yes. Snuyder sent you, didn't he? Don't stand there talking----" + +With a nervous stroke she drove the punt far out into the darkness, then +fell into a measured, swinging motion, standing nearer the stern than +the bow. There was no sound now but the lapping of water and the man's +thick breathing; she strove to pierce the darkness between them, but she +could see only a lumpish shadow in the bow where he crouched. + +"I reckon you're Roy Allen," she began, but he cut her short: + +"Damn it! What's that to you?" + +"Nothing. Only Snuyder's gone." + +"When?" + +"Some days ago, leaving me to ferry folk over.... He told me how to +answer you when you called like a cock-o'-the-pines." + +"Did he?" The voice was subdued and sullen. + +For a while he remained motionless, then, in the dull light of the +fog-shrouded stars she saw him face her, and caught the faint sparkle of +his weapon resting on his knees, covering her. + +"It seems to me," he said fiercely, "that you are asking a good many +questions. Which side pays you?" + +They were tossing now on the rapid little waves in the center of the +river; she had all she could do to keep the punt steady and drive it +toward the spot where, against the stars, the oaks lifted their +clustered crests. + +At the foot of the wooden stairs she tied her boat, and offered to +relight the pine knot, but he would not have it and made her grope up +the ascent before him. + +Over the top of the bank she led him, under the trees, to her door, he +close at her heels, revolver in hand. And there, on the sill, she faced +him. + +"What do you want here?" she asked; "supper?" + +"Go into the house and strike a light," he said, and followed her in. +And, as she turned from the blazing splinter, he caught her by the arm, +feeling roughly for a concealed weapon. Face aflame, she struggled out +of his clutch; and he was as red as she as they confronted one another, +breathing heavily. + +"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I'm--h-half-crazed, I think.... If you're +what you look, God knows I meant you no insult.... But--but--their +damned spies are everywhere. I've stood too much--I've been in hell for +two weeks----" + +He wiped his mouth with a trembling, raw hand, but his sunken eyes still +glared and the pallor once more blanched his sunken face. + +"I'll not touch you again," he said hoarsely; "I'm not a beast--not +_that_ kind. But I'm starving. Is there anything--_anything_, I tell +you? I--I am not--very--strong." + +She looked calmly into the ravaged, but still boyish features; saw him +swing, reeling a little, on his heels as he steadied himself with one +hand against the table. + +"Sit down," she said in a low voice. + +He sank into a chair, resting the hand which clutched the revolver on +the table. + +Without a word she went about the business of the moment, rekindled the +ashes, filled the fry pan with mush and bacon. A little while afterwards +she set the smoking food before him, and seated herself at the opposite +side of the table. + +The boy ate wolfishly with one hand; the other seemed to have grown fast +to the butt of his heavy weapon. She could have bent and shot him under +the table had she wished; she could have taken him with her bare hands. + +But she only sat there, dark, sorrowful eyes on him, and in pity for his +certain doom her under lip trembled at intervals so she could scarcely +control it. + +"Is there a horse to be had anywhere near here?" he asked, pausing to +swallow what his sunken jaws had been working on. + +"No; the soldiers have taken everything." + +"I will pay--anything if you'll let me have something to ride." + +She shook her head. + +He went on eating; a slight color had come back into his face. + +"I'm sorry I was rough with you," he said, not looking at her. + +"Why were you?" + +He raised his head wearily. + +"I've been hunted so long that I guess it's turned my brain. Except for +what you've been good enough to give me, I've had nothing inside me for +days, except green leaves and bark and muddy water.... I suppose I can't +see straight.... There's a woman they call the Special Messenger;--I +thought they might have started her after me.... That shot at the ford +seemed to craze me.... So I risked the ferry--seeing your light +across--and not knowing whether Snuyder was still here or whether they +had set a guard to catch me.... It was Red Ferry or starve; I'm too weak +to swim; I waited too long." + +And as the food and hot tea warmed him, his vitality returned in a +maddened desire for speech after the weeks of terror and silence. + +"I don't know who you are," he went on, "but I guess you're not fixed +for shooting at me, as every living thing seems to have done for the +last fortnight. Maybe you're in Yankee pay, maybe in Confederate; I +can't help it. I suppose you'll tell I've been here after I'm gone.... +But they'll never get me now!" he bragged, like a truant schoolboy +recounting his misdemeanor to an awed companion. + +"Who are you?" she asked very gently. + +He looked at her defiantly. + +"I'm Roy Allen," he said, "of Kay's Cavalry.... If you're fixing to tell +the Union people you might as well tell them who fooled 'em!" + +"What have you done?" + +She inquired so innocently that a hint of shame for his suspicion and +brutality toward her reddened his hollow cheeks. + +"I'll tell you what I've done," he said. "I've taken to the woods, +headed for Dixie, with a shirtful of headquarter papers. That's what +I've done.... And perhaps you don't know what that means if they catch +me. It means hanging." + +"Hanging!" she faltered. + +"Yes--if they get me." His voice quivered, but he added boastingly: "No +fear of that! I'm too many for old Kay!" + +"But--but why did you desert?" + +"Why?" he repeated. Then his face turned red and he burst out violently: +"I'll tell you why. I lived in New York, but I thought the South was in +the right. Then they drafted me; and I tried to tell them it was an +outrage, but they gave me the choice between Fort Lafayette and Kay's +Cavalry.... And I took the Cavalry and waited.... I wouldn't have gone +as far as to fight against the flag--if they had let me alone.... I only +had my private opinion that the South was more in the right than we--the +North--was.... I'm old enough to have an opinion about niggers, and I'm +no coward either.... They drove me to this; I didn't want to kill people +who were more in the right than we were.... But they made me enlist--and +I couldn't stand it.... And now, if I've got to fight, I'll fight +bullies and brutes who----" + +He ended with a gesture--an angry, foolish boast, shaking his weapon +toward the north. Then, hot, panting, sullenly sensible of his fatigue, +he laid the pistol on the table and glowered at the floor. + +She could have taken him, unarmed, at any moment, now. + +"Soldier," she said gently, "listen to me." + +He looked up with heavy-lidded eyes. + +"I am trying to help you to safety," she said. + +A hot flush of mortification mantled his face: + +"Thank you.... I ought to have known; I--I am ashamed of what I +said--what I did." + +"You were only a little frightened; I am not angry." + +"You understand, don't you?" + +"A--little." + +"You are Southern, then?" he said; and in spite of himself his heavy +lids began to droop again. + +"No; Northern," she replied. + +His eyes flew wide open at that, and he straightened up in his chair. + +"Are you afraid of me, Soldier?" + +"No," he said, ashamed again. "But--you're going to tell on me after I +am gone." + +"No." + +"Why not?" he demanded suspiciously. + +She leaned both elbows on the table, and resting her chin on both palms, +smiled at him. + +"Because," she said, "you are going to tell on yourself, Roy." + +"What!" he blurted out in angry astonishment. + +"You are going to tell on yourself.... You are going back to your +regiment.... It will be your own idea, too; it _has_ been your own idea +all the while--your secret desire every moment since you deserted----" + +"Are you crazy!" he cried, aghast; "or do you think I am?" + +"--ever since you deserted," she went on, dark eyes looking deep into +his, "it has been your desire to go back.... Fear held you; rage +hardened your heart; dread of death as your punishment; angry brooding +on what you believed was a terrible injustice done you--all these drove +you to panic.... Don't scowl at me: don't say what is on your lips to +say. You are only a tired, frightened boy--scarcely eighteen, are you? +And at eighteen no heart can really be a traitor." + +"Traitor!" he repeated, losing all his angry color. + +"It is a bad word, isn't it, Roy? Lying hidden and starving in the +forest through the black nights you had to fight that word away from +you--drive it out of your half-crazed senses--often--didn't you? Don't +you think I know, my boy, what a dreadful future you faced, lying there +through the stifling nights while they hunted you to hang you? + +"I know, also, that what you did you did in a moment of insane rage. I +know that the moment it was done you would, in your secret soul, have +given the world to have undone it." + +"No!" he cried. "I was right!" + +She rose, walked to the door, and seated herself on the sill, looking up +at the stars. + +For an hour she sat there, silent. Behind her, leaning heavily on the +table, he crouched, hot eyes wide, pulse heavy in throat and body. And +at last, without turning, she called to him--three times, very gently, +speaking his name; and at the third call he rose and came stumbling +toward her. + +"Sit here." + +He sank down beside her on the sill. + +"Are you very tired?" + +"Yes." + +She placed one arm around him, drawing his hot head down on her +shoulder. + +"How foolish you have been," she whispered. "But, of course, your mother +must not know it.... There is no reason to tell her--ever.... Because +you went quite mad for a little while--and nobody is blamed for mental +sickness.... How bright the stars are.... What a heavenly coolness after +that dreadful work.... How feverish you are! I think that your regiment +believes you roamed away while suffering from sunstroke.... Their +Colonel is a good friend of mine. Tell him you're sorry." + +His head lay heavily on her shoulder; she laid a fresh hand over his +eyes. + +"If the South is right, if we of the North are right, God knows better +than you or I, Roy.... And if you are so bewildered that you have no +deep conviction either way I think you may trust Him who set you among +Kay's Cavalry.... God never betrayed a human soul in honest doubt." + +"It--it was the flag!--that was the hardest to get over--" he began, and +choked, smothering the dry sob against her breast. + +"I know, dear.... The old flag means so much--it means all that our +fathers have been, all that we ought to be for the world's sake. Anger, +private resentment, bitterness under tyranny--these are little things; +for, after all, the flag still stands for what we ought to be--you and I +and those who misuse us, wittingly or otherwise.... Where are the +papers you took?" + +He pressed his feverish face closer to her shoulder and fumbled at the +buttons of his jacket. + +"Here?" she asked softly, aiding him with deft fingers; and in a moment +she had secured them. + +For a while she held him there, cradling him; and his dry, burning face +seemed to scorch her shoulder. + +Dawn was in the sky when she unclosed her eyes--a cool, gray dawn, +hinting of rain. + +She looked down at the boy. His head lay across her lap; he slept, +motionless as the dead. + +The sun rose, a pale spot on the gray horizon. + +"Come," she said gently. And again, "Come; I want you to take me across +the ferry." + +He rose and stood swaying on his feet, rubbing both eyes with briar-torn +fists. + +"You will take me, won't you, Roy?" + +"Where?" + +"Back to your regiment." + +"Yes--I'll take you." + +For a few moments she was busy gathering up her spools and linen. + +"You carry my saddlebags," she said, "and I'll take the kitten. Isn't it +cunning, Roy? Do look at the poor little thing! We can't leave it here." + +Following, laden with her saddlebags, he stammered: + +"Do--d-do you think they'll shoot me?" + +"No," she said, smiling. "Be careful of the ferry steps; they are +dreadfully shaky." + +She began the descent, clasping the kitten in both arms; the boy +followed. Seated in the punt, they stowed away the saddlebags and the +kitten, then he picked up the pole, looked at her, hesitated. She +waited. + +"I guess the old man will have me shot.... But--I am going back," he +said, as though to himself. + +She watched him; he looked up. + +"You're right, ma'am. I must have been crazy. Everybody reads about +traitors--in school.... Nobody ever forgets their names.... I don't want +my name in school books." + +"Like Benedict Arnold's," she said; and he quivered from head to foot. + +"Oh, cricky!" he burst out, horrified; "how close I came to it! Have you +got those papers safe?" + +"Yes, Roy." + +"Then I'll go. I don't care what they do to me." + +As he rose with the pole, far away in the woods across the river a +cavalry band began to play. Faint and clear the strains of the +Star-Spangled Banner rose from among the trees and floated over the +water; the boy stood spellbound, mouth open; then, as the far music died +away, he sank back into the boat, deathly pale. + +"I--I ought to be hung!" he whispered. + +The Messenger picked up the fallen pole, set it, and drove the punt out +into the river. Behind her, huddled in the stern, the prodigal wept, +uncomforted, head buried in his shaking arms; and the kitten, being +afraid, left the shelter of the thwarts and crept up on his knees, +sitting there and looking out at the unstable world of water in +round-eyed apprehension. + +As the punt grated on the northern shore the Messenger drove her pole +into the mud, upright, and leaned on it. + +"Roy," she said, looking back over her shoulder. + +The boy rubbed his wet eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and got up. + +"Are you afraid?" + +"Not now." + +"That is well.... You'll be punished.... Not severely.... For you came +back of your own accord--repentant.... Tell me, were you really afraid +that the Special Messenger might catch you?" + +"Yes, I was," he said simply. "That's why I acted so rough with you.... +I didn't know; they say any woman you see may be the Special +Messenger.... So I took no chances.... Who are you, anyway?" + +"Only a friend of yours," she said, smiling. "Please pick up my kitten. +Thank you.... And some day, when you've been very, very good, I'll ask +Colonel Kay to let you take me fishing." + +And she stepped lightly ashore; the boy followed, holding the kitten +under one arm and drying his grimy eyes on his sleeve. + + + + +VI + +AN AIR-LINE + + +"As for me," continued Colonel Gay bitterly, "I'm driven almost frantic +by this conspiracy. Whenever a regiment arrives or leaves, whenever a +train stirs--yes, by Heaven, every time a locomotive toots or a mule +brays or a chicken has the pip--_somebody_ informs the Johnnies, and +every detail is known to them within a few hours!" + +The Special Messenger seated herself on the edge of the camp table. "I +suppose they are very disagreeable to you about it at headquarters." + +"Yes, they are--but how can I help it? Somehow or other, whatever is +done or said or even thought in this devilish supply camp is immediately +reported to Jeb Stuart; every movement of trains and troops leaks out; +he'll know to-night what I ate for breakfast this morning--I'll bet on +that. And, Messenger, let me tell you something. Joking aside, this +thing is worrying me sick. Can you help me?" + +"I'll try," she said. "Headquarters sent me. They're very anxious up +there about the railroad." + +"I can't help it!" cried the distracted officer. "On Thursday I had to +concentrate the line-patrol to drive Maxon's bushwhackers out of Laurel +Siding; and look what Stuart did to me. No sooner were we off than he +struck the unguarded section and tore up two miles of track! What am I +to do?" + +The Special Messenger shook her pretty head in sympathy. + +"There's a leak somewhere," insisted the angry officer; "it smells to +Heaven, but I can't locate it. Somewhere there's a direct, intelligent +and sinister underground communication between Osage Court House and Jeb +Stuart at Sandy River--or wherever he is. And what I want you to do is +to locate that leak and plug it." + +"Of course," murmured the Special Messenger, gently tapping her riding +skirt with her whip. + +"Because," continued the Colonel, "headquarters is stripping this depot +of troops. The Bucktails go to-day; Casson's New York brigade and +Darrel's cavalry left yesterday. What remains is a mighty small garrison +for a big supply depot--eleven hundred effectives, and they may take +some of them at any moment. You see the danger?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"I've protested; I've pointed out the risk we run; I sent my third +messenger to headquarters this afternoon. Of course, they don't intend +to leave this depot unguarded--probably they'll send the Vermont troops +from the North this week--but between the departure of Casson's column +and the theoretical arrival of reënforcements from Preston, we'd be in a +bad way if Stuart should raid us in force. And with this irritating and +constant leaking out of information I'm horribly afraid he'll strike us +as soon as the Bucktails entrain." + +"Why don't you hold the Pennsylvania infantry until we can find out +where the trouble lies?" asked the girl, raising her dark eyes to the +nervous young Colonel. + +"I haven't the authority; I've asked for it twice. Orders stand; the +Bucktails are going, and I'm worried to death." He shoved his empty pipe +into his mouth and bit viciously at the stem. + +"Then," she said, "if I'm to do anything I'd better hurry, hadn't I?" + +The young officer's face grew grimmer. "Certainly; but I've been a month +at it and I'm no wiser. Of course I know you are very celebrated, ma'am; +but, really, _do_ you think it likely that you can pick out this hidden +mischief-maker before he sends word to Stuart to-night of our deplorable +condition?" + +"How long have I?" + +"About a day." + +"When do the Bucktails go?" + +"At nine to-night." + +"Who knows it?" + +"Who doesn't? I can't move a regiment and its baggage in a day, can I? +I've given them twenty-four hours to break camp and entrain." + +"Does the train master know which troops are going?" + +"He has orders to hold three trains, steam up, night and day." + +"I see," she murmured, strapping her soft riding hat more securely to +her hair with the elastic band. Her eyes had been wandering restlessly +around the tent as though searching for something which she could not +find. + +"Have you a good map of the district?" she asked. + +He went to his military chest, opened it, and produced a map. For a +while, both hands on the table, she leaned above the map studying the +environment. + +"And Stuart? You say he's roaming around somewhere in touch with Sandy +River?" she asked, pointing with a pencil to that metropolis on the map. + +"The Lord knows where _he_ is!" muttered the Colonel. "He may be a +hundred miles south now, and in my back yard to-morrow by breakfast +time. But when he's watching us he's usually near Sandy River." + +"I see. And these"--drawing her pencil in a wavering line--"are your +outposts? I mean those pickets nearest Sandy River." + +"They are. Those are rifle pits." + +"A grand guard patrols this line?" she asked, rising to her feet. + +"Yes; a company of cavalry and a field gun." + +"Do you issue passes?" + +"Not to the inhabitants." + +"Have any people--civilians--asked for passes?" + +"I had two applications; one from a Miss Carryl, who lives about a mile +beyond here on the Sandy River Road; another from an old farmer, John +Deal, who has a fruit and truck farm half a mile outside our lines. He +wanted to come in with his produce and I let him for a while. But that +leakage worried me, so I stopped him." + +"And this Miss Carryl--did she want to go out?" + +"She owns the Deal farm. Yes, she wanted to drive over every day; and I +let her until, as I say, I felt obliged to stop the whole business--not +permit anybody to go out or come in except our own troops." + +"And still the leakage continues?" + +"It certainly does," he said dryly. + +The Special Messenger seated herself on one end of the military chest +and gazed absently at space. Her booted foot swung gently at intervals. + +"So this Miss Carryl owns John Deal's farm," she mused aloud. + +"They run it on shares, I believe." + +"Oh! Was she angry when you shut out her tenant, John Deal, and shut her +inside the lines?" + +"No; she seemed a little surprised--said it was inconvenient--wanted +permission to write him." + +"You gave it?" + +"Yes. I intimated it would save time if she left her letters to him +unsealed. She seemed quite willing." + +"You read them all, of course, before delivering them?" + +"Of course. There was nothing in them except instructions about plowing, +fruit picking, and packing, and various bucolic matters." + +"Oh! Nothing to be read between the lines? No cipher? No invisible ink? +No tricks of any sort?" + +"Not one. I had a detective here. He said there was absolutely no harm +in the letters, in Miss Carryl, or in John Deal. I have all the letters +if you care to look at them; I always keep the originals and allow only +copies to be sent to old man Deal." + +"Let me see those letters," suggested the Messenger. + +The Colonel, who had been sitting on the camp table, got off wearily, +rummaged in a dispatch box, and produced three letters, all unsealed. + +Two were directed in a delicately flowing, feminine hand to John Deal, +Waycross Orchard. The Messenger unfolded the first and read: + + Dear Mr. Deal: + + Colonel Gay has thought it necessary, for military reasons, to + revoke my pass; and I shall, therefore, be obliged hereafter to + communicate with you by letter only. + + I wish, if there are negroes enough remaining in the quarters, + that you would start immediately a seedling orchard of white + Rare-ripe peaches from my orchard here. I have permission to + send the pits to you by the military post-rider who passes my + house. I will send you twenty every day as my peaches ripen. + Please prepare for planting. I hope your rheumatism is better. + + Yours very truly, + Evelyn Carryl. + +The Messenger's dark eyes lifted dreamily to the Colonel: + +"You gave her permission to send the pits by your post-rider?" + +"Yes," he said, smiling; "but I always look over them myself. You know +the wedding gown of the fairy princess was hidden in a grape seed." + +"You are _quite_ sure about the pits?" + +"Perfectly." + +"Oh! When does the next batch of twenty go?" + +"In about an hour. Miss Carryl puts them in a bag and gives them to my +messenger who brings them to me. Then I inspect every pit, tie up the +bag, seal it, and give it to my messenger. When he takes the mail to the +outposts he rides on for half a mile and leaves the sealed bag at Deal's +farm." + +"Does your messenger know what is in the bag?" + +"No, he doesn't." + +She nodded, amused, saying carelessly: + +"Of course you trust your post-rider?" + +"Absolutely." + +The Special Messenger swung her foot absently to and fro, and presently +opened another letter: + + Dear Mr. Deal: + + I am sending you twenty more peach pits for planting. What you + write me about the bees is satisfactory. I have received the + bees you sent. There is no reason why you should not make the + exchange with Mr. Enderly, as it will benefit our hives as well + as Mr. Enderly's to cross his Golden Indias with my Blacks. + +The Messenger studied the letter thoughtfully; askance, the officer +watched the delicate play of expression on her absorbed young face, +perhaps a trifle incredulous that so distractingly pretty a woman could +be quite as intelligent as people believed. + +She looked up at him quietly. + +"So you gave Deal permission to send some bees to Miss Carryl and write +her a letter?" + +"Once. I had the letter brought to me and I sent her a copy. Here it +is--the original." + +He produced Deal's letter from the dispatch pouch, and the Messenger +read: + + Miss Evelyn Carryl, + Osage Court House. + + Respected Miss: + + I send you the bees. I seen Mr. Enderly at Sandy River he says + he is very wishful for to swap bees to cross the breed I says it + shorely can be done if you say so I got the pits and am studyin' + how to plant. The fruit is a rottin' can't the Yankees at Osage + buy some truck nohow off'n me? So no more with respect from + + John Deal + Supt. + +"That seems rather harmless, doesn't it?" asked the Colonel wearily. + +"I don't--know. I _think_ I'll take a look at John Deal's beehives." + +"His _beehives_!" + +"Yes." + +"What for?" + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +"I don't know--exactly. I was always fond of bees. They're so +useful"--she looked up artlessly--"so clever--quite wonderful, Colonel. +Have you ever read anything about bees--how they live and conduct +themselves?" + +The Colonel eyed her narrowly; she laughed, sprang up from the military +chest, and handed back his letters. + +"You have already formed your theory?" he inquired with a faintly +patronizing air, under which keen disappointment betrayed itself where +the grim, drooping mouth tightened. + +"Yes, I have. There's a link missing, but--I may find that before night. +You can give me--_how_ long?" + +"The Bucktails leave at nine. See here, Messenger! With all the civility +and respect due you, I----" + +"You are bitterly disappointed in me," she finished coolly. "I don't +blame you, Colonel Gay." + +He was abashed at that, but unconvinced. + +"Why do you suspect this Miss Carryl and this man, Deal, when I've +showed you how impossible it is that they could send out information?" + +"Somehow," she said quietly, "they _do_ send it--if they are the only +two people who have had passes, and who now are permitted to +correspond." + +"But you saw the letters----" + +"So did you, Colonel." + +"I did!" he said emphatically; "and there's nothing dangerous in them. +As for the peach pits----" + +"Oh, I'll take your word for them, too," she said, laughing. "When is +your post-rider due?" + +"In a few minutes, now." + +She began to pace backward and forward, the smile still lightly etched +on her lips. The officer watched her; puckers of disappointed anxiety +creased his forehead; he bit at his pipestem, and thought of the +Bucktails. Certainly Stuart would hear of their going; surely before the +northern reënforcements arrived the gray riders would come thundering +into Osage Court House. Fire, pillage, countless stores wasted, trains +destroyed, miles of railroads rendered useless. What, in Heaven's name, +could his superiors be thinking of, to run such risk with one of the +bases of supplies? Somewhere--_somewhere_, not far from corps +headquarters, sat incompetency enthroned--gross negligence--under a pair +of starred shoulder straps. And, musing bitterly, he thought he knew to +whom those shoulder straps belonged. + +"The damn fool!" he muttered, biting at his pipe. + +"Colonel," said the Messenger cheerily, "I am going to take the mail to +the outposts to-day." + +"As you like," he said, without interest. + +"I want, also, a pass for Miss Carryl." + +"To pass our lines?" + +"To pass _out_. She will not care to return." + +"Certainly," he said with amiable curiosity. + +He scratched off the order and she took it. + +"Ask for anything you desire," he said, smiling. + +"Then may I have this tent to myself for a little while? And would you +be kind enough to send for my saddlebags and my own horse." + +The Colonel went to the tent flap, spoke to the trooper on guard. When +he came back he said that it was beginning to rain. + +"Hard?" she asked, troubled. + +"No; just a fine, warm drizzle. It won't last." + +"All the better!" she cried, brightening; and it seemed to the young +officer as though the sun had gleamed for an instant on the tent wall. +But it was only the radiant charm of her, transfiguring, with its +youthful brilliancy, the dull light in the tent; and, presently, the +Colonel went away, leaving her very busy with her saddlebags. + +There was a cavalry trooper's uniform in one bag; she undressed +hurriedly and put it on. Over this she threw a long, blue army cloak, +turned up the collar, and, twisting her hair tightly around her head, +pulled over it the gray, slouch campaign hat, with its crossed sabres of +gilt and its yellow braid. + +It was a boyish-looking rider who mounted at the Colonel's tent and went +cantering away through the warm, misty rain, mail pouch and sabre +flopping. + +There was no need for her to inquire the way. She knew Waycross, the +Carryl home, and John Deal's farm as well as she knew her own home in +Sandy River. + +The drizzle had laid the dust and washed clean the roadside grass and +bushes; birds called expectantly from fence and thorny thicket, as the +sun whitened through the mist above; butterflies, clinging to dewy +sprays, opened their brilliant wings in anticipation; swallows and +martins were already soaring upward again; a clean, sweet, fragrant +vapor rose from earth and shrub. + +Ahead of her, back from the road, at the end of its private avenue of +splendid oaks, an old house glimmered through the trees; and the Special +Messenger's eyes were fixed on it steadily as she rode. + +Pillar, portico, and porch glistened white amid the leaves; Cherokee +roses covered the gallery lattice; an old negro was pretending to mow +the unkempt lawn with a sickle, but whenever the wet grass stuck to the +blade he sat down to examine the landscape and shake his aged head at +the futility of all things mundane. The clatter of the Special +Messenger's horse aroused him; at the same instant a graceful woman, +dressed in black, came to the edge of the porch and stood there as +though waiting. + +The big gateway was open; under arched branches the Messenger galloped +down the long drive and drew bridle, touching the brim of her slouch +hat. And the Southern woman looked into the Messenger's eyes without +recognition. + +Miss Carryl was fair, yellow-haired and blue-eyed--blonder for the dull +contrast of the mourning she wore--and her voice was as colorless as her +skin when she bade the trooper good afternoon. + +All she could see of this cloaked cavalryman was two dark, youthful eyes +above the upturned collar of the cloak, shadowed, too, by the wet hat +brim, drooping under gilded crossed sabres. + +"You are not the usual mail-carrier?" she asked languidly. + +"No, ma'am"--in a nasal voice. + +"Colonel Gay sent you?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +Miss Carryl turned, lifted a small salt sack, and offered it to the +Messenger, who leaned wide from her saddle and took it in one hand. + +"You are to take this bag to the Deal farm. Colonel Gay has told you?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Thank you. And there is no letter to-day. Will you have a few peaches +to eat on the way? I always give the mail-carrier some of my peaches to +eat." + +Miss Carryl lifted a big, blue china bowl full of superb, white, +rare-ripe peaches, and, coming to the veranda's edge, motioned the +Messenger to open the saddlebags. Into it she poured a number of +peaches. + +"They are perfectly ripe," she said; "I hope you will like them." + +"Thank'y, ma'am." + +"And, Soldier," she turned to add with careless grace, "if you would be +kind enough to drop the pits back into the saddlebag and give them to +Mr. Deal he would be glad of them for planting." + +"Yes'm; I will----" + +"How many peaches did I give you? Have you enough?" + +"Plenty, ma'am; you gave me seven, ma'am." + +"Seven? Take two more--I insist--that makes nine, I think. Good day; and +thank you." + +But the Messenger did not hear; there was something far more interesting +to occupy her mind--a row of straw-thatched beehives under the fruit +trees at the eastern end of the house. + +From moment to moment, homing or outgoing bees sped like bullets across +her line of vision; the hives were busy now that a gleam of pale +sunshine lay across the grass. One bee, leaving the hive, came humming +around the Cherokee roses. The Messenger saw the little insect alight +and begin to scramble about, plundering the pollen-powdered blossom. The +bee was a yellow one. + +Suddenly the Messenger gathered bridle and touched her hat; and away she +spurred, putting her horse to a dead run. + +Passing the inner lines, she halted to give and receive the password, +then tossed a bunch of letters to the corporal, and spurred forward. +Halted by the outer pickets, she exchanged amenities again, rid herself +of the remainder of the mail, and rode forward, loosening the revolver +in her holster. Then she ate her first peach. + +It was delicious--a delicate, dripping, snow-white pulp, stained with +pink where the pit rested. There was nothing suspicious about that pit, +or any of the others when she broke the fragrant fruit in halves and +carefully investigated. Then she tore off the seal and opened the bag +and examined each of the twenty dry pits within. Not one had been +tampered with. + +Her horse had been walking along the moist, fragrant road; a few moments +later she passed the last cavalry picket, and at the same moment she +caught sight of John Deal's farm. + +The house was neat and white and small; orchards stretched in every +direction; a few beehives stood under the fruit trees near a well. + +A big, good-humored looking man came out into the path as the Messenger +drew bridle, greeted the horse with a caress and its rider with a +pleasant salute. + +"I'm very much obliged to you," he said, taking the sack of pits. "I +reckon we're bound to have more fine weather. What's this--some peach +pits from Miss Carryl?" + +"Nine," nodded the Messenger. + +"Nine! I'll have nine fine young trees this time three years, I reckon. +Thank you, suh. How's things over to the Co't House?" + +"Troops arriving all the while," said the Messenger carelessly. + +"Comin' _in_?" + +"Lots." + +"Sho! I heard they was sendin' 'em East." + +"Oh, some. We've got to have elbow-room. Can't pack two army corps into +Osage Court House." + +"Two a'my co'ps, suh?" + +"More or less." + +John Deal balanced the sack in the palm of one work-worn hand and looked +hard at the Messenger. He could see only her eyes. + +[Illustration: "'Turn around,' said the Special Messenger."] + +"Reckon you ain't the same trooper as come yesterday." + +"No." + +"What might be yoh regiment?" + +The Messenger was looking hard at the beehives. The door of one of the +hives, a new one, was shut. + +"What regiment did you say, suh?" repeated Deal, showing his teeth in a +friendly grin; and suddenly froze rigid as he found himself inspecting +the round, smoky muzzle of a six-shooter. + +"Turn around," said the Special Messenger. Her voice was even and +passionless. + +John Deal turned. + +"Cross your hands behind your back. Quickly, please! Now back up to this +horse. Closer!" + +There was a glimmer, a click; and the man stood handcuffed. + +"Sit down on the grass with your back against that tree. Make yourself +comfortable." + +Deal squatted awkwardly, settled, and turned a pallid face to the +Messenger. + +"What'n hell's this mean?" he demanded. + +"Don't move and don't shout," said the Messenger. "If you do I'll have +to gag you. I'm only going over there to take a look at your bees." + +The pallor on the man's face was dreadful, but he continued to stare at +the Messenger coolly enough. + +"It's a damned outrage!" he began thickly. "I had a pass from your +Colonel----" + +"If you don't keep quiet I'll have to tie up your face," observed the +Messenger, dismounting and flinging aside her cloak. + +Then, as she walked toward the little row of beehives, carrying only her +riding whip, the farmer's eyes grew round and a dull flush empurpled his +face and neck. + +"By God!" he gasped; "it's _her_!" and said not another word. + +She advanced cautiously toward the hives; very carefully, with the butt +of her whip, she closed the sliding door over every exit, then seated +herself in the grass within arm's length of the hives and, crossing her +spurred boots, leaned forward, expectant, motionless. + +A bee arrived, plunder-laden, dropped on the sill and began to walk +toward the closed entrance of his hive. Finding it blocked, the insect +buzzed angrily. Another bee whizzed by her and lit on the sill of +another hive; another came, another, and another. + +Very gingerly, as each insect alighted, she raised the sliding door and +let it enter. Deal watched her, fascinated. + +An hour passed; she had admitted hundreds of bees, always closing the +door behind each new arrival. Then something darted through the range of +her vision and alighted, buzzing awkwardly on the sill of a hive--an +ordinary, yellow-brown honey bee, yet differing from the others in that +its thighs seemed to be snow-white. + +Quick as a flash the Messenger leaned forward and caught the insect in +her gloved fingers, holding it by the wings flat over the back. + +Its abdomen dilated and twisted, and the tiny sting was thrust out, +vainly searching the enemy; but the Messenger, drawing a pin from her +jacket, deftly released the two white encumbrances from the insect's +thighs--two thin cylinders of finest tissue paper, and flung the angry +insect high into the air. It circled, returned to the hive, and she let +it in. + +There was a groan from the manacled man under the trees; she gave him a +rapid glance, shook her head in warning, and, leaning forward, deftly +lifted a second white-thighed bee from the hive over which it was +scrambling in a bewildered sort of way. + +A third, fourth, and fifth bee arrived in quick succession; she robbed +them all of their tissue-paper cylinders. Then for a while no more +arrived, and she wondered whether her guess had been correct, that the +nine peaches and wet pits meant to John Deal that nine bees were to be +expected--eager home-comers, which he had sent to his mistress and +which, as she required their services, she released, certain that they +would find their old hives on John Deal's farm and carry to him the +messages she sent. + +And they came at last--the sixth, seventh--then after a long interval +the eighth--and, finally, the ninth bee whizzed up to the hive and fell, +scrambling, its movements embarrassed by the tiny, tissue cylinders. + +The Messenger waited another hour; there were no more messengers among +the bees that arrived. + +Then she opened every hive door, rose, walked over to the closed hive +that stood apart and opened the door of that. + +A _black_ honeybee crawled out, rose into the air, and started due +south; another followed, then three, then a dozen; and then the hive +vomited a swarm of _black_ bees which sped southward. + +Sandy River lay due south; also, the home-hive from which they had been +taken and confined as prisoners; also, a certain famous officer lingered +at Sandy River--one, General J. E. B. Stuart, very much interested in +the beehives belonging to a friend of his, a Mr. Enderly. + +When she had relieved each messenger-bee of its tissue-paper dispatch, +she had taken the precaution to number each tiny cylinder, in order of +its arrival, from one to nine. Now she counted them, looked over each +message, laid them carefully away between the leaves of a pocket +notebook, slipped it into the breast of her jacket, and, rising, walked +over to John Deal. + +"Here is the key to those handcuffs," she said, hanging it around his +neck by the bit of cord on which it was dangling. "Somebody at Sandy +River will unlock them for you. But it would be better, Mr. Deal, if you +remained outside our lines until this war is ended. I don't blame +you--I'm sorry for you--and for your mistress." + +She set toe to stirrup, mounted easily, fastened her cloak around her. + +"I'm really sorry," she said. "I hope nobody will injure your pretty +farm. Good-by." + +Miss Carryl was standing at the end of the beautiful, oak-shaded avenue +when the Messenger, arriving at full speed, drew bridle and whirled her +horse. + +Looking straight into the pretty Southern woman's eyes, she said +gravely: + +"Miss Carryl, your bees have double stings. I am very sorry for +you--very, very sorry. I hope your property will he respected while you +are at Sandy River." + +"What do you mean?" asked Miss Carryl. Over her pale features a painful +tremor played. + +"You know what I mean. And I am afraid you had better go at once. John +Deal is already on his way." + +There was a long silence. Miss Carryl found her voice at length. + +"Thank you," she said without a tremor. "Will I have any trouble in +passing the Yankee lines?" + +"Here is your passport. I had prepared it." + +As the Messenger bent over from the saddle to deliver the pass, somehow +her hat, with its crossed gilt sabres, fell off. She caught it in one +hand; a bright blush mantled throat and face. + +The Southern woman looked up at the girl in the saddle, so dramatically +revealed for what she was under the superb accusation of her hair. + +"_You?_" + +"Yes--God help us both!" + +The silence was terrible. + +"It scarcely surprises me," murmured Miss Carryl with a steady smile. "I +saw only your eyes before, but they seemed too beautiful for a boy's." + +Then she bent her delicately-molded head and studied the passport. The +Messenger, still blushing, drew her hat firmly over her forehead and +fastened a loosened braid. Presently she took up her bridle. + +"I will ask Colonel Gay's protection for Waycross House," she said in a +low voice. "I am so dreadfully sorry that this has happened." + +"You need not be; I have only tried to do for my people what you are +doing for yours--but I should be glad of a guard for Waycross. _His_ +grave is in the orchard there." And with a quiet inclination of the head +she turned away into the oak-bordered avenue, walking slowly toward the +house which, in a few moments, she must leave forever. + +In the late sunshine her bees flashed by, seeking the fragrant +home-hives; long, ruddy bars of sunlight lay across grass and tree +trunk; on the lawn the old servant still chopped at the unkempt grass, +and the music of his sickle sounded pleasantly under the trees. + +On these things the fair-haired Southern woman looked, and if her eye +dimmed and her pale lip quivered there was nobody to see. And after a +little while she went into the house, slowly, head held high, black +skirt lifted, just clearing the threshold of her ancestors. + +Then the Special Messenger, head hanging, wheeled her horse and rode +slowly back to Osage Court House. + +She passed the Colonel, who was dismounting just outside his tent, and +saluted him without enthusiasm: + +"The leak is stopped, sir. Miss Carryl is going to Sandy River; John +Deal is on his way. They won't come back--and, Colonel, won't you give +special orders that her house is not to be disturbed? She is an old +school friend." + +The Colonel stared at her incredulously. + +"I'm afraid you still have your doubts about that leak, sir." + +"Yes, I have." + +She dismounted wearily; an orderly took her horse, and without a word +she and the Colonel entered the tent. + +"They used bees for messengers," she said; "that was the leak." + +"Bees?" + +"Honey bees, Colonel." + +For a whole minute he was silent, then burst out: + +"Good God! _Bees!_ And if such a--an extraordinary performance were +possible how did _you_ guess it?" + +"Oh," she said patiently, "I used them that way when I was a little +girl. Bees, like pigeons, go back to their homes. Look, sir! Here, in +order, are the dispatches, each traced in cipher on a tiny roll of +tissue. They were tied to the bees' thighs." + +[Transcriber's Note: in the following cyphers, subscripted numerals +and special symbols are contained in curly brackets, like this: {3}] + +And she spread them out in order under his amazed eyes; and this is what +he saw when she pieced them together for him: + + EIO{2}W{2} x I{8}W{3} {triangle} NI{7}W{3} x + OII{6}I{5}W{3} x ENI{7}I{7}I{4}I{8}I{5}O{2} + N x I{7}IE x I{4}O{2}I{2} x + N x HI{5} x IO{2}E x + N x O x E x WNW{3} x + W x I{8}E{3}XHN {crescent} x + L x I{3} O{2}XW{3}I{5}W{3}NW{2} x + + I{4}I{2} x I{8}W{3}I{7}I{4}LI x NW{3}x + I{5}O{2}HI x O{2}I{4}EI{3}W{3} x + HNI{7}I{7} {circle+} W{2} + +"That's all very well," he said, "but how about this hieroglyphic? Do +you think anybody on earth is capable of reading such a thing?" + +"Why not?" + +"Can _you_?" + +"All such ciphers are solved by the same method.... Yes, Colonel, I can +read it very easily." + +"Well, would you mind doing so?" + +"Not in the slightest, sir. The key is extremely simple. I will show +you." And she picked up pencil and paper and wrote: + + One + Two + Three + Four + Five + Six + Seven + Eight + Nine + Ten + Eleven + Twelve + Thirteen + Fourteen + Fifteen + Sixteen + Seventeen + Eighteen + Nineteen + Twenty + +"Now," she said, "taking the second letter in each word, we can parallel +that column thus: + + N equals the letter A + W equals the letter B + H equals the letter C + O equals the letter D + I equals the letter E + +"Then, in the word _six_ we have the letter _I_ again as the second +letter, so we call it I{2}. And, continuing, we have: + + I{2} equals the letter F + E equals the letter G + I{3} equals the letter H + I{4} equals the letter I + E{2} equals the letter J + L equals the letter K + W{2} equals the letter L + H{2} equals the letter M + O{2} equals the letter N + I{5} equals the letter O + I{6} equals the letter P + E{3} equals the letter Q + I{7} equals the letter R + I{8} equals the letter S + W{3} equals the letter T + +"Now, using these letters for the symbols in the cipher: + + EIO{2}W{2} x I{8}W{3} {triangle} NI{7}W{3} x + OII{6}I{5}W{3} x ENI{7}I{7}I{4}I{8}I{5}O{2} + N x I{7}IE x I{4}O{2}I{2} x + N x HI{5} x IO{2}E x + N x O x E x WNW{3} x + W x I{8}E{3}XHN {crescent} x + L x I{3} O{2}XW{3}I{5}W{3}NW{2} x + + I{4}I{2} x I{8}W{3}I{7}I{4}LI x NW{3}x + I{5}O{2}HI x O{2}I{4}EI{3}W{3} x + HNI{7}I{7} {circle+} W{2} + +"We translate it freely thus, and I'll underline only the words in the +cipher: + + Gen'l Stuart (Sandy River?) + + (The present) Depot Garrison (of Osage Court House is) + One Reg(iment) (of) Inf(antry) + One Co(mpany of) Eng(ineers) + One Four G(un) Bat(tery) + Two Sq(uadrons) (of) Cav(alry) + Eleven Hun(dred men) Total + If (you) strike (strike) at once (and at) night! + + (Signed) Carryl. + +"Do you see, Colonel, how very simple it is, after all?" + +The Colonel, red and astounded, hung over the paper, laboriously +verifying the cipher and checking off each symbol with its alphabetical +equivalent. + +"What's that mark?" he demanded; "this symbol----" + +"It stands for the letter U, sir." + +"How do you know?" + +The Messenger, seated sideways on the camp table, one small foot +swinging, looked down and bit her lip. + +"Must I tell you?" + +"As you please. And I'll say now that your solving this intricate and +devilish cipher is, to me, a more utterly amazing performance than the +rebel use of bees as messengers." + +She shook her head slowly. + +"It need not amaze you.... I was born in Sandy River.... And in happier +times--when my parents were living--I spent the school vacations +there.... We had always kept bees.... There was--in those days--a boy. +We were very young and--romantic. We exchanged vows--and bees--and +messages in cipher.... I knew this cipher as soon as I saw it. I +invented it--long ago--for him and me." + +"W-well," stammered the bewildered Colonel, "I don't see how----" + +"I do, sir. Our girl and boy romance was a summer dream. One day he +dreamed truer. So did the beautiful Miss Carryl.... And the pretty game +I invented for him he taught in turn to his fiancée.... Well, he died in +The Valley.... And I have just given his fiancée her passport. It would +be very kind of you to station a guard at the Carryl place for its +protection. Would you mind giving the order, sir?... _He_ is buried +there." + +The Colonel, hands clasped behind him, walked to the tent door. + +"Yes," he said, "I'll give the order." + +A few moments later the drums of the Bucktails began beating the +assembly. + + + + +VII + +THE PASS + + +Her map, which at headquarters was supposed to be reliable, had grossly +misled her; the road bore east instead of north, dwindling, as she +advanced, to a rocky path among the foothills. She had taken the wrong +turn at the forks; there was nothing to direct her any farther--no +landmarks except the general trend of the watercourse, and the dull +cinders of sunset fading to ashes in the west. + +It was impossible now to turn back; Carrick's flying column must be +very close on her heels by this time--somewhere yonder in the dusk, +paralleling her own course, with only a dark curtain of forest +intervening. + +So all that evening, and far into the starlit night, she struggled +doggedly forward, leading her lamed horse over the mountain, dragging +him through laurel thickets, tangles of azalea and rhododendron, +thrashing across the swift mountain streams that tumbled out of starry, +pine-clad heights, foaming athwart her trail with the rushing sound of +forest winds. + +For a while the clear radiance of the stars lighted the looming +mountains; but when wastes of naked rock gave place to ragged woods, +lakes and pits of darkness spread suddenly before her; every gully, +every ravine brimmed level with treacherous shadows, masking the sheer +fall of rock plunging downward into fathomless depths. + +Again and again, as she skirted the unseen edges of destruction, chill +winds from unsuspected deeps halted her; she dared not light the +lantern, dared not halt, dared not even hesitate. And so, fighting down +terror, she toiled on, dragging her disabled horse, until, just before +dawn, the exhausted creature refused to stir another foot. + +Desperate, breathless, trembling on the verge of exhaustion, with the +last remnants of nervous strength she stripped saddle and bridle from +the animal; then her nerves gave way and she buried her face against her +horse's reeking, heaving shoulders. + +"I've got to go on, dear," she whispered; "I'll try to come back to +you.... See what a pretty stream this is," she added, half hysterically, +"and such lots of fresh, sweet grass.... Oh, my little horse--my little +horse! I'm so tired--so tired!" + +The horse turned his gentle head, mumbling her shoulder with soft, dusty +lips; she stifled a sob, lifted saddle, saddlebags, and bridle and +carried them up the rocky bank of the stream to a little hollow. Here +she dropped them, unstrapped her revolver and placed it with them, then +drew from the saddlebags a homespun gown, sunbonnet, and a pair of +coarse shoes, and laid them out on the moss. + +Fatigue rendered her limbs unsteady; her fingers twitched as she fumbled +with button and buckle, but at last spurred boots, stockings, jacket, +and dusty riding skirt fell from her; undergarments dropped in a circle +around her bare feet; she stepped out of them, paused to twist up her +dark hair tightly, then, crossing the moss to the stream's edge, picked +her way out among the boulders to the brimming rim of a pool. + +In the exquisite shock of the water the blood whipped her skin; fatigue +vanished through the crystal magic; shoulder-deep she waded, +crimson-cheeked, then let herself drift, afloat, stretching out in +ecstasy until every aching muscle thrilled with the delicious reaction. + +Overhead, tree swallows darted through a sky of pink and saffron, +pulsating with the promise of the sun; the tinted peak of a mountain, +jaggedly mirrored in the unquiet pool, suddenly glowed crimson, and the +reflections ran crisscross through the rocking water, lacing it with +fiery needles. + +She looked like some delicate dawn-sprite as she waded ashore--a +slender, unreal shape in the rosy glow, while behind her, from the dim +ravine, ghosts of the mountain mist floated, rising like a company of +slim, white angels drifting to the sky. + +All around her now the sweet, bewildered murmur of purple martins grew +into sustained melody; thrush and mocking bird, thrasher and cardinal, +sang from every leafy slope; and through the rushing music of bird and +pouring waterfall the fairy drumming of the cock-o'-the-pines rang out +in endless, elfin reveille. + +While she was managing to dry herself and dress, her horse limped off +into the grassy swale below to drink in the stream and feed among the +tender grasses. + +Before she drew on the homespun gown she tucked her linen map into an +inner skirt pocket, flat against her right thigh; then, fastening on the +shabby skirt, she rolled up her riding habit, laid it with lantern, +revolver, saddle, bridle, boots, and bags, in the hollow and covered all +over with heaps of fragrant dead leaves and branches. It was the best +she could do, and the time was short. + +Her horse raised his wise, gentle head, and looked across the stream at +her as she hastened past, then limped stiffly toward her. + +"Oh, I can't stand it if you hobble after me!" she wailed under her +breath. "Dearest--dearest--I will surely come back to you. +Good-by--good-by!" + +On the crest of the ridge she cast one swift, tearful glance behind. +The horse, evidently feeling better, was rolling in the grass, all four +hoofs waving at the sky. And she laughed through the tears, and drew +from her pockets a morsel of dry bread which she had saved from the +saddlebags. This she nibbled as she walked, taking her bearings from the +sun and the sweep of the southern mountain slopes; and listening, always +listening, for the jingle and clank of the Confederate flying battery +that was surely following along somewhere on that parallel road which +she had missed, hidden from her view only by a curtain of forest, the +width of which she had no time to investigate. Nor did she know for +certain that she had outstripped the Confederate column in the race for +the pass--a desperate race, although the men of that flying column, +which was hastening to turn the pass into a pitfall for the North, had +not the faintest suspicion that the famous Special Messenger was racing +with them to forestall them, or even that their secret was no longer a +secret. + +In hot haste from the south hills she had come to warn Benton's division +of the ambuscade preparing for it, riding by highway and byway, her +heart in her mouth, taking every perilous chance. And now, at the last +moment, here in the West Virginian Mountains, almost within sight of the +pass itself, disaster threatened--the human machine was giving out. + +There were just two chances that Benton might yet be saved--that his +leisurely advance had, by some miracle, already occupied the pass, or, +if not, that she could get through and meet Benton in time to stop him. + +She had been told that there was a cabin at the pass, and that the +mountaineer who lived there was a Union man. + +Thinking of these things as she crossed the ridge, she came suddenly +into full view of the pass. It lay there just below her; there could be +no mistake. A stony road wound along the stream, flanked by forest-clad +heights; she recognized the timber bridge over the ravine, which had +been described to her, the corduroy way across the swamp, the single, +squat cabin crowning a half-cleared hillock. She realized at a glance +the awful trap that this silent, deadly place could be turned into; for +one rushing moment her widening eyes could almost see blue masses of men +in disorder, crushed into that horrible defile; her ears seemed to ring +with their death cries, the rippling roar of rifle fire. Then, with a +sharp, indrawn breath, she hastened forward, taking the descent at a +run. And at the same moment three gray-jacketed cavalrymen cantered into +the road below, crossed the timber bridge at a gallop, and disappeared +in the pass, carbines poised. + +She had arrived a minute too late; the pass was closed! + +Toiling breathlessly up the bushy hillock, crouching, bending, creeping +across the stony open where scant grass grew in a meager garden, she +reached the cabin. It was empty; a fire smoldered under a kettle in +which potatoes were boiling; ash cakes crisped on the hearth, bacon +sizzled in a frying pan set close to the embers. + +But where was the tenant? + +A shout from the road below brought her to the door; then she dropped +flat on her stomach, crawled forward, and looked over the slope. + +A red-haired old man, in his shirt sleeves, carrying a fishing pole, was +running down the road, chased by two gray-jacketed troopers. He ran +well, throwing away his pole and the string of slimy fish he had been +carrying; but, half way across the stream, they rode him down and caught +him, driving their horses straight into the shallow flood; and a few +moments later a fresh squad of cavalry trotted up, forced the prisoner +to mount a led horse, and, surrounding him, galloped rapidly away +southward. + +The Special Messenger lay perfectly still and flat, watching, listening, +waiting, coolly alert for a shadow of a chance to slip out and through +the pass; but there was to be no such chance now, for a dozen troopers +came into view, running their lean horses at top speed, and wheeled +straight into the pass. A full squadron followed, their solid galloping +waking clattering echoes among the rocks. Then her delicate ears caught +a distant, ominous sound--nearer, louder, ringing, thudding, jarring, +pounding--the racket of field artillery arriving at full speed. + +And into sight dashed a flying battery, guns and limbers bouncing and +thumping, whips cracking, chains crashing, the six-horse teams on a dead +run. + +An officer drew bridle and threw his horse on its haunches; the first +team rushed on to the pass with a clash and clank of wheels and chains, +swung wide in a demi-tour, dropped a dully glistening gun, and then came +trampling back. The second, third, and fourth teams, guns and caissons, +swerved to the right of the hillock and came plunging up the bushy +slope, horses straining and scrambling, trampling through the wretched +garden to the level grass above. + +One by one the gun teams swung in a half circle, each dropped its +mud-spattered gun, the cannoneers sprang to unhook the trails, the +frantic, half-maddened horses were lashed to the rear. + +The Special Messenger rose quietly to her feet, and at the same instant +a passing cannoneer turned and saw her in the doorway. + +"Hey!" he exclaimed; "what you doin' thar?" + +A very young major, spurring up the slope, caught sight of her, too. + +"This won't do!" he began excitedly, pushing his sweating horse up to +the door. "I'm sorry, but it won't do--" He hesitated, perplexed, eyeing +this slim, dark-eyed girl, who stood as though dazed there in her ragged +homespun and naked feet. + +Colonel Carrick, passing at a canter, turned in his saddle, calling out: + +"Major Kent! Keep that woman here! It's too late to send her back." + +The boy-major saluted, then turned to the girl again: + +"Who are you?" he asked, vexed. + +She seemed unable to reply. + +A cannoneer said respectfully: + +"Reckon the li'l gal's jes' natch'ally skeered o' we-uns, Major, seein' +how the caval'y ketched her paw down thar in the crick." + +The Major said briefly: + +"Your father is a Union man, but nobody is going to hurt him. I'd send +you to the rear, too, but there's no time now. Please go in and shut +that door. I'll see that nobody disturbs you." + +As she was closing the door the young Major called after her: + +"Where's the well?" + +As she did not know she only stared at him as though terrified. + +"All right," he said, more gently. "Don't be frightened. I'll come back +and talk to you in a little while." + +As she shut the door she saw the cannon at the pass limber up, wheel, +and go bumping up the hill to rejoin its bespattered fellows on the +knoll. + +An artilleryman came along and dropped a bundle of picks and shovels +which he was carrying to the gunners, who had begun the emplacements; +the boyish Major dismounted, subduing his excitement with a dignified +frown; and for a while he was very fussy and very busy, aiding the +battery captain in placing the guns and verifying the depression. + +The position of the masked battery was simply devilish; every gun, +hidden completely in the oak-scrub, was now trained on the pass. + +Opposite, across the stream, long files of gray infantry were moving to +cover among the trees; behind, a battalion arrived to support the guns; +below, the cavalry had begun to leave the pass; troopers, dismounted, +were carefully removing from the road all traces of their arrival. + +Leaning there by the window, the Special Messenger counted the returning +fours as troop after troop retired southward and disappeared around the +bend of the road. + +For a while the picks and shovels of the gunners sounded noisily; +concealed riflemen, across the creek, were also busy intrenching. But +by noon all sound had ceased in the sunny ravine; there was nothing to +be seen from below; not a human voice echoed; not a pick-stroke; only +the sweet, rushing sound of the stream filled the silence; only the +shadows of the branches moved. + +Warned again by the sentinels to close the battered window and keep the +door shut, she still watched the gunners, through the dirty window +panes, where they now lay under the bushes beside their guns. There was +no conversation among them; some of the artillerymen seemed to be +asleep; some sprawled belly-deep in the ferns, chewing twigs or idly +scraping holes in the soil; a few lay about, eating the remnants of the +morning's scanty rations, chewing strips of bacon rind, and licking the +last crumbs from the palms of their grimy hands. + +Along the bush-hidden parapet of earth, heaps of ammunition +lay--cannister and common shell. She recognized these, and, with a +shudder, a long row of smaller projectiles on which soldiers were +screwing copper caps--French hand grenades, brought in by blockade +runners, and fashioned to explode on impact--so close was to be the +coming slaughter of her own people in the road below. + +Toward one o'clock the gunners were served noon rations. She watched +them eating for a while, then, nerveless, turned back into the single +room of the cabin and opened the rear door--so gently and noiselessly +that the boyish staff-major who was seated on the sill did not glance +around until she spoke, asking his permission to remain there. + +"You mustn't open that door," he said, looking up, surprised by the +sweetness of the voice which he heard now for the first time. + +"How can anybody see me from the pass?" she asked innocently. "That is +what you are afraid of, isn't it?" + +He shot a perplexed and slightly suspicious glance at her, then the +frowning importance faded from his beardless face; he bit a piece out of +the soggy corncake he was holding and glanced up at her again, amiably +conscious of her attractions; besides, her voice and manner had been a +revelation. Evidently her father had had her educated at some valley +school remote from these raw solitudes. + +So he smiled at her, quite willing to be argued with and entertained; +and at his suggestion she shyly seated herself on the sill outside in +the sunlight. + +"Have you lived here long?" he asked encouragingly. + +"Not very," she said, eyes downcast, her clasped hands lying loosely +over one knee. The soft, creamy-tinted fingers occupied his attention +for a moment; the hand resembled the hand of "quality"; so did the ankle +and delicate arch of her naked foot, half imprisoned in the coarse shoe +under her skirt's edge. + +He had often heard that some of these mountaineers had pretty children; +here, evidently, was a most fascinating example. + +"Is your mother living?" he asked pleasantly. + +"No, sir." + +He thought to himself that she must resemble her dead mother, because +the man whom the cavalry had caught in the creek was a coarse-boned, +red-headed ruffian, quite impossible to reconcile as the father of this +dark-haired, dark-eyed, young forest creature, with her purely-molded +limbs and figure and sensitive fashion of speaking. He turned to her +curiously: + +"So you have not always lived here on the mountain." + +"No, not always." + +"I suppose you spent a whole year away from home at boarding-school," he +suggested with patronizing politeness. + +"Yes, six years at Edgewood," she said in a low voice. + +"What?" he exclaimed, repeating the name of the most fashionable +Southern institute for young ladies. "Why, I had a sister +there--Margaret Kent. Were _you_ there? And did you ever--er--see my +sister?" + +"I knew her," said the Special Messenger absently. + +He was very silent for a while, thinking to himself. + +"It must have been her mother; that measly old man we caught in the +creek is 'poor white' all through." And, munching thoughtfully again on +his soggy corncake, he pondered over the strange fate of this +fascinating young girl, fashioned to slay the hearts of Southern +chivalry--so young, so sweet, so soft of voice and manner, condemned to +live life through alone in this shaggy solitude--fated, doubtless, to +mate with some loose, lank, shambling, hawk-eyed rustic of the +peaks--doomed to bear sickly children, and to fade and dry and wither in +the full springtide of her youth and loveliness. + +"It's too bad," he said fretfully, unconscious that he spoke aloud, +unaware, too, that she had risen and was moving idly, with bent head, +among the weeds of the truck garden--edging nearer, nearer, to a dark, +round object about the size of a small apple, which had rolled into a +furrow where the ground was all cut up by the wheel tracks of artillery +and hoofs of heavy horses. + +There was scarcely a chance that she could pick it up unobserved; her +ragged skirts covered it; she bent forward as though to tie her shoe, +but a sentinel was watching her, so she straightened up carelessly and +stood, hands on her hips, dragging one foot idly to and fro, until she +had covered the small, round object with sand and gravel. + +That object was a loaded French hand grenade, fitted with percussion +primer; and it lay last at the end of a long row of similar grenades +along the shaded side of the house. + +The sentry in the bushes had been watching her; and now he came out +along the edge of the laurel tangle, apparently to warn her away, but +seeing a staff officer so near her he halted, satisfied that authority +had been responsible for her movements. Besides, he had not noticed that +a grenade was missing; neither had the major, who now rose and sauntered +toward her, balancing his field glasses in one hand. + +"There's ammunition under these bushes," he said pleasantly; "don't go +any nearer, please. Those grenades _might_ explode if anyone stumbled +over them. They're bad things to handle." + +"Will there be a battle here?" she asked, recoiling from the deadly +little bombs. + +The Major said, stroking the down on his short upper lip: + +"There will probably be a skirmish. I do not dare let you leave this +spot till the first shot is fired. But as soon as you hear it you had +better run as fast as you can"--he pointed with his field glasses--"to +that little ridge over there, and lie down behind the rocks on the other +side. Do you understand?" + +"Yes--I think so." + +"And you'll lie there very still until it is--over?" + +"I understand. May I go immediately and hide there?" + +"Not yet," he said gently. + +"Why?" + +"Because your father is a Union man.... And you are Union, too, are you +not?" + +"Yes," she said, smiling; "are you afraid of me?" + +A slight flush stained his smooth, sunburnt skin; then he laughed. + +"A little afraid," he admitted; "I find you dangerous, but not in the +way you mean. I--I do not mean to offend you----" + +But she smiled audaciously at him, looking prettier than ever; and his +heart gave a surprised little jump at her unsuspected capabilities. + +"Why are you afraid of me?" she asked, looking at him with her engaging +little smile. In her eyes a bewitching brightness sparkled, partly +veiled by the long lashes; and she laughed again, poised there in the +sunshine, hands on her hips, delicately provoking his reply. + +And, crossing the chasm which her coquetry had already bridged, he paid +her the quick, reckless, boyish compliment she invited--a little +flowery, perhaps, possibly a trifle stilted, but very Southern; and she +shrugged like a spoiled court beauty, nose uptilted, and swept him with +a glance from half-closed lids, almost insolent. + +The sentry in the holly and laurel thicket stared hard at them both. And +he saw his major break off a snowy Cherokee rose and, bending at his +slim, sashed waist, present the blossom with the courtly air inbred +through many generations; and he saw a ragged mountaineer girl accept it +with all the dainty and fastidious mockery of a coquette of the golden +age, and fasten it where her faded bodice edged the creamy skin of her +breast. + +What the young major said to her after that, bending nearer and nearer, +the sentry could not hear, for the major's voice was very low, and the +slow, smiling reply was lower still. + +But the major straightened as though he had been shot through and +through, and bowed and walked away among the weeds toward a group of +officers under the trees, who were steadily watching the pass through +their leveled field glasses. + +Once the major turned around to look back: once she turned on the +threshold. Her cheeks were pinker; her eyes sparkled. + +The emotions of the Special Messenger were very genuine and rather +easily excited. + +But when she had closed the door, and leaned wearily against it, the +color soon faded from her face and the sparkle died out in her dark +eyes. Pale, alert, intelligent, she stood there minute after minute, +searching the single room with anxious, purposeless eyes; then, driven +into restless motion by the torturing tension of anxiety, she paced the +loose boards like a tigress, up and down, head lowered, hands clasped +against her mouth, worrying the fingers with the edge of her teeth. + +Outside, through the dirty window glass, she could see sentries in the +bushes, all looking steadily in the same direction; groups of officers +under the trees still focused their glasses on the pass. By and by she +saw some riflemen in butternut jeans climb into trees, rifles slung +across their backs, and disappear far up in the foliage, still climbing. + +Toward five o'clock, as she was eating the bacon and hoe cakes which she +had found in the hut, two infantry officers opened the door, stared at +her, then, without ceremony, drew a rough ladder from the corner, set +it outside, and the older officer climbed to the roof. + +She heard him call down to the lieutenant below: + +"No use; I can't see any better up here.... They ought to set a signal +man on that rock, yonder!" + +Other officers came over; one or two spoke respectfully to her, but she +did not answer. Finally they all cleared out; and she dragged a bench to +the back door, which swung open a little way, and, alert against +surprise, very cautiously drew from the inner pocket her linen contour +map and studied it, glancing every second or two out through the crack +in the door. + +Nobody disturbed her; with hesitating forefinger she traced out what +pretended to be a path dominating the northern entrance of the pass, +counted the watercourses and gullies crossing the ascent, tried to fix +the elevations in her mind. + +As long as she dared she studied the soiled map, but, presently, a quick +shadow fell across the threshold, and she thrust the map into the +concealed pocket and sprang to open the door. + +"Coming military events cast foreboding shadows," she said, somewhat +breathless. + +"Am I a foreboding and military event?" asked the youthful major, +laughing. "What do I threaten, please?" + +"Single combat," she said demurely, smiling at him under half-veiled +lids. And the same little thrill passed through him again, and the quick +color rose to his smooth, sunburnt face. + +"I was ready to beat a retreat on sight," he said; "now I surrender." + +"I make no prisoners," she replied in airy disdain. + +"You give no quarter?" + +"None.... Why did you come back?" + +"You said I might." + +"Did I? I had quite forgotten what I had said to you. When are you going +to let me go?" + +His face fell and he looked up at her, troubled. + +"I'm afraid you don't understand," he said. "We dare not send you away +under escort now, because horses' feet make a noise, and some prowling +Yankee vidette may be at this very moment hanging about the pass----" + +"Oh," she said, "you prefer to let me remain here and be shot?" + +He said, reddening: "At the first volley you are to go with an escort +across the ridge. I told you that, didn't I?" + +But she remained scornful, mute and obstinate, pretty head bent, +twisting the folds of her faded skirt. + +"Do you think I would let you remain here if there were any danger?" he +asked in a lower voice. + +"How long am I to be kept here?" she asked pettishly. + +"Until the Yankees come through--and I can't tell you when that will be, +because I don't know myself." + +"Are they in the pass?" + +"We don't know. Everybody is beginning to be worried. We can't see very +far into that ravine----" + +"Then why don't you go where you _can_ see?" she said with a shrug. + +"Where?" he asked, surprised. + +"Didn't you know that there is a path above the pass?" + +"A path!" + +"Certainly. I can show you if you wish. You ought to be able to see to +the north end of the pass--if I am not mistaken----" + +"Wait a moment!" he said excitedly. "I want you to take me there--just a +second, to speak to those officers--I'm coming back immediately----" + +And he started on a run across the ravaged garden, holding his sabre +close, midway, by the scabbard. + +That was her chance. Picking up her faded sunbonnet, she stepped from +the threshold, swinging it carelessly by one string. The sentries were +looking after the major; she dropped her sunbonnet, stooped to recover +it, and straightened up, the hidden hand grenade slipping from the crown +of the bonnet into her bodice between her breasts. + +A thousand eyes seemed watching her as, a trifle pale, she strolled on +aimlessly, swinging the recovered sunbonnet; she listened, shivering, +for the stern challenge to halt, the breathless shout of accusation, the +pursuing trample of heavy boots. And at last, quaking in every limb, she +ventured to lift her eyes. Nobody seemed to be looking her way; the +artillery pickets were still watching the pass; the group of officers +posted under the trees still focused their glasses in that direction; +the young major was already returning across the garden toward her. + +[Illustration: "She dropped her sunbonnet--stooped to recover it."] + +A sharp throb of hope set her pulses bounding--she had, safe in her +bosom, the means of warning her own people now; all she needed was a +safe-conduct from that knoll, and here it was coming, brought by this +eager, boyish officer, hastening so blithely toward her, his long, dark +shadow clinging like death to his spurred heels as he ran. + +Would she guide him to some spot where it was possible to see the whole +length of the pass? + +She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and turned, he at her side, +into the woods. + +If her map was not betraying her once more the path _must_ follow the +edges of the pass, high up among those rocks and trees somewhere. There +was only one way of finding it--to climb upward to the overhanging +ledges. + +Raising her eyes toward the leafy heights, it seemed to her incredible +that any path could lead along that wall of rock, which leaned outward +over the ravine. + +But somehow she must mount there; somehow she must manage to remain +there unmolested, ready, the moment a single Union vidette cantered +into the pass, to hurl her explosive messenger into the depths below--a +startling but unmistakable signal to the blue column advancing so +unsuspiciously into that defile of hell. + +As they climbed upward together through the holly-scrub she remembered +that she must not slip, for the iron weight in her bosom would endure no +rough caress from rock or earth. + +How heavy it was--how hot and rough, chafing her body--this little iron +sphere, with a dozen deaths sealed up inside! + +Toiling upward, planting her roughly shod feet with fearful precision, +she tried to imagine what it would be like if the tiny bomb in her bosom +exploded--tried to picture her terrified soul tearing skyward out of +bodily annihilation. + +"It is curious," she thought with a slight shudder, "how afraid I always +am--how deeply, deeply afraid of death. God knows why I go on." + +The boy beside her found the ascent difficult; spur and sabre impeded +him; once he lurched heavily against her, and his quick, stammered +apology was cut short by the dreadful pallor of her face, for she was +deadly afraid of the bomb. + +"Did I hurt you?" he faltered, impulsively laying his hand on her arm. + +She shivered and shook off his hand, forcing a gay smile. And they went +on together, upward, always upward, her pretty, provocative eyes meeting +his at intervals, her heart beating faster, death at her breast. + +He was a few yards ahead when he called back to her in a low, warning +voice that he had found a path, and she hastened up the rocks to where +he stood. + +Surely here was a trail winding along the very edge of the ledges, under +masses of overhanging rock--some dizzy runway of prehistoric man, +perhaps trodden, too, by wolf and panther, and later by the lank +mountaineer hunter or smuggler creeping to some eerie unsuspected by any +living creature save, perhaps, the silver-headed eagles soaring through +the fathomless azure vault above. + +Below, the pass lay; but they could see no farther into it at first. +However, as they advanced cautiously, clinging to the outjutting cliff, +which seemed maliciously striving to push them out into space, by +degrees crag and trail turned westward and more of the pass came into +view--a wide, smooth cleft in the mountain, curving away toward the +north. + +A few steps more and the trail ended abruptly in a wide, grassy space +set with trees, sloping away gently to the west, chopped off sheer to +the east, where it terminated in a mossy shelf overlooking the ravine. + +Only a few rods away the dusk of the pass was cut by a glimmer of +sunlight; it was the northern entrance. + +Something else was glimmering there, too; dozens of dancing points of +white fire--sunshine on buckle, button, bit and sabre. And the officer +beside her uttered a low, fierce cry and jerked his field glasses free +from the case. + +"Their cavalry!" he breathed. "The Yankees are entering the pass, so +help me God!" And he drew his revolver. + +So help him God! Something dark and round flew across his line of +vision, curving out into space, dropping, dropping into the depths +below. A clattering report, a louder racket as the rocky echoes, +crossing and recrossing, struck back at the clamoring cliffs. + +[Illustration: "White-faced, desperate, she clung to him with the +tenacity of a lynx."] + +_So help him God!_ Half stunned, he stumbled to his feet, his dazed eyes +still blurred with a vision of horsemen, vaguely seen through vapors, +stampeding northward; and, at the same instant, she sprang at him, +striking the drawn revolver from his hand, tearing the sabre free and +flinging it into the gulf. White-faced, desperate, she clung to him with +the tenacity of a lynx, winding her lithe limbs around and under his, +tripping him to his knees. + +Over and over they rolled, struggling in the grass, twisting, straining, +slipping down the westward slope. + +"You--devil!" he panted, as her dark eyes flashed level with his. "I've +got--you--anyhow----" + +Her up-flung elbow, flexed like a steel wedge, caught him in the throat; +they fell over the low ridge, writhing in each other's embrace, down the +slope, over and over, faster, faster--crack!--his head struck a ledge, +and he straightened out, quivering, then lay very, very still and heavy +in her arms. + +Fiercely excited, she tore strips from her skirt, twisted them, forced +him over on his face, and tied his wrists fast. + +Then, leaving him inert there on the moss, she ran back for his +revolver, found it, opened it, made certain that the cylinder was full, +and, flinging one last glance down the pass, hastened to her prisoner. + +Her prisoner opened his eyes; the dark bruise on his forehead was +growing redder and wetter. + +"Stand up!" she said, cocking her weapon. + +The boy, half stupefied, struggled to his knees, then managed to rise. + +"Go forward along that path!" + +For a full minute he stood erect, motionless, eyes fixed on her; then +shame stained him to the temples; he turned, head bent, and walked +forward, wrists tightly tied behind him. + +And behind him, weapon swinging, followed the Special Messenger in her +rags, pallid, disheveled, her dark eyes dim with pity. + + + + +VIII + +EVER AFTER + + --And they married, and had many children, and + lived happy ever after.--Old Tales + + +For two days the signal flags had been talking to each other; for two +nights the fiery torches had been conversing about that beleaguered city +in the South. + +Division after division, corps after corps, were moving forward; miles +of wagons, miles of cavalry in sinuous columns unending, blackened every +valley road. Later, the heavy Parrots and big Dahlgrens of the siege +train stirred in their parked lethargy, and, enormous muzzles tilted, +began to roll out through the valley in heavy majesty, shaking the +ground as they passed, guarded by masses of red artillerymen. + +Day after day crossed cannon flapped on red and white guidons; day after +day the teams of powerful horses, harnessed in twenties, trampled +through the valley, headed south. + +Off the sandy headland a Federal gunboat lay at anchor, steam up--a +blackened, chunky, grimy thing of timber and iron plates, streaked with +rust, smoke blowing horizontally from her funnels. And day after day she +consulted hill and headland with her kaleidoscopic strings of flags; and +headland and hill talked back with fluttering bunting by day and with +torches of fire by night. + +From her window in the emergency hospital the Special Messenger could +see those flags as she sat pensively sewing. Sometimes she mended the +remnants of her silken stockings and the last relics of the fine under +linen left her; sometimes she scraped lint or sewed poultice bandages, +or fashioned havelocks for regiments southward bound. + +She had grown slimmer, paler, of late; her beautiful hair had been +sheared close; her head, covered with thick, clustering curls, was like +the shapely head of a boy. Limbs and throat were still smooth and round, +but had become delicate almost to leanness. + +The furlough she had applied for had not yet arrived; she seemed to +remain as hopelessly entangled in the web of war as ever, watching, +without emotion, the old spider. Death, busy all around her, tireless, +sinister, absorbed in his own occult affairs. + +The routine varied but little: at dawn surgeons' call chorused by the +bugles; files of haggard, limping, clay-faced men, headed by sergeants, +all converging toward the hospital; later, in every camp, drums awaking; +distant strains of regimental bands at parade; and all day and all night +the far rumble of railroad trains, the whistle of locomotives, and, if +the wind veered, the faint, melancholy cadence of the bells swinging for +a clear track and right of way. + +Sometimes, sewing by the open window, she thought of her brother, now +almost thirteen--thought, trembling, of his restless letters from his +Northern school, demanding of her that he be permitted to take his part +in war for the Union, begging to be enlisted at least as drummer in a +nine-months' regiment which was recruiting within sight of the dormitory +where he fretted over Cæsar and the happy warriors of the Tenth Legion. + +Sometimes, mending the last shreds of her cambric finery, she thought of +her girlhood, of the white porches at Sandy River; and always, always, +the current of her waking dream swung imperceptibly back to that swift +crisis in her life--a flash of love--love at the first glance--a word! +and his regiment, sabres glittering, galloping pell-mell into the +thundering inferno between the hills.... And sunset; and the wounded +passing by wagon loads, piled in the blood-soaked hay; and the glimpse +of his limp gold-and-yellow sleeve--and her own white bed, and her lover +of a day lying there--dead---- + +At this point in the dream-tale her eyes usually became too dim to see +the stitches, and there was nothing to do except to wait until the tired +eyes were dry again. + +The sentry on duty knocked, opened the door, and admitted a +weather-stained aide-de-camp, warning her respectfully: + +"Orders for you, ma'am." + +The Special Messenger cleared her eyes, breathing unevenly, and unsealed +the dispatch which the officer handed her. + +When she read it she opened a door and called sharply to a hospital +orderly, who came running: + +"Fit me with a rebel cavalry uniform--you've got that pile of +disinfected clothing in the basement. I also want one of our own cavalry +uniforms to wear over it--anything that has been cleaned. Quick, +Williams; I've only a few minutes to saddle! And bring me that bundle of +commissions taken from the rebel horsemen that were brought in +yesterday." + +And to the mud-splashed aide-de-camp who stood waiting, looking out of +the window at the gunboat which was now churning in toward the wharf, +billows of inky smoke pouring from the discolored stacks: + +"Please tell the general that I go aboard in half an hour. Tell him I'll +do my best." In a lower voice: "Ask him not to forget my brother--if +matters go wrong with me. He has given me his word.... And I think that +is all, thank you." + +The A.-D.-C. said, standing straight, hollow-backed, spurred heels +together: + +"Orders are verbally modified, madam." + +"What?" + +"If you do not care to go--it is not an order--merely a matter of +volunteering.... The general makes no question of your courage if you +choose to decline." + +She said, looking at the officer a little wearily: + +"Thank the general. It will give me much pleasure to fulfill his +request. Ask him to bear my brother in mind; that is all." + +The A.-D.-C. bowed to her, cap in hand, then went out, making +considerable racket with sabre and boots. + +Half an hour later a long, deep, warning blast from the gunboat's +whistle set the echoes flying through the hills. + +Aboard, leading her horse, the Special Messenger, booted and spurred, in +a hybrid uniform of a subaltern of regulars, handed the bridle to a +sailor and turned to salute the quarterdeck. + + * * * * * + +The United States gunboat, _Kiowa_, dropped anchor at the railroad wharf +two days later, and ran out a blackened gangplank. Over it the Special +Messenger, wrapped in her rubber cloak, led her horse to shore, mounted, +and galloped toward the hill where the flag of corps headquarters was +flapping in the wet wind. + +The rain ended as she rode inland; ahead of her a double rainbow glowed +and slowly faded to a rosy nimbus. + +Corps headquarters was heavily impressive and paternally polite, +referring her to headquarters of the unattached cavalry division. + +She remounted, setting her horse at an easy canter for the intervening +two miles, riding through acres of tents and vistas of loaded wagon +trains; and at last an exceedingly ornamental staff officer directed her +to her destination, and a few moments later she dismounted and handed +her bridle to an orderly, whose curiously fashioned forage cap seemed +strangely familiar. + +As the Special Messenger entered his tent and saluted, the colonel of +the Fourth Missouri Cavalry rose from a camp chair, standing over six +feet in his boots. He was magnificently built; his closely clipped hair +was dark and curly, his skin smoothly bronzed and flushed at the cheek +bones; his allure that of a very splendid and grave and youthful god, +save for the gayly impudent uptwist of his short mustache and the +stilled humor in his steady eyes. + +His uniform was entirely different from the regulation--he wore a blue +forage cap with short, heavy visor of unpolished leather shadowing the +bridge of his nose; his dark blue jacket was shell-cut; over it he wore +a slashed dolman trimmed at throat, wrists and edges with fur; his +breeches were buff; his boots finished at the top with a yellow cord +forming a heart-shaped knot in front; at his heels trailed the most +dainty and rakish of sabres, light, graceful, curved almost like a +scimiter. + +All this is what the Special Messenger saw as she entered, instantly +recognizing a regimental uniform which she had never seen but once +before in her brief life. And straight through her heart struck a pain +swift as a dagger thrust, and her hand in its buckskin gauntlet fell +limply from the peak of her visor, and the color died in her cheeks. + +What the colonel of the Fourth Missouri saw before him was a lad, slim, +rather pale, dark-eyed, swathed to the chin in the folds of a wet +poncho; and he said, examining her musingly and stroking the ends of his +curt mustache upward: + +"I understood from General Sheridan that the Special Messenger was to +report to me. Where is she?" + +The lightning pain of the shock when she recognized the uniform +interfered with breath and speech; confused, she raised her gloved hand +and laid it unconsciously over her heart; and the colonel of the Fourth +Missouri waited. + +"I am the Special Messenger," she said faintly. + +For a moment he scarcely understood that this slender young fellow, with +dark hair as closely clipped and as curly as his own, could be a woman. +Stern surprise hardened his narrowing gaze; he stood silent, handsome +head high, looking down at her; then slowly the latent humor flickered +along the edges of lip and lid, curbed instantly as he bowed, faultless, +handsome--only the persistently upturned mustache impairing the +perfectly detached and impersonal decorum with a warning of the _beau +sabreur_ behind it all. + +"Will you be seated, madam?" + +"Thank you." + +She sat down; the wet poncho was hot and she shifted it, throwing one +end across her shoulder. In her uniform she appeared willowy and slim, +built like a boy, and with nothing of that graceful awkwardness which +almost inevitably betrays such masqueraders. For her limbs were straight +at the knees and faultlessly coupled, and there seemed to be the +adolescent's smooth lack of development in the scarcely accented +hips--only a straightly flowing harmony of proportion--a lad's grace +muscularly undeveloped. + +Two leather straps crossed her breast, one weighted with field glasses, +the other with a pouch. From the latter she drew her credentials and +would have risen to present them, but the colonel of the Fourth Missouri +detained her with a gesture, himself rose, and took the papers from her +hand. + +While he sat reading, she, hands clasped in her lap, gazed at his +well-remembered uniform, busy with her memories once more, and the +sweetness of them--and the pain. + +They were three years old, these memories, now glimmering alive again +amid the whitening ashes of the past; only three years--and centuries +seemed to dim the landmarks and bar the backward path that she was +following to her girlhood! + +She thought of the white-pillared house as it stood at the beginning of +the war; the severing of old ties, the averted faces of old friends and +neighbors; the mortal apprehension, endless suspense; the insurgent +flags fluttering from porch and portico along the still, tree-shaded +street; her own heart-breaking isolation in the community when Sumter +fell--she an orphan, alone there with her brother and bedridden +grandfather. + +And she remembered the agony that followed the news from Bull Run, the +stupor that fell upon her; the awful heat of that battle summer; her +evening prayers, kneeling there beside her brother; the red moons that +rose, enormous, menacing, behind the trees; and the widow bird calling, +calling to the dead that never answer more. + +Her dead? Why _hers_? A chance regiment passing--cavalry wearing the +uniform and number of the Fourth Missouri. Ah! she could see them again, +sun-scorched, dusty, fours crowding on fours, trampling past. She could +see a young girl in white, fastening the long-hidden flag to its +halyards as the evening light faded on the treetops!... And then--and +then--_he_ came--into her life, into her house, into her heart, +alas!--tall, lean, calm-eyed, yellow-haired, wrapped in the folds of his +long, blue mantle!... And she saw him again--a few moments before his +regiment charged into that growling thunder beyond the hills somewhere. + +And a third time, and the last, she saw him, deathly still, lying on her +own bed, and a medical officer pulling the sheet up over his bony face. + + * * * * * + +The colonel of the Fourth Missouri was looking curiously at her; she +started, cleared the dimness from her eyes, and steadied the trembling +underlip. + +After a moment's silence the colonel said: "You undertake this duty +willingly?" + +She nodded, quietly touching her eyes with her handkerchief. + +"There is scarcely a chance for you," he observed with affected +carelessness. + +She lifted her shoulders in weary disdain of that persistent shadow +called danger, which had long since become too familiar to count very +heavily. + +"I am not afraid--if that is what you mean. Do you think you can get me +through?" + +The colonel said coolly: "I expect to do my part. Have you a rebel +uniform?" + +She nodded. + +"Where is it?" + +"On me--under this." + +The colonel looked at her; a slight shudder passed over him. + +"These orders suggest that I start before sunset," he said. "Meanwhile +this tent is yours. My orderly will serve you. The regiment will move +out about sunset with some six hundred sabres and Gray's Rhode Island +flying battery." + +He walked to the tent door; she followed. + +"Is that your horse?" he asked. + +"Yes, Colonel." + +"Fit for the work?" turning to look at her. + +"Yes, sir." + +"And _you_?" + +She smiled; through the open tent a misty bar of sunshine fell across +her face, turning the smooth skin golden. Outside a dismounted trooper +on guard presented his carbine as the tall, young colonel strode out. An +orderly joined him; they stood a moment consulting in whispers, then the +orderly ran for his saddled horse, mounted, and rode off through the +lanes of the cavalry camp. + +From the tent door the Special Messenger looked out into the camp. Under +the base of a grassy hill hundreds of horses were being watered at a +brook now discolored by the recent rains; beyond, on a second knoll, the +guns of a flying battery stood parked. She could see the red trimmings +on the gunners' jackets as they were lounging about in the grass. + +The view from the tent door was extensive; a division, at least, lay +encamped within range of the eye; two roads across the hills were full +of wagons moving south and east; along another road, stretching far into +the valley, masses of cavalry were riding--apparently an entire +brigade--but too far away for her to hear the trample of the horses. + +From where she stood, however, she could make out the course of a fourth +road by the noise of an endless, moving column of horses. At times, +above the hillside, she could see their heads, and the enormous +canvas-covered muzzles of siege guns; and the racket of hoofs, the +powerful crunching and grinding of wheels, the cries of teamsters united +in a dull, steady uproar that never ceased. + +From their camp, troopers of the Fourth Missouri were idly watching the +artillery passing--hundreds of sunburned cavalrymen seated along the +hillside, feet dangling, exchanging gibes and jests with the drivers of +the siege train below. But from where she stood she could see nothing +except horses' heads tossing, blue caps of mounted men, a crimson guidon +flapping, or the sun glittering on the slender, curved blade of some +officer's sabre as he signaled. + +North, east, west, south--the whole land seemed to be covered with +moving men and beasts and wagons; flags fluttered on every eminence; +tents covered plowed fields, pastures, meadows; smoke hung over all, +crowning the green woods with haze, veiling hollows, rolling along the +railway in endless, yellow billows. + +The rain had washed the sky clean, but again this vast, advancing host +was soiling heaven and blighting earth as it passed over the land +toward that beleaguered city in the South. + +War! Everywhere the monotony of this awful panorama, covering her +country day after day, month after month, year after year--war, always +and everywhere and in every stage--hordes of horses, hordes of men, +endless columns of deadly engines! Everywhere, always, death, or the +preparation for death--every road and footpath crammed with it, every +field trampled by it, every woodland shattered by it, every stream +running thick with its pollution. The sour smell of marching men, the +stale taint of unclean fires, the stench of beasts--the acrid, +indescribable odor that hangs on the sweating flanks of armies seemed to +infect sky and earth. + +A trooper, munching an apple and carrying a truss of hay, passed, cap +cocked rakishly, sabre banging at his heels; and she called to him and +he came up, easily respectful under the grin of bodily well being. + +"How long have you served in this regiment?" she asked. + +He swallowed the bite of apple which crowded out his freckled cheeks: +"Three years, sir." + +[Illustration: "'We was there--I know that, yes, an' we had a fight.'"] + +She drew involuntarily nearer the tent door. + +"Then--you were at Sandy River--three years ago?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Do you remember the battle there?" + +The soldier looked doubtful. "We was there--I know that; yes, an' we had +a fight----" + +"Yes--near a big white house." + +The soldier nodded. "I guess so; I don't seem to place no big white +house----" + +She asked calmly: "Your regiment had a mounted band once?" + +He brightened. + +"Yes, sir-ee! They played us in at Sandy River--and they got into it, +too, and was cut all to pieces!" + +She motioned assent wearily; then, with an effort: "You don't know, +perhaps, where he--where their bandmaster was buried?" + +"Sir?" + +"The bandmaster of the Fourth Missouri? You remember him--that tall, +thin young officer who led them with his sabre--who sat his horse like a +colonel of regulars--and wore a cap of fur like--like a hussar of some +militia State guard----" + +"Well, you must mean Captain Stanley, who was at that time bandmaster of +our regiment. He went in that day at Sandy River when our mounted band +was cut to pieces. Orders was to play us in, an' he done it." + +There was a silence. + +"Where is he--buried?" she asked calmly. + +"Buried? Why, _he_ ain't dead, is he?" + +"He died at Sandy River--that day," she said gently. "Don't you +remember?" + +"No, sir; our bandmaster wasn't killed at Sandy River." + +She looked at him amazed, almost frightened. + +"What do you mean? He is dead. I--saw him die." + +"It must have been some other bandmaster--not Captain Stanley." + +"I saw the bandmaster of your regiment, the Fourth Missouri Cavalry, +brought into that big white house and laid on my--on a bed----" She +stared at the boy, caught him by the sleeve: "He is dead, isn't he? Do +you know what you are telling me? Do you understand what I am saying?" + +"Yes, sir. Captain Stanley was our bandmaster--he wasn't captain then, +of course. He played us in at Sandy River--by God! I oughter know, +because I got some cut up m'self." + +"You--you tell me that he wasn't killed?" she repeated, steadying +herself against the canvas flap. + +"No, sir. I heard tell he was badly hurt--seems like I kinder +remember--oh, yes!" The man's face lighted up. "Yes, sir; Captain +Stanley, he had a close shave! It sorter comes back to me now, how the +burial detail fetched him back saying they wasn't going to bury no man +that twitched when they shut his coffin. Yes, sir--but it's three years +and a man forgets, and I've seen--things--lots of such things in three +years with Baring's dragoons. Yes, sir." + +She closed her eyes; a dizziness swept over her and she swayed where she +stood. + +"Is he here?" + +"Who? Captain Stanley? Yes, sir. Why, he's captain of the Black Horse +troop--F, third squadron.... They're down that lane near the trees. +Shall I take you there?" + +She shook her head, holding tightly to the canvas flap; and the trooper, +saluting easily, resumed his truss of hay, hitched his belt, cocked his +forage cap, and went off whistling. + +All that sunny afternoon she lay on the colonel's camp bed, hands +tightly clenched on her breast, eyes closed sometimes, sometimes wide +open, gazing at the sun spots crawling on the tent wall. + +To her ears came bugle calls from distant hills; drums of marching +columns. Sounds of the stirring of thousands made tremulous the dim +silence of the tent. + +Dreams long dead arose and possessed her--the confused dreams of a +woman, still young, awakened from the passionless lethargy of the past. + +Vaguely she felt around her the presence of an earth new born, of a new +heaven created. She realized her own awakening; she strove to comprehend +_his_ resurrection, and it frightened her; she could not understand that +what was dead through all these years was now alive, that the ideal she +had clung to, evoking it until it had become part of her, was real--an +actual and splendid living power. In this vivid resurgence she seemed to +lose her precise recollections of him now that he was alive. + +While she had believed him dead, everything concerning his memory had +been painfully real--his personal appearance, the way he moved, turned, +the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand as it tightened in hers +when he lay there at sunset, while she and Death watched the color +fading from his face. + +But now--now that he was living--here in this same world with her +again--strive as she would she could neither fix either his features nor +the sound of his voice upon her memory. Only the stupefying wonder of it +possessed her, dulling her senses so that even the happiness of it +seemed unreal. + + * * * * * + +How would they meet?--they two, who had never met but thrice? How would +they seem, each to the other, when first their eyes encountered? + +In all their lives they had exchanged so little speech! Yet from the +first--from the first moment, when she had raised her gaze to him as he +entered in his long, blue cloak, her silence had held a deeper meaning +than her speech. And on that blessed night instinct broke the silence; +yet, with every formal word exchanged, consciousness of the occult bond +between them grew. + +But it was not until she thought him dead that she understood that it +had been love--love unheralded, unexpected, incredible--love at the +first confronting, the first encountering glance. And to the memory of +that mystery she had been faithful from the night on which she believed +he died. + +How had it been with him throughout these years? _How had it been with +him?_ + +The silvery trumpets of the cavalry were still sounding as she mounted +her horse before the colonel's tent and rode out into the splendour of +the setting sun. + +On every side cavalrymen were setting toe to stirrup; troop after troop, +forming by fours, trotted out to the crest of the hill where the Western +light lay red across the furrowed grass. + +A blaze of brilliant color filled the road where an incoming Zouave +regiment had halted, unslinging knapsacks, preparing to encamp, and the +setting sun played over them in waves of fire, striking fiercely across +their crimson fezzes and trousers. + +Through their gorgeous lines the cavalry rode, colonel and staff +leading; and with them rode the Special Messenger, knee to knee with the +chief trumpeter, who made his horse dance when he passed the gorgeous +Zouave color guard, to show off the gridiron of yellow slashings across +his corded and tasseled breast. + +And now another infantry regiment blocked the way--a heavy, blue column +tramping in with its field music playing and both flags flying in the +sunset radiance--the Stars and Stripes, with the number of the regiment +printed in gold across crimson; and the State flag--white, an Indian and +an uplifted sword on the snowy field: Massachusetts infantry. + +On they came, fifes skirling, drums crashing; the colonel of the Fourth +Missouri gave them right of way, saluting their colors; the Special +Messenger backed her horse and turned down along the column. + +Under the shadow of her visor her dark eyes widened with excitement as +she skirted the halted cavalry, searching the intervals where the troop +captains sat their horses, naked sabres curving up over their shoulder +straps. + +"Not this one! Not _this_ one," her little heart beat hurriedly; and +then, without warning, panic came, and she spurred up to the major of +the first squadron. + +"Where is Captain Stanley?" Her voice almost broke. + +"With his troop, I suppose--'F,'" replied that officer calmly; and her +heart leaped and the color flooded her face as she saluted, wheeled, and +rode on in heavenly certainty. + +A New York regiment, fresh from the North, was passing now, its +magnificent band playing "Twinkling Stars"; and the horses of the +cavalry began to dance and paw and toss their heads. + +One splendid black animal reared suddenly and shook its mane out; and at +the same moment she saw _him_--knew him--drew bridle, her heart in her +mouth, her body all a-tremble. + +He was mastering the black horse that had reared, sitting his saddle +easily, almost carelessly, his long, yellow-striped legs loosely +graceful, his straight, slim figure perfect in poise and balance. + +And now the trumpets were sounding; captain after captain turned in his +saddle, swung his sabre forward, repeating the order: "Forward--march! +Forward--march!" + +The Special Messenger whirled her horse and sped to the head of the +column. + +"I was just beginning to wonder--" began the colonel, when she broke in, +breathless: + +"_May_ I ride with Captain Stanley of F, sir?" + +"Certainly," he replied, surprised and a trifle amused. She hesitated, +nervously picking at her bridle, then said: "When you once get me +through their lines--I mean, after I am safely through and you are ready +to turn around and leave me--I--I would like--to--to----" + +"Yes?" inquired the colonel, gently, divining some "last message" to +deliver. For they were desperate chances that she was taking, and those +in the beleaguered city would show her no mercy if they ever caught her +within its battered bastions. + +But the Special Messenger only said: "Before your regiment goes back, +may I tell Captain Stanley who I am?" + +The colonel's face fell. + +"Nobody is supposed to have any idea who you are----" + +"I know it. But is there any harm if I only tell it to--to just this +one, single man?" she asked, earnestly, not aware that her eyes as well +as her voice were pleading--that her whole body, bent forward in the +saddle, had become eloquent with a confession as winning as it was +innocent. + +The colonel looked curiously into the eager, flushed face, framed in its +setting of dark, curly hair, then he lifted a gauntleted hand from his +bridle and slowly stroked his crisp mustache upward to hide the smile he +could not control. + +"I did not know," he said gravely, "that Captain Stanley was +the--ah--'one' and 'only' man." + +She blushed furiously, the vivid color ran from throat to temple, +burning her ears till they looked like rose petals caught in her dark +hair. + +"You may tell Captain Stanley--if you must," observed the colonel of the +Fourth Missouri. He was gazing absently straight between his horse's +ears when he spoke. After a few moments he looked at the sky where, +overhead, the afterglow pulsated in bands of fire. + +"I always thought," he murmured to himself, "that old Stanley was in +love with that Southern girl he saw at Sandy River.... I had no idea he +knew the Special Messenger. It appears that I am slightly in error." +And, very thoughtfully, he continued to twist his mustache skyward as he +rode on. + +When he ventured to glance around again the Special Messenger had +disappeared. + +"Fancy!" he muttered; "fancy old Stanley knowing the mystery of the +three armies! And, by gad, gentlemen!" addressing, _sotto voce_, the +entire regiment, as he turned in his stirrups and looked back at the +darkening column behind him--"by gad! gentlemen of the Fourth Dragoons, +no prettier woman ever sat a saddle than is riding this moment with the +captain of Troop F!" + +What Captain Stanley saw riding up to him through the dull afterglow was +a slightly built youth in the uniform of the regular cavalry, yellow +trimming on collar, yellow welts about the seams of the jacket, yellow +stripes on the breeches; and, as the youth drew bridle, saluted, and +turned to ride forward beside him, he caught sight of a lieutenant's +shoulder straps on the sergeant's shell jacket. + +"Well, youngster," he said, smiling, "don't they clothe you in the +regulars? You're as eccentric as our butternut friends yonder." + +"I couldn't buy a full uniform," she said truthfully. She did not add +that she had left at a minute's notice for the most dangerous +undertaking ever asked of her, borrowing discarded makeshifts anywhere +at hazard. + +"Are you a West Pointer?" + +"No." + +"Oh! You've their seat--and their shapely leanness. Are you going with +us?" + +"Where are _you_ going?" + +Stanley laughed. "I'm sure I don't know. It looks to me as though we +were riding straight into rebeldom." + +"Don't you know why?" she asked, looking at him from under the shadow of +her visor. + +"No. Do you?" + +"Yes." + +After a pause: "Well," he said, laughing, "are you going to tell me?" + +"Yes--later." + +Neck and neck, knee and knee they rode forward at the head of the Black +Horse troop, along a road which became dusky beyond the first patch of +woods. + +After the inner camp lines had been passed the regiment halted while a +troop was detailed as flankers and an advanced guard galloped off ahead. +Along the road behind, the guns of the Rhode Island Battery came +thudding and bumping up, halting with a dull clash of chains. + +Stanley said: "This is one of Baring's pet raids; we've done it dozens +of times. Once our entire division rode around Beauregard; but I didn't +see the old, blue star division flag this time, so I guess we're going +it alone. Hello! There's infantry! We must be close to the extreme +outposts." + +In the dusk they were passing a pasture where, guarded by sentinels, lay +piled, in endless, straight rows, knapsacks, blankets, shelter tents, +and long lines of stacked Springfield rifles. Soldiers with the white +strings of canteens crossing their breasts were journeying to and from a +stream that ran, darkling, out of the tangled woodland on their right. + +On the opposite side of the road were the lines of the Seventieth +Indiana, their colors, furled in oilcloth, lying horizontally across the +forks of two stacks of rifles. Under them lay the color guard; the +scabbarded swords of the colonel and his staff were stuck upright in +the ground, and the blanket-swathed figures of the officers in poncho +and havelock reposed close by. + +The other regiment was the Eleventh Maine. Their colonel, strapped with +his silver eagles, was watching the disposal of the colors by a sergeant +wearing the broad stripe, blue diamond and triple underscoring on each +sleeve. With the sergeant marched eight corporals, long-limbed, rugged +giants of the color company, decorated with the narrow stripe and double +chevron. + +A few minutes later the cavalry moved out past the pickets, then swung +due south. + +Night had fallen--a clear, starlit, blossom-scented dimness freshening +the air. + +The Special Messenger, head bent, was still riding with Captain Stanley, +evidently preferring his company so openly, so persistently, that the +other officers, a little amused, looked sideways at the youngster from +time to time. + +After a while Stanley said pleasantly: "We haven't exchanged names yet, +and you haven't told me why a regular is riding with us to-night." + +"On special service," she said in a low voice. + +"And your name and regiment?" + +She did not appear to hear him; he glanced at her askance. + +"You seem to be very young," he said. + +"The colonel of the Ninetieth Rhode Island fell at twenty-two." + +He nodded gravely. "It is a war of young men. I think Baring himself is +only twenty-five. He's breveted brigadier, too." + +"And you?" she asked timidly. + +He laughed. "Thirty; and a thousand in experience." + +"I, too," she said softly. + +"You? Thirty?" + +"No, only twenty-four; but your peer in experience." + +"Your voice sounds Southern," he said in his pleasant voice, inviting +confidence. + +"Yes; my home was at Sandy River." + +Out of the corners of her eyes she saw him start and look around at +her--felt his stern gaze questioning her; and rode straight on before +her without response or apparent consciousness. + +"Sandy River?" he repeated in a strained voice. "Did you say you lived +there?" + +"Yes," indifferently. + +The captain rode for a while in silence, then, carelessly: "There was, I +believe, a family living there before the war--the Westcotes." + +"Yes." She could scarcely utter a word for the suffocating throb of her +heart. + +"You knew them?" + +"Yes." + +"Do--do they still live at Sandy River?" + +"The house still stands. Major Westcote is dead." + +"Her--I mean their grandfather?" + +She nodded, incapable of speech. + +"And"--he hesitated--"and the boy? He used to ride a pony--the most +fascinating little fellow----" + +"He is at school in the North." + +There was a silence, then the captain turned in his saddle and looked +straight at her. + +"Does Miss Westcote live there still?" + +"Do you mean Celia Westcote?" asked the Messenger calmly. + +"Yes--Celia--" His voice fell softly, making of her name a caressing +cadence. The Special Messenger bent her head lower over her bridle. + +"Why do you ask? Did you know her?" + +"Yes." + +"Well?" + +The captain lifted his grave eyes, but the Messenger was not looking at +him. + +"I knew her--in a way--better than I ever knew any woman, and I saw her +only three times in all my life. That is your answer--and my excuse for +asking. Does she still live at Sandy River?" + +"No." + +"Do you know where she has gone?" + +"She is somewhere in the South." + +"Is she--married?" he asked under his breath. + +The Special Messenger looked up at him, smiling in the darkness. + +"No," she said. "I heard that she lost her--heart--to a bandmaster of +some cavalry regiment who was killed in action at Sandy River--three +years ago." + +The captain straightened in his saddle as though he had been shot; in +the dim light his lean face turned darkly scarlet. + +"I see her occasionally," continued the Messenger faintly; "have you any +message--perhaps----" + +The captain turned slowly toward her. "Do you know where she is?" + +"I expect that she will be within riding distance of me--very soon." + +"Is your mission a secret one?" + +"Yes." + +"And you may see her--before very long?" + +"Yes." + +"Then tell her," said the captain, "that the bandmaster of the Fourth +Missouri--" He strove to continue; his voice died in his throat. + +"Yes--yes--say it," whispered the Special Messenger. "I will tell her; +she will understand--truly she will--whatever you say." + +"Tell her--that the bandmaster has--has never forgotten----" + +"Yes--yes----" + +"Never forgotten her!" + +"Yes--oh, yes!" + +"That he--he----" + +"Yes! Oh, please--please say it--don't be afraid to say--what you wish!" + +The captain's voice was not under perfect control. + +"Say that he--thinks of her.... Say that--that he--he thought of her +when he was falling--there, in the charge at Sandy River----" + +"But he once told her that himself!" she cried. "Has he no more to tell +her?" + +And Captain Stanley, aghast, fairly leaped in his stirrups. + +"Who are you?" he gasped. "What do _you_ know of----" + +His voice was smothered in the sudden out-crash of rifles, through which +startled trumpets sounded, followed by the running explosions of cavalry +carbines. + +"Attention! Draw sabres!" rang out a far voice in the increasing uproar. + +The night air thrilled with the rushing swish of steel drawn swiftly +across steel. + +"Forward!" and "Forward! Forward!" echoed the officers, one after +another. + +"Steady--right dress!"--taken up by the troop officers: "Steady--right +dress! By fours--right wheel--march!" + +Pell-mell the flanking parties came crashing back out of the dusky +undergrowth, and: + +"Steady--trot! Steady--right dress--gallop!" came the orders. + +"Gallop!" repeated her captain, blandly; and, under his breath: "We are +going to charge. Quick, tell me who you are!" + +"Steady--steady--charge!" came the clear shout from the front. + +"Charge! Charge! Charge!" echoed the ringing orders from troop to troop. + +In the darkness of the thickets she rode knee to knee with her captain. +The grand stride of her horse thundering along beside his through +obscurity filled her with wild exultation; she loosened curb and snaffle +and spurred forward amid hundreds of plunging horses, now goaded frantic +by the battle clangor of the trumpets. + +Everywhere, right and left, the red flash of Confederate rifles ran +along their flanks; here and there a stricken horse reared or stumbled, +rolling over and over; or some bullet-struck rider swayed wide from the +saddle and went down to annihilation. + +Fringed with darting flames the cavalry drove on headlong into the +unseen; behind clanked the flying battery, mounted gunners sabering the +dark forms that leaped out of the underbrush; on--on--rushed horses and +guns, riders and cannoneers--a furious, irresistible, chaotic torrent, +thundering through the night. + +[Illustration: "'Yes,' she gasped, 'The Special +Messenger--noncombatant!'"] + +Far behind them now danced and flickered the rifle flames; fainter, +fainter grew the shots; and at last, galloping steadily and, by degrees, +reforming as they rode, the column swung out toward the bushy hills in +the west, slowed to a canter, to a trot, to a walk. + +"We are through!" said the Special Messenger, brokenly, breathing fast +as she pulled in her mount and turned in the starlight toward the man +she rode beside. + +At the same moment the column halted; and he drew bridle and looked +steadily at her. + +All around them was the confusion and turmoil of stamping, panting +horses, the clank of metal, the heavy breathing of men. + +"Look at me!" she whispered, baring her head in the starlight. "Quick! +Look at me! Do you know me now? Look at me--if you--love me!" + +A low cry broke from him; she held out both arms to him in the dim +light, forcing her horse up against his stirrup. + +"If you love me," she breathed, "say so now!" + +Leaning free from his saddle he caught her in his arms, held her, looked +into her eyes. + +"You?" + +"Yes," she gasped, "the Special Messenger--noncombatant!" + +"The Special Messenger? _You?_ Good God!" + +A dull tattoo of hoofs along the halted column, nearer, nearer, +clattering toward them from the front, and: + +"Good-by!" she sobbed; "they're coming for me! Oh--do you love me? Do +you? Life was so dark and dreadful without you! I--I never +forgot--never, never! I----" + +Her gloved hands crept higher around the neck of the man who held her +crushed in his arms. + +"If I return," she sighed, "will you love me? Don't--don't look at me +that way. I will return--I promise. I love you so! I love you!" + +Their lips clung for a second in the darkness, then she swung her horse, +tearing herself free of his arms; and, bared head lifted to the skies, +she turned south, riding all alone out into the starlit waste. + + +THE END + + + + * * * * * * + + +OTHER BOOKS + +BY + +ROBERT W. CHAMBERS + +Mr. Chambers is unquestionably the most popular of American novelists +to-day. He is the author of some thirty books of extraordinary variety +in fiction. He was born in New York, and studied in the studios of Paris +to become an artist. While working at painting he took up writing as a +pastime, and had such immediate success that he soon gave up art and +turned to literature as his life work. Always, as a part of this +interest, he has studied and worked in the field of natural history, so +that to-day he is something of an authority on birds and butterflies, a +confirmed fisherman, and a good shot. All these qualities--the study of +art, the experience with nature, both in the line of sport and as an +entomologist--have put their stamp upon his work, as will be seen by a +glance at his books, for only a few of which there is space here +available. + +THE FIRING LINE + + The most recent of his works is the third in a group of studies + in American society life. It is full of the swing of good + romance, behind which lies the bright philosophy that the saving + quality in our American families is to come with the injection + of fresh blood into each new generation. The story itself deals + with the adopted daughter of a multimillionaire, who does not + even know her own parentage--a girl from nowhere, with all the + charm and beauty which a bringing up in the midst of wealth can + give her. The hero is a young American of good family who first + meets her at Palm Beach, Florida. Here is a background that Mr. + Chambers loves--the outdoor life of exotic Florida, the + everglades, the hunting, the shooting, and the sea--all in the + midst of that other exotic life which goes with a winter resort + and a large group of the idle rich. The story--already in its + 150th thousand--is, perhaps, the author's favorite piece of + work. + +THE YOUNGER SET + + is also of the social _comédie humaine_ of America, with + its scenes laid in New York and on Long Island. Here again, + behind a romance of love and of society complications, Mr. + Chambers conceals his philosophic suggestions that may be + gathered from the title. The younger set comes into our society + fresh and unspoiled with each generation, and in its way + contributes something of freshness, something of vigor to keep + the social world from going down hill on a grade of decadence. + The story deals with a man who, although still young, feels that + his life is practically over because his marriage, through no + fault of his own, has proved a failure and ended in divorce. He + meets a young girl just introduced into society, whose wholesome + youth charms him and leads him back to optimism and life. The + character of _Eileen_ is perhaps one of Mr. Chambers's most + real and most successful creations. The fact that this novel, + after one year, is in its 200th thousand is sufficient proof of + its popularity. In + +THE FIGHTING CHANCE + + the author still deals with American society, but here his + background is the consideration of the evil influences of + inheritance in old families. The scene is still New York and + Long Island, full of the charm of outdoor life and hunting + episodes. The principal male character _Siward_ is cursed + with the inheritance of drink. _Siward's_ struggles to + conquer his Enemy, and the fighting chance he sees at last in + the affection of a girl, carry on the story to a hopeful finish. + The novel has been published two years and a few months and more + than 250,000 copies have been sold, so that its claims to + success are undeniable. + +THE RECKONING + + The varied interests of the author which have been suggested + above are sustained in this novel. It is a story of a side light + of the American Revolution, and it makes the fourth novel in a + series of books telling in fiction of the scenes and invoking + the characters in the Mohawk Valley during the war for American + Independence. The first novel of the series was "Cardigan"; the + second, "The Maid-at-Arms"; the third is still to be written, + when the distinguished author can find time; while "The + Reckoning" is the last. + +IOLE + + Another splendid example of the author's versatility is this + farcical, humorous satire on the _art nouveau_ of to-day. + Mr. Chambers, with all his knowledge of the artistic jargon, has + in this little novel created a pious fraud of a father, who + brings up his eight lovely daughters in the Adirondacks, where + they wear pink pajamas and eat nuts and fruit, and listen to him + while he lectures them and everybody else on art. It is easy to + imagine what happens when several rich and practical young New + Yorkers stumble upon this group. Everybody is happy in the end. + +THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS + + Here again is a totally different vein of half humor and half + seriousness. Mr. Chambers selects a firm of detectives (based, + by the way, on fact) who guarantee to find lost persons, missing + heirs, etc. In this case the author's fancy and humor suggest to + a young bachelor, who has always had an ideal girl in mind, that + he go and describe her as a real person to _Mr. Keen_, the + Tracer of Lost Persons. He gives his description, and, as may be + supposed, _Mr. Keen_ finds the girl, but after such a + series of episodes, escapes, discoveries and dénouements that it + takes a full-grown novel to accomplish the task. + +THE TREE OF HEAVEN + + Half in fancy, half in fact, the thread of an occult idea runs + through this weird theme. You cannot, even at the end, be quite + sure whether the author has been making fun of you or not. + Perhaps, if the truth were told, he could not quite tell you + himself. The tale all hangs about one of a group of friends who + lives for years in the Far East and gathers some of the occult + knowledge of that far-off land. Into the woof of an Eastern rug + is woven the soul of a woman. Into the glisten of a scarab is + polished the prophecy of a life. Into the whole charming romance + of the book is woven the thread of an intangible, "creepy," + mysterious force. What is it? Is it a joke? Who knows? + +SOME LADIES IN HASTE + + This novel is as widely different from all the others as if + another hand had written it and another mind conceived it. This + time, too, it is impossible to say whether the author is + quizzing our new thought transference and telepathic friends, or + whether he is half inclined to suggest that "there may be + something in it." Here is a character who suddenly discovers + that by concentrating his mind on certain ideas he can inject or + project them into others. And forthwith he sets half a dozen + couples making love to each other in most grotesque surroundings. + They climb trees and become engaged. They put on strange Panlike + costumes and prance about the woods--always charming, always + well bred, always with a touch of romance that makes the reader + read on to the end and finally lay the book down with a smile of + pleasure and a little sigh that it is over so soon. + +One might run on for twenty books more, but there is not space enough +even to mention Mr. Chambers's delightful nature books for children, +telling how _Geraldine_ and _Peter_ go wandering through "Outdoor-land," +"Mountain-Land," "Orchard-Land," "River-Land," "Forest-Land," and +"Garden-Land." They, in turn, are as different from his novels in fancy +and conception as each of his novels from the other. No living writer +has given to the public so varied a list of books with such +extraordinary popularity in all of them as Mr. Robert W. Chambers. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPECIAL MESSENGER*** + + +******* This file should be named 24071-8.txt or 24071-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/0/7/24071 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. 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Chambers</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Special Messenger</p> +<p>Author: Robert W. Chambers</p> +<p>Release Date: December 29, 2007 [eBook #24071]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPECIAL MESSENGER***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by Roger Frank<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>SPECIAL MESSENGER</h1> + +<hr class="dashed" /> + +<table summary="" style="border: 1px solid black; padding: 1em; font-size:smaller;"> +<tr><td style="padding-top: 10px; text-align:center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;" align="center" colspan="2">Works of Robert W. Chambers</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"><hr class="shortad" /></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2" align="center">Special Messenger</td></tr> +<tr><td>The Firing Line</td><td>Iole</td></tr> +<tr><td>The Younger Set</td><td>The Reckoning</td></tr> +<tr><td>The Fighting Chance</td><td>The Maid-at-Arms</td></tr> +<tr><td>Some Ladies in Haste</td><td>Cardigan</td></tr> +<tr><td>The Tree of Heaven</td><td>The Haunts of Men</td></tr> +<tr><td>The Tracer of Lost Persons</td><td>The Mystery of Choice</td></tr> +<tr><td>A Young Man in a Hurry</td><td>The Cambric Mask</td></tr> +<tr><td>Lorraine</td><td>A Maker of Moons</td></tr> +<tr><td>Maids of Paradise</td><td>The King in Yellow</td></tr> +<tr><td>Ashes of Empire</td><td>In Search of the Unknown</td></tr> +<tr><td>The Red Republic</td><td>The Conspirators</td></tr> +<tr><td>Outsiders</td><td>A King and a Few Dukes</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2" align="center">In the Quarter</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"><hr class="shortad" /></td></tr> +<tr><td style="padding-top: 10px; text-align:center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;" align="center" colspan="2">For Children</td></tr> +<tr><td>Garden-Land</td><td>Mountain-Land</td></tr> +<tr><td>Forest-Land</td><td>Orchard-Land</td></tr> +<tr><td>River-Land</td><td>Outdoorland</td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class="dashed" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:370px"> +<a name="illus-000" id="illus-000"></a> +<img src="images/ifpc.png" alt=""Daintily her handsome horse set foot in the water." Page 131." title="" width="370" /><br /> +<span class="caption">“Daintily her handsome horse set foot in the water.” Page 131.</span> +</div> + +<hr class="dashed" /> + +<table style="margin: auto; border: black 1px solid; width:21em" summary=""> + <col style="width:5%;" /> + <col style="width:45%;" /> + <col style="width:45%;" /> + <col style="width:5%;" /> + <tr> + <td colspan="4"><p style="margin-top:0.2em;"> </p></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td></td> + <td colspan="2"> + <p style="font-size:2.2em;"><img src="images/itpe.png" alt="" /><img src="images/itpe.png" alt="" />SPECIAL<img src="images/itpe.png" alt="" /><img src="images/itpe.png" alt="" /></p> + <p style="font-size:2.2em; margin-bottom:0.2em;">MESSENGER</p> + <p style="font-size:1.3em; margin-bottom:2em;"><i>By</i> ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</p> + <div class="figcenter"><img src="images/itpg.png" alt="" /></div> + </td> + <td></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td></td> + <td colspan="2"> + <p style="font-size:1.2em; margin-top:2em;">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</p> + </td> + <td></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td></td> + <td align="left"><span style="font-size:1.2em;">NEW YORK</span></td> + <td align="right">MCMIX</td> + <td></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="4"><p style="margin-bottom:0.2em;"> </p></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr class="dashed" /> + +<p class="s c"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1909, <span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +<span style="font-size:larger">ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</span></p> +<hr class="shortad" /> +<p class="s c" style="margin-bottom:0">Copyright, 1904, 1905, by Harper and Brothers</p> +<hr class="shortad" /> +<p class="s c">Copyright, 1908, by P F Collier & Son</p> +<hr class="shortad" /> +<p class="s c">Copyright, 1908, by The Curtis Publishing Company</p> +<p class="s c" style="margin-top:2em;"><i>Published, March, 1909</i></p> + +<hr class="dashed" /> + +<p class="c"> +TO<br /> +GEORGE F. D. TRASK<br /> +<br /> +IN MEMORY OF<br /> +OUR FIRST MARTIAL EXPLOITS<br /> +IN THE NURSERY<br /> +</p> + +<hr class="dashed" /> + +<p style="margin: 2em 30% 2em 30%">Thou hast given a banner to them that fear Thee, that it may be +displayed because of the truth.—<span class="smcap">Psalm</span> lx, 4.</p> + +<hr class="dashed" /> + +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>In the personality and exploits of the “Special Messenger,” the author +has been assured that a celebrated historical character is +recognizable—Miss Boyd, the famous Confederate scout and spy.</p> + +<p>It is not uncommon that the readers of a book know more about that book +than the author.</p> + +<p style="text-align:right">R. W. C.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="dashed" /> + +<h2 class="toc"><a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a>CONTENTS</h2> +<table border="0" width="500" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto"> +<col style="width:15%;" /> +<col style="width:5%;" /> +<col style="width:70%;" /> +<col style="width:10%;" /> +<tr> + <td align="center" colspan="4">PART ONE</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="center" colspan="4">WHAT SHE WAS</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright">I.</td> + <td>—</td> + <td class="tdleft">Noncombatants</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#NONCOMBATANTS_248">3</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="center" colspan="4"><br />PART TWO</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="center" colspan="4">WHAT SHE BECAME</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright">II.</td> + <td>—</td> + <td class="tdleft">Special Messenger</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#SPECIAL_MESSENGER_1062">39</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright">III.</td> + <td>—</td> + <td class="tdleft">Absolution</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#ABSOLUTION_1747">67</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright">IV.</td> + <td>—</td> + <td class="tdleft">Romance</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#ROMANCE_2586">99</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright">V.</td> + <td>—</td> + <td class="tdleft">Red Ferry</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#RED_FERRY_3280">127</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright">VI.</td> + <td>—</td> + <td class="tdleft">An Air-Line</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#AN_AIRLINE_4040">157</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright">VII.</td> + <td>—</td> + <td class="tdleft">The Pass</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_PASS_4997">192</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright">VIII.</td> + <td>—</td> + <td class="tdleft">Ever After</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#EVER_AFTER_5723">223</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<hr class="dashed" /> + +<h2 class="loi"><a name="Illustrations" id="Illustrations"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +<table border="0" width="500" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto"> +<col style="width:80%;" /> +<col style="width:20%;" /> +<tr><td colspan="2" class="tdright"><span class="xs">FACING PAGE</span></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdleft">“Daintily her handsome horse set foot in the water.”</td><td class="tdright"><a href="#illus-000">Frontispiece</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdleft">“‘They seem to be allfired sure of us.’”</td><td class="tdright"><a href="#illus-006">78</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdleft">“Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and it was empty.”</td><td class="tdright"><a href="#illus-007">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdleft">“‘Turn around,’ said the Special Messenger.”</td><td class="tdright"><a href="#illus-012">176</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdleft">“She dropped her sunbonnet—stooped to recover it.”</td><td class="tdright"><a href="#illus-015">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdleft">“White-faced, desperate, she clung to him with the tenacity of a lynx.”</td><td class="tdright"><a href="#illus-016">220</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdleft">“‘We was there—I know that, yes, an’ we had a fight.’”</td><td class="tdright"><a href="#illus-019">238</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdleft">“‘Yes,’ she gasped, ‘the Special Messenger—noncombatant!’”</td><td class="tdright"><a href="#illus-020">258</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class="dashed" /> + +<h2><i>PART ONE</i><br /><br />WHAT SHE WAS</h2> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:282px"> +<a name="illus-001" id="illus-001"></a> +<img src="images/i003a.png" alt="" title="" width="282" /><br /> +</div> + +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_3" id="pg_3">3</a></span> +<a name="NONCOMBATANTS_248" id="NONCOMBATANTS_248"></a> +<h2>I</h2> +<h3>NONCOMBATANTS</h3> +</div> + +<p>About five o’clock that evening a Rhode Island battery clanked through +the village and parked six dusty guns in a pasture occupied by some +astonished cows.</p> + +<p>A little later the cavalry arrived, riding slowly up the tree-shaded +street, escorted by every darky and every dog in the country-side.</p> + +<p>The clothing of this regiment was a little out of the ordinary. Instead +of the usual campaign head gear the troopers wore forage caps strapped +under their chins, heavy visors<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_4" id="pg_4">4</a></span> turned down, and their officers were +conspicuous in fur-trimmed hussar tunics slung from the shoulders of +dark-blue shell jackets; but most unusual and most interesting of all, a +mounted cavalry band rode ahead, led by a bandmaster who sat his horse +like a colonel of regulars—a slim young man with considerable yellow +and gold on his faded blue sleeves, and an easy manner of swinging +forward his heavy cut-and-thrust sabre as he guided the column through +the metropolitan labyrinths of Sandy River.</p> + +<p>Sandy River had seen and scowled at Yankee cavalry before, but never +before had the inhabitants had an opportunity to ignore a mounted band +and bandmaster. There was, of course, no cheering; a handkerchief +fluttered from a gallery here and there, but Sandy River was loyal only +in spots, and the cavalry pressed past groups of silent people, +encountering the averted heads or scornful eyes of young girls and the +cold hatred in the faces of gray-haired gentlewomen, who turned their +backs as the ragged guidons bobbed past and the village street rang with +the clink-clank of scabbards and rattle of Spencer carbines.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_5" id="pg_5">5</a></span></p> + +<p>But there was a small boy on a pony who sat entranced as the +weather-ravaged squadrons trampled by. Cap in hand, straight in his +saddle, he saluted the passing flag; a sunburnt trooper called out: +“That’s right, son! Bully for you!”</p> + +<p>The boy turned his pony and raced along the column under a running fire +of approving chaff from the men, until he came abreast of the bandmaster +once more, at whom he stared with fascinated and uncloyed satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Into a broad common wheeled the cavalry; the boy followed on his pony, +guiding the little beast in among the mounted men, edging as close as +possible to the bandmaster, who had drawn bridle and wheeled his showy +horse abreast of a group of officers. When the boy had crowded up as +close as possible to the bandmaster he sat in silence, blissfully +drinking in the splendors of that warrior’s dusty apparel.</p> + +<p>“I’m right glad you-all have come,” ventured the boy.</p> + +<p>The bandmaster swung round in his saddle and saw a small sun-tanned face +and two wide eyes intently fixed on his.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_6" id="pg_6">6</a></span></p> + +<p>“I reckon you don’t know how glad my sister and I are to see you down +here,” said the boy politely. “When are you going to have a battle?”</p> + +<p>“A battle!” repeated the bandmaster.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. You’re going to fight, of course, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Not if people leave us alone—and leave that railroad alone,” replied +the officer, backing his restive horse to the side of the fence as the +troopers trotted past into the meadow, fours crowding closely on fours.</p> + +<p>“Not fight?” exclaimed the boy, astonished. “Isn’t there going to be a +battle?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll let you know when there’s going to be one,” said the bandmaster +absently.</p> + +<p>“You won’t forget, will you?” inquired the boy. “My name is William +Stuart Westcote, and I live in that house.” He pointed with his riding +whip up the hill. “You won’t forget, will you?”</p> + +<p>“No, child, I won’t forget.”</p> + +<p>“My sister Celia calls me Billy; perhaps you had better just ask her for +Billy if I’m not there when you gallop up to tell me—that is, if you’re +coming yourself. Are you?” he ended wistfully.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_7" id="pg_7">7</a></span></p> + +<p>“Do you want me to come?” inquired the bandmaster, amused.</p> + +<p>“Would you really come?” cried the boy. “Would you really come to visit +me?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll consider it,” said the bandmaster gravely.</p> + +<p>“Do you think you could come to-night?” asked the boy. “We’d certainly +be glad to see you—my sister and I. Folks around here like the Malletts +and the Colvins and the Garnetts don’t visit us any more, and it’s +lonesome sometimes.”</p> + +<p>“I think that you should ask your sister first,” suggested the +bandmaster.</p> + +<p>“Why? She’s loyal!” exclaimed the boy earnestly. “Besides, you’re coming +to visit <i>me</i>, I reckon. Aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” said the bandmaster hastily.</p> + +<p>“To-night?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do my best, Billy.”</p> + +<p>The boy held out a shy hand; the officer bent from his saddle and took +it in his soiled buckskin gauntlet.</p> + +<p>“Good night, my son,” he said, without a smile, and rode off into the +meadow among a crowd of troopers escorting the regimental wagons.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_8" id="pg_8">8</a></span></p> + +<p>A few moments later a child on a pony tore into the weed-grown drive +leading to the great mansion on the hill, scaring a lone darky who had +been dawdling among the roses.</p> + +<p>“’Clar’ tu goodness, Mars Will’m, I done tuk you foh de Black Hoss +Cav’ly!” said the ancient negro reproachfully. “Hi! Hi! Wha’ foh you mek +all dat fuss an’ a-gwine-on?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mose!” cried the boy, “I’ve seen the Yankee cavalry, and they have +a horse band, and I rode with them, and I asked a general when they were +going to have a battle, and the general said he’d let me know!”</p> + +<p>“Gin’ral?” demanded the old darky suspiciously; “who dat gin’ral dat +gwine tell you ’bout de battle? Was he drivin’ de six-mule team, or was +he dess a-totin’ a sack o’ co’n? Kin you splain dat, Mars Will’m?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think I know a general when I see one?” exclaimed the boy +scornfully. “He had yellow and gilt on his sleeves, and he carried a +sabre, and he rode first of all. And—oh, Mose! He’s coming here to pay +me a visit! Perhaps he’ll come to-night; he said he would if he could.”</p> + +<p>“Dat gin’ral ’low he gwine come here?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_9" id="pg_9">9</a></span> muttered the darky. “Spec’ you +better see Miss Celia ’fo’ you ax dis here gin’ral.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to ask her now,” said the boy. “She certainly will be glad to +see one of our own men. Who cares if all the niggers have run off? We’re +not ashamed—and, anyhow, you’re here to bring in the decanters for the +general.”</p> + +<p>“Shoo, honey, you might talk dat-a-way ef yo’ pa wuz in de house,” +grumbled the old man. “Ef hit’s done fix, nobody kin onfix it. But dess +yo’ leave dem gin’rals whar dey is nex’ time, Mars Will’m. Hit wuz a +gin’ral dat done tuk de Dominiker hen las’ time de blueco’ts come to +San’ River.”</p> + +<p>The boy, sitting entranced in reverie, scarcely heard him; and it was +only when a far trumpet blew from the camp in the valley that he started +in his saddle and raised his rapt eyes to the windows. Somebody had hung +out a Union flag over the jasmine-covered portico.</p> + +<p>“There it is! There it is, Mose!” he cried excitedly, scrambling from +his saddle. “Here—take the bridle! And the very minute you hear the +general dashing into the drive, let me know!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_10" id="pg_10">10</a></span></p> + +<p>He ran jingling up the resounding veranda—he wore his father’s +spurs—and mounted the stairs, two at a jump, calling: “Celia! Celia! +You’ll be glad to know that a general who is a friend of mine——”</p> + +<p>“Hush, Billy,” said his sister, checking him on the landing and leading +him out to the gallery from which the flag hung; “can’t you remember +that grandfather is asleep by sundown? Now—what is it, dear, you wish +to tell me?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I forgot; truly I did, Celia—but a general is coming to visit me +to-night, if you can possibly manage it, and I’m so glad you hung out +the flag—and Moses can serve the Madeira, can’t he?”</p> + +<p>“What general?” inquired his sister uneasily. And her brother’s +explanations made matters no clearer. “You remember what the Yankee +cavalry did before,” she said anxiously. “You must be careful, Billy, +now that the quarters are empty and there’s not a soul in the place +except Mose.”</p> + +<p>“But, Celia! the general is a gentleman. I shook hands with him!”</p> + +<p>“Very well, dear,” she said, passing one arm around his neck and leaning +forward<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_11" id="pg_11">11</a></span> over the flag. The sun was dipping between a cleft in the +hills, flinging out long rosy beams across the misty valley. The mocking +birds had ceased, but a thrasher was singing in a tangle of Cherokee +roses under the western windows.</p> + +<p>While they stood there the sun dipped so low that nothing remained +except a glowing scarlet rim.</p> + +<p>“Hark!” whispered the boy. Far away an evening gunshot set soft echoes +tumbling from hill to hill, distant, more distant. Strains of the +cavalry band rose in the evening silence, “The Star Spangled Banner” +floating from the darkening valley. Then silence; and presently a low, +sweet thrush note from the dusky garden.</p> + +<p>It was after supper, when the old darky had lighted the dips—there +being no longer any oil or candles to be had—that the thrush, who had +been going into interminable ecstasies of fluty trills, suddenly became +mute. A jingle of metal sounded from the garden, a step on the porch, a +voice inquiring for Mr. Westcote; and old Mose replying with reproachful +dignity: “Mars Wes’cote, suh? Mars Wes’cote daid, suh.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_12" id="pg_12">12</a></span></p> + +<p>“That’s my friend, the general!” exclaimed Billy, leaping from his +chair. “Mose, you fool nigger, why don’t you ask the general to come +in?” he whispered fiercely; then, as befitted the master of the house, +he walked straight out into the hall, small hand outstretched, welcoming +his guest as he had seen his father receive a stranger of distinction. +“I am so glad you came,” he said, crimson with pleasure. “Moses will +take your cap and cloak— Mose!”</p> + +<p>The old servant shuffled forward, much impressed by the uniform revealed +as the long blue mantle fell across his own ragged sleeve.</p> + +<p>“Do you know why I came, Billy?” asked the bandmaster, smiling.</p> + +<p>“I reckon it was because you promised to, wasn’t it?” inquired the +child.</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” said the bandmaster hastily. “And I promised to come +because I have a brother about your age—’way up in New York. Shall we +sit here on the veranda and talk about him?”</p> + +<p>“First,” said the boy gravely, “my sister Celia will receive you.”</p> + +<p>He turned, leading the way to the parlor<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_13" id="pg_13">13</a></span> with inherited +self-possession; and there, through the wavering light of a tallow dip, +the bandmaster saw a young girl in black rising from a chair by the +center table; and he brought his spurred heels together and bowed his +very best bow.</p> + +<p>“My brother,” she said, “has been so anxious to bring one of our +officers here. Two weeks ago the Yan—the Federal cavalry passed +through, chasing Carrington’s Horse out of Oxley Court House, but there +was no halt here.” She resumed her seat with a gesture toward a chair +opposite; the bandmaster bowed again and seated himself, placing his +sabre between his knees.</p> + +<p>“Our cavalry advance did not behave very well in Oxley,” he said.</p> + +<p>“They took a few chickens <i>en passant</i>,” she said, smiling; “but had +they asked for them we would have been glad to give. We are loyal, you +know.”</p> + +<p>“Those gay jayhawkers were well disciplined for that business when +Stannard took them over,” said the bandmaster grimly. “Had they behaved +themselves, we should have had ten friends here where we have one now.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_14" id="pg_14">14</a></span></p> + +<p>The boy listened earnestly. “Would you please tell me,” he asked, +“whether you have decided to have a battle pretty soon?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t decide such matters,” said the bandmaster, laughing.</p> + +<p>“Why, I thought a general could always have a battle when he wanted to!” +insisted the boy, surprised.</p> + +<p>“But I’m not a general, Billy,” replied the young fellow, coloring. “Did +you think I was?”</p> + +<p>“My brother’s ideas are very vague,” said his sister quickly; “any +officer who fights is a general to him.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry,” said the bandmaster, looking at the child, “but do you +know, I am not even a fighting officer? I am only the regimental +bandmaster, Billy—a noncombatant.”</p> + +<p>For an instant the boy’s astonished disappointment crushed out his +inbred courtesy as host. His sister, mortified but self-possessed, broke +the strained silence with a quiet question or two concerning the newly +arrived troops; and the bandmaster replied, looking at the boy.</p> + +<p>Billy, silent, immersed in reflection, sat with curly head bent and +hands folded on<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_15" id="pg_15">15</a></span> his knees. His sister glanced at him, looked furtively +at the bandmaster, and their eyes met. He smiled, and she returned the +smile; and he looked at Billy and smiled again.</p> + +<p>“Billy,” he said, “I’ve been sailing under false colors, it seems—but +you hoisted them. I think I ought to go.”</p> + +<p>The boy looked up at him, startled.</p> + +<p>“Good night,” said the bandmaster gravely, rising to his lean height +from the chair beside the table. The boy flushed to his hair.</p> + +<p>“Don’t go,” he said; “I like you even if you don’t fight!”</p> + +<p>Then the bandmaster began to laugh, and the boy’s sister bit her lip and +looked at her brother.</p> + +<p>“Billy! Billy!” she said, catching his hands in hers, “do you think the +only brave men are those who gallop into battle?”</p> + +<p>Hands imprisoned in his sister’s, he looked up at the bandmaster.</p> + +<p>“If you were ordered to fight, you’d fight, wouldn’t you?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Under those improbable circumstances I think I might,” admitted the +young fellow, solemnly reseating himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_16" id="pg_16">16</a></span></p> + +<p>“Celia! Do you hear what he says?” cried the boy.</p> + +<p>“I hear,” said his sister gently. “Now sit very still while Moses serves +the Madeira; only half a glass for Mr. William, Moses—no, not one drop +more!”</p> + +<p>Moses served the wine with pomp and circumstance; the lean young +bandmaster looked straight at the boy’s sister and rose, bowing with a +grace that instantly entranced the aged servant.</p> + +<p>“Celia,” said the boy, “we must drink to the flag, you know;” and the +young girl rose from her chair, and, looking at the bandmaster, touched +her lips to the glass.</p> + +<p>“I wish they could see us,” said the boy, “—the Colvins and the +Malletts. I’ve heard their ‘Bonnie Blue Flag’ and their stirrup toasts +until I’m sick——”</p> + +<p>“Billy!” said his sister quietly. And reseating herself and turning to +the bandmaster, “Our neighbors differ with us,” she said, “and my +brother cannot understand it. I have to remind him that if they were not +brave men our army would have been victorious, and there would have been +no more war after Bull Run.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_17" id="pg_17">17</a></span></p> + +<p>The bandmaster assented thoughtfully. Once or twice his worn eyes swept +the room—a room that made him homesick for his own. It had been a long +time since he had sat in a chair in a room like this—a long time since +he had talked with women and children. Perhaps the boy’s sister divined +something of his thoughts—he was not much older than she—for, as he +rose, hooking up his sabre, and stepped forward to take his leave, she +stood up, too, offering her hand.</p> + +<p>“Our house is always open to Union soldiers,” she said simply. “Will you +come again?”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” he said. “You don’t know, I think, how much you have +already done for me.”</p> + +<p>They stood a moment looking at one another; then he bowed and turned to +the boy, who caught his hand impulsively.</p> + +<p>“I knew my sister would like you!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Everybody is very kind,” said the young bandmaster, looking steadily at +the boy.</p> + +<p>Again he bowed to the boy’s sister, not raising his eyes this time; and, +holding the child’s hand tightly in his, he walked out to the porch.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_18" id="pg_18">18</a></span></p> + +<p>Moses was there to assist him with his long blue mantle; the boy clung +to his gloved hand a moment, then stepped back into the doorway, where +the old servant shuffled about, muttering half aloud: “Yaas, suh. Done +tole you so. He bow lak de quality, he drink lak de Garnetts—what I +tole yo’? Mars Will’m, ef dat ossifer ain’ er gin’ral, he gwine be +mighty quick!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t care,” said the boy, “I just love him.”</p> + +<p>The negro shuffled out across the moonlit veranda, peered around through +the fragrant gloom, wrinkled hands linked behind his back. Then he +descended the steps stiffly, and teetered about through the shrubbery +with the instinct of a watchdog worn out in service.</p> + +<p>“Nuff’n to scare nobody, scusin’ de hoot owls,” he muttered. “Spec’ +hit’s time Miss Celia bolt de do’, ’long o’ de sodgers an’ all de +gwines-on. Shoo! Hear dat fool chickum crow!” He shook his head, bent +rheumatically, and seated himself on the veranda step, full in the +moonlight. “All de fightin’s an’ de gwines-on ’long o’ dis here wah!” he +soliloquized, joining his shriveled thumbs reflectively. “Whar de use? +Spound dat!<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_19" id="pg_19">19</a></span> Whar all de fool niggers dat done skedaddle ’long o’ de +Linkum troopers? Splain dat!” He chuckled; a whip-poor-will answered +breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“Dar dat scan’lous widder bird a-hollerin’!” exclaimed the old man, +listening. “’Pears lak we’s gwine have moh wah, moh daid men, moh +widders. Dar de ha’nt! Dar de sign an’ de warnin’. G’way, widder bird.” +He crossed his withered fingers and began rocking to and fro, crooning +softly to himself:</p> + +<p class="nm" style="margin-left: 2em">“Butterfly a-flyin’ in de Chinaberry tree</p> +<p class="nm" style="margin-left: 4em">(Butterfly, flutter by!),</p> +<p class="nm" style="margin-left: 2em">Kitty gull a-cryin’ on the sunset sea</p> +<p class="nm" style="margin-left: 4em">(Fly, li’l gull, fly high!),</p> +<p class="nm" style="margin-left: 2em">Bully bat a-follerin’ de moon in de sky,</p> +<p class="nm" style="margin-left: 2em">Widder bird a-hollerin’, ‘Hi, dar! Hi!’</p> +<p class="nm" style="margin-left: 4em">Tree toad a-trillin’</p> +<p class="nm" style="margin-left: 4em">(Sleep, li’l honey!</p> +<p class="nm" style="margin-left: 4em">De moon cost a shillin’</p> +<p class="nm" style="margin-left: 4em">But we ain’t got money!),</p> +<p class="nm" style="margin-left: 4em">Sleep, li’l honey,</p> +<p class="nm" style="margin-left: 2em">While de firefly fly,</p> +<p class="nm" style="margin-left: 2em">An’ Chuck-Will’s Widder holler,</p> +<p class="nm" style="margin-left: 4em">‘Hi, dar! Hi!’”</p> + +<p>Before dawn the intense stillness was broken by the rushing music of the +birds—a careless,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_20" id="pg_20">20</a></span> cheery torrent of song poured forth from bramble and +woodland. Distant and nearer cockcrows rang out above the melodious +tumult, through which a low, confused undertone, scarcely apparent at +first, was growing louder—the dull sound of the stirring of many men.</p> + +<p>Men? The valley was suddenly alive with them, choking the roads in heavy +silent lines; they were in the lanes, they plodded through the orchards, +they swarmed across the hills, column on column, until the entire +country seemed flowing forward in steady streams. Sandy River awoke, +restlessly listening; lights glimmered behind darkened windows; a +heavier, vaguer rumor grew, hanging along the hills. It increased to a +shaking, throbbing monotone, like the far dissonance of summer thunder!</p> + +<p>And now artillery was coming, bumping down the dim street with clatter +of chain and harness jingling.</p> + +<p>Up at the great house on the hill they heard it—the boy in his white +nightdress leaning from the open window, and his sleepy sister kneeling +beside him, pushing back her thick hair to peer out into the morning +mist. On<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_21" id="pg_21">21</a></span> came the battery, thudding and clanking, horses on a long +swinging trot, gun, caisson, forge, mounted artillerymen succeeding each +other, faster, faster under the windows. A guidon danced by; more guns, +more caissons, then a trampling, plunging gallop, a rattle of +sabres—and the battery had passed.</p> + +<p>“What is that heavy sound behind the hills?” whispered the boy.</p> + +<p>“The river rushing over the shallows—perhaps a train on the trestle at +Oxley Court House—” She listened, resting her rounded chin on her +hands. “It is thunder, I think. Go to bed now for a while——”</p> + +<p>“Hark!” said the boy, laying his small hand on hers.</p> + +<p>“It is thunder,” she said again. “How white the dawn is growing. Listen +to the birds—is it not sweet?”</p> + +<p>“Celia,” whispered the boy, “that is not thunder. It is too hushed, too +steady—it hums and hums and hums. Where was that battery galloping? I +am going to dress.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him, turned to the east and stared at the coming day. The +air of dawn was full of sounds, ominous, sustained vibrations.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_22" id="pg_22">22</a></span></p> + +<p>She rose, went back to her room, and lighted a dip. Then, shading the +pallid smoky flame with her hand, she opened a door and peered into the +next bedroom. “Grandfather!” she whispered, smiling, seeing that he was +already awake. And as she leaned over him, searching the dim and +wrinkled eyes, she read something in their unwonted luster that struck +her silent. It was only when she heard her brother’s step on the stairs +that she roused herself, bent, and kissed the aged head lying there +inert among the pillows.</p> + +<p>“It is cannon,” she breathed softly—“you know that sound, don’t you, +grandfather? Does it make you happy? Why are you smiling? Look at me—I +understand; you want something. Shall I open the curtains? And raise the +window? Ah, you wish to hear. Hark! Horsemen are passing at a gallop. +What is it you wish—to see them? But they are gone, dear. If any of our +soldiers come, you shall see them. That makes you happy?—<i>that</i> is what +you desire?—to see one of our own soldiers? If they pass, I shall go +out and bring one here to you—truly, I will.” She paused, marveling at +the strange light that glimmered across the ravaged visage.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_23" id="pg_23">23</a></span> Then she +blew out the dip and stole into the hall.</p> + +<p>“Billy!” she called, hearing him fumbling at the front door.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Celia! The cavalry trumpets! Do you hear? I’m going out. Perhaps +<i>he</i> may pass the house.”</p> + +<p>“Wait for me,” she said; “I am not dressed. Run to the cabin and wake +Moses, dear!”</p> + +<p>She heard him open the door; the deadened thunder of the cannonade +filled the house for an instant, shut out by the closing door, only to +swell again to an immense unbroken volume of solemn harmony. The +bird-music had ceased; distant hilltops grew brighter.</p> + +<p>Down in the village lights faded from window and cabin; a cavalryman, +signaling from the church tower, whirled his flaming torch aside and +picked up a signal flag. Suddenly the crash of a rifled cannon saluted +the rising sun; a shell soared skyward through the misty glory, towered, +curved, and fell, exploding among the cavalrymen, completely ruining the +breakfasts of chief-trumpeter O’Halloran and kettle-drummer Pillsbury.</p> + +<p>For a moment a geyser of ashes, coffee, and bacon rained among the men.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_24" id="pg_24">24</a></span></p> + +<p>“Hell!” said Pillsbury, furiously wiping his face with his dripping +sleeve and spitting out ashes.</p> + +<p>“Young kettle-drums, he don’t love his vittles,” observed a trooper, +picking up the cap that had been jerked from his head by a whirring +fragment.</p> + +<p>“Rich feedin’ is the sp’ilin’ o’ this here hoss band,” added the +farrier, stanching the flow of blood from his scalp; “quit quar’lin’ +with your rations, kettle-drums!”</p> + +<p>“Y’orter swaller them cinders,” insisted another; “they don’t cost +nothin’!”</p> + +<p>The band, accustomed to chaffing, prepared to retire to the ambulance, +where heretofore their fate had always left them among luggage, +surgeons, and scared camp niggers during an engagement.</p> + +<p>The Rhode Island battery, placed just north of the church, had opened; +the cavalry in the meadow could see them—see the whirl of smoke, the +cannoneers moving with quick precision amidst obscurity—the flash, the +recoil as gun after gun jumped back, buried in smoke.</p> + +<p>It lasted only a few minutes; no more shells came whistling down among +the cavalry; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_25" id="pg_25">25</a></span> presently the battery grew silent, and the steaming +hill, belted with vapor, cleared slowly in the breezy sunshine.</p> + +<p>The cavalry had mounted and leisurely filed off to the shelter of a +grassy hollow; the band, dismounted, were drawn up to be told off in +squads as stretcher-bearers; the bandmaster was sauntering past, buried +in meditation, his sabre trailing a furrow through the dust, when a +clatter of hoofs broke out along the village street, and a general +officer, followed by a plunging knot of horsemen, tore up and drew +bridle.</p> + +<p>The colonel of the cavalry regiment, followed by the chief trumpeter, +trotted out to meet them, saluting sharply; there was a quick exchange +of words; the general officer waved his hand toward the south, wheeled +his horse, hesitated, and pointed at the band.</p> + +<p>“How many sabres?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Twenty-seven,” replied the colonel—“no carbines.”</p> + +<p>“Better have them play you in—<i>if you go</i>,” said the officer.</p> + +<p>The colonel saluted and backed his horse as the cavalcade swept past +him; then he beckoned to the bandmaster.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_26" id="pg_26">26</a></span></p> + +<p>“Here’s your chance,” he said. “Orders are to charge anything that +appears on that road. You’ll play us in this time. Mount your men.”</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later the regiment, band ahead, marched out of Sandy River +and climbed the hill, halting in the road that passed the great white +mansion. As the outposts moved forward they encountered a small boy on a +pony, who swung his cap at them gayly as he rode. Squads, dismounted, +engaged in tearing away the rail fences bordering the highway, looked +around, shouting a cheery answer to his excited greeting; the colonel on +a ridge to the east lowered his field glasses to watch him; the +bandmaster saw him coming and smiled as the boy drew bridle beside him, +saluting.</p> + +<p>“If you’re not going to fight, why are you here?” asked the boy +breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“It really looks,” said the bandmaster, “as though we might fight, after +all.”</p> + +<p>“<i>You, too?</i>”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps.”</p> + +<p>“Then—could you come into the house—just a moment? My sister asked me +to find you.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_27" id="pg_27">27</a></span></p> + +<p>A bright blush crept over the bandmaster’s sun-tanned cheeks.</p> + +<p>“With pleasure,” he said, dismounting, and leading his horse through the +gateway and across the shrubbery to the trees.</p> + +<p>“Celia! Celia!” called the boy, running up the veranda steps. “<i>He</i> is +here! Please hurry, because he’s going to have a battle!”</p> + +<p>She came slowly, pale and lovely in her black gown, and held out her +hand.</p> + +<p>“There is a battle going on all around us, isn’t there?” she asked. +“That is what all this dreadful uproar means?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said; “there is trouble on the other side of those hills.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think there will be fighting here?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” he said.</p> + +<p>She motioned him to a veranda chair, then seated herself. “What shall we +do?” she asked calmly. “I am not alarmed—but my grandfather is +bedridden, and my brother is a child. Is it safe to stay?”</p> + +<p>The bandmaster looked at her helplessly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” he repeated—“I don’t know what to say. Nobody seems to +understand what is happening; we in the regiment are never told +anything; we know nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_28" id="pg_28">28</a></span> except what passes under our eyes.” He broke +off suddenly; the situation, her loneliness, the impending danger, +appalled him.</p> + +<p>“May I ask a little favor?” she said, rising. “Would you mind coming in +a moment to see my grandfather?”</p> + +<p>He stood up obediently, sheathed sabre in his left hand; she led the way +across the hall and up the stairs, opened the door, and motioned toward +the bed. At first he saw nothing save the pillows and snowy spread.</p> + +<p>“Will you speak to him?” she whispered.</p> + +<p>He approached the bed, cap in hand.</p> + +<p>“He is very old,” she said; “he was a soldier of Washington. He desires +to see a soldier of the Union.”</p> + +<p>And now the bandmaster perceived the occupant of the bed, a palsied, +bloodless phantom of the past—an inert, bedridden, bony thing that +looked dead until its deep eyes opened and fixed themselves on him.</p> + +<p>“This is a Union soldier, grandfather,” she said, kneeling on the floor +beside him. And to the bandmaster she said in a low voice: “Would you +mind taking his hand? He cannot move.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_29" id="pg_29">29</a></span></p> + +<p>The bandmaster bent stiffly above the bed and took the old man’s hand in +his.</p> + +<p>The sunlit room trembled in the cannonade.</p> + +<p>“That is all,” said the girl simply. She took the fleshless hand, kissed +it, and laid it on the bedspread. “A soldier of Washington,” she said +dreamily. “I am glad he has seen you—I think he understands: but he is +very, very old.”</p> + +<p>She lingered a moment to touch the white hair with her hand; the +bandmaster stepped back to let her pass, then put on his cap, hooked his +sabre, turned squarely toward the bed and saluted.</p> + +<p>The phantom watched him as a dying eagle watches; then the slim hand of +the granddaughter fell on the bandmaster’s arm, and he turned and +clanked out into the open air.</p> + +<p>The boy stood waiting for them, and as they appeared, he caught their +hands in each of his, talking all the while and walking with them to the +gateway, where pony and charger stood, nose to nose under the trees.</p> + +<p>“If you need anybody to dash about carrying dispatches,” the boy ran on, +“why, I’ll do it for you. My father was a soldier, and I’m going to be +one, and I——”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_30" id="pg_30">30</a></span></p> + +<p>“Billy,” said the bandmaster abruptly, “when we charge, go up on that +hill and watch us. If we don’t come back, you must be ready to act a +man’s part. Your sister counts on you.”</p> + +<p>They stood a moment there together, saying nothing. Presently some +mounted officers on the hill wheeled their horses and came spurring +toward the column drawn up along the road. A trumpet spoke briskly; the +bandmaster turned to the boy’s sister, looked straight into her eyes, +and took her hand.</p> + +<p>“I think we’re going,” he said; “I am trying to thank you—I don’t know +how. Good-by.”</p> + +<p>“Is it a charge?” cried the boy.</p> + +<p>“Good-by,” said the bandmaster, smiling, holding the boy’s hand tightly. +Then he mounted, touched his cap, wheeled, and trotted off, freeing his +sabre with his right hand.</p> + +<p>The colonel had already drawn his sabre, the chief bugler sat his +saddle, bugle lifted, waiting. A loud order, repeated from squadron to +squadron, ran down the line; the restive horses wheeled, trampled +forward, and halted.</p> + +<p>“Draw—sabres!”</p> + +<p>The air shrilled with the swish of steel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_31" id="pg_31">31</a></span></p> + +<p>Far down the road horsemen were galloping in—the returning pickets.</p> + +<p>“Forward!”</p> + +<p>They were moving.</p> + +<p>“Steady—right dress!” taken up in turn by the company +officers—“steady—right dress!”</p> + +<p>The bandmaster swung his sabre forward; the mounted band followed.</p> + +<p>Far away across the level fields something was stirring; the colonel saw +it and turned in his saddle, scanning the column that moved forward on a +walk.</p> + +<p>Half a mile, and, passing a hill, an infantry regiment rose in the +shallow trenches to cheer them. Instantly the mounted band burst out +into “The Girl I Left Behind Me”; an electric thrill passed along the +column.</p> + +<p>“Steady! Steady! Right dress!” rang the calm orders as a wood, almost +behind them, was suddenly fringed with white smoke and a long, rolling +crackle broke out.</p> + +<p>“By fours—right-about—wheel!”</p> + +<p>The band swung out to the right; the squadrons passed on; and—“Steady! +Trot! Steady—right dress—gallop!” came the orders.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_32" id="pg_32">32</a></span></p> + +<p>The wild music of “Garryowen” set the horses frantic—and the men, too. +The band, still advancing at a walk, was dropping rapidly behind. A +bullet hit kettle-drummer Pillsbury, and he fell with a grunt, doubling +up across his nigh kettle-drum. A moment later Peters struck his cymbals +wildly together and fell clean out of his saddle, crashing to the sod. +Schwarz, his trombone pierced by a ball, swore aloud and dragged his +frantic horse into line.</p> + +<p>“Right dress!” said the bandmaster blandly, mastering his own splendid +mount as a bullet grazed its shoulder.</p> + +<p>They were in the smoke now, they heard the yelling charge ahead, the +rifle fire raging, swelling to a terrific roar; and they marched +forward, playing “Garryowen”—not very well, for Connor’s jaw was half +gone, and Bradley’s horse was down; and the bandmaster, reeling in the +saddle, parried blow on blow from a clubbed rifle, until a stunning +crack alongside of the head laid him flat across his horse’s neck. And +there he clung till he tumbled off, a limp, loose-limbed mass, lying in +the trampled grass under the heavy pall of smoke.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_33" id="pg_33">33</a></span></p> + +<p>Long before sunset the echoing thunder in the hills had ceased; the edge +of the great battle that had skirted Sandy River, with a volley or two +and an obscure cavalry charge, was ended. Beyond the hills, far away on +the horizon, the men of the North were tramping forward through the +Confederacy. The immense exodus had begun again; the invasion was +developing; and as the tremendous red spectre receded, the hem of its +smoky robe brushed Sandy River and was gone, leaving a scorched regiment +or two along the railroad, and a hospital at Oxley Court House +overcrowded.</p> + +<p>In the sunset light the cavalry returned passing the white mansion on +the hill. They brought in their dead and wounded on hay wagons; and the +boy, pale as a spectre, looked on, while the creaking wagons passed by +under the trees.</p> + +<p>But it was his sister whose eyes caught the glitter of a gilt and yellow +sleeve lying across the hay; and she dropped her brother’s hand and ran +out into the road.</p> + +<p>“Is he dead?” she asked the trooper who was driving.</p> + +<p>“No, miss. Will you take him in?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_34" id="pg_34">34</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said. “Bring him.”</p> + +<p>The driver drew rein, wheeled his team, and drove into the great +gateway. “Hospital’s plum full, ma’am,” he said. “Wait; I’ll carry him +up. Head’s bust a leetle—that’s all. A day’s nussin’ will bring him +into camp again.”</p> + +<p>The trooper staggered upstairs with his burden, leaving a trail of dark, +wet spots along the stairs, even up to the girl’s bed, where he placed +the wounded man.</p> + +<p>The bandmaster became conscious when they laid him on the bed, but the +concussion troubled his eyes so that he was not certain that she was +there until she bent close over him, looking down at him in silence.</p> + +<p>“I thought of you—when <i>I</i> was falling,” he explained vaguely—“only of +you.”</p> + +<p>The color came into her face; but her eyes were steady. She set the +flaring dip on the bureau and came back to the bed. “We thought of you, +too,” she said.</p> + +<p>His restless hand, fumbling the quilt, closed on hers; his eyes were +shut, but his lips moved, and she bent nearer to catch his words:</p> + +<p>“We noncombatants get into heaps of trouble—don’t we?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_35" id="pg_35">35</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” she whispered, smiling; “but the worst is over now.”</p> + +<p>“There is worse coming.”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“We march—to-morrow. I shall never see you again.”</p> + +<p>After a silence she strove gently to release her hand; but his held it; +and after a long while, as he seemed to be asleep, she sat down on the +bed’s edge, moving very softly lest he awaken. All the tenderness of +innocence was in her gaze, as she laid her other hand over his and left +it there, even after he stirred and his unclosing eyes met hers.</p> + +<p>“Celia!” called the boy, from the darkened stairway, “there’s a medical +officer here.”</p> + +<p>“Bring him,” she said. She rose, her lingering fingers still in his, +looking down at him all the while; their hands parted, and she moved +backward slowly, her young eyes always on his.</p> + +<p>The medical officer passed her, stepping quickly to the bedside, stopped +short, hesitated, and bending, opened the clotted shirt, placing a +steady hand over the heart.</p> + +<p>The next moment he straightened up, pulled the sheet over the +bandmaster’s face, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_36" id="pg_36">36</a></span> turned on his heel, nodding curtly to the girl +as he passed out.</p> + +<p>When he had gone, she walked slowly to the bed and drew the sheet from +the bandmaster’s face.</p> + +<p>And as she stood there, dry-eyed, mute, from the dusky garden came the +whispering cry of the widow bird, calling, calling to the dead that +answer never more.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:218px"> +<a name="illus-002" id="illus-002"></a> +<img src="images/i036.png" alt="" title="" width="218" /><br /> +</div> + +<hr class="dashed" /> + +<h2><i>PART TWO</i><br /><br />WHAT SHE BECAME</h2> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:288px"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_39" id="pg_39">39</a></span> +<a name="illus-003" id="illus-003"></a> +<img src="images/i039a.png" alt="" title="" width="288" /><br /> +</div> + +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="SPECIAL_MESSENGER_1062" id="SPECIAL_MESSENGER_1062"></a> +<h2>II</h2> +<h3>SPECIAL MESSENGER</h3> +</div> + +<p>On the third day the pursuit had become so hot, so unerring, that she +dared no longer follow the rutty cart road. Toward sundown she wheeled +her big bony roan into a cow path which twisted through alders for a +mile or two, emerging at length on a vast stretch of rolling country, +where rounded hills glimmered golden in the rays of the declining sun. +Tall underbrush flanked the slopes; little streams ran darkling through +the thickets; the ground was moist,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_40" id="pg_40">40</a></span> even on the ridges; and she could +not hope to cover the deep imprint of her horse’s feet.</p> + +<p>She drew bridle, listening, her dark eyes fixed on the setting sun. +There was no sound save the breathing of her horse, the far sweet +trailing song of a spotted sparrow, the undertones of some hidden rill +welling up through matted tangles of vine and fern and long wild +grasses.</p> + +<p>Sitting her worn saddle, sensitive face partly turned, she listened, her +eyes sweeping the bit of open ground behind her. Nothing moved there.</p> + +<p>Presently she slipped off one gauntlet, fumbled in her corsage, drew out +a crumpled paper, and spread it flat. It was a map. With one finger she +traced her road, bending in her saddle, eyebrows gathering in +perplexity. Back and forth moved the finger, now hovering here and there +in hesitation, now lifted to her lips in silent uncertainty. Twice she +turned her head, intensely alert, but there was no sound save the cawing +of crows winging across the deepening crimson in the west.</p> + +<p>At last she folded the map and thrust it into the bosom of her +mud-splashed habit; then, looping up the skirt of her kirtle, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_41" id="pg_41">41</a></span> +dismounted, leading her horse straight into the oak scrub and on through +a dim mile of woodland, always descending, until the clear rushing music +of a stream warned her, and she came out along the thicket’s edge into a +grassy vale among the hills.</p> + +<p>A cabin stood there, blue smoke lazily rising from the chimney; a hen or +two sat huddled on the shafts of an ancient buckboard standing by the +door. In the clear, saffron-tinted evening light some ducks sailed and +steered about the surface of a muddy puddle by the barn, sousing their +heads, wriggling their tails contentedly.</p> + +<p>As she walked toward the shanty, leading her horse, an old man appeared +at the open doorway, milking stool under one gaunt arm, tin pail +dangling from the other. Astonished, he regarded the girl steadily, +answering her low, quick greeting with a nod of his unkempt gray head.</p> + +<p>“How far is the pike?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“It might be six mile,” he said, staring.</p> + +<p>“Is there a wood road?”</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>“Where does it lead?”</p> + +<p>“It leads just now,” he replied grimly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_42" id="pg_42">42</a></span> “into a hell’s mint o’ rebels. +What’s your business in these parts, ma’am?”</p> + +<p>Her business was to trust no one, yet there had been occasions when she +had been forced to such a risk. This was one. She looked around at the +house, the dismantled buckboard tenanted by roosting chickens, the ducks +in the puddle, the narrow strip of pasture fringing the darkening woods. +She looked into his weather-ravaged visage, searching the small eyes +that twinkled at her intently out of a mass of wrinkles.</p> + +<p>“Are you a Union man?” she asked.</p> + +<p>His face hardened; a slow color crept into the skin above his sharp +cheek bones. “What’s that to you?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Here in Pennsylvania we expect to find Union sentiments. Besides, you +just now spoke of rebels——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, an’ I’ll say it again,” he repeated doggedly; “the Pennsylvany +line is crawlin’ with rebels, an’ they’ll butt into our cavalry before +morning.”</p> + +<p>She laughed, stepping nearer, the muddy skirt of her habit lifted.</p> + +<p>“I must get to Reynolds’s corps to-night,” she said confidingly. “I came +through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_43" id="pg_43">43</a></span> lines three days ago; their cavalry have followed me ever +since. I can’t shake them off; they’ll be here by morning—as soon as +there’s light enough to trace my horse.”</p> + +<p>She looked back at the blue woods thoughtfully, patting her horse’s +sleek neck.</p> + +<p>He followed her glance, then his narrowing eyes focused on her as she +turned her head toward him again.</p> + +<p>“What name?” he asked harshly, hand to his large ear.</p> + +<p>She smiled, raising her riding whip in quaint salute; and in a low voice +she named herself demurely.</p> + +<p>There was a long silence.</p> + +<p>“Gosh!” he muttered, fascinated gaze never leaving her; “to think that +you are that there gal! I heard tell you was young, an’ then I heard +tell you was old an’ fat, ma’am. I guess there ain’t many has seen you +to take notice. I guess you must be hard run to even tell me who ye be?”</p> + +<p>She said quietly: “I think they mean to get me this time. Is there a +clear road anywhere? Even if I leave my horse and travel afoot?”</p> + +<p>“Is it a hangin’ matter?” he asked.</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_44" id="pg_44">44</a></span></p> + +<p>Presently he said: “The hull blame country’s crawlin’ with rebel +cavalry. I was to Mink Creek, an’ they was passin’ on the pike, wagons +an’ guns as fur as I could see. They levied on Swamp Holler at sunup; +they was on every road along the State line. There ain’t no road nor cow +path clear that way.”</p> + +<p>“And none the other way,” she said. “Can’t you help me?”</p> + +<p>He looked at her gravely, then his small eyes swept the limited +landscape.</p> + +<p>“A hangin’ matter,” he mused, scratching his gray head reflectively. +“An’ if they ketch you here, I guess I’ll go to Libby, too. Hey?”</p> + +<p>He passed his labor-worn hand over his eyes, pressing the lids, and +stood so, minute after minute, buried in thought.</p> + +<p>“Waal,” he said, dropping his hand and blinking in the ruddy glow from +the west, “I guess I ain’t done nothin’ fur the Union yet, but I’m +a-goin’ to now, miss.”</p> + +<p>He looked around once more, his eyes resting on familiar scenery, then +he set down milking stool and pail and shuffled out to where her horse +stood.</p> + +<p>“Guess I’ll hev to hitch your hoss up to that there buckboard,” he +drawled. “My old<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_45" id="pg_45">45</a></span> nag is dead two year since. You go in, miss, an’ dress +in them clothes a-hangin’ onto that peg by the bed,” he added, with an +effort. “Use ’em easy; they was <i>hers</i>.”</p> + +<p>She entered the single room of the cabin, where stove, table, chair, and +bed were the only furniture. A single cheap print gown and a sunbonnet +hung from a nail at the bed’s foot, and she reached up and unhooked the +garment. It was ragged but clean, and the bonnet freshly ironed.</p> + +<p>Through the window she saw the old man unsaddling her horse and fitting +him with rusty harness. She closed the cabin door, drew the curtain at +the window, and began to unbutton her riding jacket. As her clothing +fell from her, garment after garment, that desperate look came into her +pale young face again, and she drew from her pocket a heavy army +revolver and laid it on the chair beside her. There was scarce light +enough left to see by in the room. She sat down, dragging off her +spurred boots, stripping the fine silk stockings from her feet, then +rose and drew on the faded print gown.</p> + +<p>Now she needed more light, so she opened the door wide and pushed aside +the curtain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_46" id="pg_46">46</a></span> A fragment of cracked mirror was nailed to the door. She +faced it, rapidly undoing the glossy masses of her hair; then lifting +her gown, she buckled the army belt underneath, slipped the revolver +into it, smoothed out the calico, and crossed the floor to the bed +again, at the foot of which a pair of woman’s coarse, low shoes stood on +the carpetless floor. Into these she slipped her naked feet.</p> + +<p>He was waiting for her when she came out into the yellow evening light, +squatting there in his buckboard, reins sagging.</p> + +<p>“There’s kindlin’ to last a week,” he said, “the ax is in the barn, an’ +ye’ll find a bin full o’ corn meal there an’ a side o’ bacon in the +cellar. Them hens,” he added wistfully “is Dominickers. <i>She</i> was fond +o’ them—an’ the Chiny ducks, too.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be kind to them,” she said.</p> + +<p>He rested his lean jaw in one huge hand, musing, dim-eyed, silent. Far +away a cow bell tinkled, and he turned his head, peering out across the +tangled pasture lot.</p> + +<p>“We called our caow Jinny,” he said. “She’s saucy and likes to plague +folks. But I don’t never chase her; no, ma’am. You jest set there by +them pasture bars, kinder foxin’<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_47" id="pg_47">47</a></span> that you ain’t thinkin’ o’ nothin’, +and Jinny she’ll come along purty soon.”</p> + +<p>The girl nodded.</p> + +<p>“Waal,” he muttered, rousing up, “I guess it’s time to go.” He looked at +her, his eyes resting upon the clothing of his dead wife.</p> + +<p>“You see,” he said, “I’ve give all I’ve got to the Union. Now, ma’am, +what shall I tell our boys if I git through?”</p> + +<p>In a low, clear voice she gave him the message to Reynolds, repeating it +slowly until he nodded his comprehension.</p> + +<p>“If they turn you back,” she said, “and if they follow you here, +remember I’m your daughter.”</p> + +<p>He nodded again. “My Cynthy.”</p> + +<p>“Cynthia?”</p> + +<p>“Yaas, ’m. Cynthy was <i>her</i> name, you see; James is mine, endin’ in +Gray. I’ll come back when I can. I guess there’s vittles to spare an’ +garden sass——”</p> + +<p>He passed his great cracked knuckles over his face again, digging +hastily into the corners of his eyes, then leaned forward and shook the +rusty reins.</p> + +<p>“Git up!” he said thoughtfully, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_48" id="pg_48">48</a></span> ancient buckboard creaked away +into the thickening twilight.</p> + +<p>She watched him from the door, lingering there, listening to the creak +of the wheels long after he had disappeared. She was deadly tired—too +tired to eat, too tired to think—yet there was more to be done before +she closed her eyes. The blanket on the bed she spread upon the floor, +laid in it her saddle and bridle, boots, papers, map, and clothing, and +made a bundle; then slinging it on her slender back, she carried it up +the ladder to the loft under the roof.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later she lay on the bed below, the back of one hand across +her closed eyes, breathing deeply as a sleeping child—the most +notorious spy in all America, the famous “Special Messenger,” carrying +locked under her smooth young breast a secret the consequence of which +no man could dare to dream of.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Dawn silvering the east aroused her. Cockcrow, ducks quacking, the +lowing of the cow, the swelling melody of wild birds—these were the +sounds that filled her waking ears.</p> + +<p>Motionless there on the bed in the dim room,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_49" id="pg_49">49</a></span> delicate bare arms +outstretched, hair tumbled over brow and shoulder, she lay, lost in +fearless retrospection—absolutely fearless, for courage was hers +without effort; peril exhilarated like wine, without reaction; every +nerve and contour of her body was instinct with daring, and only the +languor of her dark eyes misled the judgment of those she had to deal +with.</p> + +<p>Presently she sat up in bed, yawned lightly, tapping her red lips with +the tips of her fingers; then, drawing her revolver from beneath the +pillow, she examined the cylinder, replaced the weapon, and sprang out +of bed, stretching her arms, a faint smile hovering on her face.</p> + +<p>The water in the stream was cold, but not too cold for her, nor were the +coarse towels too rough, sending the blood racing through her from head +to foot.</p> + +<p>Her toilet made, she lighted the fire in the cracked stove, set a pot of +water boiling, and went out to the doorstep, calling the feathered flock +around her, stirring their meal in a great pan the while her eyes roamed +about the open spaces of meadow and pasture for a sign of those who +surely must trace her here.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_50" id="pg_50">50</a></span></p> + +<p>Her breakfast was soon over—an ash cake, a new egg from the barn, a +bowl of last night’s creamy milk. She ate slowly, seated by the window, +raising her head at intervals to watch the forest’s edge.</p> + +<p>Nobody came; the first pink sunbeams fell level over the pasture; dew +sparkled on grass and foliage; birds flitted across her line of vision; +the stream sang steadily, flashing in the morning radiance.</p> + +<p>One by one the ducks stretched, flapped their snowy wings, wiggled their +fat tails, and waddled solemnly down to the water; hens wandered +pensively here and there, pecking at morsels that attracted them; the +tinkle of the cow bell sounded pleasantly from a near willow thicket.</p> + +<p>She washed her dishes, set the scant furniture in place, made up the bed +with the clean sheet spread the night before, and swept the floor.</p> + +<p>On the table she had discovered, carefully folded up, the greater +portion of a stocking, knitting needles still sticking in it, the ball +of gray yarn attached. But she could not endure to sit there; she must +have more space to watch for what she knew was coming. Her hair she<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_51" id="pg_51">51</a></span> +twisted up as best she might, set the pink sunbonnet on her head, +smoothed out the worn print dress, which was not long enough to hide her +slim bare ankles, and went out, taking her knitting with her.</p> + +<p>Upon the hill along the edges of the pasture where the woods cast a +luminous shadow she found a comfortable seat in the sun-dried grasses, +and here she curled up, examining the knitting in her hands, eyes lifted +every moment to steal a glance around the sunlit solitude.</p> + +<p>An hour crept by, marked by the sun in mounting splendor; the sweet +scent of drying grass and fern filled her lungs; the birds’ choral +thrilled her with the loveliness of life. A little Southern song +trembled on her lips, and her hushed voice murmuring was soft as the +wild bees’ humming:</p> + +<p style="margin-left:2em; text-align:left"> +“Ah, who could couple thought of war and crime<br /> +With such a blessed time?<br /> +Who, in the west wind’s aromatic breath,<br /> +Could hear the call of Death?”<br /> +</p> + +<p>The gentle Southern poet’s flowing rhythm was echoed by the distant +stream:<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_52" id="pg_52">52</a></span></p> + +<p style="text-align:left; margin-left:2em">“ ... A fragrant breeze comes floating by,<br /> +And brings—you know not why—<br /> +A feeling as when eager crowds await<br /> +Before a palace gate<br /> +Some wondrous pageant——”<br /> +</p> + +<p>She lifted her eyes, fixing them upon the willow thicket below, where +the green tops swayed as though furrowed by a sudden wind; and watching +calmly, her lips whispered on, following the quaint rhythm:</p> + +<p style="text-align:left; margin-left:2em"> +“And yet no sooner shall the Spring awake<br /> +The voice of wood and brake<br /> +Than she shall rouse—for all her tranquil charms—<br /> +A million men to arms.”<br /> +</p> + +<p>The willow tops were tossing violently. She watched them, murmuring:</p> + +<p style="text-align:left; margin-left:2em"> +“Oh! standing on this desecrated mold,<br /> +Methinks that I behold,<br /> +Lifting her bloody daisies up to God,<br /> +Spring—kneeling on the sod,<br /> +And calling with the voice of all her rills<br /> +Upon the ancient hills<br /> +To fall and crush the tyrants and the slaves<br /> +Who turn her meads to graves.”<br /> +</p> + +<p>Her whisper ceased; she sat, lips parted, eyes fastened on the willows. +Suddenly a<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_53" id="pg_53">53</a></span> horseman broke through the thicket, then another, another, +carbines slung, sabres jingling, rider following rider at a canter, +sitting their horses superbly—the graceful, reckless, matchless cavalry +under whose glittering gray curtain the most magnificent army that the +South ever saw was moving straight into the heart of the Union.</p> + +<p>Fascinated, she watched an officer dismount, advance to the house, enter +the open doorway, and disappear. Minute after minute passed; the +troopers quietly sat their saddles; the frightened chickens ventured +back, roaming curiously about these strange horses that stood there +stamping, whisking their tails, tossing impatient heads in the sunshine.</p> + +<p>Presently the officer reappeared and walked straight to the barn, a +trooper dismounting to follow him. They remained in the barn for a few +moments only, then hurried out again, heads raised, scanning the low +circling hills. Ah! Now they caught sight of her! She saw the officer +come swinging up the hillside, buttons, spurs, and sword hilt glittering +in the sun; she watched his coming with a calm almost terrible in its +breathless concentration. Nearer, nearer he came, mounting the easy<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_54" id="pg_54">54</a></span> +slope with a quick, boyish swing; and now he had halted, slouch hat +aloft; and she heard his pleasant, youthful voice:</p> + +<p>“I reckon you haven’t seen a stranger pass this way, ma’am, have you?”</p> + +<p>“There was a lady came last night,” she answered innocently.</p> + +<p>“That’s the one!” he said, in his quick, eager voice. “Can you tell me +where she went?”</p> + +<p>“She said she was going west.”</p> + +<p>“Has she gone?”</p> + +<p>“She left the house when I did,” answered the girl simply.</p> + +<p>“Riding!” he exclaimed. “She came on a hoss, I reckon?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And she rode west?”</p> + +<p>“I saw her going west,” she nodded, resuming her knitting.</p> + +<p>The officer turned toward the troopers below, drew out a handkerchief +and whipped the air with it for a second or two, then made a sweeping +motion with his arm, and drawing his sabre struck it downward four +times.</p> + +<p>Instantly the knot of troopers fell apart,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_55" id="pg_55">55</a></span> scattering out and spurring +westward in diverging lines; the officer watched them until the last +horse had disappeared, then he lazily sheathed his sabre, unbuckled a +field glass, adjusted it, and seated himself on the grass beside her.</p> + +<p>“Have you lived here long?” he asked pleasantly, setting the glass to +his eye and carefully readjusting the lens.</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Your father is living, is he not?”</p> + +<p>She did not reply.</p> + +<p>“I reckon Gilson’s command met him a piece back in the scrub, driving a +wagon and a fine horse.”</p> + +<p>She said nothing; her steady fingers worked the needles, and presently +he heard her softly counting the stitches as she turned the heel.</p> + +<p>“He said we’d find his ‘Cynthy’ here,” observed the youthful officer, +lowering his glass. “Are you Cynthia Gray, ma’am?”</p> + +<p>“He named me Cynthia,” she said, with a smile.</p> + +<p>He plucked a blade of grass, and placing it between his white teeth, +gazed at her so steadily that she dropped a stitch, recovered it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_56" id="pg_56">56</a></span> and +presently he saw her lips resuming the silent count. He reseated himself +on the grass, laying his field glass beside him.</p> + +<p>“I reckon your folk are all Yankee,” he ventured softly.</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“Are you afraid of us? Do you hate us, ma’am?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head, stealing a glance at him from her lovely eyes. If +that was part of her profession, she had learned it well; for he laughed +and stretched out, resting easily on one elbow, looking up at her +admiringly under her faded sunbonnet.</p> + +<p>“Are you ever lonely here?” he inquired gravely.</p> + +<p>Again her dark eyes rested on him shyly, but she shook her head in +silence.</p> + +<p>“Never lonely without anybody to talk to?” he persisted, removing his +slouched army hat and passing his hands over his forehead.</p> + +<p>“What have I to say to anybody?” she asked coquettishly.</p> + +<p>A little breeze sprang up, stirring his curly hair and fluttering the +dangling strings of her sunbonnet. He lay at full length there, a +slender, athletic figure in his faded gray uniform,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_57" id="pg_57">57</a></span> idly pulling the +grass up to twist and braid into a thin green rope.</p> + +<p>The strange exhilaration that danger had brought had now subsided; she +glanced at him indifferently, noting the well-shaped head, the boyish +outlines of face and figure. He was no older than she—and not very wise +for his years.</p> + +<p>Presently, very far away, the dulled report of a carbine sounded, +stirring a deadened echo among the hills.</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Yank, I reckon,” he drawled, rising to his feet and fixing his field +glass steadily on the hills beyond.</p> + +<p>“Are you going to have a battle here?” she asked.</p> + +<p>He laughed. “Oh, no, Miss Cynthia. That’s only bushwhacking.”</p> + +<p>“But—but where are they shooting?”</p> + +<p>He pointed to the west. “There’s Yankee cavalry loafing in the hills. I +reckon we’ll gobble ’em, too. But don’t <i>you</i> worry, Miss Cynthia,” he +added gallantly. “<i>I</i> shall be here to-night, and by sunrise there won’t +be a soldier within ten miles of you.”</p> + +<p>“Within ten miles,” she murmured; “ten<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_58" id="pg_58">58</a></span> miles is too near. I—I think I +will go back to the house.”</p> + +<p>He looked down at her; she raised her dark eyes to him; then he bowed +and gallantly held out both hands, and she laid her hands in his, +suffering him to lift her to her feet.</p> + +<p>The brief contact set the color mounting to his sunburnt temples; it had +been a long while since he had touched a young girl’s hand.</p> + +<p>“I wonder,” she said, “whether you would care to share my dinner?”</p> + +<p>She spoke naturally, curiously; all idea of danger was over; she was +free to follow her own instincts, which were amiable. Besides, the boy +was a gentleman.</p> + +<p>“If it wouldn’t be too much to ask—too inconvenient—” He hesitated, +hat in hand, handsome face brightening.</p> + +<p>“No; I want you to come,” she answered simply, and took his hand in +hers.</p> + +<p>A deeper color swept his face as they descended the gentle slope +together, she amused and quietly diverted by his shyness, and thinking +how she meant to give this boyish rebel a better dinner than he had had +for many a long mile.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_59" id="pg_59">59</a></span></p> + +<p>And she did, he aiding her with the vegetables, she mixing johnnycake +for the entire squad, slicing the bacon, and setting the coffee to boil.</p> + +<p>Toward midday the scouting squad returned, to find their officer +shelling peas on the cabin steps, and a young girl, sleeves at her +shoulders, stirring something very vigorously in a large black +kettle—something that exhaled an odor which made the lank troopers lick +their gaunt lips in furtive hope.</p> + +<p>The sergeant of the troop reported; the officer nodded and waved the +horsemen away to the barn, where they were presently seen squatting +patiently in a row, sniffing the aroma that floated from the cabin door.</p> + +<p>“Did your men find the lady?” she asked, looking out at him where he +sat, busy with the peas.</p> + +<p>“No, Miss Cynthia. But if she went west she’s run into the whole +Confederate cavalry. Our business is to see she doesn’t double back +here.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you follow her?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Miss Cynthia,” he said gravely, “she is that ‘Special Messenger’ +who has done us more damage than a whole Yankee army<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_60" id="pg_60">60</a></span> corps. We’ve got +to stop her this time—and I reckon we will.”</p> + +<p>The girl stirred the soup, salted it, peppered it, lifted the pewter +spoon and tasted it. Presently she called for the peas.</p> + +<p>About two o’clock that afternoon a row of half-famished Confederate +cavalrymen sat devouring the best dinner they had eaten in months. There +was potato soup, there was johnnycake, smoking hot coffee, crisp slices +of fragrant bacon, an egg apiece, and a vegetable stew. Trooper after +trooper licked fingers, spoon, and pannikin, loosening leather belts +with gratified sighs; the pickets came cantering in when the relief, +stuffed to repletion, took their places, carbine on thigh.</p> + +<p>Flushed from the heat of the stove, arms still bared, the young hostess +sat at table with the officer in command, and watched him in sympathy as +he ate.</p> + +<p>She herself ate little, tasting a morsel here and there, drinking at +times from the cup of milk beside her.</p> + +<p>“I declare, Miss Cynthia,” he said, again and again, “this is the finest +banquet, ma’am, that I ever sat down to.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_61" id="pg_61">61</a></span></p> + +<p>She only thought, “The boy was starving!” and the indulgent smile +deepened as she sat there watching him, chin resting on her linked +hands.</p> + +<p>At last he was satisfied, and a little ashamed, too, of his appetite, +but she told him it was a pleasure to cook for him, and sent him off to +the barn, where presently she spied him propped up in the loft window, a +map spread on his knees, and his field glass tucked under one arm.</p> + +<p>And now she had leisure to think again, and she leaned back in her chair +by the window, bared arms folded, ankles crossed, frowning in +meditation.</p> + +<p>She must go; the back trail was clear now. But she needed her own +clothing and a horse. Where could she find a horse?</p> + +<p>Hour after hour she sat there. He had cantered off into the woods long +since; and all through the long afternoon she sat there scheming, +pondering, a veiled sparkle playing under her half-closed lids. She saw +him returning in the last lingering sun rays, leading his saddled horse +down to the brook, and stand there, one arm flung across the crupper, +while the horse drank and shook his thoroughbred<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_62" id="pg_62">62</a></span> head and lipped the +tender foliage that overhung the water. There was the horse she +required! She must have him.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later, bridle over one arm, the young officer came +sauntering up to the doorstep. He was pale, but he smiled when he saw +her, and his weather-beaten hat swept the grass in salute as she came to +the door and looked down at him, hands clasped behind her slender back.</p> + +<p>“You look dreadfully tired,” she said gently. “Don’t you ever sleep?”</p> + +<p>He had been forty-eight hours in the saddle, but he only laughed a gay +denial of fatigue.</p> + +<p>She descended the steps, walked over to the horse, and patted neck and +shoulder, scanning limb and chest and flank. The horse would do!</p> + +<p>“Will you hitch your horse and come in?” she asked sweetly.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, ma’am.” He passed the bridle through the hitching ring at +the door, and, hat in hand, followed her into the cabin. His boots +dragged a little, but he straightened up, and when she had seated +herself, he sank into a chair, closing his sunken eyes for a moment, +only to open them smiling, and lean forward<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_63" id="pg_63">63</a></span> on the rough table, folding +his arms under him.</p> + +<p>“You have been very good to us, Miss Cynthia,” he said. “My men want me +to say so.”</p> + +<p>“Your men are welcome,” she answered, resting her cheek on her hand.</p> + +<p>There was a long silence, broken by her: “You are dying for sleep. Why +do you deny it? You may lie down on my bed if you wish.”</p> + +<p>He protested, thanking her, but said he would be glad to sleep in the +hay if she permitted; and he rose, steadying himself by the back of his +chair.</p> + +<p>“I always sleep bridle in hand,” he said. “A barn floor is luxury for my +horse and me.”</p> + +<p>That would not do. The horse must remain. She <i>must</i> have that horse!</p> + +<p>“I will watch your horse,” she said. “Please lie down there. I really +wish it.”</p> + +<p>“Why, ma’am, I should never venture——”</p> + +<p>She looked at him; her heart laughed with content. Here was an easy way +for stern necessity.</p> + +<p>“Sleep soundly,” she said, with a gay<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_64" id="pg_64">64</a></span> smile; and before he could +interpose, she had slipped out and shut the door behind her.</p> + +<p>The evening was calm; the last traces of color were fading from the +zenith. Pacing the circle of the cabin clearing, she counted the +videttes—one in the western pasture, one sitting his saddle in the +forest road to the east, and a horseman to the south, scarcely visible +in the gathering twilight. She passed the barnyard, head lifted +pensively, carefully counting the horses tethered there. Twelve! Then +there was no guard for the northern cattle path—the trail over which +she and they had come!</p> + +<p>Now walking slowly back to the cabin, she dropped her slippers and +mounted the steps on bare feet, quietly opening the door. At first in +the dim light she could see nothing, then her keen ear caught the quiet +sound of his breathing, and she stole over to the bed. He lay there +asleep.</p> + +<p>Now seconds meant eternity, perhaps; she mounted the ladder to the +attic, tiptoed over the loose boards, felt around for her packet, and +loosened the blanket.</p> + +<p>By sense of touch alone she dressed, belting<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_65" id="pg_65">65</a></span> in the habit with her +girdle, listening, every sense alert. But her hand never shook, her +fingers were deft and steady, fastening button and buckle, looping up +her skirt, strapping the revolver to her girdle. She folded map and +papers noiselessly, tucking them into her bosom; then, carrying her +spurred boots, she crept across the boards again, and descended the +ladder without a sound.</p> + +<p>The fading light from the window fell upon the bed where he lay; and she +smiled almost tenderly as she stole by him, he looked so young lying +there, his curly head pillowed on his arms.</p> + +<p>Another step and she was beside him; another; she stopped short, and her +heart seemed to cease at the same instant. Was she deceived? Were his +eyes wide open?</p> + +<p>Suddenly he sat bolt-upright in the bed, and at the same instant she +bent and struck him a stunning blow with the butt of her revolver.</p> + +<p>Breathless, motionless, she saw him fall back and lie there without a +quiver; presently she leaned over him, tore open his jacket and shirt, +and laid her steady hand upon his heart. For a moment she remained +there, looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_66" id="pg_66">66</a></span> down into his face; then with a sob she bent and kissed +him on the lips.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>At midnight, as she was riding out of the hill scrub, a mounted vidette +hailed her on the Gettysburg pike, holding her there while horseman +after horseman galloped up, and the officer of the guard came cantering +across the fields at the far summons.</p> + +<p>A lantern glimmered, flared up; there was a laugh, the sound of a dozen +horses backing, a low voice: “Pass! Special Messenger for headquarters!”</p> + +<p>Then the lantern-light flashed and went out; shadowy horsemen wheeled +away east and west, trotting silently to posts across the sod.</p> + +<p>Far away among the hills the Special Messenger was riding through the +night, head bent, tight-lipped, her dark eyes wet with tears.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90px"> +<a name="illus-004" id="illus-004"></a> +<img src="images/i066.png" alt="" title="" width="90" /><br /> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:293px"> +<a name="illus-005" id="illus-005"></a> +<img src="images/i067a.png" alt="" title="" width="293" /><br /> +</div> + +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_67" id="pg_67">67</a></span> +<a name="ABSOLUTION_1747" id="ABSOLUTION_1747"></a> +<h2>III</h2> +<h3>ABSOLUTION</h3> +</div> + +<p>Just before daylight the unshaven sentinels at headquarters halted her; +a lank corporal arrived, swinging a lighted lantern, which threw a +yellow radiance over horse and rider. Then she dismounted.</p> + +<p>Mud smeared her riding jacket; boots and skirt were clotted with it; so +was the single army spur. Her horse stretched a glossy, sweating neck +and rolled wisely-suspicious eyes at the dazzling light. On the gray<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_68" id="pg_68">68</a></span> +saddle cloth glimmered three gilt letters, C. S. A.</p> + +<p>“What name, ma’am?” repeated the corporal, coming closer with lifted +lantern, and passing an inquiring thumb over the ominous letters +embroidered on the saddle cloth.</p> + +<p>“No name,” she said. “They will understand—inside there.”</p> + +<p>“That your hoss, ma’am?”</p> + +<p>“It seems to be.”</p> + +<p>“Swap him with a Johnny?”</p> + +<p>“No; took him from a Johnny.”</p> + +<p>“Shucks!” said the corporal, examining the gilt letters. Then, looking +around at her:</p> + +<p>“Wa’ll, the ginrall, he’s some busy.”</p> + +<p>“Please say that his messenger is here.”</p> + +<p>“Orders is formuel, ma’am. I dassent——”</p> + +<p>She pronounced a word under her breath.</p> + +<p>“Hey?”</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“Tain’t <i>her</i>?” demanded the corporal incredulously.</p> + +<p>She nodded again. The corporal’s lantern and jaw dropped in unison.</p> + +<p>“Speak low,” she said, smiling.</p> + +<p>He leaned toward her; she drew nearer, inclining her pretty, disheveled +head with its<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_69" id="pg_69">69</a></span> disordered braids curling into witchlocks on her +shoulders.</p> + +<p>“’Tain’t <i>the</i> Special Messenger, ma’am, is it?” he inquired hoarsely. +“The boys is tellin’ how you was ketched down to——”</p> + +<p>She made him a sign for silence as the officer of the guard came up—an +ill-tempered, heavily-bandaged young man.</p> + +<p>“What the——” he began, but, seeing a woman’s muddy skirt in the +lantern light, checked his speech.</p> + +<p>The corporal whispered in his ear; both stared. “I guess it’s all +right,” said the officer. “Won’t you come in? The general is asleep; +he’s got half an hour more, but I’ll wake him if you say so.”</p> + +<p>“I can wait half an hour.”</p> + +<p>“Take her horse,” said the officer briefly, then led the way up the +steps of a white porch buried under trumpet vines in heavy bloom.</p> + +<p>The door stood open, so did every window on the ground floor, for the +July night was hot. A sentry stood inside the wide hall, resting on his +rifle, sleeves rolled to his elbows, cap pushed back on his flushed +young forehead.</p> + +<p>There was a candle burning in the room on<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_70" id="pg_70">70</a></span> the right; an old artillery +officer leaned over the center table, asleep, round, red face buried in +his arms, sabre tucked snugly between his legs, like the tail of a +sleeping dog; an aide-de-camp slept heavily on a mahogany sofa, jacket +unbuttoned, showing the white, powerful muscles of his chest, all +glistening with perspiration. Beside the open window sat a thin figure +in the uniform of a signal officer, and at first when the Special +Messenger looked at him she thought he also was asleep.</p> + +<p>Then, as though her entrance had awakened him, he straightened up, +passed one long hand over his face, looked at her through the +candlelight, and rose with a grace too unconscious not to have been +inherited.</p> + +<p>The bandaged officer of the guard made a slovenly gesture, half salute, +half indicative: “The Messenger,” he announced, and, half turning on his +heel as he left the room, “our signal officer, Captain West,” in +deference to a convention almost forgotten.</p> + +<p>Captain West drew forward an armchair; the Special Messenger sank into +its tufted depths and stripped the gauntlets from her sun-tanned +hands—narrow hands, smooth as a child’s, now wearily coiling up the +lustrous<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_71" id="pg_71">71</a></span> braids which sagged to her shoulders under the felt riding +hat. And all the while, from beneath level brows, her dark, distrait +eyes were wandering from the signal officer to the sleeping major of +artillery, to the aide snoring on the sofa, to the trumpet vines hanging +motionless outside the open window. But all she really saw was Captain +West.</p> + +<p>He appeared somewhat young and thin, his blond hair and mustache were +burned hay-color. He was adjusting eyeglasses to a narrow, well-cut +nose; under a scanty mustache his mouth had fallen into pleasant lines, +the nearsighted eyes, now regarding her normally from behind the +glasses, seemed clear, unusually pleasant, even a trifle mischievous.</p> + +<p>“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked respectfully.</p> + +<p>“After the general is awake—if I might have the use of a room—and a +little fresh water—” Speech died in her throat; some of the color died +in her face, too.</p> + +<p>“Did you wish me to awake him now? If your business is urgent I will,” +said Captain West.</p> + +<p>She did not reply; an imperceptible twitching tightened her lips; then +the young mouth<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_72" id="pg_72">72</a></span> relaxed, drooping a trifle at the corners. Lying there, +so outwardly calm, her tired, faraway gaze fixed absently on him, she +seemed on the verge of slumber.</p> + +<p>“If your business is urgent,” he was repeating pleasantly. But she made +no answer.</p> + +<p>Urgent? No, not now. It had been urgent a second or two ago. But not +now. There was time—time to lie there looking at him, time to try to +realize such things as triumph, accomplishment, the excitement of +achievement; time to relax from the long, long strain and lie nerveless, +without strength, yielding languidly to the reaction from a task well +done.</p> + +<p>So this was success? A pitiful curiosity made her eyes wistful for an +instant. Success? It had not come as she expected.</p> + +<p>Was her long quest over? Was this the finish? Had all ended here—here +at headquarters, whither she had returned to take up, patiently, the +lost trail once more?</p> + +<p>Her dark gaze rested on this man dreamily; but her heart, after its +first painful bound of astonishment, was beating now with heavy, +sickened intelligence. The triumph had come too suddenly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_73" id="pg_73">73</a></span></p> + +<p>“Are you hungry?” he asked.</p> + +<p>She was not hungry. There was a bucket of water and a soldier’s tin cup +on the window sill; and, forestalling him instinctively, she reached +over, plunged the cup into the tepid depths and drank.</p> + +<p>“I was going to offer you some,” he said, amused; and over the brimming +cup she smiled back, shuddering.</p> + +<p>“If you care to lie down for a few moments I’ll move that youngster off +the sofa,” he suggested.</p> + +<p>But fatigue had vanished; she was terribly awake now.</p> + +<p>“Can’t you sleep? You are white as death. I’ll call you in an hour,” he +ventured gently, with that soft quality in his voice which sounded so +terrible in her ears—so dreadful that she sat up in an uncontrollable +tremor of revolt.</p> + +<p>“What did you ask me?”</p> + +<p>“I thought you might wish to sleep for half an hour——”</p> + +<p>Sleep? She shook her head, wondering whether sleep would be more +merciful to her at this time to-morrow—or the next day—or ever again. +And all the time, apparently<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_74" id="pg_74">74</a></span> indifferent and distrait, she was studying +every detail of this man; his lean features, his lean limbs, his thin, +muscular hands, his uniform, the slim, light sabre which he balanced +with both hands across his angular knees; the spurred boots, well +groomed and well fitted; the polished cross-straps supporting field +glasses and holster.</p> + +<p>“Are you the famous Special Messenger?—if it is not a military +indiscretion to name you,” he asked, with a glint of humor in his +pleasant eyes. It seemed to her as though something else glimmered +there, too—the faintest flash of amused recklessness, as though gayly +daring any destiny that might menace. He was younger than she had +thought, and it sickened her to realize that he was quite as amiably +conscious of her as any well-bred man may be who permits himself to +recognize the charm of an attractive woman. All at once a deathly +feeling came over her—faintness, which passed—repugnance, which gave +birth to a desperate hope. The hope flickered; only the momentary +necessity for self-persuasion kept it alive. She must give him every +chance; she must take from him none. Not that for one instant she was +afraid of herself—of failing<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_75" id="pg_75">75</a></span> in duty; she understood that she <i>could</i> +not. But she had not expected this moment to come in such a fashion. No; +there was more for her to do, a chance—barely a miracle of chance—that +she might be mistaken.</p> + +<p>“Why do you think I am the Special Messenger, Captain West?”</p> + +<p>There was no sign of inward tumult under her smooth, flushed mask as she +lay back, elbows set on the chair’s padded arms, hands clasped together. +Over them she gazed serenely at the signal officer. And he looked back +at her.</p> + +<p>“Other spies come to headquarters,” he said, “but you are the only one +so far who embodies my ideal of the highly mysterious Special +Messenger.”</p> + +<p>“Do I appear mysterious?”</p> + +<p>“Not unattractively so,” he said, smiling.</p> + +<p>“I have heard,” she said, “that the Union spy whom they call the Special +Messenger is middle-aged and fat.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve heard that, too,” he nodded, with a twinkle in his gray eyes—“and +I’ve heard also that she’s red-headed, peppered with freckles, +and—according to report—bow-legged from too many cross-saddles.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_76" id="pg_76">76</a></span></p> + +<p>“Please observe my single spur,” she said, extending her slender, booted +foot; “and you will notice that I don’t fit that passport.”</p> + +<p>“My idea of her passport itemizes every feature you possess,” he said, +laughing; “five feet seven; dark hair, brown eyes, regular features, +small, well-shaped hands——”</p> + +<p>“Please—Captain West!”</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon—” very serious.</p> + +<p>“I am not offended.... What time is it, if you please?”</p> + +<p>He lifted the candle, looked closely at his watch and informed her; she +expressed disbelief, and stretched out her hand for the watch. He may +not have noticed it; he returned the watch to his pocket.</p> + +<p>She sank back in her chair, very thoughtful. Her glimpse of the monogram +on the back of the watch had not lasted long enough. Was it an M or a W +she had seen?</p> + +<p>The room was hot; the aide on the sofa ceased snoring; one spurred heel +had fallen to the floor, where it trailed limply. Once or twice he +muttered nonsense in his sleep.</p> + +<p>The major of artillery grunted, lifted a congested face from the cradle +of his folded arms, blinked at them stupidly, then his heavy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_77" id="pg_77">77</a></span> +close-clipped head fell into his arms again. The candle glimmered on his +tarnished shoulder straps.</p> + +<p>A few moments later a door at the end of the room creaked and a +fully-lathered visage protruded. Two gimlet eyes surveyed the scene; a +mouth all awry from a sabre-slash closed grimly as Captain West rose to +attention.</p> + +<p>“Is there any fresh water?” asked the general. “There’s a dead mouse in +this pail.”</p> + +<p>At the sound of his voice the aide awoke, got onto his feet, took the +pail, and wandered off into the house somewhere; the artillery officer +rose with a dreadful yawn, and picked up his forage cap and gauntlets.</p> + +<p>Then he yawned again, showing every yellow tooth in his head.</p> + +<p>The general opened his door wider, standing wiry and erect in boots and +breeches. His flannel shirt was open at the throat; lather covered his +features, making the distorted smile that crept over them unusually +hideous.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m glad to see <i>you</i>,” he said to the Special Messenger; “come +in while I shave. West, is there anything to eat? All right; I’m ready +for it. Come in, Messenger, come in!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_78" id="pg_78">78</a></span></p> + +<p>She entered, closing the bedroom door; the general shook hands with her +slyly, saying, “I’m devilish glad you got through, ma’am. Have any +trouble down below?”</p> + +<p>“Some, General.”</p> + +<p>He nodded and began to shave; she stripped off her tight outer jacket, +laid it on the table, and, ripping the lining stitches, extracted some +maps and shreds of soft paper covered with notes and figures.</p> + +<p>Over these, half shaved, the general stooped, razor in hand, eyes +following her forefinger as she traced in silence the lines she had +drawn. There was no need for her to speak, no reason for him to inquire; +her maps were perfectly clear, every route named, every regiment, every +battery labeled, every total added up.</p> + +<p>Without a word she called his attention to the railroad and the note +regarding the number of trains.</p> + +<p>“We’ve got to get at it, somehow,” he said. “What are those?”</p> + +<p>“Siege batteries, General—on the march.”</p> + +<p>His mutilated mouth relaxed into a grin.</p> + +<p>“They seem to be allfired sure of us. What are they saying down below?”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:366px"> +<a name="illus-006" id="illus-006"></a> +<img src="images/i078.png" alt=""'They seem to be allfired sure of us.'"" title="" width="366" /><br /> +<span class="caption">“‘They seem to be allfired sure of us.’”</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_79" id="pg_79">79</a></span>“They talk of being in Washington by the fifteenth, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Oh.... What’s that topographical symbol—here?” placing one finger on +the map.</p> + +<p>“That is the Moray Mansion—or was.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Was?</i>”</p> + +<p>“Our cavalry burned it two weeks ago Thursday.”</p> + +<p>“Find anything to help you there?”</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>The general returned to his shaving, completed it, came back and +examined the papers again.</p> + +<p>“That infantry, there,” he said, “are you sure it’s Longstreet’s?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“You didn’t see Longstreet, did you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; and talked with him.”</p> + +<p>The general’s body servant knocked, announcing breakfast, and left the +general’s boots and tunic, both carefully brushed. When he had gone out +again, the Special Messenger said very quietly:</p> + +<p>“I expect to report on the Moray matter before night.”</p> + +<p>The general buckled in his belt and hooked up his sword.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_80" id="pg_80">80</a></span></p> + +<p>“If you can nail that fellow,” he said, speaking very slowly, “I guess +you can come pretty close to getting whatever you ask for from +Washington.”</p> + +<p>For a moment she stood very silent there, her ripped jacket hanging limp +over her arm; then, with a pallid smile:</p> + +<p>“Anything I ask for? Did you say that, sir?”</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>“Even if I ask for—his pardon?”</p> + +<p>The general laughed a distorted laugh.</p> + +<p>“I guess we’ll bar that,” he said. “Will you breakfast, ma’am? The next +room is free, if you want it.”</p> + +<p>Headquarters bugles began to sound as she crossed the hall, jacket +dangling over her arm, and pushed open the door of a darkened room. The +air within was stifling, she opened a window and thrust back the blinds, +and at the same moment the ringing crack of a rifled cannon shattered +the silence of dawn. Very, very far away a dull boom replied.</p> + +<p>Outside, in dusky obscurity, cavalry were mounting; a trooper, pumping +water from a well under her window, sang quietly to himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_81" id="pg_81">81</a></span> in an +undertone as he worked, then went off carrying two brimming buckets.</p> + +<p>The sour, burned stench of stale campfires tainted the morning +freshness.</p> + +<p>She leaned on the sill, looking out into the east. Somewhere yonder, +high against the sky, they were signaling with torches. She watched the +red flames swinging to right, to left, dipping, circling; other sparks +broke out to the north, where two army corps were talking to each other +with fire.</p> + +<p>As the sky turned gray, one by one the forest-shrouded hills took shape; +details began to appear; woodlands grew out of fathomless shadows, +fields, fences, a rocky hillock close by, trees in an orchard, some +Sibley tents.</p> + +<p>And with the coming of day a widening murmur grew out of the invisible, +a swelling monotone through which, incessantly, near and distant, +broken, cheery little flurries of bugle music, and far and farther +still, where mists hung over a vast hollow in the hills, the dropping +shots of the outposts thickened to a steady patter, running backward and +forward, from east to west, as far as the ear could hear.</p> + +<p>A soldier brought her some breakfast; later he came again with her +saddlebags and a big<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_82" id="pg_82">82</a></span> bucket of fresh water, taking away her riding +habit and boots, which she thrust at him from the half-closed door.</p> + +<p>Her bath was primitive enough; a sheet from the bed dried her, the +saddlebags yielded some fresh linen, a pair of silk stockings and a +comb.</p> + +<p>Sitting there behind closed blinds, her smooth body swathed to the waist +in a sheet, she combed out the glossy masses of her hair before braiding +them once more around her temples; and her dark eyes watched daylight +brighten between the slits in the blinds.</p> + +<p>The cannonade was gradually becoming tremendous, the guns tuning up by +batteries. There was, however, as yet, no platoon firing distinguishable +through the sustained crackle of the fusillade; columns of dust, hanging +above fields and woodlands, marked the courses of every northern road +where wagons and troops were already moving west and south; the fog from +the cannon turned the rising sun to a pulsating, cherry-tinted globe.</p> + +<p>There was no bird music now from the orchard; here and there a scared +oriole or robin flashed through the trees, winging its frightened way +out of pandemonium.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_83" id="pg_83">83</a></span></p> + +<p>The cavalry horses of the escort hung their heads, as though dully +enduring the uproar; the horses of the field ambulances parked near the +orchard were being backed into the shafts; the band of an infantry +regiment, instruments flashing dully, marched up, halted, deposited +trombone, clarion and bass drum on the grass and were told off as +stretcher-bearers by a smart, Irish sergeant, who wore his cap over one +ear.</p> + +<p>The shock of the cannonade was terrific; the Special Messenger, +buttoning her fresh linen, winced as window and door quivered under the +pounding uproar. Then, dressed at last, she opened the shaking blinds +and, seating herself by the window, laid her riding jacket across her +knees.</p> + +<p>There were rents and rips in sleeve and body, but she was not going to +sew. On the contrary, she felt about with delicate, tentative fingers, +searching through the loosened lining until she found what she was +looking for, and, extracting it, laid it on her knees—a photograph, in +a thin gold oval, covered with glass.</p> + +<p>The portrait was that of a young man—thin, quaintly amused, looking out +of the frame at her from behind his spectacles. The mustache<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_84" id="pg_84">84</a></span> appeared +to be slighter, the hair a trifle longer than the mustache and hair worn +by the signal officer, Captain West. Otherwise, it was the man. And hope +died in her breast without a flicker.</p> + +<p>Sitting there by the shaking window, with the daguerreotype in her +clasped hands, she looked at the summer sky, now all stained and +polluted by smoke; the uproar of the guns seemed to be shaking her +reason, the tumult within her brain had become chaos, and she scarcely +knew what she did as, drawing on both gauntlets and fastening her soft +riding hat, she passed through the house to the porch, where the staff +officers were already climbing into their saddles. But the general, +catching sight of her face at the door, swung his horse and dismounted, +and came clanking back into the deserted hallway where she stood.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” he asked, lowering his voice so she could hear him under +the din of the cannonade.</p> + +<p>“The Moray matter.... I want two troopers detailed.”</p> + +<p>“Have you nailed him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—I—” She faltered, staring fascinated at the distorted face, +marred by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_85" id="pg_85">85</a></span> sabre to the hideousness of doom itself. “Yes, I think so. +I want two troopers—Burke and Campbell, of the escort, if you don’t +mind——”</p> + +<p>“You can have a regiment! Is it far?”</p> + +<p>“No.” She steadied her voice with an effort.</p> + +<p>“Near <i>my</i> headquarters?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Damnation!” he blazed out, and the oath seemed to shock her to +self-mastery.</p> + +<p>“Don’t ask me now,” she said. “If it’s Moray, I’ll get him.... What are +those troops over there, General?” pointing through the doorway.</p> + +<p>“The Excelsiors—Irish Brigade.”</p> + +<p>She nodded carelessly. “And where are the signal men? Where is your +signal officer stationed—Captain——”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean West? He’s over on that knob, talking to Wilcox with flags. +See him, up there against the sky?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said.</p> + +<p>The general’s gimlet eyes seemed to bore through her. “Is that all?”</p> + +<p>“All, thank you,” she motioned with dry lips.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_86" id="pg_86">86</a></span></p> + +<p>“Are you properly fixed? What do you carry—a revolver?”</p> + +<p>She nodded in silence.</p> + +<p>“All right. Your troopers will be waiting outside.... Get him, in one +way or another; do you understand?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>A few moments later the staff galloped off and the escort clattered +behind, minus two troopers, who sat on the edge of the veranda in their +blue-and-yellow shell jackets, carbines slung, poking at the grass with +the edges of their battered steel scabbards.</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger came out presently, and the two troopers rose to +salute. All around her thundered the guns; sky and earth were trembling +as she led the way through an orchard heavy with green fruit. A volunteer +nurse was gathering the hard little apples for cooking; she turned, her +apron full, as the Special Messenger passed, and the two women, both +young, looked at one another through the sunshine—looked, and turned +away, each to her appointed destiny.</p> + +<p>Smoke, drifting back from the batteries, became thicker beyond the +orchard. Not very far away the ruddy sparkle of exploding Confederate<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_87" id="pg_87">87</a></span> +shells lighted the obscurity. Farther beyond the flames of the Union +guns danced red through the cannon gloom.</p> + +<p>Higher on the hill, however, the air became clearer; a man outlined in +the void was swinging signal flags against the sky.</p> + +<p>“Wait here,” said the Special Messenger to Troopers Burke and Campbell, +and they unslung carbines, and leaned quietly against their feeding +horses, watching her climb the crest.</p> + +<p>The crest was bathed in early sunlight, an aërial island jutting up +above a smoky sea. From the terrible, veiled maelstrom roaring below, +battle thunder reverberated and the lightning of the guns flared +incessantly.</p> + +<p>For a moment, poised, she looked down into the inferno, striving to +penetrate the hollow, then glanced out beyond, over fields and woods +where sunlight patched the world beyond the edges of the dark pall.</p> + +<p>Behind her Captain West, field glasses leveled, seemed to be intent upon +his own business.</p> + +<p>She sat down on the grassy acclivity. Below her, far below, Confederate +shells were constantly striking the base of the hill. A<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_88" id="pg_88">88</a></span> mile away black +squares checkered a slope; beyond the squares a wood was suddenly belted +with smoke, and behind her she heard the swinging signal flags begin to +whistle and snap in the hill wind. She had sat there a long while before +Captain West spoke to her, standing tall and thin beside her; some +half-serious, half-humorous pleasantry—nothing for her to answer. But +she looked up into his face, and he became silent, and after a while he +moved away.</p> + +<p>A little while later the artillery duel subsided and finally died out +abruptly, leaving a comparative calm, broken only by slow and very +deliberate picket firing.</p> + +<p>The signal men laid aside their soiled flags and began munching +hardtack; Captain West came over, bringing his own rations to offer her, +but she refused with a gesture, sitting there, chin propped in her +palms, elbows indenting her knees.</p> + +<p>“Are you not hungry or thirsty?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>He had carelessly seated himself on the natural rocky parapet, spurred +boots dangling over space. For one wild instant she hoped<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_89" id="pg_89">89</a></span> he might slip +and fall headlong—and his blood be upon the hands of his Maker.</p> + +<p>Sitting near one another they remained silent, restless-eyed, brooding +above the battle-scarred world. As he rose to go he spoke once or twice +to her with that haunting softness of voice which had begun to torture +her; but her replies were very brief; and he said nothing more.</p> + +<p>At intervals during the afternoon orderlies came to the hill; one or two +general officers and their staffs arrived for brief consultations, and +departed at a sharp gallop down hill.</p> + +<p>About three o’clock there came an unexpected roar of artillery from the +Union left; minute by minute the racket swelled as battery after battery +joined in the din.</p> + +<p>Behind her the signal flags were fluttering wildly once more; a priest, +standing near her, turned nodding:</p> + +<p>“Our boys will be going in before sundown,” he said quietly.</p> + +<p>“Are you Father Corby, chaplain of the Excelsiors?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, madam.”</p> + +<p>He lifted his hat and went away knee-deep through the windy +hill-grasses; white butterflies<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_90" id="pg_90">90</a></span> whirled around him as he strode, head +on his breast; the swift hill swallows soared and skimmed along the +edges of the smoke as though inviting him. From her rocky height she saw +the priest enter the drifting clouds.</p> + +<p>A man going to his consecrated duty. And she? Where lay her duty? And +why was she not about it?</p> + +<p>“Captain West!” she called in a clear, hard voice.</p> + +<p>Seated on his perch above the abyss, the officer lowered his field +glasses and turned his face. Then he rose and moved over to where she +was sitting. She stood up at once.</p> + +<p>“Will you walk as far as those trees with me?” she asked. There was a +strained ring to her voice.</p> + +<p>He wheeled, spoke briefly to a sergeant, then, with that subtle and +pleasant deference which characterized him, he turned and fell into step +beside her.</p> + +<p>“Is there anything I can do?” he asked softly.</p> + +<p>“No.... God help us both.”</p> + +<p>He halted. At a nod from her, two troopers standing beside their quietly +browsing horses, cocked carbines. The sharp, steel click of the locks +was perfectly audible through the din of the cannon.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:363px"> +<a name="illus-007" id="illus-007"></a> +<img src="images/i090.png" alt=""Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and it was empty."" title="" width="363" /><br /> +<span class="caption">“Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and it was empty.”</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_91" id="pg_91">91</a></span>The signal officer looked at her; and her face was whiter than his.</p> + +<p>“You are Warren Moray—I think,” she said.</p> + +<p>His eyes glimmered like a bayonet in sunlight; then the old half-gay, +half-defiant smile flickered over his face.</p> + +<p>“Special Messenger,” he said, “you come as a dark envoy for me. Now I +understand your beauty—Angel of Death.”</p> + +<p>“Are you Major Moray?” She could scarcely speak.</p> + +<p>He smiled, glanced at the two troopers, and shrugged his shoulders. +Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and it was empty; and +his pistol glimmered in her hand.</p> + +<p>“For God’s sake don’t touch your sabre-hilt!” she said.... “Unclasp your +belt! Let it fall!”</p> + +<p>“Can’t you give me a chance with those cavalrymen?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t. You know it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I know.”</p> + +<p>There was a silence; the loosened belt fell to the grass, the sabre +clashing. He looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_92" id="pg_92">92</a></span> coolly at the troopers, at her, and then out across +the smoke.</p> + +<p>“<i>This</i> way?” he said, as though to himself. “I never thought it.” His +voice was quiet and pleasant, with a slight touch of curiosity in it.</p> + +<p>“How did you know?” he asked simply, turning to her again.</p> + +<p>She stood leaning back against a tree, trying to keep her eyes fixed on +him through the swimming weakness invading mind and body.</p> + +<p>“I suppose this ends it all,” he added absently; and touched the sabre +lying in the grass with the tip of his spurred boot.</p> + +<p>“Did you look for any other ending, Mr. Moray?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—I did.”</p> + +<p>“How could you, coming into our ranks with a dead man’s commission and +forged papers? How long did you think it could last? Were you mad?”</p> + +<p>He looked at her wistfully, smiled, and shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Not mad, unless you are. Your risks are greater than were mine.”</p> + +<p>She straightened up, stepped toward him, very pale.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_93" id="pg_93">93</a></span></p> + +<p>“Will you come?” she asked. “I am sorry.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry—for us both,” he said gently. “Yes, I will come. Send those +troopers away.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you can. I give my word of honor.”</p> + +<p>She hesitated; a bright flush stained his face.</p> + +<p>“I take your word,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>A moment later the troopers mounted and cantered off down the hill, +veering wide to skirt the head of a column of infantry marching in; and +when the Special Messenger started to return she found masses of men +threatening to separate her from her prisoner—sunburnt, sweating, +dirty-faced men, clutching their rifle-butts with red hands.</p> + +<p>Their officers rode ahead, thrashing through the moist grass; a forest +of bayonets swayed in the sun; flag after flag passed, slanting above +the masses of blue.</p> + +<p>She and her prisoner looked on; the flag of the 63d New York swept by; +the flags of the 69th and 88th followed. A moment later the columns +halted.</p> + +<p>“Your Excelsiors,” said Moray calmly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_94" id="pg_94">94</a></span></p> + +<p>“They’re under fire already. Shall we move on?”</p> + +<p>A soldier in the ranks, standing with ordered arms, fell straight +backward, heavily; a corporal near them doubled up with a grunt.</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger heard bullets smacking on rocks; heard their dull +impact as they struck living bodies; saw them knock men flat. Meanwhile +the flags drooped above the halted ranks, their folds stirred lazily, +fell, and scarcely moved; the platoon fire rolled on unbroken somewhere +out in the smoke yonder.</p> + +<p>“God send me a bullet,” said Moray.... “Why do you stay here?”</p> + +<p>“To—give you—that chance.”</p> + +<p>“You run it, too.”</p> + +<p>“I hope so. I am very—tired.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry,” he said, reddening.</p> + +<p>She said fiercely: “I wish it were over.... Life is cruel.... I suppose +we must move on. Will you come, please?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—my dark messenger,” he said under his breath, and smiled.</p> + +<p>A priest passed them in the smoke; her prisoner raised his hand to the +visor of his cap.</p> + +<p>“Father Corby, their chaplain,” she murmured.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_95" id="pg_95">95</a></span></p> + +<p>“Attention! Attention!” a far voice cried, and the warning ran from rank +to rank, taken up in turn by officer after officer. Father Corby was +climbing to the summit of a mound close by; an order rang out, bugles +repeated it, and the blue ranks faced their chaplain.</p> + +<p>Then the priest from his rocky pulpit raised his ringing voice in +explanation. He told the three regiments of the Irish Brigade—now +scarcely more than three battalions of two companies each—that every +soldier there could receive the benefit of absolution by making a +sincere act of contrition and resolving, on first opportunity, to +confess.</p> + +<p>He told them that they were going to be sent into battle; he urged them +to do their duty; reminded them of the high and sacred nature of their +trust as soldiers of the Republic, and ended by warning them that the +Catholic Church refuses Christian burial to him who deserts his flag.</p> + +<p>In the deep, battle-filled silence the priest raised up his hands; three +regiments sank to their knees as a single man, and the Special Messenger +and her prisoner knelt with them.</p> + +<p>“<i>Dominus noster Jesus Christus vos absolvat,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_96" id="pg_96">96</a></span> et ego, auctoritate +ipius, vos absolvo ab omvir vinculo</i>——”</p> + +<p>The thunder of the guns drowned the priest’s voice for a moment, then it +sounded again, firm and clear:</p> + +<p>“<i>Absolve vos a peccatis</i>——”</p> + +<p>The roar of battle blotted out the words; then again they rang out:</p> + +<p>“<i>In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti!... Amen.</i>”</p> + +<p>The officers had remounted now, their horses plunging in the smoke; the +flags were moving forward; rivers of bayonets flowed out into the +maelstrom where the red lightning played incessantly. Then from their +front crashed out the first volley of the Irish Brigade.</p> + +<p>“Forward! Forward!” shouted their officers. Men were falling everywhere; +a dying horse kicked a whole file into confusion. Suddenly a shell fell +in their midst, another, another, tearing fiery right of way.</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger, on her knees in the smoke, looked up and around +as a priest bent above her.</p> + +<p>“Child,” he said, “what are you doing here?” And then his worn gaze fell +on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_97" id="pg_97">97</a></span> dead man who lay in the grass staring skyward through his broken +eyeglasses with pleasant, sightless eyes.</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger, white to the lips, looked up: “We were on our +knees together, Father Corby. You had said the amen, and the bullet +struck him—here!... He had no chance for confession.... But you +said——”</p> + +<p>Her voice failed.</p> + +<p>The priest looked at her; she took the dead man’s right hand in hers.</p> + +<p>“He was a brave man, Father.... And you said—you said—about those who +fell fighting for—their <i>own</i> land—absolution—Christian burial——”</p> + +<p>She choked, set her teeth in her under lip and looked down at the dead. +The priest knelt, too.</p> + +<p>“Is—is all well with him?” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“Surely, child——”</p> + +<p>“But—his was the—<i>other</i> flag.”</p> + +<p>There was a silence.</p> + +<p>“Father?”</p> + +<p>“I know—I know.... The banner of Christ is broader.... You say he was +kneeling here beside you?”</p> + +<p>“Here—so close that I touched him....<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_98" id="pg_98">98</a></span> And then you said.... Christian +burial—absolution——”</p> + +<p>“He was a spy?”</p> + +<p>“What am I, Father?”</p> + +<p>“Absolved, child—like this poor boy, here at your feet.... What is that +locket in your hand?”</p> + +<p>“His picture.... I found it in his house when the cavalry were setting +fire to it.... Oh, I am tired of it all—deathly, deathly sick!... Look +at him lying here! Father, Father, is there no end to death?”</p> + +<p>The priest rose wearily; through the back-drifting smoke the long battle +line of the Excelsiors wavered like phantoms in the mist. Six flags +flapped ghostlike above them, behind them men writhed in the trampled, +bloody grass; before them the sheeted volleys rushed outward into +darkness, where the dull battle lightning played.</p> + +<p>A maimed, scorched, blackened thing in the grass near by was calling on +Christ; the priest went to him, turning once on his way to look back +where the Special Messenger knelt beside a dead man who lay smiling at +nothing through his shattered eyeglasses.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:280px"> +<a name="illus-008" id="illus-008"></a> +<img src="images/i099a.png" alt="" title="" width="280" /><br /> +</div> + +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_99" id="pg_99">99</a></span> +<a name="ROMANCE_2586" id="ROMANCE_2586"></a> +<h2>IV</h2> +<h3>ROMANCE</h3> +</div> + +<p>The Volunteer Nurse sighed and spread out her slender, iodine-stained +fingers on both knees, looking down at them reflectively.</p> + +<p>“It is different now,” she said; “sentiment dies under the scalpel. In +the filth and squalor of reality neither the belief in romance nor the +capacity for desiring it endure long.... Even pity becomes atrophied—or +at least a reflex habit; sympathy, sorrow, remain as mechanical +reactions, not spontaneous<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_100" id="pg_100">100</a></span> emotions.... You can understand that, dear?”</p> + +<p>“Partly,” said the Special Messenger, raising her dark eyes to her old +schoolmate.</p> + +<p>“In the beginning,” said the Nurse, dreamily, “the men in their +uniforms, the drums and horses and glitter, and the flags passing, and +youth—<i>youth</i>—not that you and I are yet old in years; do you know +what I mean?”</p> + +<p>“I know,” said the Special Messenger, smoothing out her riding gloves. +“Do you remember the cadets at Oxley? You loved one of them.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; you know how it was in the cities; and even afterward in +Washington—I mean the hospitals after Bull Run. Young bravery—the +Zouaves—the multicolored guard regiments—and a romance in every +death!” She laid one stained hand over the other, fingers still wide. +“But here in this blackened horror they call the ‘seat of war’—this +festering bullpen, choked with dreary regiments, all alike, all in +filthy blue—here individuals vanish, men vanish. The schoolgirl dream +of man dies here forever. Only unwashed, naked duty remains; and its +inspiration, man—bloody, dirty, vermin-covered, terrible—sometimes;<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_101" id="pg_101">101</a></span> +and sometimes whimpering, terrified, flinching, base, bereft of all his +sex’s glamour, all his mystery, shorn of authority, devoid of pride, +pitiable, screaming under the knife.—It is different now,” said the +pretty Volunteer Nurse.—“The war kills more than human life.”</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger drew her buckskin gloves carefully through her +belt and buttoned the holster of her revolver.</p> + +<p>“I have seen war, too,” she said; “and the men who dealt death and the +men who received it. Their mystery remains—the glamour of a man remains +for me—because he is a man.”</p> + +<p>“I have heard them crying like children in the stretchers.”</p> + +<p>“So have I. That solves nothing.”</p> + +<p>But the Nurse went on:</p> + +<p>“And in the wards they are sometimes something betwixt devils and +children. All the weakness and failings they attribute to women come out +in them—fear, timidity, inconsequence, greed, malice, gossip! And, as +for courage—I tell you, women bear pain better.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I have learned that.... It is not difficult to beguile them +either; to lead them, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_102" id="pg_102">102</a></span> read them. That is part of my work. I do it. I +know they <i>are</i> afraid in battle—the intelligent ones. Yet they fight. +I know they are really children—impulsive, passionate, selfish, often +cruel—but, after all, they are here fighting this war—here encamped +all around us throughout these hills and forests.... They have lost none +of their glamour for me. Their mystery remains.”</p> + +<p>The Volunteer Nurse looked up with a tired smile:</p> + +<p>“You always were emotional, dear.”</p> + +<p>“I am still.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t have to drain wounds and dry out sores and do the thousand +unspeakable offices that we do.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you do them?”</p> + +<p>“I have to.”</p> + +<p>“You didn’t have to enlist. Why did you?”</p> + +<p>“Why do the men enlist?” asked the Nurse. “That’s why you and I +did—whatever the motive may have been, God knows.... And it’s killed +part of me.... <i>You</i> don’t cleanse ulcers.”</p> + +<p>“No; I am not fitted. I tried; and lost none of the romance in me. Only +it happens that I can do—what I am doing—better.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_103" id="pg_103">103</a></span></p> + +<p>The Nurse looked at her a trifle awed.</p> + +<p>“To think, dear, that you should turn out to be the celebrated Special +Messenger. You were timid in school.”</p> + +<p>“I am now.... You don’t know how afraid a woman can be. Suppose in +school—suppose that for one moment we could have foreseen our +destiny—here together, you and I, as we are now.”</p> + +<p>The Nurse looked into the stained hollow of her right hand.</p> + +<p>“I had the lines read once,” she said drearily, “but nobody ever said +I’d be here, or that there’d be any war.” And she continued to examine +her palm with a hurt expression in her blue eyes.</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger laughed, and her lovely, pale face lighted up with +color.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you really think you are ever going to be capable of caring for a +man again?”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t. I know now how they’re fashioned, how they think—how—how +revolting they can be.... No, no! It’s all gone—all the ideals, all the +dreams.... Good Heavens, how romantic—how senseless we were in school!”</p> + +<p>“I am still,” said the Special Messenger<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_104" id="pg_104">104</a></span> thoughtfully. “I like men.... +A man—the right one—could easily make me love him. And I am afraid +there are more than one ‘right one.’ I have often been on the +sentimental border.... But they died, or went away—or I did.... The +trouble with me is, as you say, that I am emotional, and very, very +tender-hearted.... It is sometimes difficult to be loyal—to care for +duty—to care for the Union more than for a man. Not that there is any +danger of my proving untrue——”</p> + +<p>“No,” murmured the Nurse, “loyalty is your inheritance.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, we—” she named her family under her breath—“are traditionally +trustworthy. It is part of us—our race was always, will always +be.... But—to see a man near death—and to care for him a little—even +a rebel—and to know that one word might save him—only one little +disloyal word!”</p> + +<p>“No man would save <i>you</i> at that expense,” said the Nurse disdainfully. +“I know men.”</p> + +<p>“Do you? I don’t—in that way. There was once an officer—a +noncombatant. I could have loved him.... Once there was a Confederate +cavalryman. I struck him<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_105" id="pg_105">105</a></span> senseless with my revolver-butt—and I might +have—cared for him. He was very young.... I never can forget him. It is +hard, dear, the business I am engaged in.... But it has never spoiled my +interest in men—or my capacity for loving one of them. I am afraid I am +easily moved.”</p> + +<p>She rose and stood erect, to adjust her soft riding hat, her youthfully +slender figure in charming relief against the window.</p> + +<p>“Won’t you let me brew a little tea for you?” asked the Nurse. “Don’t +leave me so soon.”</p> + +<p>“When do you go on duty?”</p> + +<p>“In about ten minutes. It will be easier to-morrow, when we send our +sick North. Will you come in to-morrow?”</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger shook her head dreamily.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know—I don’t know.... Good-by.”</p> + +<p>“Are <i>you</i> going on duty?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“When?”</p> + +<p>“Now.”</p> + +<p>The Nurse rose and put both arms around her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_106" id="pg_106">106</a></span></p> + +<p>“I am so afraid for you,” she said; “and it has been so good to see +you.... I don’t know whether we’ll ever meet again——”</p> + +<p>Her voice was obliterated in the noisy outburst of bugles sounding the +noon sick-call.</p> + +<p>They went out together, where the Messenger’s horse was tied under the +trees. Beyond, through the pines, glimmered the tents of an emergency +hospital. And now, in the open air not very far away, they could hear +picket firing.</p> + +<p>“Do be careful,” said the blue-eyed Nurse. “They say you do such +audacious things; and every day somebody says you have been taken, or +hanged, or shot. Dear, you are so young and so pretty——”</p> + +<p>“So are you. Don’t catch fever or smallpox or die from a scratch from a +poisoned knife.... Good-by once more.”</p> + +<p>They kissed each other. A hospital orderly, passing hurriedly, stopped +to hold her stirrup; she mounted, thanked the orderly, waved a smiling +adieu to her old schoolmate, and, swinging her powerful horse westward, +trotted off through the woods, passing the camp sentinels with a nod and +a low-spoken word.</p> + +<p>Farther out in the woods she encountered<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_107" id="pg_107">107</a></span> the first line of pickets; +showed her credentials, then urged her horse forward at a gallop.</p> + +<p>“Not that way!” shouted an officer, starting to run after her; “the +Johnnies are out there!”</p> + +<p>She turned in her saddle and nodded reassuringly, then spurred on again, +expecting to jump the Union advance-guard every moment.</p> + +<p>There seemed to be no firing anywhere in the vicinity; nothing to be +seen but dusky pine woods; and after she had advanced almost to the edge +of a little clearing, and not encountering the outer line of Union +pickets, she drew bridle and sat stock still in her saddle, searching in +every direction with alert eyes.</p> + +<p>Nothing moved; the heated scent of the Southern pines hung heavy in the +forest; in the long, dry swale-grass of the clearing, yellow butterflies +were flying lazily; on a dead branch above her a huge woodpecker, with +pointed, silky cap, uttered a querulous cry from moment to moment.</p> + +<p>She strained her dainty, close-set ears; no sound of man stirred in this +wilderness—only the lonely bird-cry from above; only the ceaseless +monotone of the pine crests stirred by some high breeze unfelt below.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_108" id="pg_108">108</a></span></p> + +<p>A forest path, apparently leading west, attracted her attention; into +this she steered her horse and continued, even after her compass had +warned her that the path was now running directly south.</p> + +<p>The tree-growth was younger here; thickets of laurel and holly grew in +the undergrowth, and, attempting a short cut out, she became entangled. +For a few minutes her horse, stung by the holly, thrashed and floundered +about in the maze of tough stems; and when at last she got him free, she +was on the edge of another clearing—a burned one, lying like a path of +black velvet in the sun. A cabin stood at the farther edge.</p> + +<p>Three forest bridle paths ran west, east, and south from this blackened +clearing. She unbuttoned her waist, drew out a map, and, flattening it +on her pommel, bent above it in eager silence. And, as she sat studying +her map, she became aware of a tremor in the solid earth under her horse’s +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_109" id="pg_109">109</a></span>feet. It grew to a dull jarring vibration—nearer—nearer—nearer—and +she hastily backed her horse into the depths of the laurel, sprang to +the ground, and placed both gauntleted hands over her horse’s nostrils.</p> + +<p>A moment later the Confederate cavalry swept through the clearing at a +trot—a jaunty, gray column, riding two abreast, then falling into +single file as they entered the bridle path at a canter.</p> + +<p>She watched them as they flashed by among the pines, sitting their +horses beautifully, the wind lifting the broad brims of their soft hats, +the sun a bar of gold across each sunburned face.</p> + +<p>There were only a hundred of them—probably some of Ashby’s old riders, +for they seemed strangely familiar—but it was not long before they had +passed on their gay course, and the last tremor in the forest soil—the +last distant rattle of sabre and carbine—died away in the forest +silence.</p> + +<p>What were they doing here? She did not know. There seemed no logical +reason for the presence of Stuart’s troopers.</p> + +<p>For a while, awaiting their possible collision with the Union outposts, +she listened, expecting the far rattle of rifles. No sound came. They +must have sheered off east. So, very calmly she addressed herself to the +task in hand.</p> + +<p>This must be the burned clearing; her map<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_110" id="pg_110">110</a></span> and the cabin corroborated +her belief. Then it was here that she was to meet this unknown man in +Confederate uniform and Union pay—a spy like herself—and give him +certain information and receive certain information in return.</p> + +<p>Her instructions had been unusually rigid; she was to take every +precaution; use native disguise whether or not it might appear +necessary, carry no papers, and let any man she might encounter make the +advances until she was absolutely certain of him. For there was an ugly +rumor afloat that the man she expected had been caught and hanged, and +that a Confederate might attempt to impersonate him. So she looked very +carefully at her map, then out of the thicket at the burned clearing. +There was the wretched cabin named as rendezvous, the little garden +patch with standing corn and beans, and here and there a yellowing +squash.</p> + +<p><i>Why had the passing rebel cavalry left all that good food undisturbed?</i></p> + +<p>Fear, which within her was always latent, always too ready to influence +her by masquerading as caution, stirred now. For almost an hour she +stood, balancing her field glasses<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_111" id="pg_111">111</a></span> across her saddle, eyes focused on +the open cabin door. Nothing stirred there.</p> + +<p>At last, with a slight shiver, she opened her saddle bags and drew out +the dress she meant to wear—a dingy, earth-colored thing of gingham.</p> + +<p>Deep in the thicket she undressed, folded her fine linen and silken +stockings, laid them away in the saddle bags together with waist and +skirt, field glasses, gauntlets, and whip, and the map and papers, which +latter, while affording no information to the enemy, would certainly +serve to convict her.</p> + +<p>Dressed now in the scanty, colorless clothing of a “poor white” of the +pine woods, limbs and body tanned with walnut, her slender feet rubbed +in dust and then thrust stockingless into shapeless shoes, she let down +the dark, lustrous mass of her hair, braided it, tied it with faded +ribbon, rubbed her hands in wood mold and crushed green leaves over them +till they seemed all stained and marred with toil. Then she gathered an +armful of splinter wood.</p> + +<p>Now ready, she tethered her horse, leaving him bitted and saddled; +spread out his sack of feed, turned and looked once more at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_112" id="pg_112">112</a></span> cabin, +then walked noiselessly to the clearing’s edge, carrying her aromatic +splinters.</p> + +<p>Underfoot, as she crossed it, the charred grass crumbled to powder; +three wild doves flickered up into flight, making a soft clatter and +displaying the four white feathers. A quail called from the bean patch.</p> + +<p>The heat was intense in the sun; perspiration streaked her features; her +tender feet burned; the cabin seemed a long way off, a wavering blot +through the dancing heat devils playing above the fire-scorched open.</p> + +<p>Head bent, she moved on in the shiftless, hopeless fashion of the sort +of humanity she was representing, furtively taking her bearings and +making such sidelong observations as she dared. To know the shortest way +back to her horse might mean life to her. She understood that. Also she +fully realized that she might at that very instant be under hostile +observation. In her easily excited imagination, all around her the +forest seemed to conceal a hundred malevolent eyes. She shivered +slightly, wiped the perspiration from her brow with one small bare fist, +and plodded on, clutching her lightwood to her rounded breast.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_113" id="pg_113">113</a></span></p> + +<p>And now at last she was nearing the open cabin door; and she must not +hesitate, must show no suspicion. So she went in, dragging her +clumsily-shod feet.</p> + +<p>A very young man in the uniform of a Confederate cavalry officer was +seated inside before the empty fireplace of baked clay. He had a bad +scar on his temple. She looked at him, simulating dull surprise; he rose +and greeted her gracefully.</p> + +<p>“Howdy,” she murmured in response, still staring.</p> + +<p>“Is this your house?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Suh?” blankly.</p> + +<p>“Is this your house?”</p> + +<p>“I reckon,” she nodded. “How come you-all in my house?”</p> + +<p>He replied with another question:</p> + +<p>“What were you doing in the woods?”</p> + +<p>“Lightwood,” she answered briefly, stacking the fragrant splinters on +the table.</p> + +<p>“Do you live here all alone?”</p> + +<p>“Reckon I’m alone when I live heah,” sullenly.</p> + +<p>“What is your name?” He had a trick of coloring easily.</p> + +<p>“What may be <i>yoh</i> name, suh?” she retorted<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_114" id="pg_114">114</a></span> with a little flash of +Southern spirit, never entirely quenched even in such as she seemed to +be.</p> + +<p>Genuine surprise brought the red back into his face and made it, worn as +it was, seem almost handsome. The curious idea came to her that she had +seen him before somewhere. At the same moment speech seemed to tremble +on his lips; he hesitated, looked at her with a new and sudden keenness, +and stood looking.</p> + +<p>“I expected to meet somebody here,” he said at length.</p> + +<p>She did not seem to comprehend.</p> + +<p>“I expected to meet a woman here.”</p> + +<p>“Who? Me?” incredulously.</p> + +<p>He looked her over carefully; looked at her dusty bare ankles, at her +walnut-smeared face and throat. She seemed so small, so +round-shouldered—so different from what he had expected. They had said +that the woman he must find was pretty.</p> + +<p>“Was yuh-all fixin’ to meet up with <i>me</i>?” she repeated with a bold +laugh.</p> + +<p>“I—don’t know,” he said. “By the Eternal, I don’t know, ma’am. But I’m +going to find out in right smart time. Did you ever hear anybody speak +Latin?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_115" id="pg_115">115</a></span></p> + +<p>“Suh?” blankly; and the audacity faded.</p> + +<p>“Latin,” he repeated, a trifle discomfited. “For instance, ‘<i>sic itur</i>.’ +Do you know what ‘<i>sic itur</i>’ means?”</p> + +<p>“Sick—what, suh?”</p> + +<p>“‘<i>Sic itur!</i>’ Oh, Lord, she <i>is</i> what she looks like!” he exclaimed in +frank despair. He walked to the door, wheeled suddenly, came back and +confronted her.</p> + +<p>“Either, ma’am, you are the most consummate actress in this war drama, +or you don’t know what I’m saying, and you think me crazy.... And now +I’ll ask you once for all: <i>Is this the road</i>?”</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger looked him full in the eyes; then, as by magic, +the loveliest of smiles transfigured the dull, blank features; her round +shoulders, pendulous arms, slouching pose, melted into superb symmetry, +quickening with grace and youth as she straightened up and faced him, +erect, supple, laughing, adorable.</p> + +<p>“<i>Sic itur—ad Astra</i>,” she said demurely, and offered him her hand. +“Continue,” she added.</p> + +<p>He neither stirred nor spoke; a deep flush mounted to the roots of his +short, curly hair.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_116" id="pg_116">116</a></span> She smiled encouragement, thinking him young and +embarrassed, and a trifle chagrined.</p> + +<p>“Continue the Latin formula,” she nodded, laughing; “what follows, if +you please——”</p> + +<p>“Good God!” he broke out hoarsely.</p> + +<p>And suddenly she knew there was nothing to follow except death—his or +hers—realized she made an awful mistake—divined in one dreadful +instant the unsuspected counter-mine beneath her very feet—cried out as +she struck him full in the face with clenched fist, sprang back, +whipping the revolver from her ragged bodice, dark eyes ablaze.</p> + +<p>“Now,” she panted, “hands high—and turn your back! Quickly!”</p> + +<p>He stood still, very pale, one sunburned hand covering the cheek which +she had struck. There was blood on it. He heard her breathless voice, +warning him to obey, but he only took his hand from his face, looked at +the blood on palm and finger, then turned his hopeless eyes on her.</p> + +<p>“Too late,” he said heavily. “But—I’d rather be you than I.... Look out +of that window, Messenger!”</p> + +<p>“Put up your hands!”</p> + +<p>“No.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_117" id="pg_117">117</a></span></p> + +<p>“Will you hold up your hands!”</p> + +<p>“No, Messenger.... And I—didn’t—know it was <i>you</i> when I came here. +It’s—it’s a dirty business—for an officer.” He sank down on the wooden +chair, resting his head between both hands. A single drop of blood fell +brightly from his cut cheek.</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger stole a swift, sidelong glance toward the window, +hesitated, and, always watching him, slid along the wall toward the +door, menacing him at every step with leveled revolver. Then, at the +door, she cast one rapid glance at the open field behind her and around. +A thrill of horror stiffened her. The entire circle of the burned +clearing was ringed with the gray pickets of rebel cavalry.</p> + +<p>The distant men sat motionless on their horses, carbine on thigh. Here +and there a distant horse tossed his beautiful head, or perhaps some +hat-brim fluttered. There was no other movement, not one sound.</p> + +<p>Crouching to pass the windows beneath the sills she crept, heedless of +her prisoner, to the rear door. That avenue to the near clustering woods +was closed, too; she saw the glitter of carbines above the laurel.</p> + +<p>“Special Messenger?” She turned toward<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_118" id="pg_118">118</a></span> him, pale as a ghost. “I reckon +we’ve got you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said.</p> + +<p>There was another chair by the table—the only other one. She seated +herself, shaking all over, laid her revolver on the table, stared at the +weapon, pushed it from her with a nervous shudder, and, ashy of lip and +cheek, looked at the man she had struck.</p> + +<p>“Will they—hang me?”</p> + +<p>“I reckon, ma’am. They hung the other one—the man you took me for.”</p> + +<p>“Will there be a—trial?”</p> + +<p>“Drumhead.... They’ve been after you a long, long while.”</p> + +<p>“Then—what are you waiting for?”</p> + +<p>He was silent.</p> + +<p>She found it hard to control the nervous tremor of her limbs and lips. +The dryness in her throat made speech difficult.</p> + +<p>“Then—if there is no chance——”</p> + +<p>He bent forward swiftly and snatched her revolver from the table as her +small hand fell heavily upon the spot where the weapon had rested.</p> + +<p>“Would you do <i>that</i>?” he said in a low voice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_119" id="pg_119">119</a></span></p> + +<p>The desperate young eyes answered him. And, after a throbbing silence: +“Won’t you let me?” she asked. “It is indecent to h-hang +a—woman—before—men——”</p> + +<p>He did not answer.</p> + +<p>“Please—please—” she whispered, “give it back to me—if you are +a—soldier.... You can go to the door and call them.... Nobody will +know.... You can turn your back.... It will only take a second!”</p> + +<p>A big blue-bottle fly came blundering into the room and filled the +silence with its noise. Years ago the big blue flies sometimes came into +the quiet schoolroom; and how everybody giggled when the taller Miss +Poucher, bristling from her prunella shoes to her stiff side-curls, +charged indignantly upon the buzzing intruder.</p> + +<p>Dry—eyed, dry—lipped, the Messenger straightened up, quivering, and +drew a quick, sharp breath; then her head fell forward, and, resting +inert upon the table, she buried her face in her arms. The most +dangerous spy in the Union service—the secret agent who had worked more +evil to the Confederacy than any single Union army corps—the coolest, +most resourceful, most trusted messenger on either<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_120" id="pg_120">120</a></span> side as long as the +struggle lasted—caught at last.</p> + +<p>The man, young, Southern, and a gentleman’s son, sat staring at her. He +had driven his finger-nails deep into his palms, bitten his underlip +till it was raw.</p> + +<p>“Messenger!”</p> + +<p>She made no response.</p> + +<p>“Are you afraid?”</p> + +<p>Her head, prone in her arms, motioned dull negation. It was a lie and he +knew it. He looked at the slender column of the neck—stained to a +delicate amber—at the nape; and he thought of the rope and the knot +under the left ear.</p> + +<p>“Messenger,” he said once more. “I did not know it was <i>you</i> I was to +meet. Look at me, in God’s name!”</p> + +<p>She opened her eyes on him, then raised her head.</p> + +<p>“Do you know me now?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Look!”</p> + +<p>He touched the scar on his forehead; but there was no recognition in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>“Look, I tell you!” he repeated, almost fiercely.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_121" id="pg_121">121</a></span></p> + +<p>She said wearily: “I have seen so many men—so many men.... I can’t +remember you.”</p> + +<p>“And I have seen many women, Messenger; but I have never forgotten +you—or what you did—or what you did——”</p> + +<p>“I?”</p> + +<p>“You.... And from that night I have lived only to find you again. +And—oh, God! To find you here! My Messenger! My little Messenger!”</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” she whispered, leaning forward on the table, dark eyes +dilating with hope.</p> + +<p>He sat heavily for a while, head bowed as though stunned to silence; +then slowly the white misery returned to his face and he looked up.</p> + +<p>“So—after all—<i>you</i> have forgotten. And my romance is dead.”</p> + +<p>She did not answer, intent now on every word, every shade of his +expression. And, as she looked, through the numbness of her desperation, +hope stirred again, stealthily.</p> + +<p>“Are you a friend?” Her voice scarcely sounded at all.</p> + +<p>“Friends die for each other,” he said. “Do you expect that of me?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_122" id="pg_122">122</a></span></p> + +<p>The silence between them became terrible; and at last he broke it with a +bitter laugh:</p> + +<p>“You once turned a boy’s life to romance—riding through it—out of +it—leaving scars on his brow and heart—and on his lips the touch of +your own. And on his face your tears. Look at me once more!”</p> + +<p>Her breath came quicker; far within her somewhere memory awoke, groping +blindly for light.</p> + +<p>“Three days we followed you,” he said. “On the Pennsylvania line we +cornered you; but you changed garb and shape and speech, almost under +our eyes—as a chameleon changes color, matching the leaf it hides +on.... I halted at that squatter’s house—sure of you at last—and the +pretty squatter’s daughter cooked for us while we hunted you in the +hills—and when I returned she gave me her bed to sleep on——”</p> + +<p>Her hand caught at her throat and she half rose, staring at him.</p> + +<p>“Her own bed to sleep on,” he repeated. “And I had been three days +in the saddle; and I ate what she set before me, and slept on her +bed—fell asleep—only a tired boy, not a soldier any longer.... +And awoke to meet<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_123" id="pg_123">123</a></span> your startled eyes—to meet the blow from your +revolver butt that made this scar—to fall back bewildered for a +moment—half-stunned—Messenger! Do you know me now?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said.</p> + +<p>They looked breathlessly at one another; suddenly a hot blush covered +her neck and face; and his eyes flashed triumph.</p> + +<p>“You have <i>not</i> forgotten!” he cried.</p> + +<p>And there, on the very edge of death itself, the bright shame glowed and +glowed in her cheeks, and her distressed eyes fell before his.</p> + +<p>“You kissed me,” he said, looking at her.</p> + +<p>“I—I thought I had—killed you—” she stammered.</p> + +<p>“And you kissed me on the lips.... In that moment of peril you waited to +do that. Your tears fell on my face. I felt them. And I tell you that, +even had I been lying there dead instead of partly stunned, I would have +known what you did to me after you struck me down.”</p> + +<p>Her head sank lower; the color ran riot from throat to brow.</p> + +<p>He spoke again, quietly, yet a strange undertone of exaltation thrilled +his voice and transfigured the thin, war-worn features she<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_124" id="pg_124">124</a></span> had +forgotten, so that, as she lifted her eyes to him again, the same boy +looked back at her from the mist of the long dead years.</p> + +<p>“Messenger,” he said, “I have never forgotten. And now it is too late to +forget your tears on my face—the touch of your lips on mine. I would +not if I could.... It was worth living for—dying for.... Once—I +hoped—some day—after this—all this trouble ended—my romance might +come—true——”</p> + +<p>The boy choked, then:</p> + +<p>“I came here under orders to take a woman spy whose password was the key +to a Latin phrase. But until you stood straight in your rags and smiled +at me, I did not know it was you—I did not know I was to take the +Special Messenger! Do you believe me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>The boy colored painfully. Then a queer, pallid change came over his +face; he rose, bent over her where she rested heavily on the table:</p> + +<p>“Little Messenger,” he said, “I am in your debt for two blows and a +kiss.”</p> + +<p>She lifted a dazed face to meet his gaze; he trembled, leaned down, and +kissed her on the mouth.</p> + +<p>Then in one bound he was at the door, signaling<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_125" id="pg_125">125</a></span> his troopers with drawn +sabre—as once, long ago, she had seen him signal them in the Northern +woods.</p> + +<p>And, through the window, she saw the scattered cavalry forming column at +a gallop, obeying every sabre signal, trotting forward, wheeling fours +right—and then—and then! the gray column swung into the western forest +at a canter, and was gone!</p> + +<p>The boy leaning in the doorway looked back at her over his shoulder and +sheathed his sabre. There was not a vestige of color left in his face.</p> + +<p>“Go!” he said hoarsely.</p> + +<p>“What?” she faltered.</p> + +<p>“Go—go, in God’s name! There’s a door there! Can’t you see it?”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>She had been gone for a full hour when at last he turned again. A bit of +faded ribbon from her hair lay on the table. It was tied in a true +lover’s knot.</p> + +<p>He walked over, looked at it, drew it through his buttonhole and went +slowly back to the door again. For a long while he stood there, +vague-eyed, silent. It was nearly sunset when once more he drew his +sabre, examined<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_126" id="pg_126">126</a></span> it carefully, bent it over one knee, and snapped the +blade in two.</p> + +<p>Then, with a last look at the sky, and standing very erect, he closed +the door, set his back firmly against it, drew his revolver, and looked +curiously into the muzzle.</p> + +<p>A moment later the racket of the shot echoed through the deserted house.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:205px"> +<a name="illus-009" id="illus-009"></a> +<img src="images/i126.png" alt="" title="" width="205" /><br /> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:278px"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_127" id="pg_127">127</a></span> +<a name="illus-010" id="illus-010"></a> +<img src="images/i127a.png" alt="" title="" width="278" /><br /> +</div> + +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="RED_FERRY_3280" id="RED_FERRY_3280"></a> +<h2>V</h2> +<h3>RED FERRY</h3> +</div> + +<p>When Private Allen of Kay’s Cavalry deserted with headquarters’ dispatch +pouch, and headed straight for Dixie, there was a great deal of +consternation and excitement on the north bank of the river, and a +considerable amount of headlong riding. But on the tenth day he slipped +through the cordon, got into the woods, and was making for the river +when a patrol shot at him near Gopher Creek, but lost him in the +impenetrable cypress swamp beyond.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_128" id="pg_128">128</a></span></p> + +<p>However, the pursuit was pushed forward to the very edge of the enemy’s +country; Kay’s troopers patrolled the north bank of the river and +watched every road and ford; east and west Ripley’s and Haynes’s +brigades formed impassable curtains.</p> + +<p>Somewhere in this vast corral lay hidden a desperate, starving man; and +it was only a question of time before the hunted creature broke cover +for the water.</p> + +<p>That a trooper had deserted with arms and equipment was generally known; +but that, in his nocturnal flight, he had also taken vitally important +papers was known at first only to Kay and later to the Special +Messenger, who was sent to him post-haste from corps headquarters when +the fugitive headed for the river.</p> + +<p>Now, the south bank of the stream being in the enemy’s territory, Kay +had not ventured to station patrols above the clay banks opposite, lest +rumor of invasion bring Stuart’s riders to complicate a man chase and +the man escape in the confusion.</p> + +<p>And he explained this to the Special Messenger at their first +conference.</p> + +<p>“It ought to be guarded,” insisted the Messenger<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_129" id="pg_129">129</a></span> tranquilly. “There are +three good fords and a ferry open to him.”</p> + +<p>“I hold the fords on this side,” argued Kay; “the ferryboat lies in the +eel-grass on the south shore.”</p> + +<p>“Stuart’s riders might cross if they heard of this trouble, sir!”</p> + +<p>“And if they see Union troops on the south bank they’ll cross, sure pop. +It won’t do, Messenger. If that fellow attempts the fords we’ll catch +him, sure; if he swims we may get him in the water. The Lord knows I +want him badly, but I dare not invite trouble by placing videttes across +the stream.... There’s a ferryman over there I’m worried about, too. +He’d probably come across if Allen hailed him from the woods.... And +Allen was thick with him. They used to fish together. Nobody knows what +they hatched out between them. It worries me, I can tell you—that +ferry.”</p> + +<p>The Messenger walked to the tent door and looked thoughtfully at the +woods around her. The colonel rose from his camp stool and followed her, +muttering:</p> + +<p>“I might as well try to catch a weasel in a wall, or a red horse in the +mud; and how to<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_130" id="pg_130">130</a></span> go about it I don’t know.” With set jaws and an angry +spot glowing in his gaunt cheeks, he stared wickedly around him and then +at the Messenger. “<i>You</i> do miracles, they say. Can’t you do one now?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, sir. Who is this deserter?”</p> + +<p>“Roy Allen—a sullen, unwilling dog—always malingering. He’s spent half +the time in the guardhouse, half in the hospital, since he arrived with +the recruits. Somebody got an idea that he’d been hit by the sun, but +it’s all bosh. He’s a bad one—that’s all. Can you help me out?”</p> + +<p>The Messenger nodded.</p> + +<p>“You say he’s fond of fishing?”</p> + +<p>“Crazy about it. He was often detailed to keep us in food when rations +ran low. Then the catfish made us sick, so I stopped his fishing. Then +he took French leave.”</p> + +<p>“I want two troopers this evening, Colonel. May I have them?” she asked +thoughtfully. “I’m going to keep house at Red Ferry for a while.”</p> + +<p>“All right, ma’am. Look out for him; he’s a bad one.”</p> + +<p>But the Messenger shook her head, smiling.</p> + +<p>At ten o’clock that night the Special Messenger,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_131" id="pg_131">131</a></span> mounted astride and +followed by two cavalrymen with carbines, rode down through the river +mist to Bushy Ford.</p> + +<p>Daintily her handsome horse set foot in the water, hesitated, bent his +long, velvety neck, sniffed, and finally drank; then, satisfied, stepped +quietly forward, hock-deep, in the swirling, yellow flood.</p> + +<p>“Foller them stakes, Miss,” cautioned the older trooper; “I sot ’em +m’self, I did.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. Keep close to me, Connor. I’ve crossed here before it was +staked.”</p> + +<p>“Sho!” exclaimed Connor under his breath; “she do beat ’em all!”</p> + +<p>Twice, having no light but the foggy stars, they missed the stakes and +her horse had to swim, but they managed to flounder safely back to the +ford each time; and after a little while her mount rose, straining +through the red mud of the shore, struggled, scrambled madly, and drew +out, dripping.</p> + +<p>Up a slippery, crooked ascent they rode, out into a field of uncut corn +above, then, spurring, swung at a canter eastward along the river.</p> + +<p>There was a dim light in the ferry house; a lubberly, fat man ran to the +open door as they<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_132" id="pg_132">132</a></span> drew bridle before it. When the fat man saw the blue +troopers he backed hastily away from the sill and the Messenger +dismounted and followed him into the house, heavy revolver swinging in +her gloved hand.</p> + +<p>“What’n hell y’goin’ to do to me?” he began to whimper; “I ain’t done +nothin’”; but an excess of fright strangled him, and he continued to +back away from her until he landed flat against the opposite wall. She +followed and halted before him, cocking her weapon, with a terrible +frown. She said solemnly:</p> + +<p>“I want you to answer me one or two questions, and if you lie to me it +will be the last time. Do you understand?”</p> + +<p>He nodded and moistened his thick lips, gulping.</p> + +<p>“Then you are the ferryman, Snuyder, are you not?”</p> + +<p>He nodded, utterly incapable of speech. She went on, gloomily:</p> + +<p>“You used to fish sometimes with a Yankee recruit named Allen—Roy +Allen?”</p> + +<p>“Ye-s’m,” he sniveled. “There’s my fish-pole an’ his’n layin’ onto the +roof——”</p> + +<p>“How did he hail you when he wanted you to come across to take him +fishing?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_133" id="pg_133">133</a></span></p> + +<p>“He jest come down to the shore an’ hollered twicet——”</p> + +<p>She bent closer, scanning his dilated eyes; speech died on his lips.</p> + +<p>“How did he call to you at <i>night</i>?”</p> + +<p>“He ain’t never called me at night—so help me——”</p> + +<p>“No; <i>but in case he ever wished to fish at night?</i>”</p> + +<p>The man began to stammer and protest, but she covered him suddenly, and +her dark eyes struck fire.</p> + +<p>“What signal?” she asked with a menacing ring in her voice. “Quick!”</p> + +<p>“Cock-o’-the-pines!... It didn’t mean nothin’,” gasped the man; ... “It +was jest private—between fishin’ friends——”</p> + +<p>“Go on!”</p> + +<p>“Yes’m.... If I heard a cock-o’-the-pines squeal I was to squeal back, +an’ then he was to holler—jest friendly—‘Hallo-oo! How’s fishin’?’ +That’s all, ma’am——”</p> + +<p>“And you were to cross?”</p> + +<p>“Yes’m—jest friendly like. Him an’ me was fond o’ fishin’——”</p> + +<p>“I see. Sit down and don’t move. Nobody is going to hurt you.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_134" id="pg_134">134</a></span></p> + +<p>She went to the door, leisurely uncocking her revolver and pushing it +through her belt.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Connor,” she called carelessly, “please mount my friend Mr. Snuyder +on my horse, take him across the ford, and detain him as my guest at +headquarters until I return. Wait a second; I’m going to keep my +saddlebags with me.”</p> + +<p>And a few minutes later, as the troopers rode away in the mist with +their prisoner, her gentle voice followed them:</p> + +<p>“Don’t be rough with him, Connor. Say to the colonel that there is no +harm in him at all, but keep him in sight until I return; and <i>don’t</i> +let him go fishing!”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>She began housekeeping at sunrise by taking a daring bath in the stream, +then, dressing, she made careful inventory of the contents of the house +and a cautious survey of the immediate environment.</p> + +<p>The premises, so unexpectedly and unwillingly abandoned by its late +obese tenant, harbored, besides herself, only one living creature—a fat +kitten.</p> + +<p>The ferry house stood above the dangerous<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_135" id="pg_135">135</a></span> south bank of the river in a +grove of oaks, surrounded for miles by open country.</p> + +<p>A flight of rickety, wooden stairs pitched downward from the edge of the +grassy bank to a wharf at the water’s edge—the mere skeleton of a wharf +now, outlined only by decaying stringpieces. But here the patched-up +punt was moored; and above it, nailed to a dead tree, the sign with its +huge lettering still remained:</p> + +<p class="c l"> +RED FERRY<br /> +HOLLER TWICE +</p> + +<p>sufficiently distinct to be deciphered from the opposite shore. Sooner +or later the fugitive would have to come to the river. Probably the +cavalry would catch him at one of the fords, or some rifleman might +shoot him swimming. But, if he did not know the fords, and could not +swim, there was only one ferry for him; east, west, and north he had +long since been walled in. The chances were that some night a +cock-o’-the-pines would squeal from the woods across the river, and then +she knew what to do.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_136" id="pg_136">136</a></span></p> + +<p>During those broiling days of waiting she had leisure enough. Seated +outside her shanty, in the shade of the trees, where she was able to +keep watch both ways—south for her own safety’s sake, north for the +doomed man—she occupied herself with mending stockings and underwear, +raising her eyes at intervals to sweep the landscape.</p> + +<p>Nobody came into that heated desolation; neither voice nor gunshot +echoed far or near. Day after day the foliage of the trees spread +motionless under cloudless skies; day after day the oily river slipped +between red mud banks in heated silence. In sky, on earth, nothing +stirred except, at intervals, some buzzard turning, high in the blinding +blue; below, all was deathly motionless, save when a clotted cake of red +clay let go, sliding greasily into the current. At dawn the sun struck +the half-stunned world insensible once more; no birds stirred even at +sunset; all the little creatures of the field seemed dead; her kitten +panted in its slumbers.</p> + +<p>Every night the river fog shrouded the land, wetting the parched leaves; +dew drummed on the rotting porch like the steady patter of +picket-firing; the widow bird’s distracted<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_137" id="pg_137">137</a></span> mourning filled the silence; +the kitten crept to its food, ate indifferently, then, settling on the +Messenger’s knees, stared, round-eyed, at the dark. But always at dawn +the sun burned off the mist, rising in stupefying splendor; the oily +river glided on; not a leaf moved, not a creature. And the kitten slept +on the porch, heedless of inviting grass stems whisked for her and the +ball of silk rolled past her in temptation.</p> + +<p>Half lying there, propped against a tree trunk in the heated shade, +cotton bodice open, sleeves rolled to the shoulders, the Special +Messenger mended her linen with languid fingers. Perspiration powdered +her silky skin from brow to breast, from finger to elbow, shimmering +like dew when she moved. Her dark hair fell, unbound; glossy tendrils of +it curled on her shoulders, framing a face in which nothing as yet had +extinguished the soft loveliness of youth.</p> + +<p>At times she talked to the kitten under her breath; sometimes hummed an +old song. Memories kept her busy, too, at moments quenching the +brightness of her eyes, at moments twitching the edges of her vivid lips +till the dreamy smile transfigured her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_138" id="pg_138">138</a></span></p> + +<p>But always quietly alert, her eyes scanned land and river, the bank +opposite, the open fields behind her. Once, certain of a second’s +safety, she relaxed with a sigh, stretching out full length on the +grass; and, under the edge of her cotton skirt, the metal of a revolver +glimmered for an instant, strapped in its holster below her right knee.</p> + +<p>The evening of the fourth day was cooler; the kitten hoisted its tail +for the first time in their acquaintance, and betrayed a feeble interest +in the flight of a white dusk-moth that came hovering around the porch +vines.</p> + +<p>“Pussy,” said the Messenger, “there’s bacon in that well pit; I am going +to make a fire and fry some.”</p> + +<p>The kitten mewed faintly.</p> + +<p>“I thought you’d approve, dear. Cold food is bad in hot weather; and +we’ll fry a little cornmeal, too. Shall we?”</p> + +<p>The kitten on its small, uncertain legs followed her into one of the +only two rooms. The fat tenant of the hovel had left some lightwood and +kindling, and pots and pans necessary for such an existence as he led on +earth.</p> + +<p>The Messenger twisted up her hair and<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_139" id="pg_139">139</a></span> pinned it; then culinary rites +began, the kitten breaking into a thin purring when an odor of bacon +filled the air.</p> + +<p>“Poor little thing!” murmured the Messenger, going to the door for a +brief cautionary survey. And, coming back, she lifted the fry pan and +helped the kitten first.</p> + +<p>They were still eating when the sun set and the sudden Southern darkness +fell over woods and fields and river. A splinter of lightwood flared +aromatically in an old tin candlestick; by its smoky, wavering radiance +she heated some well water, cleaned the tin plates, scoured pan and +kettle, and set them in their humble places again.</p> + +<p>Then, cleansing her hands daintily, she dried them, and picked up her +sewing.</p> + +<p>For her, night was the danger time; she could not avoid, by flight +across the river, the approach of any enemy from the south; and for an +enemy to discover her sitting there in darkness, with lightwood in the +house, was to invite suspicion. Yet her only hope, if surprised, was to +play her part as keeper of Red Ferry.</p> + +<p>So she sat mending, sensitive ears on the alert, breathing quietly in +the refreshing coolness<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_140" id="pg_140">140</a></span> that at last had come after so many nights of +dreadful heat.</p> + +<p>The kitten, too, enjoyed it, patting with tentative velvet paw the skein +of silk dangling near the floor.</p> + +<p>But it was a very little kitten, and a very lonely one, and presently it +asked, plaintively, to be taken up. So the Messenger lifted the mite of +fluffy fur and installed it among the linen on the table, where it went +to sleep purring.</p> + +<p>Outside the open door the dew drummed loudly; moths came in clouds, +hovering like snowflakes about the doorway; somewhere in the woods a +tiger owl yelped.</p> + +<p>About midnight, lying on her sack of husks, close to the borderland of +sleep, far away in the darkness she heard a shot.</p> + +<p>In one bound she was at the door, buttoning her waist, and listening. +And still listening, she lighted a pine splinter, raised her cotton +skirt, and adjusted the revolver, strapping the holster tighter above +and below her right knee.</p> + +<p>The pulsing seconds passed; far above the northern river bank a light +sparkled through the haze, then swung aloft; and she drew paper<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_141" id="pg_141">141</a></span> and +pencil from her pocket, and wrote down what the torch was saying:</p> + +<p>“Shot fired at Muddy Ford. Look out along the river.”</p> + +<p>And even as the red spark went out in the darkness a lonely birdcall +floated across the river—the strange squealing plaint of the great +cock-o’-the-pines. She answered, imitating it perfectly. Then a far +voice called:</p> + +<p>“Hallo-o-o! How’s fishin’?”</p> + +<p>She picked up her pine candle, hurried out to the bank and crept +cautiously down the crazy, wooden stairs. Setting her torch in the iron +cage at the bow, she cast off the painter and, standing erect, swung the +long pole. Out into obscurity shot the punt, deeper and deeper plunged +the pole. She headed up river to allow for the current; the cool breeze +blew her hair and bathed her bared throat and arms deliciously; crimson +torchlight flickered crisscross on the smooth water ahead.</p> + +<p>Every muscle in her body was in play now; the heavy pole slanted, rose +and plunged; the water came clip! slap! clap! slap! against the square +bows, dusting her with spray.</p> + +<p>On, on, tossing and pitching as the boat hit the swift, deep, center +current; then the pole<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_142" id="pg_142">142</a></span> struck shallower depths, and after a while her +torch reddened foliage hanging over the northern river bank.</p> + +<p>She drove her pole into the clay as the punt’s bow grated; a Federal +cavalryman—a mere lad—muddy to the knees, brier-torn, and ghastly +pale, waded out through the shallows, revolver in hand, clambered +aboard, and struck the torch into the water.</p> + +<p>“Take me over,” he gasped. “Hurry, for God’s sake! I tell you——”</p> + +<p>“Was it you who called?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Snuyder sent you, didn’t he? Don’t stand there talking——”</p> + +<p>With a nervous stroke she drove the punt far out into the darkness, then +fell into a measured, swinging motion, standing nearer the stern than +the bow. There was no sound now but the lapping of water and the man’s +thick breathing; she strove to pierce the darkness between them, but she +could see only a lumpish shadow in the bow where he crouched.</p> + +<p>“I reckon you’re Roy Allen,” she began, but he cut her short:</p> + +<p>“Damn it! What’s that to you?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing. Only Snuyder’s gone.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_143" id="pg_143">143</a></span></p> + +<p>“When?”</p> + +<p>“Some days ago, leaving me to ferry folk over.... He told me how to +answer you when you called like a cock-o’-the-pines.”</p> + +<p>“Did he?” The voice was subdued and sullen.</p> + +<p>For a while he remained motionless, then, in the dull light of the +fog-shrouded stars she saw him face her, and caught the faint sparkle of +his weapon resting on his knees, covering her.</p> + +<p>“It seems to me,” he said fiercely, “that you are asking a good many +questions. Which side pays you?”</p> + +<p>They were tossing now on the rapid little waves in the center of the +river; she had all she could do to keep the punt steady and drive it +toward the spot where, against the stars, the oaks lifted their +clustered crests.</p> + +<p>At the foot of the wooden stairs she tied her boat, and offered to +relight the pine knot, but he would not have it and made her grope up +the ascent before him.</p> + +<p>Over the top of the bank she led him, under the trees, to her door, he +close at her heels, revolver in hand. And there, on the sill, she faced +him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_144" id="pg_144">144</a></span></p> + +<p>“What do you want here?” she asked; “supper?”</p> + +<p>“Go into the house and strike a light,” he said, and followed her in. +And, as she turned from the blazing splinter, he caught her by the arm, +feeling roughly for a concealed weapon. Face aflame, she struggled out +of his clutch; and he was as red as she as they confronted one another, +breathing heavily.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I’m—h-half-crazed, I think.... If you’re +what you look, God knows I meant you no insult.... But—but—their +damned spies are everywhere. I’ve stood too much—I’ve been in hell for +two weeks——”</p> + +<p>He wiped his mouth with a trembling, raw hand, but his sunken eyes still +glared and the pallor once more blanched his sunken face.</p> + +<p>“I’ll not touch you again,” he said hoarsely; “I’m not a beast—not +<i>that</i> kind. But I’m starving. Is there anything—<i>anything</i>, I tell +you? I—I am not—very—strong.”</p> + +<p>She looked calmly into the ravaged, but still boyish features; saw him +swing, reeling a little, on his heels as he steadied himself with one +hand against the table.</p> + +<p>“Sit down,” she said in a low voice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_145" id="pg_145">145</a></span></p> + +<p>He sank into a chair, resting the hand which clutched the revolver on +the table.</p> + +<p>Without a word she went about the business of the moment, rekindled the +ashes, filled the fry pan with mush and bacon. A little while afterwards +she set the smoking food before him, and seated herself at the opposite +side of the table.</p> + +<p>The boy ate wolfishly with one hand; the other seemed to have grown fast +to the butt of his heavy weapon. She could have bent and shot him under +the table had she wished; she could have taken him with her bare hands.</p> + +<p>But she only sat there, dark, sorrowful eyes on him, and in pity for his +certain doom her under lip trembled at intervals so she could scarcely +control it.</p> + +<p>“Is there a horse to be had anywhere near here?” he asked, pausing to +swallow what his sunken jaws had been working on.</p> + +<p>“No; the soldiers have taken everything.”</p> + +<p>“I will pay—anything if you’ll let me have something to ride.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>He went on eating; a slight color had come back into his face.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_146" id="pg_146">146</a></span></p> + +<p>“I’m sorry I was rough with you,” he said, not looking at her.</p> + +<p>“Why were you?”</p> + +<p>He raised his head wearily.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been hunted so long that I guess it’s turned my brain. Except for +what you’ve been good enough to give me, I’ve had nothing inside me for +days, except green leaves and bark and muddy water.... I suppose I can’t +see straight.... There’s a woman they call the Special Messenger;—I +thought they might have started her after me.... That shot at the ford +seemed to craze me.... So I risked the ferry—seeing your light +across—and not knowing whether Snuyder was still here or whether they +had set a guard to catch me.... It was Red Ferry or starve; I’m too weak +to swim; I waited too long.”</p> + +<p>And as the food and hot tea warmed him, his vitality returned in a +maddened desire for speech after the weeks of terror and silence.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know who you are,” he went on, “but I guess you’re not fixed +for shooting at me, as every living thing seems to have done for the +last fortnight. Maybe you’re in Yankee pay, maybe in Confederate; I +can’t help it. I suppose you’ll tell I’ve been here after<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_147" id="pg_147">147</a></span> I’m gone.... +But they’ll never get me now!” he bragged, like a truant schoolboy +recounting his misdemeanor to an awed companion.</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” she asked very gently.</p> + +<p>He looked at her defiantly.</p> + +<p>“I’m Roy Allen,” he said, “of Kay’s Cavalry.... If you’re fixing to tell +the Union people you might as well tell them who fooled ’em!”</p> + +<p>“What have you done?”</p> + +<p>She inquired so innocently that a hint of shame for his suspicion and +brutality toward her reddened his hollow cheeks.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you what I’ve done,” he said. “I’ve taken to the woods, +headed for Dixie, with a shirtful of headquarter papers. That’s what +I’ve done.... And perhaps you don’t know what that means if they catch +me. It means hanging.”</p> + +<p>“Hanging!” she faltered.</p> + +<p>“Yes—if they get me.” His voice quivered, but he added boastingly: “No +fear of that! I’m too many for old Kay!”</p> + +<p>“But—but why did you desert?”</p> + +<p>“Why?” he repeated. Then his face turned red and he burst out violently: +“I’ll<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_148" id="pg_148">148</a></span> tell you why. I lived in New York, but I thought the South was in +the right. Then they drafted me; and I tried to tell them it was an +outrage, but they gave me the choice between Fort Lafayette and Kay’s +Cavalry.... And I took the Cavalry and waited.... I wouldn’t have gone +as far as to fight against the flag—if they had let me alone.... I only +had my private opinion that the South was more in the right than we—the +North—was.... I’m old enough to have an opinion about niggers, and I’m +no coward either.... They drove me to this; I didn’t want to kill people +who were more in the right than we were.... But they made me enlist—and +I couldn’t stand it.... And now, if I’ve got to fight, I’ll fight +bullies and brutes who——”</p> + +<p>He ended with a gesture—an angry, foolish boast, shaking his weapon +toward the north. Then, hot, panting, sullenly sensible of his fatigue, +he laid the pistol on the table and glowered at the floor.</p> + +<p>She could have taken him, unarmed, at any moment, now.</p> + +<p>“Soldier,” she said gently, “listen to me.”</p> + +<p>He looked up with heavy-lidded eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_149" id="pg_149">149</a></span></p> + +<p>“I am trying to help you to safety,” she said.</p> + +<p>A hot flush of mortification mantled his face:</p> + +<p>“Thank you.... I ought to have known; I—I am ashamed of what I +said—what I did.”</p> + +<p>“You were only a little frightened; I am not angry.”</p> + +<p>“You understand, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“A—little.”</p> + +<p>“You are Southern, then?” he said; and in spite of himself his heavy +lids began to droop again.</p> + +<p>“No; Northern,” she replied.</p> + +<p>His eyes flew wide open at that, and he straightened up in his chair.</p> + +<p>“Are you afraid of me, Soldier?”</p> + +<p>“No,” he said, ashamed again. “But—you’re going to tell on me after I +am gone.”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” he demanded suspiciously.</p> + +<p>She leaned both elbows on the table, and resting her chin on both palms, +smiled at him.</p> + +<p>“Because,” she said, “you are going to tell on yourself, Roy.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_150" id="pg_150">150</a></span></p> + +<p>“What!” he blurted out in angry astonishment.</p> + +<p>“You are going to tell on yourself.... You are going back to your +regiment.... It will be your own idea, too; it <i>has</i> been your own idea +all the while—your secret desire every moment since you deserted——”</p> + +<p>“Are you crazy!” he cried, aghast; “or do you think I am?”</p> + +<p>“—ever since you deserted,” she went on, dark eyes looking deep into +his, “it has been your desire to go back.... Fear held you; rage +hardened your heart; dread of death as your punishment; angry brooding +on what you believed was a terrible injustice done you—all these drove +you to panic.... Don’t scowl at me: don’t say what is on your lips to +say. You are only a tired, frightened boy—scarcely eighteen, are you? +And at eighteen no heart can really be a traitor.”</p> + +<p>“Traitor!” he repeated, losing all his angry color.</p> + +<p>“It is a bad word, isn’t it, Roy? Lying hidden and starving in the +forest through the black nights you had to fight that word away from +you—drive it out of your half-crazed senses—often—didn’t you? Don’t +you think<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_151" id="pg_151">151</a></span> I know, my boy, what a dreadful future you faced, lying there +through the stifling nights while they hunted you to hang you?</p> + +<p>“I know, also, that what you did you did in a moment of insane rage. I +know that the moment it was done you would, in your secret soul, have +given the world to have undone it.”</p> + +<p>“No!” he cried. “I was right!”</p> + +<p>She rose, walked to the door, and seated herself on the sill, looking up +at the stars.</p> + +<p>For an hour she sat there, silent. Behind her, leaning heavily on the +table, he crouched, hot eyes wide, pulse heavy in throat and body. And +at last, without turning, she called to him—three times, very gently, +speaking his name; and at the third call he rose and came stumbling +toward her.</p> + +<p>“Sit here.”</p> + +<p>He sank down beside her on the sill.</p> + +<p>“Are you very tired?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>She placed one arm around him, drawing his hot head down on her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“How foolish you have been,” she whispered. “But, of course, your mother +must not know it.... There is no reason to tell her—ever.... Because +you went quite mad<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_152" id="pg_152">152</a></span> for a little while—and nobody is blamed for mental +sickness.... How bright the stars are.... What a heavenly coolness after +that dreadful work.... How feverish you are! I think that your regiment +believes you roamed away while suffering from sunstroke.... Their +Colonel is a good friend of mine. Tell him you’re sorry.”</p> + +<p>His head lay heavily on her shoulder; she laid a fresh hand over his +eyes.</p> + +<p>“If the South is right, if we of the North are right, God knows better +than you or I, Roy.... And if you are so bewildered that you have no +deep conviction either way I think you may trust Him who set you among +Kay’s Cavalry.... God never betrayed a human soul in honest doubt.”</p> + +<p>“It—it was the flag!—that was the hardest to get over—” he began, and +choked, smothering the dry sob against her breast.</p> + +<p>“I know, dear.... The old flag means so much—it means all that our +fathers have been, all that we ought to be for the world’s sake. Anger, +private resentment, bitterness under tyranny—these are little things; +for, after all, the flag still stands for what we ought to be—you and I +and those who misuse us, wittingly<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_153" id="pg_153">153</a></span> or otherwise.... Where are the +papers you took?”</p> + +<p>He pressed his feverish face closer to her shoulder and fumbled at the +buttons of his jacket.</p> + +<p>“Here?” she asked softly, aiding him with deft fingers; and in a moment +she had secured them.</p> + +<p>For a while she held him there, cradling him; and his dry, burning face +seemed to scorch her shoulder.</p> + +<p>Dawn was in the sky when she unclosed her eyes—a cool, gray dawn, +hinting of rain.</p> + +<p>She looked down at the boy. His head lay across her lap; he slept, +motionless as the dead.</p> + +<p>The sun rose, a pale spot on the gray horizon.</p> + +<p>“Come,” she said gently. And again, “Come; I want you to take me across +the ferry.”</p> + +<p>He rose and stood swaying on his feet, rubbing both eyes with briar-torn +fists.</p> + +<p>“You will take me, won’t you, Roy?”</p> + +<p>“Where?”</p> + +<p>“Back to your regiment.”</p> + +<p>“Yes—I’ll take you.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_154" id="pg_154">154</a></span></p> + +<p>For a few moments she was busy gathering up her spools and linen.</p> + +<p>“You carry my saddlebags,” she said, “and I’ll take the kitten. Isn’t it +cunning, Roy? Do look at the poor little thing! We can’t leave it here.”</p> + +<p>Following, laden with her saddlebags, he stammered:</p> + +<p>“Do—d-do you think they’ll shoot me?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she said, smiling. “Be careful of the ferry steps; they are +dreadfully shaky.”</p> + +<p>She began the descent, clasping the kitten in both arms; the boy +followed. Seated in the punt, they stowed away the saddlebags and the +kitten, then he picked up the pole, looked at her, hesitated. She +waited.</p> + +<p>“I guess the old man will have me shot.... But—I am going back,” he +said, as though to himself.</p> + +<p>She watched him; he looked up.</p> + +<p>“You’re right, ma’am. I must have been crazy. Everybody reads about +traitors—in school.... Nobody ever forgets their names.... I don’t want +my name in school books.”</p> + +<p>“Like Benedict Arnold’s,” she said; and he quivered from head to foot.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_155" id="pg_155">155</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, cricky!” he burst out, horrified; “how close I came to it! Have you +got those papers safe?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Roy.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll go. I don’t care what they do to me.”</p> + +<p>As he rose with the pole, far away in the woods across the river a +cavalry band began to play. Faint and clear the strains of the +Star-Spangled Banner rose from among the trees and floated over the +water; the boy stood spellbound, mouth open; then, as the far music died +away, he sank back into the boat, deathly pale.</p> + +<p>“I—I ought to be hung!” he whispered.</p> + +<p>The Messenger picked up the fallen pole, set it, and drove the punt out +into the river. Behind her, huddled in the stern, the prodigal wept, +uncomforted, head buried in his shaking arms; and the kitten, being +afraid, left the shelter of the thwarts and crept up on his knees, +sitting there and looking out at the unstable world of water in +round-eyed apprehension.</p> + +<p>As the punt grated on the northern shore the Messenger drove her pole +into the mud, upright, and leaned on it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_156" id="pg_156">156</a></span></p> + +<p>“Roy,” she said, looking back over her shoulder.</p> + +<p>The boy rubbed his wet eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and got up.</p> + +<p>“Are you afraid?”</p> + +<p>“Not now.”</p> + +<p>“That is well.... You’ll be punished.... Not severely.... For you came +back of your own accord—repentant.... Tell me, were you really afraid +that the Special Messenger might catch you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I was,” he said simply. “That’s why I acted so rough with you.... +I didn’t know; they say any woman you see may be the Special +Messenger.... So I took no chances.... Who are you, anyway?”</p> + +<p>“Only a friend of yours,” she said, smiling. “Please pick up my kitten. +Thank you.... And some day, when you’ve been very, very good, I’ll ask +Colonel Kay to let you take me fishing.”</p> + +<p>And she stepped lightly ashore; the boy followed, holding the kitten +under one arm and drying his grimy eyes on his sleeve.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:260px"> +<a name="illus-011" id="illus-011"></a> +<img src="images/i157a.png" alt="" title="" width="260" /><br /> +</div> + +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_157" id="pg_157">157</a></span> +<a name="AN_AIRLINE_4040" id="AN_AIRLINE_4040"></a> +<h2>VI</h2> +<h3>AN AIR-LINE</h3> +</div> + +<p>“As for me,” continued Colonel Gay bitterly, “I’m driven almost frantic +by this conspiracy. Whenever a regiment arrives or leaves, whenever a +train stirs—yes, by Heaven, every time a locomotive toots or a mule +brays or a chicken has the pip—<i>somebody</i> informs the Johnnies, and +every detail is known to them within a few hours!”</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger seated herself on the edge of the camp table. “I +suppose they<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_158" id="pg_158">158</a></span> are very disagreeable to you about it at headquarters.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, they are—but how can I help it? Somehow or other, whatever is +done or said or even thought in this devilish supply camp is immediately +reported to Jeb Stuart; every movement of trains and troops leaks out; +he’ll know to-night what I ate for breakfast this morning—I’ll bet on +that. And, Messenger, let me tell you something. Joking aside, this +thing is worrying me sick. Can you help me?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll try,” she said. “Headquarters sent me. They’re very anxious up +there about the railroad.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t help it!” cried the distracted officer. “On Thursday I had to +concentrate the line-patrol to drive Maxon’s bushwhackers out of Laurel +Siding; and look what Stuart did to me. No sooner were we off than he +struck the unguarded section and tore up two miles of track! What am I +to do?”</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger shook her pretty head in sympathy.</p> + +<p>“There’s a leak somewhere,” insisted the angry officer; “it smells to +Heaven, but I can’t locate it. Somewhere there’s a direct, intelligent<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_159" id="pg_159">159</a></span> +and sinister underground communication between Osage Court House and Jeb +Stuart at Sandy River—or wherever he is. And what I want you to do is +to locate that leak and plug it.”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” murmured the Special Messenger, gently tapping her riding +skirt with her whip.</p> + +<p>“Because,” continued the Colonel, “headquarters is stripping this depot +of troops. The Bucktails go to-day; Casson’s New York brigade and +Darrel’s cavalry left yesterday. What remains is a mighty small garrison +for a big supply depot—eleven hundred effectives, and they may take +some of them at any moment. You see the danger?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve protested; I’ve pointed out the risk we run; I sent my third +messenger to headquarters this afternoon. Of course, they don’t intend +to leave this depot unguarded—probably they’ll send the Vermont troops +from the North this week—but between the departure of Casson’s column +and the theoretical arrival of reënforcements from Preston, we’d be in a +bad way if Stuart should raid us in force. And with this irritating and +constant leaking<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_160" id="pg_160">160</a></span> out of information I’m horribly afraid he’ll strike us +as soon as the Bucktails entrain.”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you hold the Pennsylvania infantry until we can find out +where the trouble lies?” asked the girl, raising her dark eyes to the +nervous young Colonel.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t the authority; I’ve asked for it twice. Orders stand; the +Bucktails are going, and I’m worried to death.” He shoved his empty pipe +into his mouth and bit viciously at the stem.</p> + +<p>“Then,” she said, “if I’m to do anything I’d better hurry, hadn’t I?”</p> + +<p>The young officer’s face grew grimmer. “Certainly; but I’ve been a month +at it and I’m no wiser. Of course I know you are very celebrated, ma’am; +but, really, <i>do</i> you think it likely that you can pick out this hidden +mischief-maker before he sends word to Stuart to-night of our deplorable +condition?”</p> + +<p>“How long have I?”</p> + +<p>“About a day.”</p> + +<p>“When do the Bucktails go?”</p> + +<p>“At nine to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Who knows it?”</p> + +<p>“Who doesn’t? I can’t move a regiment and its baggage in a day, can I? +I’ve given<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_161" id="pg_161">161</a></span> them twenty-four hours to break camp and entrain.”</p> + +<p>“Does the train master know which troops are going?”</p> + +<p>“He has orders to hold three trains, steam up, night and day.”</p> + +<p>“I see,” she murmured, strapping her soft riding hat more securely to +her hair with the elastic band. Her eyes had been wandering restlessly +around the tent as though searching for something which she could not +find.</p> + +<p>“Have you a good map of the district?” she asked.</p> + +<p>He went to his military chest, opened it, and produced a map. For a +while, both hands on the table, she leaned above the map studying the +environment.</p> + +<p>“And Stuart? You say he’s roaming around somewhere in touch with Sandy +River?” she asked, pointing with a pencil to that metropolis on the map.</p> + +<p>“The Lord knows where <i>he</i> is!” muttered the Colonel. “He may be a +hundred miles south now, and in my back yard to-morrow by breakfast +time. But when he’s watching us he’s usually near Sandy River.”</p> + +<p>“I see. And these”—drawing her pencil<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_162" id="pg_162">162</a></span> in a wavering line—“are your +outposts? I mean those pickets nearest Sandy River.”</p> + +<p>“They are. Those are rifle pits.”</p> + +<p>“A grand guard patrols this line?” she asked, rising to her feet.</p> + +<p>“Yes; a company of cavalry and a field gun.”</p> + +<p>“Do you issue passes?”</p> + +<p>“Not to the inhabitants.”</p> + +<p>“Have any people—civilians—asked for passes?”</p> + +<p>“I had two applications; one from a Miss Carryl, who lives about a mile +beyond here on the Sandy River Road; another from an old farmer, John +Deal, who has a fruit and truck farm half a mile outside our lines. He +wanted to come in with his produce and I let him for a while. But that +leakage worried me, so I stopped him.”</p> + +<p>“And this Miss Carryl—did she want to go out?”</p> + +<p>“She owns the Deal farm. Yes, she wanted to drive over every day; and I +let her until, as I say, I felt obliged to stop the whole business—not +permit anybody to go out or come in except our own troops.”</p> + +<p>“And still the leakage continues?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_163" id="pg_163">163</a></span></p> + +<p>“It certainly does,” he said dryly.</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger seated herself on one end of the military chest +and gazed absently at space. Her booted foot swung gently at intervals.</p> + +<p>“So this Miss Carryl owns John Deal’s farm,” she mused aloud.</p> + +<p>“They run it on shares, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Was she angry when you shut out her tenant, John Deal, and shut her +inside the lines?”</p> + +<p>“No; she seemed a little surprised—said it was inconvenient—wanted +permission to write him.”</p> + +<p>“You gave it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I intimated it would save time if she left her letters to him +unsealed. She seemed quite willing.”</p> + +<p>“You read them all, of course, before delivering them?”</p> + +<p>“Of course. There was nothing in them except instructions about plowing, +fruit picking, and packing, and various bucolic matters.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Nothing to be read between the lines? No cipher? No invisible ink? +No tricks of any sort?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_164" id="pg_164">164</a></span></p> + +<p>“Not one. I had a detective here. He said there was absolutely no harm +in the letters, in Miss Carryl, or in John Deal. I have all the letters +if you care to look at them; I always keep the originals and allow only +copies to be sent to old man Deal.”</p> + +<p>“Let me see those letters,” suggested the Messenger.</p> + +<p>The Colonel, who had been sitting on the camp table, got off wearily, +rummaged in a dispatch box, and produced three letters, all unsealed.</p> + +<p>Two were directed in a delicately flowing, feminine hand to John Deal, +Waycross Orchard. The Messenger unfolded the first and read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>Dear Mr. Deal:</i></p> + +<p>Colonel Gay has thought it necessary, for military reasons, to revoke my +pass; and I shall, therefore, be obliged hereafter to communicate with +you by letter only.</p> + +<p>I wish, if there are negroes enough remaining in the quarters, that you +would start immediately a seedling orchard of white Rare-ripe peaches +from my orchard here. I have permission to send the pits to you by the +military post-rider who passes my house. I will send you twenty every +day as my peaches ripen. Please<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_165" id="pg_165">165</a></span> prepare for planting. I hope your +rheumatism is better.</p> + +<p style="text-align:right; margin:0 3em 0 auto;">Yours very truly,</p> +<p style="text-align:right; margin:0 1em 0 auto;"><span class="smcap">Evelyn Carryl.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>The Messenger’s dark eyes lifted dreamily to the Colonel:</p> + +<p>“You gave her permission to send the pits by your post-rider?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, smiling; “but I always look over <i>them</i> myself. You know +the wedding gown of the fairy princess was hidden in a grape seed.”</p> + +<p>“You are <i>quite</i> sure about the pits?”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! When does the next batch of twenty go?”</p> + +<p>“In about an hour. Miss Carryl puts them in a bag and gives them to my +messenger who brings them to me. Then I inspect every pit, tie up the +bag, seal it, and give it to my messenger. When he takes the mail to the +outposts he rides on for half a mile and leaves the sealed bag at Deal’s +farm.”</p> + +<p>“Does your messenger know what is in the bag?”</p> + +<p>“No, he doesn’t.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_166" id="pg_166">166</a></span></p> + +<p>She nodded, amused, saying carelessly:</p> + +<p>“Of course you trust your post-rider?”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely.”</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger swung her foot absently to and fro, and presently +opened another letter:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>Dear Mr. Deal:</i></p> + +<p>I am sending you twenty more peach pits for planting. What you write me +about the bees is satisfactory. I have received the bees you sent. There +is no reason why you should not make the exchange with Mr. Enderly, as +it will benefit our hives as well as Mr. Enderly’s to cross his Golden +Indias with my Blacks.</p> +</div> + +<p>The Messenger studied the letter thoughtfully; askance, the officer +watched the delicate play of expression on her absorbed young face, +perhaps a trifle incredulous that so distractingly pretty a woman could +be quite as intelligent as people believed.</p> + +<p>She looked up at him quietly.</p> + +<p>“So you gave Deal permission to send some bees to Miss Carryl and write +her a letter?”</p> + +<p>“Once. I had the letter brought to me and I sent her a copy. Here it +is—the original.”</p> + +<p>He produced Deal’s letter from the dispatch pouch, and the Messenger +read:<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_167" id="pg_167">167</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Miss Evelyn Carryl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Osage Court House.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Respected Miss:</i><br /> +</p> + +<p>I send you the bees. I seen Mr. Enderly at Sandy River he says he is +very wishful for to swap bees to cross the breed I says it shorely can +be done if you say so I got the pits and am studyin’ how to plant. The +fruit is a rottin’ can’t the Yankees at Osage buy some truck nohow off’n +me? So no more with respect from</p> + +<p style="text-align:right; margin:0 3em 0 auto"><span class="smcap">John Deal</span>,</p> +<p style="text-align:right; margin:0 1em 0 auto">Supt.</p> +</div> +<p>“That seems rather harmless, doesn’t it?” asked the Colonel wearily.</p> + +<p>“I don’t—know. I <i>think</i> I’ll take a look at John Deal’s beehives.”</p> + +<p>“His <i>beehives</i>!”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“What for?”</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know—exactly. I was always fond of bees. They’re so +useful”—she looked up artlessly—“so clever—quite wonderful, Colonel. +Have you ever read anything about bees—how they live and conduct +themselves?”</p> + +<p>The Colonel eyed her narrowly; she<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_168" id="pg_168">168</a></span> laughed, sprang up from the military +chest, and handed back his letters.</p> + +<p>“You have already formed your theory?” he inquired with a faintly +patronizing air, under which keen disappointment betrayed itself where +the grim, drooping mouth tightened.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I have. There’s a link missing, but—I may find that before night. +You can give me—<i>how</i> long?”</p> + +<p>“The Bucktails leave at nine. See here, Messenger! With all the civility +and respect due you, I——”</p> + +<p>“You are bitterly disappointed in me,” she finished coolly. “I don’t +blame you, Colonel Gay.”</p> + +<p>He was abashed at that, but unconvinced.</p> + +<p>“Why do you suspect this Miss Carryl and this man, Deal, when I’ve +showed you how impossible it is that they could send out information?”</p> + +<p>“Somehow,” she said quietly, “they <i>do</i> send it—if they are the only +two people who have had passes, and who now are permitted to +correspond.”</p> + +<p>“But you saw the letters——”</p> + +<p>“So did you, Colonel.”</p> + +<p>“I did!” he said emphatically; “and<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_169" id="pg_169">169</a></span> there’s nothing dangerous in them. +As for the peach pits——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’ll take your word for them, too,” she said, laughing. “When is +your post-rider due?”</p> + +<p>“In a few minutes, now.”</p> + +<p>She began to pace backward and forward, the smile still lightly etched +on her lips. The officer watched her; puckers of disappointed anxiety +creased his forehead; he bit at his pipestem, and thought of the +Bucktails. Certainly Stuart would hear of their going; surely before the +northern reënforcements arrived the gray riders would come thundering +into Osage Court House. Fire, pillage, countless stores wasted, trains +destroyed, miles of railroads rendered useless. What, in Heaven’s name, +could his superiors be thinking of, to run such risk with one of the +bases of supplies? Somewhere—<i>somewhere</i>, not far from corps +headquarters, sat incompetency enthroned—gross negligence—under a pair +of starred shoulder straps. And, musing bitterly, he thought he knew to +whom those shoulder straps belonged.</p> + +<p>“The damn fool!” he muttered, biting at his pipe.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_170" id="pg_170">170</a></span></p> + +<p>“Colonel,” said the Messenger cheerily, “I am going to take the mail to +the outposts to-day.”</p> + +<p>“As you like,” he said, without interest.</p> + +<p>“I want, also, a pass for Miss Carryl.”</p> + +<p>“To pass our lines?”</p> + +<p>“To pass <i>out</i>. She will not care to return.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” he said with amiable curiosity.</p> + +<p>He scratched off the order and she took it.</p> + +<p>“Ask for anything you desire,” he said, smiling.</p> + +<p>“Then may I have this tent to myself for a little while? And would you +be kind enough to send for my saddlebags and my own horse.”</p> + +<p>The Colonel went to the tent flap, spoke to the trooper on guard. When +he came back he said that it was beginning to rain.</p> + +<p>“Hard?” she asked, troubled.</p> + +<p>“No; just a fine, warm drizzle. It won’t last.”</p> + +<p>“All the better!” she cried, brightening; and it seemed to the young +officer as though the sun had gleamed for an instant on the tent wall. +But it was only the radiant charm of her, transfiguring, with its +youthful brilliancy, the dull light in the tent; and, presently, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_171" id="pg_171">171</a></span> +Colonel went away, leaving her very busy with her saddlebags.</p> + +<p>There was a cavalry trooper’s uniform in one bag; she undressed +hurriedly and put it on. Over this she threw a long, blue army cloak, +turned up the collar, and, twisting her hair tightly around her head, +pulled over it the gray, slouch campaign hat, with its crossed sabres of +gilt and its yellow braid.</p> + +<p>It was a boyish-looking rider who mounted at the Colonel’s tent and went +cantering away through the warm, misty rain, mail pouch and sabre +flopping.</p> + +<p>There was no need for her to inquire the way. She knew Waycross, the +Carryl home, and John Deal’s farm as well as she knew her own home in +Sandy River.</p> + +<p>The drizzle had laid the dust and washed clean the roadside grass and +bushes; birds called expectantly from fence and thorny thicket, as the +sun whitened through the mist above; butterflies, clinging to dewy +sprays, opened their brilliant wings in anticipation; swallows and +martins were already soaring upward again; a clean, sweet, fragrant +vapor rose from earth and shrub.</p> + +<p>Ahead of her, back from the road, at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_172" id="pg_172">172</a></span> end of its private avenue of +splendid oaks, an old house glimmered through the trees; and the Special +Messenger’s eyes were fixed on it steadily as she rode.</p> + +<p>Pillar, portico, and porch glistened white amid the leaves; Cherokee +roses covered the gallery lattice; an old negro was pretending to mow +the unkempt lawn with a sickle, but whenever the wet grass stuck to the +blade he sat down to examine the landscape and shake his aged head at +the futility of all things mundane. The clatter of the Special +Messenger’s horse aroused him; at the same instant a graceful woman, +dressed in black, came to the edge of the porch and stood there as +though waiting.</p> + +<p>The big gateway was open; under arched branches the Messenger galloped +down the long drive and drew bridle, touching the brim of her slouch +hat. And the Southern woman looked into the Messenger’s eyes without +recognition.</p> + +<p>Miss Carryl was fair, yellow-haired and blue-eyed—blonder for the dull +contrast of the mourning she wore—and her voice was as colorless as her +skin when she bade the trooper good afternoon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_173" id="pg_173">173</a></span></p> + +<p>All she could see of this cloaked cavalryman was two dark, youthful eyes +above the upturned collar of the cloak, shadowed, too, by the wet hat +brim, drooping under gilded crossed sabres.</p> + +<p>“You are not the usual mail-carrier?” she asked languidly.</p> + +<p>“No, ma’am”—in a nasal voice.</p> + +<p>“Colonel Gay sent you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>Miss Carryl turned, lifted a small salt sack, and offered it to the +Messenger, who leaned wide from her saddle and took it in one hand.</p> + +<p>“You are to take this bag to the Deal farm. Colonel Gay has told you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. And there is no letter to-day. Will you have a few peaches +to eat on the way? I always give the mail-carrier some of my peaches to +eat.”</p> + +<p>Miss Carryl lifted a big, blue china bowl full of superb, white, +rare-ripe peaches, and, coming to the veranda’s edge, motioned the +Messenger to open the saddlebags. Into it she poured a number of +peaches.</p> + +<p>“They are perfectly ripe,” she said; “I hope you will like them.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_174" id="pg_174">174</a></span></p> + +<p>“Thank’y, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>“And, Soldier,” she turned to add with careless grace, “if you would be +kind enough to drop the pits back into the saddlebag and give them to +Mr. Deal he would be glad of them for planting.”</p> + +<p>“Yes’m; I will——”</p> + +<p>“How many peaches did I give you? Have you enough?”</p> + +<p>“Plenty, ma’am; you gave me seven, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>“Seven? Take two more—I insist—that makes nine, I think. Good day; and +thank you.”</p> + +<p>But the Messenger did not hear; there was something far more interesting +to occupy her mind—a row of straw-thatched beehives under the fruit +trees at the eastern end of the house.</p> + +<p>From moment to moment, homing or outgoing bees sped like bullets across +her line of vision; the hives were busy now that a gleam of pale +sunshine lay across the grass. One bee, leaving the hive, came humming +around the Cherokee roses. The Messenger saw the little insect alight +and begin to scramble about, plundering the pollen-powdered blossom. The +bee was a yellow one.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_175" id="pg_175">175</a></span></p> + +<p>Suddenly the Messenger gathered bridle and touched her hat; and away she +spurred, putting her horse to a dead run.</p> + +<p>Passing the inner lines, she halted to give and receive the password, +then tossed a bunch of letters to the corporal, and spurred forward. +Halted by the outer pickets, she exchanged amenities again, rid herself +of the remainder of the mail, and rode forward, loosening the revolver +in her holster. Then she ate her first peach.</p> + +<p>It was delicious—a delicate, dripping, snow-white pulp, stained with +pink where the pit rested. There was nothing suspicious about that pit, +or any of the others when she broke the fragrant fruit in halves and +carefully investigated. Then she tore off the seal and opened the bag +and examined each of the twenty dry pits within. Not one had been +tampered with.</p> + +<p>Her horse had been walking along the moist, fragrant road; a few moments +later she passed the last cavalry picket, and at the same moment she +caught sight of John Deal’s farm.</p> + +<p>The house was neat and white and small; orchards stretched in every +direction; a few<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_176" id="pg_176">176</a></span> beehives stood under the fruit trees near a well.</p> + +<p>A big, good-humored looking man came out into the path as the Messenger +drew bridle, greeted the horse with a caress and its rider with a +pleasant salute.</p> + +<p>“I’m very much obliged to you,” he said, taking the sack of pits. “I +reckon we’re bound to have more fine weather. What’s this—some peach +pits from Miss Carryl?”</p> + +<p>“Nine,” nodded the Messenger.</p> + +<p>“Nine! I’ll have nine fine young trees this time three years, I reckon. +Thank you, suh. How’s things over to the Co’t House?”</p> + +<p>“Troops arriving all the while,” said the Messenger carelessly.</p> + +<p>“Comin’ <i>in</i>?”</p> + +<p>“Lots.”</p> + +<p>“Sho! I heard they was sendin’ ’em East.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, some. We’ve got to have elbow-room. Can’t pack two army corps into +Osage Court House.”</p> + +<p>“Two a’my co’ps, suh?”</p> + +<p>“More or less.”</p> + +<p>John Deal balanced the sack in the palm of one work-worn hand and looked +hard at the Messenger. He could see only her eyes.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:366px"> +<a name="illus-012" id="illus-012"></a> +<img src="images/i176.png" alt=""'Turn around,' said the Special Messenger."" title="" width="366" /><br /> +<span class="caption">“‘Turn around,’ said the Special Messenger.”</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_177" id="pg_177">177</a></span>“Reckon you ain’t the same trooper as come yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“What might be yoh regiment?”</p> + +<p>The Messenger was looking hard at the beehives. The door of one of the +hives, a new one, was shut.</p> + +<p>“What regiment did you say, suh?” repeated Deal, showing his teeth in a +friendly grin; and suddenly froze rigid as he found himself inspecting +the round, smoky muzzle of a six-shooter.</p> + +<p>“Turn around,” said the Special Messenger. Her voice was even and +passionless.</p> + +<p>John Deal turned.</p> + +<p>“Cross your hands behind your back. Quickly, please! Now back up to this +horse. Closer!”</p> + +<p>There was a glimmer, a click; and the man stood handcuffed.</p> + +<p>“Sit down on the grass with your back against that tree. Make yourself +comfortable.”</p> + +<p>Deal squatted awkwardly, settled, and turned a pallid face to the +Messenger.</p> + +<p>“What’n hell’s this mean?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Don’t move and don’t shout,” said the<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_178" id="pg_178">178</a></span> Messenger. “If you do I’ll have +to gag you. I’m only going over there to take a look at your bees.”</p> + +<p>The pallor on the man’s face was dreadful, but he continued to stare at +the Messenger coolly enough.</p> + +<p>“It’s a damned outrage!” he began thickly. “I had a pass from your +Colonel——”</p> + +<p>“If you don’t keep quiet I’ll have to tie up your face,” observed the +Messenger, dismounting and flinging aside her cloak.</p> + +<p>Then, as she walked toward the little row of beehives, carrying only her +riding whip, the farmer’s eyes grew round and a dull flush empurpled his +face and neck.</p> + +<p>“By God!” he gasped; “it’s <i>her</i>!” and said not another word.</p> + +<p>She advanced cautiously toward the hives; very carefully, with the butt +of her whip, she closed the sliding door over every exit, then seated +herself in the grass within arm’s length of the hives and, crossing her +spurred boots, leaned forward, expectant, motionless.</p> + +<p>A bee arrived, plunder-laden, dropped on the sill and began to walk +toward the closed entrance of his hive. Finding it blocked, the insect +buzzed angrily. Another bee whizzed<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_179" id="pg_179">179</a></span> by her and lit on the sill of +another hive; another came, another, and another.</p> + +<p>Very gingerly, as each insect alighted, she raised the sliding door and +let it enter. Deal watched her, fascinated.</p> + +<p>An hour passed; she had admitted hundreds of bees, always closing the +door behind each new arrival. Then something darted through the range of +her vision and alighted, buzzing awkwardly on the sill of a hive—an +ordinary, yellow-brown honey bee, yet differing from the others in that +its thighs seemed to be snow-white.</p> + +<p>Quick as a flash the Messenger leaned forward and caught the insect in +her gloved fingers, holding it by the wings flat over the back.</p> + +<p>Its abdomen dilated and twisted, and the tiny sting was thrust out, +vainly searching the enemy; but the Messenger, drawing a pin from her +jacket, deftly released the two white encumbrances from the insect’s +thighs—two thin cylinders of finest tissue paper, and flung the angry +insect high into the air. It circled, returned to the hive, and she let +it in.</p> + +<p>There was a groan from the manacled man under the trees; she gave him a +rapid glance,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_180" id="pg_180">180</a></span> shook her head in warning, and, leaning forward, deftly +lifted a second white-thighed bee from the hive over which it was +scrambling in a bewildered sort of way.</p> + +<p>A third, fourth, and fifth bee arrived in quick succession; she robbed +them all of their tissue-paper cylinders. Then for a while no more +arrived, and she wondered whether her guess had been correct, that the +nine peaches and wet pits meant to John Deal that nine bees were to be +expected—eager home-comers, which he had sent to his mistress and +which, as she required their services, she released, certain that they +would find their old hives on John Deal’s farm and carry to him the +messages she sent.</p> + +<p>And they came at last—the sixth, seventh—then after a long interval +the eighth—and, finally, the ninth bee whizzed up to the hive and fell, +scrambling, its movements embarrassed by the tiny, tissue cylinders.</p> + +<p>The Messenger waited another hour; there were no more messengers among +the bees that arrived.</p> + +<p>Then she opened every hive door, rose, walked over to the closed hive +that stood apart and opened the door of that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_181" id="pg_181">181</a></span></p> + +<p>A <i>black</i> honeybee crawled out, rose into the air, and started due +south; another followed, then three, then a dozen; and then the hive +vomited a swarm of <i>black</i> bees which sped southward.</p> + +<p>Sandy River lay due south; also, the home-hive from which they had been +taken and confined as prisoners; also, a certain famous officer lingered +at Sandy River—one, General J. E. B. Stuart, very much interested in +the beehives belonging to a friend of his, a Mr. Enderly.</p> + +<p>When she had relieved each messenger-bee of its tissue-paper dispatch, +she had taken the precaution to number each tiny cylinder, in order of +its arrival, from one to nine. Now she counted them, looked over each +message, laid them carefully away between the leaves of a pocket +notebook, slipped it into the breast of her jacket, and, rising, walked +over to John Deal.</p> + +<p>“Here is the key to those handcuffs,” she said, hanging it around his +neck by the bit of cord on which it was dangling. “Somebody at Sandy +River will unlock them for you. But it would be better, Mr. Deal, if you +remained outside our lines until this war is ended. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_182" id="pg_182">182</a></span> don’t blame +you—I’m sorry for you—and for your mistress.”</p> + +<p>She set toe to stirrup, mounted easily, fastened her cloak around her.</p> + +<p>“I’m really sorry,” she said. “I hope nobody will injure your pretty +farm. Good-by.”</p> + +<p>Miss Carryl was standing at the end of the beautiful, oak-shaded avenue +when the Messenger, arriving at full speed, drew bridle and whirled her +horse.</p> + +<p>Looking straight into the pretty Southern woman’s eyes, she said +gravely:</p> + +<p>“Miss Carryl, your bees have double stings. I am very sorry for +you—very, very sorry. I hope your property will he respected while you +are at Sandy River.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” asked Miss Carryl. Over her pale features a painful +tremor played.</p> + +<p>“You know what I mean. And I am afraid you had better go at once. John +Deal is already on his way.”</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. Miss Carryl found her voice at length.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” she said without a tremor. “Will I have any trouble in +passing the Yankee lines?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_183" id="pg_183">183</a></span></p> + +<p>“Here is your passport. I had prepared it.”</p> + +<p>As the Messenger bent over from the saddle to deliver the pass, somehow +her hat, with its crossed gilt sabres, fell off. She caught it in one +hand; a bright blush mantled throat and face.</p> + +<p>The Southern woman looked up at the girl in the saddle, so dramatically +revealed for what she was under the superb accusation of her hair.</p> + +<p>“<i>You?</i>”</p> + +<p>“Yes—God help us both!”</p> + +<p>The silence was terrible.</p> + +<p>“It scarcely surprises me,” murmured Miss Carryl with a steady smile. “I +saw only your eyes before, but they seemed too beautiful for a boy’s.”</p> + +<p>Then she bent her delicately-molded head and studied the passport. The +Messenger, still blushing, drew her hat firmly over her forehead and +fastened a loosened braid. Presently she took up her bridle.</p> + +<p>“I will ask Colonel Gay’s protection for Waycross House,” she said in a +low voice. “I am so dreadfully sorry that this has happened.”</p> + +<p>“You need not be; I have only tried to do<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_184" id="pg_184">184</a></span> for my people what you are +doing for yours—but I should be glad of a guard for Waycross. <i>His</i> +grave is in the orchard there.” And with a quiet inclination of the head +she turned away into the oak-bordered avenue, walking slowly toward the +house which, in a few moments, she must leave forever.</p> + +<p>In the late sunshine her bees flashed by, seeking the fragrant +home-hives; long, ruddy bars of sunlight lay across grass and tree +trunk; on the lawn the old servant still chopped at the unkempt grass, +and the music of his sickle sounded pleasantly under the trees.</p> + +<p>On these things the fair-haired Southern woman looked, and if her eye +dimmed and her pale lip quivered there was nobody to see. And after a +little while she went into the house, slowly, head held high, black +skirt lifted, just clearing the threshold of her ancestors.</p> + +<p>Then the Special Messenger, head hanging, wheeled her horse and rode +slowly back to Osage Court House.</p> + +<p>She passed the Colonel, who was dismounting just outside his tent, and +saluted him without enthusiasm:</p> + +<p>“The leak is stopped, sir. Miss Carryl is<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_185" id="pg_185">185</a></span> going to Sandy River; John +Deal is on his way. They won’t come back—and, Colonel, won’t you give +special orders that her house is not to be disturbed? She is an old +school friend.”</p> + +<p>The Colonel stared at her incredulously.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid you still have your doubts about that leak, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I have.”</p> + +<p>She dismounted wearily; an orderly took her horse, and without a word +she and the Colonel entered the tent.</p> + +<p>“They used bees for messengers,” she said; “that was the leak.”</p> + +<p>“Bees?”</p> + +<p>“Honey bees, Colonel.”</p> + +<p>For a whole minute he was silent, then burst out:</p> + +<p>“Good God! <i>Bees!</i> And if such a—an extraordinary performance were +possible how did <i>you</i> guess it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she said patiently, “I used them that way when I was a little +girl. Bees, like pigeons, go back to their homes. Look, sir! Here, in +order, are the dispatches, each traced in cipher on a tiny roll of +tissue. They were tied to the bees’ thighs.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_186" id="pg_186">186</a></span></p> + +<p>And she spread them out in order under his amazed eyes; and this is what +he saw when she pieced them together for him:</p> + +<p style="text-align:left; margin-left:2em;"> +E I O<sub>2</sub> W<sub>2</sub> x I<sub>8</sub> W<sub>3</sub> [triangle] N I<sub>7</sub> W<sub>3</sub> x<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O I I<sub>6</sub> I<sub>5</sub> W<sub>3</sub> x E N I<sub>7</sub> I<sub>7</sub> I<sub>4</sub> I<sub>8</sub> I<sub>5</sub> O<sub>2</sub></span><br /> +N x I<sub>7</sub> I E x I<sub>4</sub> O<sub>2</sub> I<sub>2</sub> x<br /> +N x H I<sub>5</sub> x I O<sub>2</sub>E x<br /> +N x O x E x W N W<sub>3</sub> x<br /> +W x I<sub>8</sub> E<sub>3</sub> X H N [crescent] x<br /> +L x I<sub>3</sub> [triangle] O<sub>2</sub> X W<sub>3</sub> I<sub>5</sub> W<sub>3</sub> N W<sub>2</sub> x</p> +<hr style="width: 5em; margin: 0.3em auto 0.3em 5em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid;" /> +<p style="text-align:left; margin-left:2em"> +I<sub>4</sub> I<sub>2</sub> x I<sub>8</sub> W<sub>3</sub> I<sub>7</sub> I<sub>4</sub> L I x N W<sub>3</sub> x<br /> +I<sub>5</sub> O<sub>2</sub> H I x O<sub>2</sub> I<sub>4</sub> E I<sub>3</sub> W<sub>3</sub> x<br /> +H N I<sub>7</sub> I<sub>7</sub> [circle+] W<sub>2</sub><br /> +</p> + +<p>“That’s all very well,” he said, “but how about this hieroglyphic? Do +you think anybody on earth is capable of reading such a thing?”</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>“Can <i>you</i>?”</p> + +<p>“All such ciphers are solved by the same method.... Yes, Colonel, I can +read it very easily.”</p> + +<p>“Well, would you mind doing so?”</p> + +<p>“Not in the slightest, sir. The key is extremely simple. I will show +you.” And she picked up pencil and paper and wrote:<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_187" id="pg_187">187</a></span></p> + +<p style="margin-left:2em"> +One<br /> +Two<br /> +Three<br /> +Four<br /> +Five<br /> +Six<br /> +Seven<br /> +Eight<br /> +Nine<br /> +Ten<br /> +Eleven<br /> +Twelve<br /> +Thirteen<br /> +Fourteen<br /> +Fifteen<br /> +Sixteen<br /> +Seventeen<br /> +Eighteen<br /> +Nineteen<br /> +Twenty<br /> +</p> + +<p>“Now,” she said, “taking the second letter in each word, we can parallel +that column thus:</p> + +<p style="margin-left:2em"> +N equals the letter A<br /> +W equals the letter B<br /> +H equals the letter C<br /> +O equals the letter D<br /> +I equals the letter E<br /> +</p> + +<p>“Then, in the word <i>six</i> we have the letter <i>I</i> again as the second +letter, so we call it I2. And, continuing, we have:<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_188" id="pg_188">188</a></span></p> + +<p style="margin-left:2em"> +I2 equals the letter F<br /> +E equals the letter G<br /> +I3 equals the letter H<br /> +I4 equals the letter I<br /> +E2 equals the letter J<br /> +L equals the letter K<br /> +W2 equals the letter L<br /> +H2 equals the letter M<br /> +O2 equals the letter N<br /> +I5 equals the letter O<br /> +I6 equals the letter P<br /> +E3 equals the letter Q<br /> +I7 equals the letter R<br /> +I8 equals the letter S<br /> +W3 equals the letter T<br /> +</p> + +<p>“Now, using these letters for the symbols in the cipher:</p> + +<p style="text-align:left; margin-left:2em;"> +E I O<sub>2</sub> W<sub>2</sub> x I<sub>8</sub> W<sub>3</sub> [triangle] N I<sub>7</sub> W<sub>3</sub> x<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O I I<sub>6</sub> I<sub>5</sub> W<sub>3</sub> x E N I<sub>7</sub> I<sub>7</sub> I<sub>4</sub> I<sub>8</sub> I<sub>5</sub> O<sub>2</sub></span><br /> +N x I<sub>7</sub> I E x I<sub>4</sub> O<sub>2</sub> I<sub>2</sub> x<br /> +N x H I<sub>5</sub> x I O<sub>2</sub>E x<br /> +N x O x E x W N W<sub>3</sub> x<br /> +W x I<sub>8</sub> E<sub>3</sub> X H N [crescent] x<br /> +L x I<sub>3</sub> [triangle] O<sub>2</sub> X W<sub>3</sub> I<sub>5</sub> W<sub>3</sub> N W<sub>2</sub> x</p> +<hr style="width: 5em; margin: 0.3em auto 0.3em 5em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid;" /> +<p style="text-align:left; margin-left:2em"> +I<sub>4</sub> I<sub>2</sub> x I<sub>8</sub> W<sub>3</sub> I<sub>7</sub> I<sub>4</sub> L I x N W<sub>3</sub> x<br /> +I<sub>5</sub> O<sub>2</sub> H I x O<sub>2</sub> I<sub>4</sub> E I<sub>3</sub> W<sub>3</sub> x<br /> +H N I<sub>7</sub> I<sub>7</sub> [circle+] W<sub>2</sub><br /> +</p> + +<p>“We translate it freely thus, and I’ll underline only the words in the +cipher:<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_189" id="pg_189">189</a></span></p> + +<p style="margin-left:2em"> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>Gen’l Stuart</span> (Sandy River?)<br /> +(The present) <span style='text-decoration:underline'>Depot Garrison</span> (of Osage Court House is)<br /> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>One Reg</span>(iment) (of) <span style='text-decoration:underline'>Inf</span>(antry)<br /> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>One Co</span>(mpany of) <span style='text-decoration:underline'>Eng</span>(ineers)<br /> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>One Four G</span>(un) <span style='text-decoration:underline'>Bat</span>(tery)<br /> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>Two Sq</span>(uadrons) (of) <span style='text-decoration:underline'>Cav</span>(alry)<br /> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>Eleven Hun</span>(dred men) <span style='text-decoration:underline'>Total</span><br /> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>If</span> (you) <span style='text-decoration:underline'>strike</span> (strike) <span style='text-decoration:underline'>at once</span> (and at) <span style='text-decoration:underline'>night!</span><br /> +(Signed) <span style='text-decoration:underline'>Carryl.</span></p> + +<p>“Do you see, Colonel, how very simple it is, after all?”</p> + +<p>The Colonel, red and astounded, hung over the paper, laboriously +verifying the cipher and checking off each symbol with its alphabetical +equivalent.</p> + +<p>“What’s that mark?” he demanded; “this symbol——”</p> + +<p>“It stands for the letter U, sir.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know?”</p> + +<p>The Messenger, seated sideways on the camp table, one small foot +swinging, looked down and bit her lip.</p> + +<p>“Must I tell you?”</p> + +<p>“As you please. And I’ll say now that your<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_190" id="pg_190">190</a></span> solving this intricate and +devilish cipher is, to me, a more utterly amazing performance than the +rebel use of bees as messengers.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head slowly.</p> + +<p>“It need not amaze you.... I was born in Sandy River.... And in happier +times—when my parents were living—I spent the school vacations +there.... We had always kept bees.... There was—in those days—a boy. +We were very young and—romantic. We exchanged vows—and bees—and +messages in cipher.... I knew this cipher as soon as I saw it. I +invented it—long ago—for him and me.”</p> + +<p>“W-well,” stammered the bewildered Colonel, “I don’t see how——”</p> + +<p>“I do, sir. Our girl and boy romance was a summer dream. One day he +dreamed truer. So did the beautiful Miss Carryl.... And the pretty game +I invented for him he taught in turn to his fiancée.... Well, he died in +The Valley.... And I have just given his fiancée her passport. It would +be very kind of you to station a guard at the Carryl place for its +protection. Would you mind giving the order, sir?... <i>He</i> is buried +there.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_191" id="pg_191">191</a></span></p> + +<p>The Colonel, hands clasped behind him, walked to the tent door.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, “I’ll give the order.”</p> + +<p>A few moments later the drums of the Bucktails began beating the +assembly.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:130px"> +<a name="illus-013" id="illus-013"></a> +<img src="images/i191.png" alt="" title="" width="130" /><br /> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:312px"> +<a name="illus-014" id="illus-014"></a> +<img src="images/i192a.png" alt="" title="" width="312" /><br /> +</div> + +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_192" id="pg_192">192</a></span> +<a name="THE_PASS_4997" id="THE_PASS_4997"></a> +<h2>VII</h2> +<h3>THE PASS</h3> +</div> + +<p>Her map, which at headquarters was supposed to be reliable, had grossly +misled her; the road bore east instead of north, dwindling, as she +advanced, to a rocky path among the foothills. She had taken the wrong +turn at the forks; there was nothing to direct her any farther—no +landmarks except the general trend of the watercourse, and the dull +cinders of sunset fading to ashes in the west.</p> + +<p>It was impossible now to turn back; Carrick’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_193" id="pg_193">193</a></span> flying column must be +very close on her heels by this time—somewhere yonder in the dusk, +paralleling her own course, with only a dark curtain of forest +intervening.</p> + +<p>So all that evening, and far into the starlit night, she struggled +doggedly forward, leading her lamed horse over the mountain, dragging +him through laurel thickets, tangles of azalea and rhododendron, +thrashing across the swift mountain streams that tumbled out of starry, +pine-clad heights, foaming athwart her trail with the rushing sound of +forest winds.</p> + +<p>For a while the clear radiance of the stars lighted the looming +mountains; but when wastes of naked rock gave place to ragged woods, +lakes and pits of darkness spread suddenly before her; every gully, +every ravine brimmed level with treacherous shadows, masking the sheer +fall of rock plunging downward into fathomless depths.</p> + +<p>Again and again, as she skirted the unseen edges of destruction, chill +winds from unsuspected deeps halted her; she dared not light the +lantern, dared not halt, dared not even hesitate. And so, fighting down +terror, she toiled on, dragging her disabled horse, until,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_194" id="pg_194">194</a></span> just before +dawn, the exhausted creature refused to stir another foot.</p> + +<p>Desperate, breathless, trembling on the verge of exhaustion, with the +last remnants of nervous strength she stripped saddle and bridle from +the animal; then her nerves gave way and she buried her face against her +horse’s reeking, heaving shoulders.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got to go on, dear,” she whispered; “I’ll try to come back to +you.... See what a pretty stream this is,” she added, half hysterically, +“and such lots of fresh, sweet grass.... Oh, my little horse—my little +horse! I’m so tired—so tired!”</p> + +<p>The horse turned his gentle head, mumbling her shoulder with soft, dusty +lips; she stifled a sob, lifted saddle, saddlebags, and bridle and +carried them up the rocky bank of the stream to a little hollow. Here +she dropped them, unstrapped her revolver and placed it with them, then +drew from the saddlebags a homespun gown, sunbonnet, and a pair of +coarse shoes, and laid them out on the moss.</p> + +<p>Fatigue rendered her limbs unsteady; her fingers twitched as she fumbled +with button and buckle, but at last spurred boots, stockings, jacket, +and dusty riding skirt fell from<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_195" id="pg_195">195</a></span> her; undergarments dropped in a circle +around her bare feet; she stepped out of them, paused to twist up her +dark hair tightly, then, crossing the moss to the stream’s edge, picked +her way out among the boulders to the brimming rim of a pool.</p> + +<p>In the exquisite shock of the water the blood whipped her skin; fatigue +vanished through the crystal magic; shoulder-deep she waded, +crimson-cheeked, then let herself drift, afloat, stretching out in +ecstasy until every aching muscle thrilled with the delicious reaction.</p> + +<p>Overhead, tree swallows darted through a sky of pink and saffron, +pulsating with the promise of the sun; the tinted peak of a mountain, +jaggedly mirrored in the unquiet pool, suddenly glowed crimson, and the +reflections ran crisscross through the rocking water, lacing it with +fiery needles.</p> + +<p>She looked like some delicate dawn-sprite as she waded ashore—a +slender, unreal shape in the rosy glow, while behind her, from the dim +ravine, ghosts of the mountain mist floated, rising like a company of +slim, white angels drifting to the sky.</p> + +<p>All around her now the sweet, bewildered<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_196" id="pg_196">196</a></span> murmur of purple martins grew +into sustained melody; thrush and mocking bird, thrasher and cardinal, +sang from every leafy slope; and through the rushing music of bird and +pouring waterfall the fairy drumming of the cock-o’-the-pines rang out +in endless, elfin reveille.</p> + +<p>While she was managing to dry herself and dress, her horse limped off +into the grassy swale below to drink in the stream and feed among the +tender grasses.</p> + +<p>Before she drew on the homespun gown she tucked her linen map into an +inner skirt pocket, flat against her right thigh; then, fastening on the +shabby skirt, she rolled up her riding habit, laid it with lantern, +revolver, saddle, bridle, boots, and bags, in the hollow and covered all +over with heaps of fragrant dead leaves and branches. It was the best +she could do, and the time was short.</p> + +<p>Her horse raised his wise, gentle head, and looked across the stream at +her as she hastened past, then limped stiffly toward her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I can’t stand it if you hobble after me!” she wailed under her +breath. “Dearest—dearest—I will surely come back to you. +Good-by—good-by!”</p> + +<p>On the crest of the ridge she cast one swift,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_197" id="pg_197">197</a></span> tearful glance behind. +The horse, evidently feeling better, was rolling in the grass, all four +hoofs waving at the sky. And she laughed through the tears, and drew +from her pockets a morsel of dry bread which she had saved from the +saddlebags. This she nibbled as she walked, taking her bearings from the +sun and the sweep of the southern mountain slopes; and listening, always +listening, for the jingle and clank of the Confederate flying battery +that was surely following along somewhere on that parallel road which +she had missed, hidden from her view only by a curtain of forest, the +width of which she had no time to investigate. Nor did she know for +certain that she had outstripped the Confederate column in the race for +the pass—a desperate race, although the men of that flying column, +which was hastening to turn the pass into a pitfall for the North, had +not the faintest suspicion that the famous Special Messenger was racing +with them to forestall them, or even that their secret was no longer a +secret.</p> + +<p>In hot haste from the south hills she had come to warn Benton’s division +of the ambuscade preparing for it, riding by highway and byway, her +heart in her mouth, taking every<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_198" id="pg_198">198</a></span> perilous chance. And now, at the last +moment, here in the West Virginian Mountains, almost within sight of the +pass itself, disaster threatened—the human machine was giving out.</p> + +<p>There were just two chances that Benton might yet be saved—that his +leisurely advance had, by some miracle, already occupied the pass, or, +if not, that she could get through and meet Benton in time to stop him.</p> + +<p>She had been told that there was a cabin at the pass, and that the +mountaineer who lived there was a Union man.</p> + +<p>Thinking of these things as she crossed the ridge, she came suddenly +into full view of the pass. It lay there just below her; there could be +no mistake. A stony road wound along the stream, flanked by forest-clad +heights; she recognized the timber bridge over the ravine, which had +been described to her, the corduroy way across the swamp, the single, +squat cabin crowning a half-cleared hillock. She realized at a glance +the awful trap that this silent, deadly place could be turned into; for +one rushing moment her widening eyes could almost see blue masses of men +in disorder, crushed into that horrible defile; her ears<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_199" id="pg_199">199</a></span> seemed to ring +with their death cries, the rippling roar of rifle fire. Then, with a +sharp, indrawn breath, she hastened forward, taking the descent at a +run. And at the same moment three gray-jacketed cavalrymen cantered into +the road below, crossed the timber bridge at a gallop, and disappeared +in the pass, carbines poised.</p> + +<p>She had arrived a minute too late; the pass was closed!</p> + +<p>Toiling breathlessly up the bushy hillock, crouching, bending, creeping +across the stony open where scant grass grew in a meager garden, she +reached the cabin. It was empty; a fire smoldered under a kettle in +which potatoes were boiling; ash cakes crisped on the hearth, bacon +sizzled in a frying pan set close to the embers.</p> + +<p>But where was the tenant?</p> + +<p>A shout from the road below brought her to the door; then she dropped +flat on her stomach, crawled forward, and looked over the slope.</p> + +<p>A red-haired old man, in his shirt sleeves, carrying a fishing pole, was +running down the road, chased by two gray-jacketed troopers. He ran +well, throwing away his pole and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_200" id="pg_200">200</a></span> string of slimy fish he had been +carrying; but, half way across the stream, they rode him down and caught +him, driving their horses straight into the shallow flood; and a few +moments later a fresh squad of cavalry trotted up, forced the prisoner +to mount a led horse, and, surrounding him, galloped rapidly away +southward.</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger lay perfectly still and flat, watching, listening, +waiting, coolly alert for a shadow of a chance to slip out and through +the pass; but there was to be no such chance now, for a dozen troopers +came into view, running their lean horses at top speed, and wheeled +straight into the pass. A full squadron followed, their solid galloping +waking clattering echoes among the rocks. Then her delicate ears caught +a distant, ominous sound—nearer, louder, ringing, thudding, jarring, +pounding—the racket of field artillery arriving at full speed.</p> + +<p>And into sight dashed a flying battery, guns and limbers bouncing and +thumping, whips cracking, chains crashing, the six-horse teams on a dead +run.</p> + +<p>An officer drew bridle and threw his horse on its haunches; the first +team rushed on to<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_201" id="pg_201">201</a></span> the pass with a clash and clank of wheels and chains, +swung wide in a demi-tour, dropped a dully glistening gun, and then came +trampling back. The second, third, and fourth teams, guns and caissons, +swerved to the right of the hillock and came plunging up the bushy +slope, horses straining and scrambling, trampling through the wretched +garden to the level grass above.</p> + +<p>One by one the gun teams swung in a half circle, each dropped its +mud-spattered gun, the cannoneers sprang to unhook the trails, the +frantic, half-maddened horses were lashed to the rear.</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger rose quietly to her feet, and at the same instant +a passing cannoneer turned and saw her in the doorway.</p> + +<p>“Hey!” he exclaimed; “what you doin’ thar?”</p> + +<p>A very young major, spurring up the slope, caught sight of her, too.</p> + +<p>“This won’t do!” he began excitedly, pushing his sweating horse up to +the door. “I’m sorry, but it won’t do—” He hesitated, perplexed, eyeing +this slim, dark-eyed girl, who stood as though dazed there in her ragged +homespun and naked feet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_202" id="pg_202">202</a></span></p> + +<p>Colonel Carrick, passing at a canter, turned in his saddle, calling out:</p> + +<p>“Major Kent! Keep that woman here! It’s too late to send her back.”</p> + +<p>The boy-major saluted, then turned to the girl again:</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” he asked, vexed.</p> + +<p>She seemed unable to reply.</p> + +<p>A cannoneer said respectfully:</p> + +<p>“Reckon the li’l gal’s jes’ natch’ally skeered o’ we-uns, Major, seein’ +how the caval’y ketched her paw down thar in the crick.”</p> + +<p>The Major said briefly:</p> + +<p>“Your father is a Union man, but nobody is going to hurt him. I’d send +you to the rear, too, but there’s no time now. Please go in and shut +that door. I’ll see that nobody disturbs you.”</p> + +<p>As she was closing the door the young Major called after her:</p> + +<p>“Where’s the well?”</p> + +<p>As she did not know she only stared at him as though terrified.</p> + +<p>“All right,” he said, more gently. “Don’t be frightened. I’ll come back +and talk to you in a little while.”</p> + +<p>As she shut the door she saw the cannon at<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_203" id="pg_203">203</a></span> the pass limber up, wheel, +and go bumping up the hill to rejoin its bespattered fellows on the +knoll.</p> + +<p>An artilleryman came along and dropped a bundle of picks and shovels +which he was carrying to the gunners, who had begun the emplacements; +the boyish Major dismounted, subduing his excitement with a dignified +frown; and for a while he was very fussy and very busy, aiding the +battery captain in placing the guns and verifying the depression.</p> + +<p>The position of the masked battery was simply devilish; every gun, +hidden completely in the oak-scrub, was now trained on the pass.</p> + +<p>Opposite, across the stream, long files of gray infantry were moving to +cover among the trees; behind, a battalion arrived to support the guns; +below, the cavalry had begun to leave the pass; troopers, dismounted, +were carefully removing from the road all traces of their arrival.</p> + +<p>Leaning there by the window, the Special Messenger counted the returning +fours as troop after troop retired southward and disappeared around the +bend of the road.</p> + +<p>For a while the picks and shovels of the gunners sounded noisily; +concealed riflemen,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_204" id="pg_204">204</a></span> across the creek, were also busy intrenching. But +by noon all sound had ceased in the sunny ravine; there was nothing to +be seen from below; not a human voice echoed; not a pick-stroke; only +the sweet, rushing sound of the stream filled the silence; only the +shadows of the branches moved.</p> + +<p>Warned again by the sentinels to close the battered window and keep the +door shut, she still watched the gunners, through the dirty window +panes, where they now lay under the bushes beside their guns. There was +no conversation among them; some of the artillerymen seemed to be +asleep; some sprawled belly-deep in the ferns, chewing twigs or idly +scraping holes in the soil; a few lay about, eating the remnants of the +morning’s scanty rations, chewing strips of bacon rind, and licking the +last crumbs from the palms of their grimy hands.</p> + +<p>Along the bush-hidden parapet of earth, heaps of ammunition +lay—cannister and common shell. She recognized these, and, with a +shudder, a long row of smaller projectiles on which soldiers were +screwing copper caps—French hand grenades, brought in by blockade +runners, and fashioned to explode on impact—so<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_205" id="pg_205">205</a></span> close was to be the +coming slaughter of her own people in the road below.</p> + +<p>Toward one o’clock the gunners were served noon rations. She watched +them eating for a while, then, nerveless, turned back into the single +room of the cabin and opened the rear door—so gently and noiselessly +that the boyish staff-major who was seated on the sill did not glance +around until she spoke, asking his permission to remain there.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t open that door,” he said, looking up, surprised by the +sweetness of the voice which he heard now for the first time.</p> + +<p>“How can anybody see me from the pass?” she asked innocently. “That is +what you are afraid of, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>He shot a perplexed and slightly suspicious glance at her, then the +frowning importance faded from his beardless face; he bit a piece out of +the soggy corncake he was holding and glanced up at her again, amiably +conscious of her attractions; besides, her voice and manner had been a +revelation. Evidently her father had had her educated at some valley +school remote from these raw solitudes.</p> + +<p>So he smiled at her, quite willing to be argued with and entertained; +and at his suggestion<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_206" id="pg_206">206</a></span> she shyly seated herself on the sill outside in +the sunlight.</p> + +<p>“Have you lived here long?” he asked encouragingly.</p> + +<p>“Not very,” she said, eyes downcast, her clasped hands lying loosely +over one knee. The soft, creamy-tinted fingers occupied his attention +for a moment; the hand resembled the hand of “quality”; so did the ankle +and delicate arch of her naked foot, half imprisoned in the coarse shoe +under her skirt’s edge.</p> + +<p>He had often heard that some of these mountaineers had pretty children; +here, evidently, was a most fascinating example.</p> + +<p>“Is your mother living?” he asked pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</p> + +<p>He thought to himself that she must resemble her dead mother, because +the man whom the cavalry had caught in the creek was a coarse-boned, +red-headed ruffian, quite impossible to reconcile as the father of this +dark-haired, dark-eyed, young forest creature, with her purely-molded +limbs and figure and sensitive fashion of speaking. He turned to her +curiously:<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_207" id="pg_207">207</a></span></p> + +<p>“So you have not always lived here on the mountain.”</p> + +<p>“No, not always.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you spent a whole year away from home at boarding-school,” he +suggested with patronizing politeness.</p> + +<p>“Yes, six years at Edgewood,” she said in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“What?” he exclaimed, repeating the name of the most fashionable +Southern institute for young ladies. “Why, I had a sister +there—Margaret Kent. Were <i>you</i> there? And did you ever—er—see my +sister?”</p> + +<p>“I knew her,” said the Special Messenger absently.</p> + +<p>He was very silent for a while, thinking to himself.</p> + +<p>“It must have been her mother; that measly old man we caught in the +creek is ‘poor white’ all through.” And, munching thoughtfully again on +his soggy corncake, he pondered over the strange fate of this +fascinating young girl, fashioned to slay the hearts of Southern +chivalry—so young, so sweet, so soft of voice and manner, condemned to +live life through alone in this shaggy solitude—fated, doubtless, to +mate with some loose,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_208" id="pg_208">208</a></span> lank, shambling, hawk-eyed rustic of the +peaks—doomed to bear sickly children, and to fade and dry and wither in +the full springtide of her youth and loveliness.</p> + +<p>“It’s too bad,” he said fretfully, unconscious that he spoke aloud, +unaware, too, that she had risen and was moving idly, with bent head, +among the weeds of the truck garden—edging nearer, nearer, to a dark, +round object about the size of a small apple, which had rolled into a +furrow where the ground was all cut up by the wheel tracks of artillery +and hoofs of heavy horses.</p> + +<p>There was scarcely a chance that she could pick it up unobserved; her +ragged skirts covered it; she bent forward as though to tie her shoe, +but a sentinel was watching her, so she straightened up carelessly and +stood, hands on her hips, dragging one foot idly to and fro, until she +had covered the small, round object with sand and gravel.</p> + +<p>That object was a loaded French hand grenade, fitted with percussion +primer; and it lay last at the end of a long row of similar grenades +along the shaded side of the house.</p> + +<p>The sentry in the bushes had been watching her; and now he came out +along the edge<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_209" id="pg_209">209</a></span> of the laurel tangle, apparently to warn her away, but +seeing a staff officer so near her he halted, satisfied that authority +had been responsible for her movements. Besides, he had not noticed that +a grenade was missing; neither had the major, who now rose and sauntered +toward her, balancing his field glasses in one hand.</p> + +<p>“There’s ammunition under these bushes,” he said pleasantly; “don’t go +any nearer, please. Those grenades <i>might</i> explode if anyone stumbled +over them. They’re bad things to handle.”</p> + +<p>“Will there be a battle here?” she asked, recoiling from the deadly +little bombs.</p> + +<p>The Major said, stroking the down on his short upper lip:</p> + +<p>“There will probably be a skirmish. I do not dare let you leave this +spot till the first shot is fired. But as soon as you hear it you had +better run as fast as you can”—he pointed with his field glasses—“to +that little ridge over there, and lie down behind the rocks on the other +side. Do you understand?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—I think so.”</p> + +<p>“And you’ll lie there very still until it is—over?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_210" id="pg_210">210</a></span></p> + +<p>“I understand. May I go immediately and hide there?”</p> + +<p>“Not yet,” he said gently.</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because your father is a Union man.... And you are Union, too, are you +not?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said, smiling; “are you afraid of me?”</p> + +<p>A slight flush stained his smooth, sunburnt skin; then he laughed.</p> + +<p>“A little afraid,” he admitted; “I find you dangerous, but not in the +way you mean. I—I do not mean to offend you——”</p> + +<p>But she smiled audaciously at him, looking prettier than ever; and his +heart gave a surprised little jump at her unsuspected capabilities.</p> + +<p>“Why are you afraid of me?” she asked, looking at him with her engaging +little smile. In her eyes a bewitching brightness sparkled, partly +veiled by the long lashes; and she laughed again, poised there in the +sunshine, hands on her hips, delicately provoking his reply.</p> + +<p>And, crossing the chasm which her coquetry had already bridged, he paid +her the quick, reckless, boyish compliment she invited—a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_211" id="pg_211">211</a></span> +flowery, perhaps, possibly a trifle stilted, but very Southern; and she +shrugged like a spoiled court beauty, nose uptilted, and swept him with +a glance from half-closed lids, almost insolent.</p> + +<p>The sentry in the holly and laurel thicket stared hard at them both. And +he saw his major break off a snowy Cherokee rose and, bending at his +slim, sashed waist, present the blossom with the courtly air inbred +through many generations; and he saw a ragged mountaineer girl accept it +with all the dainty and fastidious mockery of a coquette of the golden +age, and fasten it where her faded bodice edged the creamy skin of her +breast.</p> + +<p>What the young major said to her after that, bending nearer and nearer, +the sentry could not hear, for the major’s voice was very low, and the +slow, smiling reply was lower still.</p> + +<p>But the major straightened as though he had been shot through and +through, and bowed and walked away among the weeds toward a group of +officers under the trees, who were steadily watching the pass through +their leveled field glasses.</p> + +<p>Once the major turned around to look back:<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_212" id="pg_212">212</a></span> once she turned on the +threshold. Her cheeks were pinker; her eyes sparkled.</p> + +<p>The emotions of the Special Messenger were very genuine and rather +easily excited.</p> + +<p>But when she had closed the door, and leaned wearily against it, the +color soon faded from her face and the sparkle died out in her dark +eyes. Pale, alert, intelligent, she stood there minute after minute, +searching the single room with anxious, purposeless eyes; then, driven +into restless motion by the torturing tension of anxiety, she paced the +loose boards like a tigress, up and down, head lowered, hands clasped +against her mouth, worrying the fingers with the edge of her teeth.</p> + +<p>Outside, through the dirty window glass, she could see sentries in the +bushes, all looking steadily in the same direction; groups of officers +under the trees still focused their glasses on the pass. By and by she +saw some riflemen in butternut jeans climb into trees, rifles slung +across their backs, and disappear far up in the foliage, still climbing.</p> + +<p>Toward five o’clock, as she was eating the bacon and hoe cakes which she +had found in the hut, two infantry officers opened the door, stared at +her, then, without ceremony, drew a<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_213" id="pg_213">213</a></span> rough ladder from the corner, set +it outside, and the older officer climbed to the roof.</p> + +<p>She heard him call down to the lieutenant below:</p> + +<p>“No use; I can’t see any better up here.... They ought to set a signal +man on that rock, yonder!”</p> + +<p>Other officers came over; one or two spoke respectfully to her, but she +did not answer. Finally they all cleared out; and she dragged a bench to +the back door, which swung open a little way, and, alert against +surprise, very cautiously drew from the inner pocket her linen contour +map and studied it, glancing every second or two out through the crack +in the door.</p> + +<p>Nobody disturbed her; with hesitating forefinger she traced out what +pretended to be a path dominating the northern entrance of the pass, +counted the watercourses and gullies crossing the ascent, tried to fix +the elevations in her mind.</p> + +<p>As long as she dared she studied the soiled map, but, presently, a quick +shadow fell across the threshold, and she thrust the map into the +concealed pocket and sprang to open the door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_214" id="pg_214">214</a></span></p> + +<p>“Coming military events cast foreboding shadows,” she said, somewhat +breathless.</p> + +<p>“Am I a foreboding and military event?” asked the youthful major, +laughing. “What do I threaten, please?”</p> + +<p>“Single combat,” she said demurely, smiling at him under half-veiled +lids. And the same little thrill passed through him again, and the quick +color rose to his smooth, sunburnt face.</p> + +<p>“I was ready to beat a retreat on sight,” he said; “now I surrender.”</p> + +<p>“I make no prisoners,” she replied in airy disdain.</p> + +<p>“You give no quarter?”</p> + +<p>“None.... Why did you come back?”</p> + +<p>“You said I might.”</p> + +<p>“Did I? I had quite forgotten what I had said to you. When are you going +to let me go?”</p> + +<p>His face fell and he looked up at her, troubled.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid you don’t understand,” he said. “We dare not send you away +under escort now, because horses’ feet make a noise, and some prowling +Yankee vidette may be at this very moment hanging about the pass——”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_215" id="pg_215">215</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh,” she said, “you prefer to let me remain here and be shot?”</p> + +<p>He said, reddening: “At the first volley you are to go with an escort +across the ridge. I told you that, didn’t I?”</p> + +<p>But she remained scornful, mute and obstinate, pretty head bent, +twisting the folds of her faded skirt.</p> + +<p>“Do you think I would let you remain here if there were any danger?” he +asked in a lower voice.</p> + +<p>“How long am I to be kept here?” she asked pettishly.</p> + +<p>“Until the Yankees come through—and I can’t tell you when that will be, +because I don’t know myself.”</p> + +<p>“Are they in the pass?”</p> + +<p>“We don’t know. Everybody is beginning to be worried. We can’t see very +far into that ravine——”</p> + +<p>“Then why don’t you go where you <i>can</i> see?” she said with a shrug.</p> + +<p>“Where?” he asked, surprised.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you know that there is a path above the pass?”</p> + +<p>“A path!”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. I can show you if you wish.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_216" id="pg_216">216</a></span> You ought to be able to see to +the north end of the pass—if I am not mistaken——”</p> + +<p>“Wait a moment!” he said excitedly. “I want you to take me there—just a +second, to speak to those officers—I’m coming back immediately——”</p> + +<p>And he started on a run across the ravaged garden, holding his sabre +close, midway, by the scabbard.</p> + +<p>That was her chance. Picking up her faded sunbonnet, she stepped from +the threshold, swinging it carelessly by one string. The sentries were +looking after the major; she dropped her sunbonnet, stooped to recover +it, and straightened up, the hidden hand grenade slipping from the crown +of the bonnet into her bodice between her breasts.</p> + +<p>A thousand eyes seemed watching her as, a trifle pale, she strolled on +aimlessly, swinging the recovered sunbonnet; she listened, shivering, +for the stern challenge to halt, the breathless shout of accusation, the +pursuing trample of heavy boots. And at last, quaking in every limb, she +ventured to lift her eyes. Nobody seemed to be looking her way; the +artillery pickets were still watching the pass; the group of officers +posted under the trees still focused their glasses in that direction; +the young major was already returning across the garden toward her.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:369px"> +<a name="illus-015" id="illus-015"></a> +<img src="images/i216.png" alt=""She dropped her sunbonnet—stooped to recover it."" title="" width="369" /><br /> +<span class="caption">“She dropped her sunbonnet—stooped to recover it.”</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_217" id="pg_217">217</a></span>A +sharp throb of hope set her pulses bounding—she had, safe in her +bosom, the means of warning her own people now; all she needed was a +safe-conduct from that knoll, and here it was coming, brought by this +eager, boyish officer, hastening so blithely toward her, his long, dark +shadow clinging like death to his spurred heels as he ran.</p> + +<p>Would she guide him to some spot where it was possible to see the whole +length of the pass?</p> + +<p>She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and turned, he at her side, +into the woods.</p> + +<p>If her map was not betraying her once more the path <i>must</i> follow the +edges of the pass, high up among those rocks and trees somewhere. There +was only one way of finding it—to climb upward to the overhanging +ledges.</p> + +<p>Raising her eyes toward the leafy heights, it seemed to her incredible +that any path could lead along that wall of rock, which leaned outward +over the ravine.</p> + +<p>But somehow she must mount there; somehow she must manage to remain +there unmolested,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_218" id="pg_218">218</a></span> ready, the moment a single Union vdette cantered +into the pass, to hurl her explosive messenger into the depths below—a +startling but unmistakable signal to the blue column advancing so +unsuspiciously into that defile of hell.</p> + +<p>As they climbed upward together through the holly-scrub she remembered +that she must not slip, for the iron weight in her bosom would endure no +rough caress from rock or earth.</p> + +<p>How heavy it was—how hot and rough, chafing her body—this little iron +sphere, with a dozen deaths sealed up inside!</p> + +<p>Toiling upward, planting her roughly shod feet with fearful precision, +she tried to imagine what it would be like if the tiny bomb in her bosom +exploded—tried to picture her terrified soul tearing skyward out of +bodily annihilation.</p> + +<p>“It is curious,” she thought with a slight shudder, “how afraid I always +am—how deeply, deeply afraid of death. God knows why I go on.”</p> + +<p>The boy beside her found the ascent difficult; spur and sabre impeded +him; once he lurched heavily against her, and his quick,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_219" id="pg_219">219</a></span> stammered +apology was cut short by the dreadful pallor of her face, for she was +deadly afraid of the bomb.</p> + +<p>“Did I hurt you?” he faltered, impulsively laying his hand on her arm.</p> + +<p>She shivered and shook off his hand, forcing a gay smile. And they went +on together, upward, always upward, her pretty, provocative eyes meeting +his at intervals, her heart beating faster, death at her breast.</p> + +<p>He was a few yards ahead when he called back to her in a low, warning +voice that he had found a path, and she hastened up the rocks to where +he stood.</p> + +<p>Surely here was a trail winding along the very edge of the ledges, under +masses of overhanging rock—some dizzy runway of prehistoric man, +perhaps trodden, too, by wolf and panther, and later by the lank +mountaineer hunter or smuggler creeping to some eerie unsuspected by any +living creature save, perhaps, the silver-headed eagles soaring through +the fathomless azure vault above.</p> + +<p>Below, the pass lay; but they could see no farther into it at first. +However, as they advanced cautiously, clinging to the outjutting cliff, +which seemed maliciously striving to<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_220" id="pg_220">220</a></span> push them out into space, by +degrees crag and trail turned westward and more of the pass came into +view—a wide, smooth cleft in the mountain, curving away toward the +north.</p> + +<p>A few steps more and the trail ended abruptly in a wide, grassy space +set with trees, sloping away gently to the west, chopped off sheer to +the east, where it terminated in a mossy shelf overlooking the ravine.</p> + +<p>Only a few rods away the dusk of the pass was cut by a glimmer of +sunlight; it was the northern entrance.</p> + +<p>Something else was glimmering there, too; dozens of dancing points of +white fire—sunshine on buckle, button, bit and sabre. And the officer +beside her uttered a low, fierce cry and jerked his field glasses free +from the case.</p> + +<p>“Their cavalry!” he breathed. “The Yankees are entering the pass, so +help me God!” And he drew his revolver.</p> + +<p>So help him God! Something dark and round flew across his line of +vision, curving out into space, dropping, dropping into the depths +below. A clattering report, a louder racket as the rocky echoes, +crossing and recrossing, struck back at the clamoring cliffs.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:366px"> +<a name="illus-016" id="illus-016"></a> +<img src="images/i220.png" alt=""White-faced, desperate, she clung to him with the tenacity of a lynx."" title="" width="366" /><br /> +<span class="caption">“White-faced, desperate, she clung to him with the tenacity of a lynx.”</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_221" id="pg_221">221</a></span><i>So +help him God!</i> Half stunned, he stumbled to his feet, his dazed eyes +still blurred with a vision of horsemen, vaguely seen through vapors, +stampeding northward; and, at the same instant, she sprang at him, +striking the drawn revolver from his hand, tearing the sabre free and +flinging it into the gulf. White-faced, desperate, she clung to him with +the tenacity of a lynx, winding her lithe limbs around and under his, +tripping him to his knees.</p> + +<p>Over and over they rolled, struggling in the grass, twisting, straining, +slipping down the westward slope.</p> + +<p>“You—devil!” he panted, as her dark eyes flashed level with his. “I’ve +got—you—anyhow——”</p> + +<p>Her up-flung elbow, flexed like a steel wedge, caught him in the throat; +they fell over the low ridge, writhing in each other’s embrace, down the +slope, over and over, faster, faster—crack!—his head struck a ledge, +and he straightened out, quivering, then lay very, very still and heavy +in her arms.</p> + +<p>Fiercely excited, she tore strips from her skirt, twisted them, forced +him over on his face, and tied his wrists fast.</p> + +<p>Then, leaving him inert there on the moss,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_222" id="pg_222">222</a></span> she ran back for his +revolver, found it, opened it, made certain that the cylinder was full, +and, flinging one last glance down the pass, hastened to her prisoner.</p> + +<p>Her prisoner opened his eyes; the dark bruise on his forehead was +growing redder and wetter.</p> + +<p>“Stand up!” she said, cocking her weapon.</p> + +<p>The boy, half stupefied, struggled to his knees, then managed to rise.</p> + +<p>“Go forward along that path!”</p> + +<p>For a full minute he stood erect, motionless, eyes fixed on her; then +shame stained him to the temples; he turned, head bent, and walked +forward, wrists tightly tied behind him.</p> + +<p>And behind him, weapon swinging, followed the Special Messenger in her +rags, pallid, disheveled, her dark eyes dim with pity.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:214px"> +<a name="illus-017" id="illus-017"></a> +<img src="images/i222.png" alt="" title="" width="214" /><br /> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:303px"> +<a name="illus-018" id="illus-018"></a> +<img src="images/i223a.png" alt="" title="" width="303" /><br /> +</div> + +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_223" id="pg_223">223</a></span> +<a name="EVER_AFTER_5723" id="EVER_AFTER_5723"></a> +<h2>VIII</h2> +<h3>EVER AFTER</h3> +</div> + +<p class='c' style='margin-bottom: 1em'> +—And they married, and had many children, and lived happy ever after. <i>Old Tales</i><br /> +</p> + +<p>For two days the signal flags had been talking to each other; for two +nights the fiery torches had been conversing about that beleaguered city +in the South.</p> + +<p>Division after division, corps after corps, were moving forward; miles +of wagons, miles of cavalry in sinuous columns unending, blackened every +valley road. Later, the heavy<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_224" id="pg_224">224</a></span> Parrots and big Dahlgrens of the siege +train stirred in their parked lethargy, and, enormous muzzles tilted, +began to roll out through the valley in heavy majesty, shaking the +ground as they passed, guarded by masses of red artillerymen.</p> + +<p>Day after day crossed cannon flapped on red and white guidons; day after +day the teams of powerful horses, harnessed in twenties, trampled +through the valley, headed south.</p> + +<p>Off the sandy headland a Federal gunboat lay at anchor, steam up—a +blackened, chunky, grimy thing of timber and iron plates, streaked with +rust, smoke blowing horizontally from her funnels. And day after day she +consulted hill and headland with her kaleidoscopic strings of flags; and +headland and hill talked back with fluttering bunting by day and with +torches of fire by night.</p> + +<p>From her window in the emergency hospital the Special Messenger could +see those flags as she sat pensively sewing. Sometimes she mended the +remnants of her silken stockings and the last relics of the fine under +linen left her; sometimes she scraped lint or sewed poultice bandages, +or fashioned havelocks for regiments southward bound.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_225" id="pg_225">225</a></span></p> + +<p>She had grown slimmer, paler, of late; her beautiful hair had been +sheared close; her head, covered with thick, clustering curls, was like +the shapely head of a boy. Limbs and throat were still smooth and round, +but had become delicate almost to leanness.</p> + +<p>The furlough she had applied for had not yet arrived; she seemed to +remain as hopelessly entangled in the web of war as ever, watching, +without emotion, the old spider. Death, busy all around her, tireless, +sinister, absorbed in his own occult affairs.</p> + +<p>The routine varied but little: at dawn surgeons’ call chorused by the +bugles; files of haggard, limping, clay-faced men, headed by sergeants, +all converging toward the hospital; later, in every camp, drums awaking; +distant strains of regimental bands at parade; and all day and all night +the far rumble of railroad trains, the whistle of locomotives, and, if +the wind veered, the faint, melancholy cadence of the bells swinging for +a clear track and right of way.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, sewing by the open window, she thought of her brother, now +almost thirteen—thought, trembling, of his restless letters from his +Northern school, demanding of her that<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_226" id="pg_226">226</a></span> he be permitted to take his part +in war for the Union, begging to be enlisted at least as drummer in a +nine-months’ regiment which was recruiting within sight of the dormitory +where he fretted over Cæsar and the happy warriors of the Tenth Legion.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, mending the last shreds of her cambric finery, she thought of +her girlhood, of the white porches at Sandy River; and always, always, +the current of her waking dream swung imperceptibly back to that swift +crisis in her life—a flash of love—love at the first glance—a word! +and his regiment, sabres glittering, galloping pell-mell into the +thundering inferno between the hills.... And sunset; and the wounded +passing by wagon loads, piled in the blood-soaked hay; and the glimpse +of his limp gold-and-yellow sleeve—and her own white bed, and her lover +of a day lying there—dead——</p> + +<p>At this point in the dream-tale her eyes usually became too dim to see +the stitches, and there was nothing to do except to wait until the tired +eyes were dry again.</p> + +<p>The sentry on duty knocked, opened the door, and admitted a +weather-stained aide-de-camp, warning her respectfully:<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_227" id="pg_227">227</a></span></p> + +<p>“Orders for you, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger cleared her eyes, breathing unevenly, and unsealed +the dispatch which the officer handed her.</p> + +<p>When she read it she opened a door and called sharply to a hospital +orderly, who came running:</p> + +<p>“Fit me with a rebel cavalry uniform—you’ve got that pile of +disinfected clothing in the basement. I also want one of our own cavalry +uniforms to wear over it—anything that has been cleaned. Quick, +Williams; I’ve only a few minutes to saddle! And bring me that bundle of +commissions taken from the rebel horsemen that were brought in +yesterday.”</p> + +<p>And to the mud-splashed aide-de-camp who stood waiting, looking out of +the window at the gunboat which was now churning in toward the wharf, +billows of inky smoke pouring from the discolored stacks:</p> + +<p>“Please tell the general that I go aboard in half an hour. Tell him I’ll +do my best.” In a lower voice: “Ask him not to forget my brother—if +matters go wrong with me. He has given me his word.... And I think that +is all, thank you.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_228" id="pg_228">228</a></span></p> + +<p>The A.-D.-C. said, standing straight, hollow-backed, spurred heels +together:</p> + +<p>“Orders are verbally modified, madam.”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“If you do not care to go—it is not an order—merely a matter of +volunteering.... The general makes no question of your courage if you +choose to decline.”</p> + +<p>She said, looking at the officer a little wearily:</p> + +<p>“Thank the general. It will give me much pleasure to fulfill his +request. Ask him to bear my brother in mind; that is all.”</p> + +<p>The A.-D.-C. bowed to her, cap in hand, then went out, making +considerable racket with sabre and boots.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later a long, deep, warning blast from the gunboat’s +whistle set the echoes flying through the hills.</p> + +<p>Aboard, leading her horse, the Special Messenger, booted and spurred, in +a hybrid uniform of a subaltern of regulars, handed the bridle to a +sailor and turned to salute the quarterdeck.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The United States gunboat, <i>Kiowa</i>, dropped anchor at the railroad wharf +two days later,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_229" id="pg_229">229</a></span> and ran out a blackened gangplank. Over it the Special +Messenger, wrapped in her rubber cloak, led her horse to shore, mounted, +and galloped toward the hill where the flag of corps headquarters was +flapping in the wet wind.</p> + +<p>The rain ended as she rode inland; ahead of her a double rainbow glowed +and slowly faded to a rosy nimbus.</p> + +<p>Corps headquarters was heavily impressive and paternally polite, +referring her to headquarters of the unattached cavalry division.</p> + +<p>She remounted, setting her horse at an easy canter for the intervening +two miles, riding through acres of tents and vistas of loaded wagon +trains; and at last an exceedingly ornamental staff officer directed her +to her destination, and a few moments later she dismounted and handed +her bridle to an orderly, whose curiously fashioned forage cap seemed +strangely familiar.</p> + +<p>As the Special Messenger entered his tent and saluted, the colonel of +the Fourth Missouri Cavalry rose from a camp chair, standing over six +feet in his boots. He was magnificently built; his closely clipped hair +was dark and curly, his skin smoothly bronzed and<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_230" id="pg_230">230</a></span> flushed at the cheek +bones; his allure that of a very splendid and grave and youthful god, +save for the gayly impudent uptwist of his short mustache and the +stilled humor in his steady eyes.</p> + +<p>His uniform was entirely different from the regulation—he wore a blue +forage cap with short, heavy visor of unpolished leather shadowing the +bridge of his nose; his dark blue jacket was shell-cut; over it he wore +a slashed dolman trimmed at throat, wrists and edges with fur; his +breeches were buff; his boots finished at the top with a yellow cord +forming a heart-shaped knot in front; at his heels trailed the most +dainty and rakish of sabres, light, graceful, curved almost like a +scimiter.</p> + +<p>All this is what the Special Messenger saw as she entered, instantly +recognizing a regimental uniform which she had never seen but once +before in her brief life. And straight through her heart struck a pain +swift as a dagger thrust, and her hand in its buckskin gauntlet fell +limply from the peak of her visor, and the color died in her cheeks.</p> + +<p>What the colonel of the Fourth Missouri saw before him was a lad, slim, +rather pale,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_231" id="pg_231">231</a></span> dark-eyed, swathed to the chin in the folds of a wet +poncho; and he said, examining her musingly and stroking the ends of his +curt mustache upward:</p> + +<p>“I understood from General Sheridan that the Special Messenger was to +report to me. Where is she?”</p> + +<p>The lightning pain of the shock when she recognized the uniform +interfered with breath and speech; confused, she raised her gloved hand +and laid it unconsciously over her heart; and the colonel of the Fourth +Missouri waited.</p> + +<p>“I am the Special Messenger,” she said faintly.</p> + +<p>For a moment he scarcely understood that this slender young fellow, with +dark hair as closely clipped and as curly as his own, could be a woman. +Stern surprise hardened his narrowing gaze; he stood silent, handsome +head high, looking down at her; then slowly the latent humor flickered +along the edges of lip and lid, curbed instantly as he bowed, faultless, +handsome—only the persistently upturned mustache impairing the +perfectly detached and impersonal decorum with a warning of the <i>beau +sabreur</i> behind it all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_232" id="pg_232">232</a></span></p> + +<p>“Will you be seated, madam?”</p> + +<p>“Thank you.”</p> + +<p>She sat down; the wet poncho was hot and she shifted it, throwing one +end across her shoulder. In her uniform she appeared willowy and slim, +built like a boy, and with nothing of that graceful awkwardness which +almost inevitably betrays such masqueraders. For her limbs were straight +at the knees and faultlessly coupled, and there seemed to be the +adolescent’s smooth lack of development in the scarcely accented +hips—only a straightly flowing harmony of proportion—a lad’s grace +muscularly undeveloped.</p> + +<p>Two leather straps crossed her breast, one weighted with field glasses, +the other with a pouch. From the latter she drew her credentials and +would have risen to present them, but the colonel of the Fourth Missouri +detained her with a gesture, himself rose, and took the papers from her +hand.</p> + +<p>While he sat reading, she, hands clasped in her lap, gazed at his +well-remembered uniform, busy with her memories once more, and the +sweetness of them—and the pain.</p> + +<p>They were three years old, these memories, now glimmering alive again +amid the whitening<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_233" id="pg_233">233</a></span> ashes of the past; only three years—and centuries +seemed to dim the landmarks and bar the backward path that she was +following to her girlhood!</p> + +<p>She thought of the white-pillared house as it stood at the beginning of +the war; the severing of old ties, the averted faces of old friends and +neighbors; the mortal apprehension, endless suspense; the insurgent +flags fluttering from porch and portico along the still, tree-shaded +street; her own heart-breaking isolation in the community when Sumter +fell—she an orphan, alone there with her brother and bedridden +grandfather.</p> + +<p>And she remembered the agony that followed the news from Bull Run, the +stupor that fell upon her; the awful heat of that battle summer; her +evening prayers, kneeling there beside her brother; the red moons that +rose, enormous, menacing, behind the trees; and the widow bird calling, +calling to the dead that never answer more.</p> + +<p>Her dead? Why <i>hers</i>? A chance regiment passing—cavalry wearing the +uniform and number of the Fourth Missouri. Ah! she could see them again, +sun-scorched, dusty, fours crowding on fours, trampling past. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_234" id="pg_234">234</a></span> could +see a young girl in white, fastening the long-hidden flag to its +halyards as the evening light faded on the treetops!... And then—and +then—<i>he</i> came—into her life, into her house, into her heart, +alas!—tall, lean, calm-eyed, yellow-haired, wrapped in the folds of his +long, blue mantle!... And she saw him again—a few moments before his +regiment charged into that growling thunder beyond the hills somewhere.</p> + +<p>And a third time, and the last, she saw him, deathly still, lying on her +own bed, and a medical officer pulling the sheet up over his bony face.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The colonel of the Fourth Missouri was looking curiously at her; she +started, cleared the dimness from her eyes, and steadied the trembling +underlip.</p> + +<p>After a moment’s silence the colonel said: “You undertake this duty +willingly?”</p> + +<p>She nodded, quietly touching her eyes with her handkerchief.</p> + +<p>“There is scarcely a chance for you,” he observed with affected +carelessness.</p> + +<p>She lifted her shoulders in weary disdain of that persistent shadow +called danger, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_235" id="pg_235">235</a></span> had long since become too familiar to count very +heavily.</p> + +<p>“I am not afraid—if that is what you mean. Do you think you can get me +through?”</p> + +<p>The colonel said coolly: “I expect to do my part. Have you a rebel +uniform?”</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“Where is it?”</p> + +<p>“On me—under this.”</p> + +<p>The colonel looked at her; a slight shudder passed over him.</p> + +<p>“These orders suggest that I start before sunset,” he said. “Meanwhile +this tent is yours. My orderly will serve you. The regiment will move +out about sunset with some six hundred sabres and Gray’s Rhode Island +flying battery.”</p> + +<p>He walked to the tent door; she followed.</p> + +<p>“Is that your horse?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Colonel.”</p> + +<p>“Fit for the work?” turning to look at her.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And <i>you</i>?”</p> + +<p>She smiled; through the open tent a misty bar of sunshine fell across +her face, turning the smooth skin golden. Outside a dismounted<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_236" id="pg_236">236</a></span> trooper +on guard presented his carbine as the tall, young colonel strode out. An +orderly joined him; they stood a moment consulting in whispers, then the +orderly ran for his saddled horse, mounted, and rode off through the +lanes of the cavalry camp.</p> + +<p>From the tent door the Special Messenger looked out into the camp. Under +the base of a grassy hill hundreds of horses were being watered at a +brook now discolored by the recent rains; beyond, on a second knoll, the +guns of a flying battery stood parked. She could see the red trimmings +on the gunners’ jackets as they were lounging about in the grass.</p> + +<p>The view from the tent door was extensive; a division, at least, lay +encamped within range of the eye; two roads across the hills were full +of wagons moving south and east; along another road, stretching far into +the valley, masses of cavalry were riding—apparently an entire +brigade—but too far away for her to hear the trample of the horses.</p> + +<p>From where she stood, however, she could make out the course of a fourth +road by the noise of an endless, moving column of horses. At times, +above the hillside, she could see their<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_237" id="pg_237">237</a></span> heads, and the enormous +canvas-covered muzzles of siege guns; and the racket of hoofs, the +powerful crunching and grinding of wheels, the cries of teamsters united +in a dull, steady uproar that never ceased.</p> + +<p>From their camp, troopers of the Fourth Missouri were idly watching the +artillery passing—hundreds of sunburned cavalrymen seated along the +hillside, feet dangling, exchanging gibes and jests with the drivers of +the siege train below. But from where she stood she could see nothing +except horses’ heads tossing, blue caps of mounted men, a crimson guidon +flapping, or the sun glittering on the slender, curved blade of some +officer’s sabre as he signaled.</p> + +<p>North, east, west, south—the whole land seemed to be covered with +moving men and beasts and wagons; flags fluttered on every eminence; +tents covered plowed fields, pastures, meadows; smoke hung over all, +crowning the green woods with haze, veiling hollows, rolling along the +railway in endless, yellow billows.</p> + +<p>The rain had washed the sky clean, but again this vast, advancing host +was soiling heaven and blighting earth as it passed over<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_238" id="pg_238">238</a></span> the land +toward that beleaguered city in the South.</p> + +<p>War! Everywhere the monotony of this awful panorama, covering her +country day after day, month after month, year after year—war, always +and everywhere and in every stage—hordes of horses, hordes of men, +endless columns of deadly engines! Everywhere, always, death, or the +preparation for death—every road and footpath crammed with it, every +field trampled by it, every woodland shattered by it, every stream +running thick with its pollution. The sour smell of marching men, the +stale taint of unclean fires, the stench of beasts—the acrid, +indescribable odor that hangs on the sweating flanks of armies seemed to +infect sky and earth.</p> + +<p>A trooper, munching an apple and carrying a truss of hay, passed, cap +cocked rakishly, sabre banging at his heels; and she called to him and +he came up, easily respectful under the grin of bodily well being.</p> + +<p>“How long have you served in this regiment?” she asked.</p> + +<p>He swallowed the bite of apple which crowded out his freckled cheeks: +“Three years, sir.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:366px"> +<a name="illus-019" id="illus-019"></a> +<img src="images/i238.png" alt=""'We was there—I know that, yes, an' we had a fight.'"" title="" width="366" /><br /> +<span class="caption">“‘We was there—I know that, yes, an’ we had a fight.’”</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_239" id="pg_239">239</a></span>She drew involuntarily nearer the tent door.</p> + +<p>“Then—you were at Sandy River—three years ago?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Do you remember the battle there?”</p> + +<p>The soldier looked doubtful. “We was there—I know that; yes, an’ we had +a fight——”</p> + +<p>“Yes—near a big white house.”</p> + +<p>The soldier nodded. “I guess so; I don’t seem to place no big white +house——”</p> + +<p>She asked calmly: “Your regiment had a mounted band once?”</p> + +<p>He brightened.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir-ee! They played us in at Sandy River—and they got into it, +too, and was cut all to pieces!”</p> + +<p>She motioned assent wearily; then, with an effort: “You don’t know, +perhaps, where he—where their bandmaster was buried?”</p> + +<p>“Sir?”</p> + +<p>“The bandmaster of the Fourth Missouri? You remember him—that tall, +thin young officer who led them with his sabre—who sat his horse like a +colonel of regulars—and wore a cap of fur like—like a hussar of some +militia State guard——”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_240" id="pg_240">240</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well, you must mean Captain Stanley, who was at that time bandmaster of +our regiment. He went in that day at Sandy River when our mounted band +was cut to pieces. Orders was to play us in, an’ he done it.”</p> + +<p>There was a silence.</p> + +<p>“Where is he—buried?” she asked calmly.</p> + +<p>“Buried? Why, <i>he</i> ain’t dead, is he?”</p> + +<p>“He died at Sandy River—that day,” she said gently. “Don’t you +remember?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir; our bandmaster wasn’t killed at Sandy River.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him amazed, almost frightened.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean? He is dead. I—saw him die.”</p> + +<p>“It must have been some other bandmaster—not Captain Stanley.”</p> + +<p>“I saw the bandmaster of your regiment, the Fourth Missouri Cavalry, +brought into that big white house and laid on my—on a bed——” She +stared at the boy, caught him by the sleeve: “He is dead, isn’t he? Do +you know what you are telling me? Do you understand what I am saying?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. Captain Stanley was our bandmaster—he wasn’t captain then, +of course.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_241" id="pg_241">241</a></span> He played us in at Sandy River—by God! I oughter know, +because I got some cut up m’self.”</p> + +<p>“You—you tell me that he wasn’t killed?” she repeated, steadying +herself against the canvas flap.</p> + +<p>“No, sir. I heard tell he was badly hurt—seems like I kinder +remember—oh, yes!” The man’s face lighted up. “Yes, sir; Captain +Stanley, he had a close shave! It sorter comes back to me now, how the +burial detail fetched him back saying they wasn’t going to bury no man +that twitched when they shut his coffin. Yes, sir—but it’s three years +and a man forgets, and I’ve seen—things—lots of such things in three +years with Baring’s dragoons. Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>She closed her eyes; a dizziness swept over her and she swayed where she +stood.</p> + +<p>“Is he here?”</p> + +<p>“Who? Captain Stanley? Yes, sir. Why, he’s captain of the Black Horse +troop—F, third squadron.... They’re down that lane near the trees. +Shall I take you there?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head, holding tightly to the canvas flap; and the trooper, +saluting easily, resumed his truss of hay, hitched his belt,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_242" id="pg_242">242</a></span> cocked his +forage cap, and went off whistling.</p> + +<p>All that sunny afternoon she lay on the colonel’s camp bed, hands +tightly clenched on her breast, eyes closed sometimes, sometimes wide +open, gazing at the sun spots crawling on the tent wall.</p> + +<p>To her ears came bugle calls from distant hills; drums of marching +columns. Sounds of the stirring of thousands made tremulous the dim +silence of the tent.</p> + +<p>Dreams long dead arose and possessed her—the confused dreams of a +woman, still young, awakened from the passionless lethargy of the past.</p> + +<p>Vaguely she felt around her the presence of an earth new born, of a new +heaven created. She realized her own awakening; she strove to comprehend +<i>his</i> resurrection, and it frightened her; she could not understand that +what was dead through all these years was now alive, that the ideal she +had clung to, evoking it until it had become part of her, was real—an +actual and splendid living power. In this vivid resurgence she seemed to +lose her precise recollections of him now that he was alive.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_243" id="pg_243">243</a></span></p> + +<p>While she had believed him dead, everything concerning his memory had +been painfully real—his personal appearance, the way he moved, turned, +the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand as it tightened in hers +when he lay there at sunset, while she and Death watched the color +fading from his face.</p> + +<p>But now—now that he was living—here in this same world with her +again—strive as she would she could neither fix either his features nor +the sound of his voice upon her memory. Only the stupefying wonder of it +possessed her, dulling her senses so that even the happiness of it +seemed unreal.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>How would they meet?—they two, who had never met but thrice? How would +they seem, each to the other, when first their eyes encountered?</p> + +<p>In all their lives they had exchanged so little speech! Yet from the +first—from the first moment, when she had raised her gaze to him as he +entered in his long, blue cloak, her silence had held a deeper meaning +than her speech. And on that blessed night instinct broke the silence; +yet, with every formal word<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_244" id="pg_244">244</a></span> exchanged, consciousness of the occult bond +between them grew.</p> + +<p>But it was not until she thought him dead that she understood that it +had been love—love unheralded, unexpected, incredible—love at the +first confronting, the first encountering glance. And to the memory of +that mystery she had been faithful from the night on which she believed +he died.</p> + +<p>How had it been with him throughout these years? <i>How had it been with +him?</i></p> + +<p>The silvery trumpets of the cavalry were still sounding as she mounted +her horse before the colonel’s tent and rode out into the splendour of +the setting sun.</p> + +<p>On every side cavalrymen were setting toe to stirrup; troop after troop, +forming by fours, trotted out to the crest of the hill where the Western +light lay red across the furrowed grass.</p> + +<p>A blaze of brilliant color filled the road where an incoming Zouave +regiment had halted, unslinging knapsacks, preparing to encamp, and the +setting sun played over them in waves of fire, striking fiercely across +their crimson fezzes and trousers.</p> + +<p>Through their gorgeous lines the cavalry<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_245" id="pg_245">245</a></span> rode, colonel and staff +leading; and with them rode the Special Messenger, knee to knee with the +chief trumpeter, who made his horse dance when he passed the gorgeous +Zouave color guard, to show off the gridiron of yellow slashings across +his corded and tasseled breast.</p> + +<p>And now another infantry regiment blocked the way—a heavy, blue column +tramping in with its field music playing and both flags flying in the +sunset radiance—the Stars and Stripes, with the number of the regiment +printed in gold across crimson; and the State flag—white, an Indian and +an uplifted sword on the snowy field: Massachusetts infantry.</p> + +<p>On they came, fifes skirling, drums crashing; the colonel of the Fourth +Missouri gave them right of way, saluting their colors; the Special +Messenger backed her horse and turned down along the column.</p> + +<p>Under the shadow of her visor her dark eyes widened with excitement as +she skirted the halted cavalry, searching the intervals where the troop +captains sat their horses, naked sabres curving up over their shoulder +straps.</p> + +<p>“Not this one! Not <i>this</i> one,” her little<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_246" id="pg_246">246</a></span> heart beat hurriedly; and +then, without warning, panic came, and she spurred up to the major of +the first squadron.</p> + +<p>“Where is Captain Stanley?” Her voice almost broke.</p> + +<p>“With his troop, I suppose—‘F,’” replied that officer calmly; and her +heart leaped and the color flooded her face as she saluted, wheeled, and +rode on in heavenly certainty.</p> + +<p>A New York regiment, fresh from the North, was passing now, its +magnificent band playing “Twinkling Stars”; and the horses of the +cavalry began to dance and paw and toss their heads.</p> + +<p>One splendid black animal reared suddenly and shook its mane out; and at +the same moment she saw <i>him</i>—knew him—drew bridle, her heart in her +mouth, her body all a-tremble.</p> + +<p>He was mastering the black horse that had reared, sitting his saddle +easily, almost carelessly, his long, yellow-striped legs loosely +graceful, his straight, slim figure perfect in poise and balance.</p> + +<p>And now the trumpets were sounding; captain after captain turned in his +saddle, swung his sabre forward, repeating the order: “Forward—march! +Forward—march!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_247" id="pg_247">247</a></span></p> + +<p>The Special Messenger whirled her horse and sped to the head of the +column.</p> + +<p>“I was just beginning to wonder—” began the colonel, when she broke in, +breathless:</p> + +<p>“<i>May</i> I ride with Captain Stanley of F, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” he replied, surprised and a trifle amused. She hesitated, +nervously picking at her bridle, then said: “When you once get me +through their lines—I mean, after I am safely through and you are ready +to turn around and leave me—I—I would like—to—to——”</p> + +<p>“Yes?” inquired the colonel, gently, divining some “last message” to +deliver. For they were desperate chances that she was taking, and those +in the beleaguered city would show her no mercy if they ever caught her +within its battered bastions.</p> + +<p>But the Special Messenger only said: “Before your regiment goes back, +may I tell Captain Stanley who I am?”</p> + +<p>The colonel’s face fell.</p> + +<p>“Nobody is supposed to have any idea who you are——”</p> + +<p>“I know it. But is there any harm if I only tell it to—to just this +one, single man?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_248" id="pg_248">248</a></span> she asked, earnestly, not aware that her eyes as well +as her voice were pleading—that her whole body, bent forward in the +saddle, had become eloquent with a confession as winning as it was +innocent.</p> + +<p>The colonel looked curiously into the eager, flushed face, framed in its +setting of dark, curly hair, then he lifted a gauntleted hand from his +bridle and slowly stroked his crisp mustache upward to hide the smile he +could not control.</p> + +<p>“I did not know,” he said gravely, “that Captain Stanley was +the—ah—‘one’ and ‘only’ man.”</p> + +<p>She blushed furiously, the vivid color ran from throat to temple, +burning her ears till they looked like rose petals caught in her dark +hair.</p> + +<p>“You may tell Captain Stanley—if you must,” observed the colonel of the +Fourth Missouri. He was gazing absently straight between his horse’s +ears when he spoke. After a few moments he looked at the sky where, +overhead, the afterglow pulsated in bands of fire.</p> + +<p>“I always thought,” he murmured to himself, “that old Stanley was in +love with that<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_249" id="pg_249">249</a></span> Southern girl he saw at Sandy River.... I had no idea he +knew the Special Messenger. It appears that I am slightly in error.” +And, very thoughtfully, he continued to twist his mustache skyward as he +rode on.</p> + +<p>When he ventured to glance around again the Special Messenger had +disappeared.</p> + +<p>“Fancy!” he muttered; “fancy old Stanley knowing the mystery of the +three armies! And, by gad, gentlemen!” addressing, <i>sotto voce</i>, the +entire regiment, as he turned in his stirrups and looked back at the +darkening column behind him—“by gad! gentlemen of the Fourth Dragoons, +no prettier woman ever sat a saddle than is riding this moment with the +captain of Troop F!”</p> + +<p>What Captain Stanley saw riding up to him through the dull afterglow was +a slightly built youth in the uniform of the regular cavalry, yellow +trimming on collar, yellow welts about the seams of the jacket, yellow +stripes on the breeches; and, as the youth drew bridle, saluted, and +turned to ride forward beside him, he caught sight of a lieutenant’s +shoulder straps on the sergeant’s shell jacket.</p> + +<p>“Well, youngster,” he said, smiling, “don’t they clothe you in the +regulars?<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_250" id="pg_250">250</a></span> You’re as eccentric as our butternut friends yonder.”</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t buy a full uniform,” she said truthfully. She did not add +that she had left at a minute’s notice for the most dangerous +undertaking ever asked of her, borrowing discarded makeshifts anywhere +at hazard.</p> + +<p>“Are you a West Pointer?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! You’ve their seat—and their shapely leanness. Are you going with +us?”</p> + +<p>“Where are <i>you</i> going?”</p> + +<p>Stanley laughed. “I’m sure I don’t know. It looks to me as though we +were riding straight into rebeldom.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you know why?” she asked, looking at him from under the shadow of +her visor.</p> + +<p>“No. Do you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>After a pause: “Well,” he said, laughing, “are you going to tell me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—later.”</p> + +<p>Neck and neck, knee and knee they rode forward at the head of the Black +Horse troop, along a road which became dusky beyond the first patch of +woods.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_251" id="pg_251">251</a></span></p> + +<p>After the inner camp lines had been passed the regiment halted while a +troop was detailed as flankers and an advanced guard galloped off ahead. +Along the road behind, the guns of the Rhode Island Battery came +thudding and bumping up, halting with a dull clash of chains.</p> + +<p>Stanley said: “This is one of Baring’s pet raids; we’ve done it dozens +of times. Once our entire division rode around Beauregard; but I didn’t +see the old, blue star division flag this time, so I guess we’re going +it alone. Hello! There’s infantry! We must be close to the extreme +outposts.”</p> + +<p>In the dusk they were passing a pasture where, guarded by sentinels, lay +piled, in endless, straight rows, knapsacks, blankets, shelter tents, +and long lines of stacked Springfield rifles. Soldiers with the white +strings of canteens crossing their breasts were journeying to and from a +stream that ran, darkling, out of the tangled woodland on their right.</p> + +<p>On the opposite side of the road were the lines of the Seventieth +Indiana, their colors, furled in oilcloth, lying horizontally across the +forks of two stacks of rifles. Under them lay the color guard; the +scabbarded swords<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_252" id="pg_252">252</a></span> of the colonel and his staff were stuck upright in +the ground, and the blanket-swathed figures of the officers in poncho +and havelock reposed close by.</p> + +<p>The other regiment was the Eleventh Maine. Their colonel, strapped with +his silver eagles, was watching the disposal of the colors by a sergeant +wearing the broad stripe, blue diamond and triple underscoring on each +sleeve. With the sergeant marched eight corporals, long-limbed, rugged +giants of the color company, decorated with the narrow stripe and double +chevron.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later the cavalry moved out past the pickets, then swung +due south.</p> + +<p>Night had fallen—a clear, starlit, blossom-scented dimness freshening +the air.</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger, head bent, was still riding with Captain Stanley, +evidently preferring his company so openly, so persistently, that the +other officers, a little amused, looked sideways at the youngster from +time to time.</p> + +<p>After a while Stanley said pleasantly: “We haven’t exchanged names yet, +and you haven’t told me why a regular is riding with us to-night.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_253" id="pg_253">253</a></span></p> + +<p>“On special service,” she said in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“And your name and regiment?”</p> + +<p>She did not appear to hear him; he glanced at her askance.</p> + +<p>“You seem to be very young,” he said.</p> + +<p>“The colonel of the Ninetieth Rhode Island fell at twenty-two.”</p> + +<p>He nodded gravely. “It is a war of young men. I think Baring himself is +only twenty-five. He’s breveted brigadier, too.”</p> + +<p>“And you?” she asked timidly.</p> + +<p>He laughed. “Thirty; and a thousand in experience.”</p> + +<p>“I, too,” she said softly.</p> + +<p>“You? Thirty?”</p> + +<p>“No, only twenty-four; but your peer in experience.”</p> + +<p>“Your voice sounds Southern,” he said in his pleasant voice, inviting +confidence.</p> + +<p>“Yes; my home was at Sandy River.”</p> + +<p>Out of the corners of her eyes she saw him start and look around at +her—felt his stern gaze questioning her; and rode straight on before +her without response or apparent consciousness.</p> + +<p>“Sandy River?” he repeated in a strained voice. “Did you say you lived +there?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_254" id="pg_254">254</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” indifferently.</p> + +<p>The captain rode for a while in silence, then, carelessly: “There was, I +believe, a family living there before the war—the Westcotes.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.” She could scarcely utter a word for the suffocating throb of her +heart.</p> + +<p>“You knew them?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Do—do they still live at Sandy River?”</p> + +<p>“The house still stands. Major Westcote is dead.”</p> + +<p>“Her—I mean their grandfather?”</p> + +<p>She nodded, incapable of speech.</p> + +<p>“And”—he hesitated—“and the boy? He used to ride a pony—the most +fascinating little fellow——”</p> + +<p>“He is at school in the North.”</p> + +<p>There was a silence, then the captain turned in his saddle and looked +straight at her.</p> + +<p>“Does Miss Westcote live there still?”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean Celia Westcote?” asked the Messenger calmly.</p> + +<p>“Yes—Celia—” His voice fell softly, making of her name a caressing +cadence. The Special Messenger bent her head lower over her bridle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_255" id="pg_255">255</a></span></p> + +<p>“Why do you ask? Did you know her?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>The captain lifted his grave eyes, but the Messenger was not looking at +him.</p> + +<p>“I knew her—in a way—better than I ever knew any woman, and I saw her +only three times in all my life. That is your answer—and my excuse for +asking. Does she still live at Sandy River?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know where she has gone?”</p> + +<p>“She is somewhere in the South.”</p> + +<p>“Is she—married?” he asked under his breath.</p> + +<p>The Special Messenger looked up at him, smiling in the darkness.</p> + +<p>“No,” she said. “I heard that she lost her—heart—to a bandmaster of +some cavalry regiment who was killed in action at Sandy River—three +years ago.”</p> + +<p>The captain straightened in his saddle as though he had been shot; in +the dim light his lean face turned darkly scarlet.</p> + +<p>“I see her occasionally,” continued the Messenger faintly; “have you any +message—perhaps——”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_256" id="pg_256">256</a></span></p> + +<p>The captain turned slowly toward her. “Do you know where she is?”</p> + +<p>“I expect that she will be within riding distance of me—very soon.”</p> + +<p>“Is your mission a secret one?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And you may see her—before very long?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then tell her,” said the captain, “that the bandmaster of the Fourth +Missouri—” He strove to continue; his voice died in his throat.</p> + +<p>“Yes—yes—say it,” whispered the Special Messenger. “I will tell her; +she will understand—truly she will—whatever you say.”</p> + +<p>“Tell her—that the bandmaster has—has never forgotten——”</p> + +<p>“Yes—yes——”</p> + +<p>“Never forgotten her!”</p> + +<p>“Yes—oh, yes!”</p> + +<p>“That he—he——”</p> + +<p>“Yes! Oh, please—please say it—don’t be afraid to say—what you wish!”</p> + +<p>The captain’s voice was not under perfect control.</p> + +<p>“Say that he—thinks of her.... Say that—that he—he thought of her +when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_257" id="pg_257">257</a></span> was falling—there, in the charge at Sandy River——”</p> + +<p>“But he once told her that himself!” she cried. “Has he no more to tell +her?”</p> + +<p>And Captain Stanley, aghast, fairly leaped in his stirrups.</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” he gasped. “What do <i>you</i> know of——”</p> + +<p>His voice was smothered in the sudden out-crash of rifles, through which +startled trumpets sounded, followed by the running explosions of cavalry +carbines.</p> + +<p>“Attention! Draw sabres!” rang out a far voice in the increasing uproar.</p> + +<p>The night air thrilled with the rushing swish of steel drawn swiftly +across steel.</p> + +<p>“Forward!” and “Forward! Forward!” echoed the officers, one after +another.</p> + +<p>“Steady—right dress!”—taken up by the troop officers: “Steady—right +dress! By fours—right wheel—march!”</p> + +<p>Pell-mell the flanking parties came crashing back out of the dusky +undergrowth, and:</p> + +<p>“Steady—trot! Steady—right dress—gallop!” came the orders.</p> + +<p>“Gallop!” repeated her captain, blandly;<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_258" id="pg_258">258</a></span> and, under his breath: “We are +going to charge. Quick, tell me who you are!”</p> + +<p>“Steady—steady—charge!” came the clear shout from the front.</p> + +<p>“Charge! Charge! Charge!” echoed the ringing orders from troop to troop.</p> + +<p>In the darkness of the thickets she rode knee to knee with her captain. +The grand stride of her horse thundering along beside his through +obscurity filled her with wild exultation; she loosened curb and snaffle +and spurred forward amid hundreds of plunging horses, now goaded frantic +by the battle clangor of the trumpets.</p> + +<p>Everywhere, right and left, the red flash of Confederate rifles ran +along their flanks; here and there a stricken horse reared or stumbled, +rolling over and over; or some bullet-struck rider swayed wide from the +saddle and went down to annihilation.</p> + +<p>Fringed with darting flames the cavalry drove on headlong into the +unseen; behind clanked the flying battery, mounted gunners sabering the +dark forms that leaped out of the underbrush; on—on—rushed horses and +guns, riders and cannoneers—a furious, irresistible, chaotic torrent, +thundering through the night.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:361px"> +<a name="illus-020" id="illus-020"></a> +<img src="images/i258.png" alt=""'Yes,' she gasped, 'The Special Messenger—noncombatant!'"" title="" width="361" /><br /> +<span class="caption">“‘Yes,’ she gasped, ‘The Special Messenger—noncombatant!’”</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_259" id="pg_259">259</a></span>Far +behind them now danced and flickered the rifle flames; fainter, +fainter grew the shots; and at last, galloping steadily and, by degrees, +reforming as they rode, the column swung out toward the bushy hills in +the west, slowed to a canter, to a trot, to a walk.</p> + +<p>“We are through!” said the Special Messenger, brokenly, breathing fast +as she pulled in her mount and turned in the starlight toward the man +she rode beside.</p> + +<p>At the same moment the column halted; and he drew bridle and looked +steadily at her.</p> + +<p>All around them was the confusion and turmoil of stamping, panting +horses, the clank of metal, the heavy breathing of men.</p> + +<p>“Look at me!” she whispered, baring her head in the starlight. “Quick! +Look at me! Do you know me now? Look at me—if you—love me!”</p> + +<p>A low cry broke from him; she held out both arms to him in the dim +light, forcing her horse up against his stirrup.</p> + +<p>“If you love me,” she breathed, “say so now!”</p> + +<p>Leaning free from his saddle he caught her in his arms, held her, looked +into her eyes.</p> + +<p>“You?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_260" id="pg_260">260</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” she gasped, “the Special Messenger—noncombatant!”</p> + +<p>“The Special Messenger? <i>You?</i> Good God!”</p> + +<p>A dull tattoo of hoofs along the halted column, nearer, nearer, +clattering toward them from the front, and:</p> + +<p>“Good-by!” she sobbed; “they’re coming for me! Oh—do you love me? Do +you? Life was so dark and dreadful without you! I—I never +forgot—never, never! I——”</p> + +<p>Her gloved hands crept higher around the neck of the man who held her +crushed in his arms.</p> + +<p>“If I return,” she sighed, “will you love me? Don’t—don’t look at me +that way. I will return—I promise. I love you so! I love you!”</p> + +<p>Their lips clung for a second in the darkness, then she swung her horse, +tearing herself free of his arms; and, bared head lifted to the skies, +she turned south, riding all alone out into the starlit waste.</p> + +<p style="margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:3em; text-align:center;">THE END</p> + +<hr class="dashed" /> + +<p class="c"><span class="l">OTHER BOOKS</span><br /> +BY<br /> +<span class="xl">ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</span></p> + +<p>Mr. Chambers is unquestionably the most popular of American novelists +to-day. He is the author of some thirty books of extraordinary variety +in fiction. He was born in New York, and studied in the studios of Paris +to become an artist. While working at painting he took up writing as a +pastime, and had such immediate success that he soon gave up art and +turned to literature as his life work. Always, as a part of this +interest, he has studied and worked in the field of natural history, so +that to-day he is something of an authority on birds and butterflies, a +confirmed fisherman, and a good shot. All these qualities—the study of +art, the experience with nature, both in the line of sport and as an +entomologist—have put their stamp upon his work, as will be seen by a +glance at his books, for only a few of which there is space here +available.</p> + +<p class="c l">THE FIRING LINE</p> + +<p>The most recent of his works is the third in a group of studies in +American society life. It is full of the swing of good romance, behind +which lies the bright philosophy that the saving quality in our American +families is to come with the injection of fresh blood into each new +generation. The story itself deals with the adopted daughter of a +multimillionaire, who does not even know her own parentage—a girl from +nowhere, with all the charm and beauty which a bringing up in the midst +of wealth can give her. The hero is a young American of good family who +first meets her at Palm Beach, Florida. Here is a background that Mr. +Chambers loves—the outdoor life of exotic Florida, the everglades, the +hunting, the shooting, and the sea—all in the midst of that other +exotic life which goes with a winter resort and a large group of the +idle rich. The story—already in its 150th thousand—is, perhaps, the +author’s favorite piece of work.</p> + +<p class="c l">THE YOUNGER SET</p> + +<p>is also of the social <i>comédie humaine</i> of America, with its scenes laid +in New York and on Long Island. Here again, behind a romance of love and +of society complications, Mr. Chambers conceals his philosophic +suggestions that may be gathered from the title. The younger set comes +into our society fresh and unspoiled with each generation, and in its +way contributes something of freshness, something of vigor to keep the +social world from going down hill on a grade of decadence. The story +deals with a man who, although still young, feels that his life is +practically over because his marriage, through no fault of his own, has +proved a failure and ended in divorce. He meets a young girl just +introduced into society, whose wholesome youth charms him and leads him +back to optimism and life. The character of <i>Eileen</i> is perhaps one of +Mr. Chambers’s most real and most successful creations. The fact that +this novel, after one year, is in its 200th thousand is sufficient +proof of its popularity. In</p> + +<p class="c l">THE FIGHTING CHANCE</p> + +<p>the author still deals with American society, but here his background is +the consideration of the evil influences of inheritance in old families. +The scene is still New York and Long Island, full of the charm of +outdoor life and hunting episodes. The principal male character <i>Siward</i> +is cursed with the inheritance of drink. <i>Siward’s</i> struggles to conquer +his Enemy, and the fighting chance he sees at last in the affection of a +girl, carry on the story to a hopeful finish. The novel has been +published two years and a few months and more than 250,000 copies have +been sold, so that its claims to success are undeniable.</p> + +<p class="c l">THE RECKONING</p> + +<p>The varied interests of the author which have been suggested above are +sustained in this novel. It is a story of a side light of the American +Revolution, and it makes the fourth novel in a series of books telling +in fiction of the scenes and invoking the characters in the Mohawk +Valley during the war for American Independence. The first novel of the +series was “Cardigan”; the second, “The Maid-at-Arms”; the third is +still to be written, when the distinguished author can find time; while +“The Reckoning” is the last.</p> + +<p class="c l">IOLE</p> + +<p>Another splendid example of the author’s versatility is this farcical, +humorous satire on the <i>art nouveau</i> of to-day. Mr. Chambers, with all +his knowledge of the artistic jargon, has in this little novel created a +pious fraud of a father, who brings up his eight lovely daughters in the +Adirondacks, where they wear pink pajamas and eat nuts and fruit, and +listen to him while he lectures them and everybody else on art. It is +easy to imagine what happens when several rich and practical young New +Yorkers stumble upon this group. Everybody is happy in the end.</p> + +<p class="c l">THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS</p> + +<p>Here again is a totally different vein of half humor and half +seriousness. Mr. Chambers selects a firm of detectives (based, by the +way, on fact) who guarantee to find lost persons, missing heirs, etc. In +this case the author’s fancy and humor suggest to a young bachelor, who +has always had an ideal girl in mind, that he go and describe her as a +real person to <i>Mr. Keen</i>, the Tracer of Lost Persons. He gives his +description, and, as may be supposed, <i>Mr. Keen</i> finds the girl, but +after such a series of episodes, escapes, discoveries and dénouements +that it takes a full-grown novel to accomplish the task.</p> + +<p class="c l">THE TREE OF HEAVEN</p> + +<p>Half in fancy, half in fact, the thread of an occult idea runs through +this weird theme. You cannot, even at the end, be quite sure whether the +author has been making fun of you or not. Perhaps, if the truth were +told, he could not quite tell you himself. The tale all hangs about one +of a group of friends who lives for years in the Far East and gathers +some of the occult knowledge of that far-off land. Into the woof of an +Eastern rug is woven the soul of a woman. Into the glisten of a scarab +is polished the prophecy of a life. Into the whole charming romance of +the book is woven the thread of an intangible, “creepy,” mysterious +force. What is it? Is it a joke? Who knows?</p> + +<p class="c l">SOME LADIES IN HASTE</p> + +<p>This novel is as widely different from all the others as if another hand +had written it and another mind conceived it. This time, too, it is +impossible to say whether the author is quizzing our new thought +transference and telepathic friends, or whether he is half inclined to +suggest that “there may be something in it.” Here is a character who +suddenly discovers that by concentrating his mind on certain ideas he +can inject or project them into others. And forthwith he sets half a +dozen couples making love to each other in most grotesque surroundings. +They climb trees and become engaged. They put on strange Panlike +costumes and prance about the woods—always charming, always well bred, +always with a touch of romance that makes the reader read on to the end +and finally lay the book down with a smile of pleasure and a little sigh +that it is over so soon.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>One might run on for twenty books more, but there is not space enough +even to mention Mr. Chambers’s delightful nature books for children, +telling how <i>Geraldine</i> and <i>Peter</i> go wandering through “Outdoor-land,” +“Mountain-Land,” “Orchard-Land,” “River-Land,” “Forest-Land,” and +“Garden-Land.” They, in turn, are as different from his novels in fancy +and conception as each of his novels from the other. No living writer +has given to the public so varied a list of books with such +extraordinary popularity in all of them as Mr. Robert W. Chambers.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPECIAL MESSENGER***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 24071-h.txt or 24071-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/0/7/24071">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/0/7/24071</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Chambers + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Special Messenger + + +Author: Robert W. Chambers + + + +Release Date: December 29, 2007 [eBook #24071] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPECIAL MESSENGER*** + + +E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Project Gutenberg Online +Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 24071-h.htm or 24071-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/0/7/24071/24071-h/24071-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/0/7/24071/24071-h.zip) + + + + + +SPECIAL MESSENGER + + * * * * * * + +WORKS OF ROBERT W. CHAMBERS + + Special Messenger Iole + The Firing Line The Reckoning + The Younger Set The Maid-at-Arms + The Fighting Chance Cardigan + Some Ladies in Haste The Haunts of Men + The Tree of Heaven The Mystery of Choice + The Tracer of Lost Persons The Cambric Mask + A Young Man in a Hurry A Maker of Moons + Lorraine The King in Yellow + Maids of Paradise In Search of the Unknown + Ashes of Empire The Conspirators + The Red Republic A King and a Few Dukes + Outsiders In the Quarter + + FOR CHILDREN + + Garden-Land Mountain-Land + Forest-Land Orchard-Land + River-Land Outdoorland + + * * * * * * + + +SPECIAL MESSENGER + +by + +ROBERT W. CHAMBERS + + + + + + + +[Illustration: "Daintily her handsome horse set foot in the water." + Page 131.] + + + +D. Appleton and Company +New York--MCMIX + +Copyright, 1909, by +Robert W. Chambers +Copyright, 1904, 1905, by Harper and Brothers +Copyright, 1908, by P F Collier & Son +Copyright, 1908, by The Curtis Publishing Company + +Published, March, 1909 + + + + TO + GEORGE F. D. TRASK + + IN MEMORY OF + OUR FIRST MARTIAL EXPLOITS + IN THE NURSERY + + + + Thou hast given a banner to them that fear Thee, that + it may be displayed because of the truth.--PSALM lx, 4. + + + +PREFACE + + In the personality and exploits of the "Special Messenger," + the author has been assured that a celebrated historical + character is recognizable--Miss Boyd, the famous Confederate + scout and spy. + + It is not uncommon that the readers of a book know more + about that book than the author. + R. W. C. + + + +CONTENTS + + PART ONE + + WHAT SHE WAS + Page + + I. Noncombatants 3 + + PART TWO + + WHAT SHE BECAME + + II. Special Messenger 39 + + III. Absolution 67 + + IV. Romance 99 + + V. Red Ferry 127 + + VI. An Air Line 157 + + VII. The Pass 192 + + VIII. Ever After 223 + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + FACING PAGE + +"Daintily her handsome horse set foot in the water" Frontispiece + +"'They seem to be allfired sure of us'" 78 + +"Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and it was empty" 90 + +"'Turn around,' said the Special Messenger" 176 + +"She dropped her sunbonnet--stooped to recover it" 216 + +"White-faced, desperate, she clung to him with the tenacity + of a lynx" 220 + +"'We was there--I know that; yes, an' we had a fight'" 238 + +"'Yes,' she gasped, 'the Special Messenger--noncombatant!'" 258 + + + + + +PART ONE + +WHAT SHE WAS + +I + +NONCOMBATANTS + + +About five o'clock that evening a Rhode Island battery clanked through +the village and parked six dusty guns in a pasture occupied by some +astonished cows. + +A little later the cavalry arrived, riding slowly up the tree-shaded +street, escorted by every darky and every dog in the country-side. + +The clothing of this regiment was a little out of the ordinary. Instead +of the usual campaign head gear the troopers wore forage caps strapped +under their chins, heavy visors turned down, and their officers were +conspicuous in fur-trimmed hussar tunics slung from the shoulders of +dark-blue shell jackets; but most unusual and most interesting of all, a +mounted cavalry band rode ahead, led by a bandmaster who sat his horse +like a colonel of regulars--a slim young man with considerable yellow +and gold on his faded blue sleeves, and an easy manner of swinging +forward his heavy cut-and-thrust sabre as he guided the column through +the metropolitan labyrinths of Sandy River. + +Sandy River had seen and scowled at Yankee cavalry before, but never +before had the inhabitants had an opportunity to ignore a mounted band +and bandmaster. There was, of course, no cheering; a handkerchief +fluttered from a gallery here and there, but Sandy River was loyal only +in spots, and the cavalry pressed past groups of silent people, +encountering the averted heads or scornful eyes of young girls and the +cold hatred in the faces of gray-haired gentlewomen, who turned their +backs as the ragged guidons bobbed past and the village street rang with +the clink-clank of scabbards and rattle of Spencer carbines. + +But there was a small boy on a pony who sat entranced as the +weather-ravaged squadrons trampled by. Cap in hand, straight in his +saddle, he saluted the passing flag; a sunburnt trooper called out: +"That's right, son! Bully for you!" + +The boy turned his pony and raced along the column under a running fire +of approving chaff from the men, until he came abreast of the bandmaster +once more, at whom he stared with fascinated and uncloyed satisfaction. + +Into a broad common wheeled the cavalry; the boy followed on his pony, +guiding the little beast in among the mounted men, edging as close as +possible to the bandmaster, who had drawn bridle and wheeled his showy +horse abreast of a group of officers. When the boy had crowded up as +close as possible to the bandmaster he sat in silence, blissfully +drinking in the splendors of that warrior's dusty apparel. + +"I'm right glad you-all have come," ventured the boy. + +The bandmaster swung round in his saddle and saw a small sun-tanned face +and two wide eyes intently fixed on his. + +"I reckon you don't know how glad my sister and I are to see you down +here," said the boy politely. "When are you going to have a battle?" + +"A battle!" repeated the bandmaster. + +"Yes, sir. You're going to fight, of course, aren't you?" + +"Not if people leave us alone--and leave that railroad alone," replied +the officer, backing his restive horse to the side of the fence as the +troopers trotted past into the meadow, fours crowding closely on fours. + +"Not fight?" exclaimed the boy, astonished. "Isn't there going to be a +battle?" + +"I'll let you know when there's going to be one," said the bandmaster +absently. + +"You won't forget, will you?" inquired the boy. "My name is William +Stuart Westcote, and I live in that house." He pointed with his riding +whip up the hill. "You won't forget, will you?" + +"No, child, I won't forget." + +"My sister Celia calls me Billy; perhaps you had better just ask her for +Billy if I'm not there when you gallop up to tell me--that is, if you're +coming yourself. Are you?" he ended wistfully. + +"Do you want me to come?" inquired the bandmaster, amused. + +"Would you really come?" cried the boy. "Would you really come to visit +me?" + +"I'll consider it," said the bandmaster gravely. + +"Do you think you could come to-night?" asked the boy. "We'd certainly +be glad to see you--my sister and I. Folks around here like the Malletts +and the Colvins and the Garnetts don't visit us any more, and it's +lonesome sometimes." + +"I think that you should ask your sister first," suggested the +bandmaster. + +"Why? She's loyal!" exclaimed the boy earnestly. "Besides, you're coming +to visit _me_, I reckon. Aren't you?" + +"Certainly," said the bandmaster hastily. + +"To-night?" + +"I'll do my best, Billy." + +The boy held out a shy hand; the officer bent from his saddle and took +it in his soiled buckskin gauntlet. + +"Good night, my son," he said, without a smile, and rode off into the +meadow among a crowd of troopers escorting the regimental wagons. + +A few moments later a child on a pony tore into the weed-grown drive +leading to the great mansion on the hill, scaring a lone darky who had +been dawdling among the roses. + +"'Clar' tu goodness, Mars Will'm, I done tuk you foh de Black Hoss +Cav'ly!" said the ancient negro reproachfully. "Hi! Hi! Wha' foh you mek +all dat fuss an' a-gwine-on?" + +"Oh, Mose!" cried the boy, "I've seen the Yankee cavalry, and they have +a horse band, and I rode with them, and I asked a general when they were +going to have a battle, and the general said he'd let me know!" + +"Gin'ral?" demanded the old darky suspiciously; "who dat gin'ral dat +gwine tell you 'bout de battle? Was he drivin' de six-mule team, or was +he dess a-totin' a sack o' co'n? Kin you splain dat, Mars Will'm?" + +"Don't you think I know a general when I see one?" exclaimed the boy +scornfully. "He had yellow and gilt on his sleeves, and he carried a +sabre, and he rode first of all. And--oh, Mose! He's coming here to pay +me a visit! Perhaps he'll come to-night; he said he would if he could." + +"Dat gin'ral 'low he gwine come here?" muttered the darky. "Spec' you +better see Miss Celia 'fo' you ax dis here gin'ral." + +"I'm going to ask her now," said the boy. "She certainly will be glad to +see one of our own men. Who cares if all the niggers have run off? We're +not ashamed--and, anyhow, you're here to bring in the decanters for the +general." + +"Shoo, honey, you might talk dat-a-way ef yo' pa wuz in de house," +grumbled the old man. "Ef hit's done fix, nobody kin onfix it. But dess +yo' leave dem gin'rals whar dey is nex' time, Mars Will'm. Hit wuz a +gin'ral dat done tuk de Dominiker hen las' time de blueco'ts come to +San' River." + +The boy, sitting entranced in reverie, scarcely heard him; and it was +only when a far trumpet blew from the camp in the valley that he started +in his saddle and raised his rapt eyes to the windows. Somebody had hung +out a Union flag over the jasmine-covered portico. + +"There it is! There it is, Mose!" he cried excitedly, scrambling from +his saddle. "Here--take the bridle! And the very minute you hear the +general dashing into the drive, let me know!" + +He ran jingling up the resounding veranda--he wore his father's +spurs--and mounted the stairs, two at a jump, calling: "Celia! Celia! +You'll be glad to know that a general who is a friend of mine----" + +"Hush, Billy," said his sister, checking him on the landing and leading +him out to the gallery from which the flag hung; "can't you remember +that grandfather is asleep by sundown? Now--what is it, dear, you wish +to tell me?" + +"Oh, I forgot; truly I did, Celia--but a general is coming to visit me +to-night, if you can possibly manage it, and I'm so glad you hung out +the flag--and Moses can serve the Madeira, can't he?" + +"What general?" inquired his sister uneasily. And her brother's +explanations made matters no clearer. "You remember what the Yankee +cavalry did before," she said anxiously. "You must be careful, Billy, +now that the quarters are empty and there's not a soul in the place +except Mose." + +"But, Celia! the general is a gentleman. I shook hands with him!" + +"Very well, dear," she said, passing one arm around his neck and leaning +forward over the flag. The sun was dipping between a cleft in the +hills, flinging out long rosy beams across the misty valley. The mocking +birds had ceased, but a thrasher was singing in a tangle of Cherokee +roses under the western windows. + +While they stood there the sun dipped so low that nothing remained +except a glowing scarlet rim. + +"Hark!" whispered the boy. Far away an evening gunshot set soft echoes +tumbling from hill to hill, distant, more distant. Strains of the +cavalry band rose in the evening silence, "The Star Spangled Banner" +floating from the darkening valley. Then silence; and presently a low, +sweet thrush note from the dusky garden. + +It was after supper, when the old darky had lighted the dips--there +being no longer any oil or candles to be had--that the thrush, who had +been going into interminable ecstasies of fluty trills, suddenly became +mute. A jingle of metal sounded from the garden, a step on the porch, a +voice inquiring for Mr. Westcote; and old Mose replying with reproachful +dignity: "Mars Wes'cote, suh? Mars Wes'cote daid, suh." + +"That's my friend, the general!" exclaimed Billy, leaping from his +chair. "Mose, you fool nigger, why don't you ask the general to come +in?" he whispered fiercely; then, as befitted the master of the house, +he walked straight out into the hall, small hand outstretched, welcoming +his guest as he had seen his father receive a stranger of distinction. +"I am so glad you came," he said, crimson with pleasure. "Moses will +take your cap and cloak-- Mose!" + +The old servant shuffled forward, much impressed by the uniform revealed +as the long blue mantle fell across his own ragged sleeve. + +"Do you know why I came, Billy?" asked the bandmaster, smiling. + +"I reckon it was because you promised to, wasn't it?" inquired the +child. + +"Certainly," said the bandmaster hastily. "And I promised to come +because I have a brother about your age--'way up in New York. Shall we +sit here on the veranda and talk about him?" + +"First," said the boy gravely, "my sister Celia will receive you." + +He turned, leading the way to the parlor with inherited +self-possession; and there, through the wavering light of a tallow dip, +the bandmaster saw a young girl in black rising from a chair by the +center table; and he brought his spurred heels together and bowed his +very best bow. + +"My brother," she said, "has been so anxious to bring one of our +officers here. Two weeks ago the Yan--the Federal cavalry passed +through, chasing Carrington's Horse out of Oxley Court House, but there +was no halt here." She resumed her seat with a gesture toward a chair +opposite; the bandmaster bowed again and seated himself, placing his +sabre between his knees. + +"Our cavalry advance did not behave very well in Oxley," he said. + +"They took a few chickens _en passant_," she said, smiling; "but had +they asked for them we would have been glad to give. We are loyal, you +know." + +"Those gay jayhawkers were well disciplined for that business when +Stannard took them over," said the bandmaster grimly. "Had they behaved +themselves, we should have had ten friends here where we have one now." + +The boy listened earnestly. "Would you please tell me," he asked, +"whether you have decided to have a battle pretty soon?" + +"I don't decide such matters," said the bandmaster, laughing. + +"Why, I thought a general could always have a battle when he wanted to!" +insisted the boy, surprised. + +"But I'm not a general, Billy," replied the young fellow, coloring. "Did +you think I was?" + +"My brother's ideas are very vague," said his sister quickly; "any +officer who fights is a general to him." + +"I'm sorry," said the bandmaster, looking at the child, "but do you +know, I am not even a fighting officer? I am only the regimental +bandmaster, Billy--a noncombatant." + +For an instant the boy's astonished disappointment crushed out his +inbred courtesy as host. His sister, mortified but self-possessed, broke +the strained silence with a quiet question or two concerning the newly +arrived troops; and the bandmaster replied, looking at the boy. + +Billy, silent, immersed in reflection, sat with curly head bent and +hands folded on his knees. His sister glanced at him, looked furtively +at the bandmaster, and their eyes met. He smiled, and she returned the +smile; and he looked at Billy and smiled again. + +"Billy," he said, "I've been sailing under false colors, it seems--but +you hoisted them. I think I ought to go." + +The boy looked up at him, startled. + +"Good night," said the bandmaster gravely, rising to his lean height +from the chair beside the table. The boy flushed to his hair. + +"Don't go," he said; "I like you even if you don't fight!" + +Then the bandmaster began to laugh, and the boy's sister bit her lip and +looked at her brother. + +"Billy! Billy!" she said, catching his hands in hers, "do you think the +only brave men are those who gallop into battle?" + +Hands imprisoned in his sister's, he looked up at the bandmaster. + +"If you were ordered to fight, you'd fight, wouldn't you?" he asked. + +"Under those improbable circumstances I think I might," admitted the +young fellow, solemnly reseating himself. + +"Celia! Do you hear what he says?" cried the boy. + +"I hear," said his sister gently. "Now sit very still while Moses serves +the Madeira; only half a glass for Mr. William, Moses--no, not one drop +more!" + +Moses served the wine with pomp and circumstance; the lean young +bandmaster looked straight at the boy's sister and rose, bowing with a +grace that instantly entranced the aged servant. + +"Celia," said the boy, "we must drink to the flag, you know;" and the +young girl rose from her chair, and, looking at the bandmaster, touched +her lips to the glass. + +"I wish they could see us," said the boy, "--the Colvins and the +Malletts. I've heard their 'Bonnie Blue Flag' and their stirrup toasts +until I'm sick----" + +"Billy!" said his sister quietly. And reseating herself and turning to +the bandmaster, "Our neighbors differ with us," she said, "and my +brother cannot understand it. I have to remind him that if they were not +brave men our army would have been victorious, and there would have been +no more war after Bull Run." + +The bandmaster assented thoughtfully. Once or twice his worn eyes swept +the room--a room that made him homesick for his own. It had been a long +time since he had sat in a chair in a room like this--a long time since +he had talked with women and children. Perhaps the boy's sister divined +something of his thoughts--he was not much older than she--for, as he +rose, hooking up his sabre, and stepped forward to take his leave, she +stood up, too, offering her hand. + +"Our house is always open to Union soldiers," she said simply. "Will you +come again?" + +"Thank you," he said. "You don't know, I think, how much you have +already done for me." + +They stood a moment looking at one another; then he bowed and turned to +the boy, who caught his hand impulsively. + +"I knew my sister would like you!" he exclaimed. + +"Everybody is very kind," said the young bandmaster, looking steadily at +the boy. + +Again he bowed to the boy's sister, not raising his eyes this time; and, +holding the child's hand tightly in his, he walked out to the porch. + +Moses was there to assist him with his long blue mantle; the boy clung +to his gloved hand a moment, then stepped back into the doorway, where +the old servant shuffled about, muttering half aloud: "Yaas, suh. Done +tole you so. He bow lak de quality, he drink lak de Garnetts--what I +tole yo'? Mars Will'm, ef dat ossifer ain' er gin'ral, he gwine be +mighty quick!" + +"I don't care," said the boy, "I just love him." + +The negro shuffled out across the moonlit veranda, peered around through +the fragrant gloom, wrinkled hands linked behind his back. Then he +descended the steps stiffly, and teetered about through the shrubbery +with the instinct of a watchdog worn out in service. + +"Nuff'n to scare nobody, scusin' de hoot owls," he muttered. "Spec' +hit's time Miss Celia bolt de do', 'long o' de sodgers an' all de +gwines-on. Shoo! Hear dat fool chickum crow!" He shook his head, bent +rheumatically, and seated himself on the veranda step, full in the +moonlight. "All de fightin's an' de gwines-on 'long o' dis here wah!" he +soliloquized, joining his shriveled thumbs reflectively. "Whar de use? +Spound dat! Whar all de fool niggers dat done skedaddle 'long o' de +Linkum troopers? Splain dat!" He chuckled; a whip-poor-will answered +breathlessly. + +"Dar dat scan'lous widder bird a-hollerin'!" exclaimed the old man, +listening. "'Pears lak we's gwine have moh wah, moh daid men, moh +widders. Dar de ha'nt! Dar de sign an' de warnin'. G'way, widder bird." +He crossed his withered fingers and began rocking to and fro, crooning +softly to himself: + + "Butterfly a-flyin' in de Chinaberry tree + (Butterfly, flutter by!), + Kitty gull a-cryin' on the sunset sea + (Fly, li'l gull, fly high!), + Bully bat a-follerin' de moon in de sky, + Widder bird a-hollerin', 'Hi, dar! Hi!' + Tree toad a-trillin' + (Sleep, li'l honey! + De moon cost a shillin' + But we ain't got money!), + Sleep, li'l honey, + While de firefly fly, + An' Chuck-Will's Widder holler, + 'Hi, dar! Hi!'" + +Before dawn the intense stillness was broken by the rushing music of the +birds--a careless, cheery torrent of song poured forth from bramble and +woodland. Distant and nearer cockcrows rang out above the melodious +tumult, through which a low, confused undertone, scarcely apparent at +first, was growing louder--the dull sound of the stirring of many men. + +Men? The valley was suddenly alive with them, choking the roads in heavy +silent lines; they were in the lanes, they plodded through the orchards, +they swarmed across the hills, column on column, until the entire +country seemed flowing forward in steady streams. Sandy River awoke, +restlessly listening; lights glimmered behind darkened windows; a +heavier, vaguer rumor grew, hanging along the hills. It increased to a +shaking, throbbing monotone, like the far dissonance of summer thunder! + +And now artillery was coming, bumping down the dim street with clatter +of chain and harness jingling. + +Up at the great house on the hill they heard it--the boy in his white +nightdress leaning from the open window, and his sleepy sister kneeling +beside him, pushing back her thick hair to peer out into the morning +mist. On came the battery, thudding and clanking, horses on a long +swinging trot, gun, caisson, forge, mounted artillerymen succeeding each +other, faster, faster under the windows. A guidon danced by; more guns, +more caissons, then a trampling, plunging gallop, a rattle of +sabres--and the battery had passed. + +"What is that heavy sound behind the hills?" whispered the boy. + +"The river rushing over the shallows--perhaps a train on the trestle at +Oxley Court House--" She listened, resting her rounded chin on her +hands. "It is thunder, I think. Go to bed now for a while----" + +"Hark!" said the boy, laying his small hand on hers. + +"It is thunder," she said again. "How white the dawn is growing. Listen +to the birds--is it not sweet?" + +"Celia," whispered the boy, "that is not thunder. It is too hushed, too +steady--it hums and hums and hums. Where was that battery galloping? I +am going to dress." + +She looked at him, turned to the east and stared at the coming day. The +air of dawn was full of sounds, ominous, sustained vibrations. + +She rose, went back to her room, and lighted a dip. Then, shading the +pallid smoky flame with her hand, she opened a door and peered into the +next bedroom. "Grandfather!" she whispered, smiling, seeing that he was +already awake. And as she leaned over him, searching the dim and +wrinkled eyes, she read something in their unwonted luster that struck +her silent. It was only when she heard her brother's step on the stairs +that she roused herself, bent, and kissed the aged head lying there +inert among the pillows. + +"It is cannon," she breathed softly--"you know that sound, don't you, +grandfather? Does it make you happy? Why are you smiling? Look at me--I +understand; you want something. Shall I open the curtains? And raise the +window? Ah, you wish to hear. Hark! Horsemen are passing at a gallop. +What is it you wish--to see them? But they are gone, dear. If any of our +soldiers come, you shall see them. That makes you happy?--_that_ is what +you desire?--to see one of our own soldiers? If they pass, I shall go +out and bring one here to you--truly, I will." She paused, marveling at +the strange light that glimmered across the ravaged visage. Then she +blew out the dip and stole into the hall. + +"Billy!" she called, hearing him fumbling at the front door. + +"Oh, Celia! The cavalry trumpets! Do you hear? I'm going out. Perhaps +_he_ may pass the house." + +"Wait for me," she said; "I am not dressed. Run to the cabin and wake +Moses, dear!" + +She heard him open the door; the deadened thunder of the cannonade +filled the house for an instant, shut out by the closing door, only to +swell again to an immense unbroken volume of solemn harmony. The +bird-music had ceased; distant hilltops grew brighter. + +Down in the village lights faded from window and cabin; a cavalryman, +signaling from the church tower, whirled his flaming torch aside and +picked up a signal flag. Suddenly the crash of a rifled cannon saluted +the rising sun; a shell soared skyward through the misty glory, towered, +curved, and fell, exploding among the cavalrymen, completely ruining the +breakfasts of chief-trumpeter O'Halloran and kettle-drummer Pillsbury. + +For a moment a geyser of ashes, coffee, and bacon rained among the men. + +"Hell!" said Pillsbury, furiously wiping his face with his dripping +sleeve and spitting out ashes. + +"Young kettle-drums, he don't love his vittles," observed a trooper, +picking up the cap that had been jerked from his head by a whirring +fragment. + +"Rich feedin' is the sp'ilin' o' this here hoss band," added the +farrier, stanching the flow of blood from his scalp; "quit quar'lin' +with your rations, kettle-drums!" + +"Y'orter swaller them cinders," insisted another; "they don't cost +nothin'!" + +The band, accustomed to chaffing, prepared to retire to the ambulance, +where heretofore their fate had always left them among luggage, +surgeons, and scared camp niggers during an engagement. + +The Rhode Island battery, placed just north of the church, had opened; +the cavalry in the meadow could see them--see the whirl of smoke, the +cannoneers moving with quick precision amidst obscurity--the flash, the +recoil as gun after gun jumped back, buried in smoke. + +It lasted only a few minutes; no more shells came whistling down among +the cavalry; and presently the battery grew silent, and the steaming +hill, belted with vapor, cleared slowly in the breezy sunshine. + +The cavalry had mounted and leisurely filed off to the shelter of a +grassy hollow; the band, dismounted, were drawn up to be told off in +squads as stretcher-bearers; the bandmaster was sauntering past, buried +in meditation, his sabre trailing a furrow through the dust, when a +clatter of hoofs broke out along the village street, and a general +officer, followed by a plunging knot of horsemen, tore up and drew +bridle. + +The colonel of the cavalry regiment, followed by the chief trumpeter, +trotted out to meet them, saluting sharply; there was a quick exchange +of words; the general officer waved his hand toward the south, wheeled +his horse, hesitated, and pointed at the band. + +"How many sabres?" he asked. + +"Twenty-seven," replied the colonel--"no carbines." + +"Better have them play you in--_if you go_," said the officer. + +The colonel saluted and backed his horse as the cavalcade swept past +him; then he beckoned to the bandmaster. + +"Here's your chance," he said. "Orders are to charge anything that +appears on that road. You'll play us in this time. Mount your men." + +Ten minutes later the regiment, band ahead, marched out of Sandy River +and climbed the hill, halting in the road that passed the great white +mansion. As the outposts moved forward they encountered a small boy on a +pony, who swung his cap at them gayly as he rode. Squads, dismounted, +engaged in tearing away the rail fences bordering the highway, looked +around, shouting a cheery answer to his excited greeting; the colonel on +a ridge to the east lowered his field glasses to watch him; the +bandmaster saw him coming and smiled as the boy drew bridle beside him, +saluting. + +"If you're not going to fight, why are you here?" asked the boy +breathlessly. + +"It really looks," said the bandmaster, "as though we might fight, after +all." + +"_You, too?_" + +"Perhaps." + +"Then--could you come into the house--just a moment? My sister asked me +to find you." + +A bright blush crept over the bandmaster's sun-tanned cheeks. + +"With pleasure," he said, dismounting, and leading his horse through the +gateway and across the shrubbery to the trees. + +"Celia! Celia!" called the boy, running up the veranda steps. "_He_ is +here! Please hurry, because he's going to have a battle!" + +She came slowly, pale and lovely in her black gown, and held out her +hand. + +"There is a battle going on all around us, isn't there?" she asked. +"That is what all this dreadful uproar means?" + +"Yes," he said; "there is trouble on the other side of those hills." + +"Do you think there will be fighting here?" + +"I don't know," he said. + +She motioned him to a veranda chair, then seated herself. "What shall we +do?" she asked calmly. "I am not alarmed--but my grandfather is +bedridden, and my brother is a child. Is it safe to stay?" + +The bandmaster looked at her helplessly. + +"I don't know," he repeated--"I don't know what to say. Nobody seems to +understand what is happening; we in the regiment are never told +anything; we know nothing except what passes under our eyes." He broke +off suddenly; the situation, her loneliness, the impending danger, +appalled him. + +"May I ask a little favor?" she said, rising. "Would you mind coming in +a moment to see my grandfather?" + +He stood up obediently, sheathed sabre in his left hand; she led the way +across the hall and up the stairs, opened the door, and motioned toward +the bed. At first he saw nothing save the pillows and snowy spread. + +"Will you speak to him?" she whispered. + +He approached the bed, cap in hand. + +"He is very old," she said; "he was a soldier of Washington. He desires +to see a soldier of the Union." + +And now the bandmaster perceived the occupant of the bed, a palsied, +bloodless phantom of the past--an inert, bedridden, bony thing that +looked dead until its deep eyes opened and fixed themselves on him. + +"This is a Union soldier, grandfather," she said, kneeling on the floor +beside him. And to the bandmaster she said in a low voice: "Would you +mind taking his hand? He cannot move." + +The bandmaster bent stiffly above the bed and took the old man's hand in +his. + +The sunlit room trembled in the cannonade. + +"That is all," said the girl simply. She took the fleshless hand, kissed +it, and laid it on the bedspread. "A soldier of Washington," she said +dreamily. "I am glad he has seen you--I think he understands: but he is +very, very old." + +She lingered a moment to touch the white hair with her hand; the +bandmaster stepped back to let her pass, then put on his cap, hooked his +sabre, turned squarely toward the bed and saluted. + +The phantom watched him as a dying eagle watches; then the slim hand of +the granddaughter fell on the bandmaster's arm, and he turned and +clanked out into the open air. + +The boy stood waiting for them, and as they appeared, he caught their +hands in each of his, talking all the while and walking with them to the +gateway, where pony and charger stood, nose to nose under the trees. + +"If you need anybody to dash about carrying dispatches," the boy ran on, +"why, I'll do it for you. My father was a soldier, and I'm going to be +one, and I----" + +"Billy," said the bandmaster abruptly, "when we charge, go up on that +hill and watch us. If we don't come back, you must be ready to act a +man's part. Your sister counts on you." + +They stood a moment there together, saying nothing. Presently some +mounted officers on the hill wheeled their horses and came spurring +toward the column drawn up along the road. A trumpet spoke briskly; the +bandmaster turned to the boy's sister, looked straight into her eyes, +and took her hand. + +"I think we're going," he said; "I am trying to thank you--I don't know +how. Good-by." + +"Is it a charge?" cried the boy. + +"Good-by," said the bandmaster, smiling, holding the boy's hand tightly. +Then he mounted, touched his cap, wheeled, and trotted off, freeing his +sabre with his right hand. + +The colonel had already drawn his sabre, the chief bugler sat his +saddle, bugle lifted, waiting. A loud order, repeated from squadron to +squadron, ran down the line; the restive horses wheeled, trampled +forward, and halted. + +"Draw--sabres!" + +The air shrilled with the swish of steel. + +Far down the road horsemen were galloping in--the returning pickets. + +"Forward!" + +They were moving. + +"Steady--right dress!" taken up in turn by the company +officers--"steady--right dress!" + +The bandmaster swung his sabre forward; the mounted band followed. + +Far away across the level fields something was stirring; the colonel saw +it and turned in his saddle, scanning the column that moved forward on a +walk. + +Half a mile, and, passing a hill, an infantry regiment rose in the +shallow trenches to cheer them. Instantly the mounted band burst out +into "The Girl I Left Behind Me"; an electric thrill passed along the +column. + +"Steady! Steady! Right dress!" rang the calm orders as a wood, almost +behind them, was suddenly fringed with white smoke and a long, rolling +crackle broke out. + +"By fours--right-about--wheel!" + +The band swung out to the right; the squadrons passed on; and--"Steady! +Trot! Steady--right dress--gallop!" came the orders. + +The wild music of "Garryowen" set the horses frantic--and the men, too. +The band, still advancing at a walk, was dropping rapidly behind. A +bullet hit kettle-drummer Pillsbury, and he fell with a grunt, doubling +up across his nigh kettle-drum. A moment later Peters struck his cymbals +wildly together and fell clean out of his saddle, crashing to the sod. +Schwarz, his trombone pierced by a ball, swore aloud and dragged his +frantic horse into line. + +"Right dress!" said the bandmaster blandly, mastering his own splendid +mount as a bullet grazed its shoulder. + +They were in the smoke now, they heard the yelling charge ahead, the +rifle fire raging, swelling to a terrific roar; and they marched +forward, playing "Garryowen"--not very well, for Connor's jaw was half +gone, and Bradley's horse was down; and the bandmaster, reeling in the +saddle, parried blow on blow from a clubbed rifle, until a stunning +crack alongside of the head laid him flat across his horse's neck. And +there he clung till he tumbled off, a limp, loose-limbed mass, lying in +the trampled grass under the heavy pall of smoke. + +Long before sunset the echoing thunder in the hills had ceased; the edge +of the great battle that had skirted Sandy River, with a volley or two +and an obscure cavalry charge, was ended. Beyond the hills, far away on +the horizon, the men of the North were tramping forward through the +Confederacy. The immense exodus had begun again; the invasion was +developing; and as the tremendous red spectre receded, the hem of its +smoky robe brushed Sandy River and was gone, leaving a scorched regiment +or two along the railroad, and a hospital at Oxley Court House +overcrowded. + +In the sunset light the cavalry returned passing the white mansion on +the hill. They brought in their dead and wounded on hay wagons; and the +boy, pale as a spectre, looked on, while the creaking wagons passed by +under the trees. + +But it was his sister whose eyes caught the glitter of a gilt and yellow +sleeve lying across the hay; and she dropped her brother's hand and ran +out into the road. + +"Is he dead?" she asked the trooper who was driving. + +"No, miss. Will you take him in?" + +"Yes," she said. "Bring him." + +The driver drew rein, wheeled his team, and drove into the great +gateway. "Hospital's plum full, ma'am," he said. "Wait; I'll carry him +up. Head's bust a leetle--that's all. A day's nussin' will bring him +into camp again." + +The trooper staggered upstairs with his burden, leaving a trail of dark, +wet spots along the stairs, even up to the girl's bed, where he placed +the wounded man. + +The bandmaster became conscious when they laid him on the bed, but the +concussion troubled his eyes so that he was not certain that she was +there until she bent close over him, looking down at him in silence. + +"I thought of you--when _I_ was falling," he explained vaguely--"only of +you." + +The color came into her face; but her eyes were steady. She set the +flaring dip on the bureau and came back to the bed. "We thought of you, +too," she said. + +His restless hand, fumbling the quilt, closed on hers; his eyes were +shut, but his lips moved, and she bent nearer to catch his words: + +"We noncombatants get into heaps of trouble--don't we?" + +"Yes," she whispered, smiling; "but the worst is over now." + +"There is worse coming." + +"What?" + +"We march--to-morrow. I shall never see you again." + +After a silence she strove gently to release her hand; but his held it; +and after a long while, as he seemed to be asleep, she sat down on the +bed's edge, moving very softly lest he awaken. All the tenderness of +innocence was in her gaze, as she laid her other hand over his and left +it there, even after he stirred and his unclosing eyes met hers. + +"Celia!" called the boy, from the darkened stairway, "there's a medical +officer here." + +"Bring him," she said. She rose, her lingering fingers still in his, +looking down at him all the while; their hands parted, and she moved +backward slowly, her young eyes always on his. + +The medical officer passed her, stepping quickly to the bedside, stopped +short, hesitated, and bending, opened the clotted shirt, placing a +steady hand over the heart. + +The next moment he straightened up, pulled the sheet over the +bandmaster's face, and turned on his heel, nodding curtly to the girl +as he passed out. + +When he had gone, she walked slowly to the bed and drew the sheet from +the bandmaster's face. + +And as she stood there, dry-eyed, mute, from the dusky garden came the +whispering cry of the widow bird, calling, calling to the dead that +answer never more. + + + + +PART TWO + +WHAT SHE BECAME + +II + +SPECIAL MESSENGER + + +On the third day the pursuit had become so hot, so unerring, that she +dared no longer follow the rutty cart road. Toward sundown she wheeled +her big bony roan into a cow path which twisted through alders for a +mile or two, emerging at length on a vast stretch of rolling country, +where rounded hills glimmered golden in the rays of the declining sun. +Tall underbrush flanked the slopes; little streams ran darkling through +the thickets; the ground was moist, even on the ridges; and she could +not hope to cover the deep imprint of her horse's feet. + +She drew bridle, listening, her dark eyes fixed on the setting sun. +There was no sound save the breathing of her horse, the far sweet +trailing song of a spotted sparrow, the undertones of some hidden rill +welling up through matted tangles of vine and fern and long wild +grasses. + +Sitting her worn saddle, sensitive face partly turned, she listened, her +eyes sweeping the bit of open ground behind her. Nothing moved there. + +Presently she slipped off one gauntlet, fumbled in her corsage, drew out +a crumpled paper, and spread it flat. It was a map. With one finger she +traced her road, bending in her saddle, eyebrows gathering in +perplexity. Back and forth moved the finger, now hovering here and there +in hesitation, now lifted to her lips in silent uncertainty. Twice she +turned her head, intensely alert, but there was no sound save the cawing +of crows winging across the deepening crimson in the west. + +At last she folded the map and thrust it into the bosom of her +mud-splashed habit; then, looping up the skirt of her kirtle, she +dismounted, leading her horse straight into the oak scrub and on through +a dim mile of woodland, always descending, until the clear rushing music +of a stream warned her, and she came out along the thicket's edge into a +grassy vale among the hills. + +A cabin stood there, blue smoke lazily rising from the chimney; a hen or +two sat huddled on the shafts of an ancient buckboard standing by the +door. In the clear, saffron-tinted evening light some ducks sailed and +steered about the surface of a muddy puddle by the barn, sousing their +heads, wriggling their tails contentedly. + +As she walked toward the shanty, leading her horse, an old man appeared +at the open doorway, milking stool under one gaunt arm, tin pail +dangling from the other. Astonished, he regarded the girl steadily, +answering her low, quick greeting with a nod of his unkempt gray head. + +"How far is the pike?" she asked. + +"It might be six mile," he said, staring. + +"Is there a wood road?" + +He nodded. + +"Where does it lead?" + +"It leads just now," he replied grimly, "into a hell's mint o' rebels. +What's your business in these parts, ma'am?" + +Her business was to trust no one, yet there had been occasions when she +had been forced to such a risk. This was one. She looked around at the +house, the dismantled buckboard tenanted by roosting chickens, the ducks +in the puddle, the narrow strip of pasture fringing the darkening woods. +She looked into his weather-ravaged visage, searching the small eyes +that twinkled at her intently out of a mass of wrinkles. + +"Are you a Union man?" she asked. + +His face hardened; a slow color crept into the skin above his sharp +cheek bones. "What's that to you?" he demanded. + +"Here in Pennsylvania we expect to find Union sentiments. Besides, you +just now spoke of rebels----" + +"Yes, an' I'll say it again," he repeated doggedly; "the Pennsylvany +line is crawlin' with rebels, an' they'll butt into our cavalry before +morning." + +She laughed, stepping nearer, the muddy skirt of her habit lifted. + +"I must get to Reynolds's corps to-night," she said confidingly. "I came +through the lines three days ago; their cavalry have followed me ever +since. I can't shake them off; they'll be here by morning--as soon as +there's light enough to trace my horse." + +She looked back at the blue woods thoughtfully, patting her horse's +sleek neck. + +He followed her glance, then his narrowing eyes focused on her as she +turned her head toward him again. + +"What name?" he asked harshly, hand to his large ear. + +She smiled, raising her riding whip in quaint salute; and in a low voice +she named herself demurely. + +There was a long silence. + +"Gosh!" he muttered, fascinated gaze never leaving her; "to think that +you are that there gal! I heard tell you was young, an' then I heard +tell you was old an' fat, ma'am. I guess there ain't many has seen you +to take notice. I guess you must be hard run to even tell me who ye be?" + +She said quietly: "I think they mean to get me this time. Is there a +clear road anywhere? Even if I leave my horse and travel afoot?" + +"Is it a hangin' matter?" he asked. + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +Presently he said: "The hull blame country's crawlin' with rebel +cavalry. I was to Mink Creek, an' they was passin' on the pike, wagons +an' guns as fur as I could see. They levied on Swamp Holler at sunup; +they was on every road along the State line. There ain't no road nor cow +path clear that way." + +"And none the other way," she said. "Can't you help me?" + +He looked at her gravely, then his small eyes swept the limited +landscape. + +"A hangin' matter," he mused, scratching his gray head reflectively. +"An' if they ketch you here, I guess I'll go to Libby, too. Hey?" + +He passed his labor-worn hand over his eyes, pressing the lids, and +stood so, minute after minute, buried in thought. + +"Waal," he said, dropping his hand and blinking in the ruddy glow from +the west, "I guess I ain't done nothin' fur the Union yet, but I'm +a-goin' to now, miss." + +He looked around once more, his eyes resting on familiar scenery, then +he set down milking stool and pail and shuffled out to where her horse +stood. + +"Guess I'll hev to hitch your hoss up to that there buckboard," he +drawled. "My old nag is dead two year since. You go in, miss, an' dress +in them clothes a-hangin' onto that peg by the bed," he added, with an +effort. "Use 'em easy; they was _hers_." + +She entered the single room of the cabin, where stove, table, chair, and +bed were the only furniture. A single cheap print gown and a sunbonnet +hung from a nail at the bed's foot, and she reached up and unhooked the +garment. It was ragged but clean, and the bonnet freshly ironed. + +Through the window she saw the old man unsaddling her horse and fitting +him with rusty harness. She closed the cabin door, drew the curtain at +the window, and began to unbutton her riding jacket. As her clothing +fell from her, garment after garment, that desperate look came into her +pale young face again, and she drew from her pocket a heavy army +revolver and laid it on the chair beside her. There was scarce light +enough left to see by in the room. She sat down, dragging off her +spurred boots, stripping the fine silk stockings from her feet, then +rose and drew on the faded print gown. + +Now she needed more light, so she opened the door wide and pushed aside +the curtain. A fragment of cracked mirror was nailed to the door. She +faced it, rapidly undoing the glossy masses of her hair; then lifting +her gown, she buckled the army belt underneath, slipped the revolver +into it, smoothed out the calico, and crossed the floor to the bed +again, at the foot of which a pair of woman's coarse, low shoes stood on +the carpetless floor. Into these she slipped her naked feet. + +He was waiting for her when she came out into the yellow evening light, +squatting there in his buckboard, reins sagging. + +"There's kindlin' to last a week," he said, "the ax is in the barn, an' +ye'll find a bin full o' corn meal there an' a side o' bacon in the +cellar. Them hens," he added wistfully "is Dominickers. _She_ was fond +o' them--an' the Chiny ducks, too." + +"I'll be kind to them," she said. + +He rested his lean jaw in one huge hand, musing, dim-eyed, silent. Far +away a cow bell tinkled, and he turned his head, peering out across the +tangled pasture lot. + +"We called our caow Jinny," he said. "She's saucy and likes to plague +folks. But I don't never chase her; no, ma'am. You jest set there by +them pasture bars, kinder foxin' that you ain't thinkin' o' nothin', +and Jinny she'll come along purty soon." + +The girl nodded. + +"Waal," he muttered, rousing up, "I guess it's time to go." He looked at +her, his eyes resting upon the clothing of his dead wife. + +"You see," he said, "I've give all I've got to the Union. Now, ma'am, +what shall I tell our boys if I git through?" + +In a low, clear voice she gave him the message to Reynolds, repeating it +slowly until he nodded his comprehension. + +"If they turn you back," she said, "and if they follow you here, +remember I'm your daughter." + +He nodded again. "My Cynthy." + +"Cynthia?" + +"Yaas, 'm. Cynthy was _her_ name, you see; James is mine, endin' in +Gray. I'll come back when I can. I guess there's vittles to spare an' +garden sass----" + +He passed his great cracked knuckles over his face again, digging +hastily into the corners of his eyes, then leaned forward and shook the +rusty reins. + +"Git up!" he said thoughtfully, and the ancient buckboard creaked away +into the thickening twilight. + +She watched him from the door, lingering there, listening to the creak +of the wheels long after he had disappeared. She was deadly tired--too +tired to eat, too tired to think--yet there was more to be done before +she closed her eyes. The blanket on the bed she spread upon the floor, +laid in it her saddle and bridle, boots, papers, map, and clothing, and +made a bundle; then slinging it on her slender back, she carried it up +the ladder to the loft under the roof. + +Ten minutes later she lay on the bed below, the back of one hand across +her closed eyes, breathing deeply as a sleeping child--the most +notorious spy in all America, the famous "Special Messenger," carrying +locked under her smooth young breast a secret the consequence of which +no man could dare to dream of. + + * * * * * + +Dawn silvering the east aroused her. Cockcrow, ducks quacking, the +lowing of the cow, the swelling melody of wild birds--these were the +sounds that filled her waking ears. + +Motionless there on the bed in the dim room, delicate bare arms +outstretched, hair tumbled over brow and shoulder, she lay, lost in +fearless retrospection--absolutely fearless, for courage was hers +without effort; peril exhilarated like wine, without reaction; every +nerve and contour of her body was instinct with daring, and only the +languor of her dark eyes misled the judgment of those she had to deal +with. + +Presently she sat up in bed, yawned lightly, tapping her red lips with +the tips of her fingers; then, drawing her revolver from beneath the +pillow, she examined the cylinder, replaced the weapon, and sprang out +of bed, stretching her arms, a faint smile hovering on her face. + +The water in the stream was cold, but not too cold for her, nor were the +coarse towels too rough, sending the blood racing through her from head +to foot. + +Her toilet made, she lighted the fire in the cracked stove, set a pot of +water boiling, and went out to the doorstep, calling the feathered flock +around her, stirring their meal in a great pan the while her eyes roamed +about the open spaces of meadow and pasture for a sign of those who +surely must trace her here. + +Her breakfast was soon over--an ash cake, a new egg from the barn, a +bowl of last night's creamy milk. She ate slowly, seated by the window, +raising her head at intervals to watch the forest's edge. + +Nobody came; the first pink sunbeams fell level over the pasture; dew +sparkled on grass and foliage; birds flitted across her line of vision; +the stream sang steadily, flashing in the morning radiance. + +One by one the ducks stretched, flapped their snowy wings, wiggled their +fat tails, and waddled solemnly down to the water; hens wandered +pensively here and there, pecking at morsels that attracted them; the +tinkle of the cow bell sounded pleasantly from a near willow thicket. + +She washed her dishes, set the scant furniture in place, made up the bed +with the clean sheet spread the night before, and swept the floor. + +On the table she had discovered, carefully folded up, the greater +portion of a stocking, knitting needles still sticking in it, the ball +of gray yarn attached. But she could not endure to sit there; she must +have more space to watch for what she knew was coming. Her hair she +twisted up as best she might, set the pink sunbonnet on her head, +smoothed out the worn print dress, which was not long enough to hide her +slim bare ankles, and went out, taking her knitting with her. + +Upon the hill along the edges of the pasture where the woods cast a +luminous shadow she found a comfortable seat in the sun-dried grasses, +and here she curled up, examining the knitting in her hands, eyes lifted +every moment to steal a glance around the sunlit solitude. + +An hour crept by, marked by the sun in mounting splendor; the sweet +scent of drying grass and fern filled her lungs; the birds' choral +thrilled her with the loveliness of life. A little Southern song +trembled on her lips, and her hushed voice murmuring was soft as the +wild bees' humming: + + "Ah, who could couple thought of war and crime + With such a blessed time? + Who, in the west wind's aromatic breath, + Could hear the call of Death?" + +The gentle Southern poet's flowing rhythm was echoed by the distant +stream: + + " ... A fragrant breeze comes floating by, + And brings--you know not why-- + A feeling as when eager crowds await + Before a palace gate + Some wondrous pageant----" + +She lifted her eyes, fixing them upon the willow thicket below, where +the green tops swayed as though furrowed by a sudden wind; and watching +calmly, her lips whispered on, following the quaint rhythm: + + "And yet no sooner shall the Spring awake + The voice of wood and brake + Than she shall rouse--for all her tranquil charms-- + A million men to arms." + +The willow tops were tossing violently. She watched them, murmuring: + + "Oh! standing on this desecrated mold, + Methinks that I behold, + Lifting her bloody daisies up to God, + Spring--kneeling on the sod, + And calling with the voice of all her rills + Upon the ancient hills + To fall and crush the tyrants and the slaves + Who turn her meads to graves." + +Her whisper ceased; she sat, lips parted, eyes fastened on the willows. +Suddenly a horseman broke through the thicket, then another, another, +carbines slung, sabres jingling, rider following rider at a canter, +sitting their horses superbly--the graceful, reckless, matchless cavalry +under whose glittering gray curtain the most magnificent army that the +South ever saw was moving straight into the heart of the Union. + +Fascinated, she watched an officer dismount, advance to the house, enter +the open doorway, and disappear. Minute after minute passed; the +troopers quietly sat their saddles; the frightened chickens ventured +back, roaming curiously about these strange horses that stood there +stamping, whisking their tails, tossing impatient heads in the sunshine. + +Presently the officer reappeared and walked straight to the barn, a +trooper dismounting to follow him. They remained in the barn for a few +moments only, then hurried out again, heads raised, scanning the low +circling hills. Ah! Now they caught sight of her! She saw the officer +come swinging up the hillside, buttons, spurs, and sword hilt glittering +in the sun; she watched his coming with a calm almost terrible in its +breathless concentration. Nearer, nearer he came, mounting the easy +slope with a quick, boyish swing; and now he had halted, slouch hat +aloft; and she heard his pleasant, youthful voice: + +"I reckon you haven't seen a stranger pass this way, ma'am, have you?" + +"There was a lady came last night," she answered innocently. + +"That's the one!" he said, in his quick, eager voice. "Can you tell me +where she went?" + +"She said she was going west." + +"Has she gone?" + +"She left the house when I did," answered the girl simply. + +"Riding!" he exclaimed. "She came on a hoss, I reckon?" + +"Yes." + +"And she rode west?" + +"I saw her going west," she nodded, resuming her knitting. + +The officer turned toward the troopers below, drew out a handkerchief +and whipped the air with it for a second or two, then made a sweeping +motion with his arm, and drawing his sabre struck it downward four +times. + +Instantly the knot of troopers fell apart, scattering out and spurring +westward in diverging lines; the officer watched them until the last +horse had disappeared, then he lazily sheathed his sabre, unbuckled a +field glass, adjusted it, and seated himself on the grass beside her. + +"Have you lived here long?" he asked pleasantly, setting the glass to +his eye and carefully readjusting the lens. + +"No." + +"Your father is living, is he not?" + +She did not reply. + +"I reckon Gilson's command met him a piece back in the scrub, driving a +wagon and a fine horse." + +She said nothing; her steady fingers worked the needles, and presently +he heard her softly counting the stitches as she turned the heel. + +"He said we'd find his 'Cynthy' here," observed the youthful officer, +lowering his glass. "Are you Cynthia Gray, ma'am?" + +"He named me Cynthia," she said, with a smile. + +He plucked a blade of grass, and placing it between his white teeth, +gazed at her so steadily that she dropped a stitch, recovered it, and +presently he saw her lips resuming the silent count. He reseated himself +on the grass, laying his field glass beside him. + +"I reckon your folk are all Yankee," he ventured softly. + +She nodded. + +"Are you afraid of us? Do you hate us, ma'am?" + +She shook her head, stealing a glance at him from her lovely eyes. If +that was part of her profession, she had learned it well; for he laughed +and stretched out, resting easily on one elbow, looking up at her +admiringly under her faded sunbonnet. + +"Are you ever lonely here?" he inquired gravely. + +Again her dark eyes rested on him shyly, but she shook her head in +silence. + +"Never lonely without anybody to talk to?" he persisted, removing his +slouched army hat and passing his hands over his forehead. + +"What have I to say to anybody?" she asked coquettishly. + +A little breeze sprang up, stirring his curly hair and fluttering the +dangling strings of her sunbonnet. He lay at full length there, a +slender, athletic figure in his faded gray uniform, idly pulling the +grass up to twist and braid into a thin green rope. + +The strange exhilaration that danger had brought had now subsided; she +glanced at him indifferently, noting the well-shaped head, the boyish +outlines of face and figure. He was no older than she--and not very wise +for his years. + +Presently, very far away, the dulled report of a carbine sounded, +stirring a deadened echo among the hills. + +"What's that?" she exclaimed. + +"Yank, I reckon," he drawled, rising to his feet and fixing his field +glass steadily on the hills beyond. + +"Are you going to have a battle here?" she asked. + +He laughed. "Oh, no, Miss Cynthia. That's only bushwhacking." + +"But--but where are they shooting?" + +He pointed to the west. "There's Yankee cavalry loafing in the hills. I +reckon we'll gobble 'em, too. But don't _you_ worry, Miss Cynthia," he +added gallantly. "_I_ shall be here to-night, and by sunrise there won't +be a soldier within ten miles of you." + +"Within ten miles," she murmured; "ten miles is too near. I--I think I +will go back to the house." + +He looked down at her; she raised her dark eyes to him; then he bowed +and gallantly held out both hands, and she laid her hands in his, +suffering him to lift her to her feet. + +The brief contact set the color mounting to his sunburnt temples; it had +been a long while since he had touched a young girl's hand. + +"I wonder," she said, "whether you would care to share my dinner?" + +She spoke naturally, curiously; all idea of danger was over; she was +free to follow her own instincts, which were amiable. Besides, the boy +was a gentleman. + +"If it wouldn't be too much to ask--too inconvenient--" He hesitated, +hat in hand, handsome face brightening. + +"No; I want you to come," she answered simply, and took his hand in +hers. + +A deeper color swept his face as they descended the gentle slope +together, she amused and quietly diverted by his shyness, and thinking +how she meant to give this boyish rebel a better dinner than he had had +for many a long mile. + +And she did, he aiding her with the vegetables, she mixing johnnycake +for the entire squad, slicing the bacon, and setting the coffee to boil. + +Toward midday the scouting squad returned, to find their officer +shelling peas on the cabin steps, and a young girl, sleeves at her +shoulders, stirring something very vigorously in a large black +kettle--something that exhaled an odor which made the lank troopers lick +their gaunt lips in furtive hope. + +The sergeant of the troop reported; the officer nodded and waved the +horsemen away to the barn, where they were presently seen squatting +patiently in a row, sniffing the aroma that floated from the cabin door. + +"Did your men find the lady?" she asked, looking out at him where he +sat, busy with the peas. + +"No, Miss Cynthia. But if she went west she's run into the whole +Confederate cavalry. Our business is to see she doesn't double back +here." + +"Why do you follow her?" + +"Ah, Miss Cynthia," he said gravely, "she is that 'Special Messenger' +who has done us more damage than a whole Yankee army corps. We've got +to stop her this time--and I reckon we will." + +The girl stirred the soup, salted it, peppered it, lifted the pewter +spoon and tasted it. Presently she called for the peas. + +About two o'clock that afternoon a row of half-famished Confederate +cavalrymen sat devouring the best dinner they had eaten in months. There +was potato soup, there was johnnycake, smoking hot coffee, crisp slices +of fragrant bacon, an egg apiece, and a vegetable stew. Trooper after +trooper licked fingers, spoon, and pannikin, loosening leather belts +with gratified sighs; the pickets came cantering in when the relief, +stuffed to repletion, took their places, carbine on thigh. + +Flushed from the heat of the stove, arms still bared, the young hostess +sat at table with the officer in command, and watched him in sympathy as +he ate. + +She herself ate little, tasting a morsel here and there, drinking at +times from the cup of milk beside her. + +"I declare, Miss Cynthia," he said, again and again, "this is the finest +banquet, ma'am, that I ever sat down to." + +She only thought, "The boy was starving!" and the indulgent smile +deepened as she sat there watching him, chin resting on her linked +hands. + +At last he was satisfied, and a little ashamed, too, of his appetite, +but she told him it was a pleasure to cook for him, and sent him off to +the barn, where presently she spied him propped up in the loft window, a +map spread on his knees, and his field glass tucked under one arm. + +And now she had leisure to think again, and she leaned back in her chair +by the window, bared arms folded, ankles crossed, frowning in +meditation. + +She must go; the back trail was clear now. But she needed her own +clothing and a horse. Where could she find a horse? + +Hour after hour she sat there. He had cantered off into the woods long +since; and all through the long afternoon she sat there scheming, +pondering, a veiled sparkle playing under her half-closed lids. She saw +him returning in the last lingering sun rays, leading his saddled horse +down to the brook, and stand there, one arm flung across the crupper, +while the horse drank and shook his thoroughbred head and lipped the +tender foliage that overhung the water. There was the horse she +required! She must have him. + +A few minutes later, bridle over one arm, the young officer came +sauntering up to the doorstep. He was pale, but he smiled when he saw +her, and his weather-beaten hat swept the grass in salute as she came to +the door and looked down at him, hands clasped behind her slender back. + +"You look dreadfully tired," she said gently. "Don't you ever sleep?" + +He had been forty-eight hours in the saddle, but he only laughed a gay +denial of fatigue. + +She descended the steps, walked over to the horse, and patted neck and +shoulder, scanning limb and chest and flank. The horse would do! + +"Will you hitch your horse and come in?" she asked sweetly. + +"Thank you, ma'am." He passed the bridle through the hitching ring at +the door, and, hat in hand, followed her into the cabin. His boots +dragged a little, but he straightened up, and when she had seated +herself, he sank into a chair, closing his sunken eyes for a moment, +only to open them smiling, and lean forward on the rough table, folding +his arms under him. + +"You have been very good to us, Miss Cynthia," he said. "My men want me +to say so." + +"Your men are welcome," she answered, resting her cheek on her hand. + +There was a long silence, broken by her: "You are dying for sleep. Why +do you deny it? You may lie down on my bed if you wish." + +He protested, thanking her, but said he would be glad to sleep in the +hay if she permitted; and he rose, steadying himself by the back of his +chair. + +"I always sleep bridle in hand," he said. "A barn floor is luxury for my +horse and me." + +That would not do. The horse must remain. She _must_ have that horse! + +"I will watch your horse," she said. "Please lie down there. I really +wish it." + +"Why, ma'am, I should never venture----" + +She looked at him; her heart laughed with content. Here was an easy way +for stern necessity. + +"Sleep soundly," she said, with a gay smile; and before he could +interpose, she had slipped out and shut the door behind her. + +The evening was calm; the last traces of color were fading from the +zenith. Pacing the circle of the cabin clearing, she counted the +videttes--one in the western pasture, one sitting his saddle in the +forest road to the east, and a horseman to the south, scarcely visible +in the gathering twilight. She passed the barnyard, head lifted +pensively, carefully counting the horses tethered there. Twelve! Then +there was no guard for the northern cattle path--the trail over which +she and they had come! + +Now walking slowly back to the cabin, she dropped her slippers and +mounted the steps on bare feet, quietly opening the door. At first in +the dim light she could see nothing, then her keen ear caught the quiet +sound of his breathing, and she stole over to the bed. He lay there +asleep. + +Now seconds meant eternity, perhaps; she mounted the ladder to the +attic, tiptoed over the loose boards, felt around for her packet, and +loosened the blanket. + +By sense of touch alone she dressed, belting in the habit with her +girdle, listening, every sense alert. But her hand never shook, her +fingers were deft and steady, fastening button and buckle, looping up +her skirt, strapping the revolver to her girdle. She folded map and +papers noiselessly, tucking them into her bosom; then, carrying her +spurred boots, she crept across the boards again, and descended the +ladder without a sound. + +The fading light from the window fell upon the bed where he lay; and she +smiled almost tenderly as she stole by him, he looked so young lying +there, his curly head pillowed on his arms. + +Another step and she was beside him; another; she stopped short, and her +heart seemed to cease at the same instant. Was she deceived? Were his +eyes wide open? + +Suddenly he sat bolt-upright in the bed, and at the same instant she +bent and struck him a stunning blow with the butt of her revolver. + +Breathless, motionless, she saw him fall back and lie there without a +quiver; presently she leaned over him, tore open his jacket and shirt, +and laid her steady hand upon his heart. For a moment she remained +there, looking down into his face; then with a sob she bent and kissed +him on the lips. + + * * * * * + +At midnight, as she was riding out of the hill scrub, a mounted vidette +hailed her on the Gettysburg pike, holding her there while horseman +after horseman galloped up, and the officer of the guard came cantering +across the fields at the far summons. + +A lantern glimmered, flared up; there was a laugh, the sound of a dozen +horses backing, a low voice: "Pass! Special Messenger for headquarters!" + +Then the lantern-light flashed and went out; shadowy horsemen wheeled +away east and west, trotting silently to posts across the sod. + +Far away among the hills the Special Messenger was riding through the +night, head bent, tight-lipped, her dark eyes wet with tears. + + + + +III + +ABSOLUTION + + +Just before daylight the unshaven sentinels at headquarters halted her; +a lank corporal arrived, swinging a lighted lantern, which threw a +yellow radiance over horse and rider. Then she dismounted. + +Mud smeared her riding jacket; boots and skirt were clotted with it; so +was the single army spur. Her horse stretched a glossy, sweating neck +and rolled wisely-suspicious eyes at the dazzling light. On the gray +saddle cloth glimmered three gilt letters, C. S. A. + +"What name, ma'am?" repeated the corporal, coming closer with lifted +lantern, and passing an inquiring thumb over the ominous letters +embroidered on the saddle cloth. + +"No name," she said. "They will understand--inside there." + +"That your hoss, ma'am?" + +"It seems to be." + +"Swap him with a Johnny?" + +"No; took him from a Johnny." + +"Shucks!" said the corporal, examining the gilt letters. Then, looking +around at her: + +"Wa'll, the ginrall, he's some busy." + +"Please say that his messenger is here." + +"Orders is formuel, ma'am. I dassent----" + +She pronounced a word under her breath. + +"Hey?" + +She nodded. + +"Tain't _her_?" demanded the corporal incredulously. + +She nodded again. The corporal's lantern and jaw dropped in unison. + +"Speak low," she said, smiling. + +He leaned toward her; she drew nearer, inclining her pretty, disheveled +head with its disordered braids curling into witchlocks on her +shoulders. + +"'Tain't _the_ Special Messenger, ma'am, is it?" he inquired hoarsely. +"The boys is tellin' how you was ketched down to----" + +She made him a sign for silence as the officer of the guard came up--an +ill-tempered, heavily-bandaged young man. + +"What the ----" he began, but, seeing a woman's muddy skirt in the +lantern light, checked his speech. + +The corporal whispered in his ear; both stared. "I guess it's all +right," said the officer. "Won't you come in? The general is asleep; +he's got half an hour more, but I'll wake him if you say so." + +"I can wait half an hour." + +"Take her horse," said the officer briefly, then led the way up the +steps of a white porch buried under trumpet vines in heavy bloom. + +The door stood open, so did every window on the ground floor, for the +July night was hot. A sentry stood inside the wide hall, resting on his +rifle, sleeves rolled to his elbows, cap pushed back on his flushed +young forehead. + +There was a candle burning in the room on the right; an old artillery +officer leaned over the center table, asleep, round, red face buried in +his arms, sabre tucked snugly between his legs, like the tail of a +sleeping dog; an aide-de-camp slept heavily on a mahogany sofa, jacket +unbuttoned, showing the white, powerful muscles of his chest, all +glistening with perspiration. Beside the open window sat a thin figure +in the uniform of a signal officer, and at first when the Special +Messenger looked at him she thought he also was asleep. + +Then, as though her entrance had awakened him, he straightened up, +passed one long hand over his face, looked at her through the +candlelight, and rose with a grace too unconscious not to have been +inherited. + +The bandaged officer of the guard made a slovenly gesture, half salute, +half indicative: "The Messenger," he announced, and, half turning on his +heel as he left the room, "our signal officer, Captain West," in +deference to a convention almost forgotten. + +Captain West drew forward an armchair; the Special Messenger sank into +its tufted depths and stripped the gauntlets from her sun-tanned +hands--narrow hands, smooth as a child's, now wearily coiling up the +lustrous braids which sagged to her shoulders under the felt riding +hat. And all the while, from beneath level brows, her dark, distrait +eyes were wandering from the signal officer to the sleeping major of +artillery, to the aide snoring on the sofa, to the trumpet vines hanging +motionless outside the open window. But all she really saw was Captain +West. + +He appeared somewhat young and thin, his blond hair and mustache were +burned hay-color. He was adjusting eyeglasses to a narrow, well-cut +nose; under a scanty mustache his mouth had fallen into pleasant lines, +the nearsighted eyes, now regarding her normally from behind the +glasses, seemed clear, unusually pleasant, even a trifle mischievous. + +"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked respectfully. + +"After the general is awake--if I might have the use of a room--and a +little fresh water--" Speech died in her throat; some of the color died +in her face, too. + +"Did you wish me to awake him now? If your business is urgent I will," +said Captain West. + +She did not reply; an imperceptible twitching tightened her lips; then +the young mouth relaxed, drooping a trifle at the corners. Lying there, +so outwardly calm, her tired, faraway gaze fixed absently on him, she +seemed on the verge of slumber. + +"If your business is urgent," he was repeating pleasantly. But she made +no answer. + +Urgent? No, not now. It had been urgent a second or two ago. But not +now. There was time--time to lie there looking at him, time to try to +realize such things as triumph, accomplishment, the excitement of +achievement; time to relax from the long, long strain and lie nerveless, +without strength, yielding languidly to the reaction from a task well +done. + +So this was success? A pitiful curiosity made her eyes wistful for an +instant. Success? It had not come as she expected. + +Was her long quest over? Was this the finish? Had all ended here--here +at headquarters, whither she had returned to take up, patiently, the +lost trail once more? + +Her dark gaze rested on this man dreamily; but her heart, after its +first painful bound of astonishment, was beating now with heavy, +sickened intelligence. The triumph had come too suddenly. + +"Are you hungry?" he asked. + +She was not hungry. There was a bucket of water and a soldier's tin cup +on the window sill; and, forestalling him instinctively, she reached +over, plunged the cup into the tepid depths and drank. + +"I was going to offer you some," he said, amused; and over the brimming +cup she smiled back, shuddering. + +"If you care to lie down for a few moments I'll move that youngster off +the sofa," he suggested. + +But fatigue had vanished; she was terribly awake now. + +"Can't you sleep? You are white as death. I'll call you in an hour," he +ventured gently, with that soft quality in his voice which sounded so +terrible in her ears--so dreadful that she sat up in an uncontrollable +tremor of revolt. + +"What did you ask me?" + +"I thought you might wish to sleep for half an hour----" + +Sleep? She shook her head, wondering whether sleep would be more +merciful to her at this time to-morrow--or the next day--or ever again. +And all the time, apparently indifferent and distrait, she was studying +every detail of this man; his lean features, his lean limbs, his thin, +muscular hands, his uniform, the slim, light sabre which he balanced +with both hands across his angular knees; the spurred boots, well +groomed and well fitted; the polished cross-straps supporting field +glasses and holster. + +"Are you the famous Special Messenger?--if it is not a military +indiscretion to name you," he asked, with a glint of humor in his +pleasant eyes. It seemed to her as though something else glimmered +there, too--the faintest flash of amused recklessness, as though gayly +daring any destiny that might menace. He was younger than she had +thought, and it sickened her to realize that he was quite as amiably +conscious of her as any well-bred man may be who permits himself to +recognize the charm of an attractive woman. All at once a deathly +feeling came over her--faintness, which passed--repugnance, which gave +birth to a desperate hope. The hope flickered; only the momentary +necessity for self-persuasion kept it alive. She must give him every +chance; she must take from him none. Not that for one instant she was +afraid of herself--of failing in duty; she understood that she _could_ +not. But she had not expected this moment to come in such a fashion. No; +there was more for her to do, a chance--barely a miracle of chance--that +she might be mistaken. + +"Why do you think I am the Special Messenger, Captain West?" + +There was no sign of inward tumult under her smooth, flushed mask as she +lay back, elbows set on the chair's padded arms, hands clasped together. +Over them she gazed serenely at the signal officer. And he looked back +at her. + +"Other spies come to headquarters," he said, "but you are the only one +so far who embodies my ideal of the highly mysterious Special +Messenger." + +"Do I appear mysterious?" + +"Not unattractively so," he said, smiling. + +"I have heard," she said, "that the Union spy whom they call the Special +Messenger is middle-aged and fat." + +"I've heard that, too," he nodded, with a twinkle in his gray eyes--"and +I've heard also that she's red-headed, peppered with freckles, +and--according to report--bow-legged from too many cross-saddles." + +"Please observe my single spur," she said, extending her slender, booted +foot; "and you will notice that I don't fit that passport." + +"My idea of her passport itemizes every feature you possess," he said, +laughing; "five feet seven; dark hair, brown eyes, regular features, +small, well-shaped hands----" + +"Please--Captain West!" + +"I beg your pardon--" very serious. + +"I am not offended.... What time is it, if you please?" + +He lifted the candle, looked closely at his watch and informed her; she +expressed disbelief, and stretched out her hand for the watch. He may +not have noticed it; he returned the watch to his pocket. + +She sank back in her chair, very thoughtful. Her glimpse of the monogram +on the back of the watch had not lasted long enough. Was it an M or a W +she had seen? + +The room was hot; the aide on the sofa ceased snoring; one spurred heel +had fallen to the floor, where it trailed limply. Once or twice he +muttered nonsense in his sleep. + +The major of artillery grunted, lifted a congested face from the cradle +of his folded arms, blinked at them stupidly, then his heavy, +close-clipped head fell into his arms again. The candle glimmered on his +tarnished shoulder straps. + +A few moments later a door at the end of the room creaked and a +fully-lathered visage protruded. Two gimlet eyes surveyed the scene; a +mouth all awry from a sabre-slash closed grimly as Captain West rose to +attention. + +"Is there any fresh water?" asked the general. "There's a dead mouse in +this pail." + +At the sound of his voice the aide awoke, got onto his feet, took the +pail, and wandered off into the house somewhere; the artillery officer +rose with a dreadful yawn, and picked up his forage cap and gauntlets. + +Then he yawned again, showing every yellow tooth in his head. + +The general opened his door wider, standing wiry and erect in boots and +breeches. His flannel shirt was open at the throat; lather covered his +features, making the distorted smile that crept over them unusually +hideous. + +"Well, I'm glad to see _you_," he said to the Special Messenger; "come +in while I shave. West, is there anything to eat? All right; I'm ready +for it. Come in, Messenger, come in!" + +She entered, closing the bedroom door; the general shook hands with her +slyly, saying, "I'm devilish glad you got through, ma'am. Have any +trouble down below?" + +"Some, General." + +He nodded and began to shave; she stripped off her tight outer jacket, +laid it on the table, and, ripping the lining stitches, extracted some +maps and shreds of soft paper covered with notes and figures. + +Over these, half shaved, the general stooped, razor in hand, eyes +following her forefinger as she traced in silence the lines she had +drawn. There was no need for her to speak, no reason for him to inquire; +her maps were perfectly clear, every route named, every regiment, every +battery labeled, every total added up. + +Without a word she called his attention to the railroad and the note +regarding the number of trains. + +"We've got to get at it, somehow," he said. "What are those?" + +"Siege batteries, General--on the march." + +His mutilated mouth relaxed into a grin. + +"They seem to be allfired sure of us. What are they saying down below?" + +[Illustration: "'They seem to be allfired sure of us.'"] + +"They talk of being in Washington by the fifteenth, sir." + +"Oh.... What's that topographical symbol--here?" placing one finger on +the map. + +"That is the Moray Mansion--or was." + +"_Was?_" + +"Our cavalry burned it two weeks ago Thursday." + +"Find anything to help you there?" + +She nodded. + +The general returned to his shaving, completed it, came back and +examined the papers again. + +"That infantry, there," he said, "are you sure it's Longstreet's?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"You didn't see Longstreet, did you?" + +"Yes, sir; and talked with him." + +The general's body servant knocked, announcing breakfast, and left the +general's boots and tunic, both carefully brushed. When he had gone out +again, the Special Messenger said very quietly: + +"I expect to report on the Moray matter before night." + +The general buckled in his belt and hooked up his sword. + +"If you can nail that fellow," he said, speaking very slowly, "I guess +you can come pretty close to getting whatever you ask for from +Washington." + +For a moment she stood very silent there, her ripped jacket hanging limp +over her arm; then, with a pallid smile: + +"Anything I ask for? Did you say that, sir?" + +He nodded. + +"Even if I ask for--his pardon?" + +The general laughed a distorted laugh. + +"I guess we'll bar that," he said. "Will you breakfast, ma'am? The next +room is free, if you want it." + +Headquarters bugles began to sound as she crossed the hall, jacket +dangling over her arm, and pushed open the door of a darkened room. The +air within was stifling, she opened a window and thrust back the blinds, +and at the same moment the ringing crack of a rifled cannon shattered +the silence of dawn. Very, very far away a dull boom replied. + +Outside, in dusky obscurity, cavalry were mounting; a trooper, pumping +water from a well under her window, sang quietly to himself in an +undertone as he worked, then went off carrying two brimming buckets. + +The sour, burned stench of stale campfires tainted the morning +freshness. + +She leaned on the sill, looking out into the east. Somewhere yonder, +high against the sky, they were signaling with torches. She watched the +red flames swinging to right, to left, dipping, circling; other sparks +broke out to the north, where two army corps were talking to each other +with fire. + +As the sky turned gray, one by one the forest-shrouded hills took shape; +details began to appear; woodlands grew out of fathomless shadows, +fields, fences, a rocky hillock close by, trees in an orchard, some +Sibley tents. + +And with the coming of day a widening murmur grew out of the invisible, +a swelling monotone through which, incessantly, near and distant, +broken, cheery little flurries of bugle music, and far and farther +still, where mists hung over a vast hollow in the hills, the dropping +shots of the outposts thickened to a steady patter, running backward and +forward, from east to west, as far as the ear could hear. + +A soldier brought her some breakfast; later he came again with her +saddlebags and a big bucket of fresh water, taking away her riding +habit and boots, which she thrust at him from the half-closed door. + +Her bath was primitive enough; a sheet from the bed dried her, the +saddlebags yielded some fresh linen, a pair of silk stockings and a +comb. + +Sitting there behind closed blinds, her smooth body swathed to the waist +in a sheet, she combed out the glossy masses of her hair before braiding +them once more around her temples; and her dark eyes watched daylight +brighten between the slits in the blinds. + +The cannonade was gradually becoming tremendous, the guns tuning up by +batteries. There was, however, as yet, no platoon firing distinguishable +through the sustained crackle of the fusillade; columns of dust, hanging +above fields and woodlands, marked the courses of every northern road +where wagons and troops were already moving west and south; the fog from +the cannon turned the rising sun to a pulsating, cherry-tinted globe. + +There was no bird music now from the orchard; here and there a scared +oriole or robin flashed through the trees, winging its frightened way +out of pandemonium. + +The cavalry horses of the escort hung their heads, as though dully +enduring the uproar; the horses of the field ambulances parked near the +orchard were being backed into the shafts; the band of an infantry +regiment, instruments flashing dully, marched up, halted, deposited +trombone, clarion and bass drum on the grass and were told off as +stretcher-bearers by a smart, Irish sergeant, who wore his cap over one +ear. + +The shock of the cannonade was terrific; the Special Messenger, +buttoning her fresh linen, winced as window and door quivered under the +pounding uproar. Then, dressed at last, she opened the shaking blinds +and, seating herself by the window, laid her riding jacket across her +knees. + +There were rents and rips in sleeve and body, but she was not going to +sew. On the contrary, she felt about with delicate, tentative fingers, +searching through the loosened lining until she found what she was +looking for, and, extracting it, laid it on her knees--a photograph, in +a thin gold oval, covered with glass. + +The portrait was that of a young man--thin, quaintly amused, looking out +of the frame at her from behind his spectacles. The mustache appeared +to be slighter, the hair a trifle longer than the mustache and hair worn +by the signal officer, Captain West. Otherwise, it was the man. And hope +died in her breast without a flicker. + +Sitting there by the shaking window, with the daguerreotype in her +clasped hands, she looked at the summer sky, now all stained and +polluted by smoke; the uproar of the guns seemed to be shaking her +reason, the tumult within her brain had become chaos, and she scarcely +knew what she did as, drawing on both gauntlets and fastening her soft +riding hat, she passed through the house to the porch, where the staff +officers were already climbing into their saddles. But the general, +catching sight of her face at the door, swung his horse and dismounted, +and came clanking back into the deserted hallway where she stood. + +"What is it?" he asked, lowering his voice so she could hear him under +the din of the cannonade. + +"The Moray matter.... I want two troopers detailed." + +"Have you nailed him?" + +"Yes--I--" She faltered, staring fascinated at the distorted face, +marred by a sabre to the hideousness of doom itself. "Yes, I think so. +I want two troopers--Burke and Campbell, of the escort, if you don't +mind----" + +"You can have a regiment! Is it far?" + +"No." She steadied her voice with an effort. + +"Near _my_ headquarters?" + +"Yes." + +"Damnation!" he blazed out, and the oath seemed to shock her to +self-mastery. + +"Don't ask me now," she said. "If it's Moray, I'll get him.... What are +those troops over there, General?" pointing through the doorway. + +"The Excelsiors--Irish Brigade." + +She nodded carelessly. "And where are the signal men? Where is your +signal officer stationed--Captain----" + +"Do you mean West? He's over on that knob, talking to Wilcox with flags. +See him, up there against the sky?" + +"Yes," she said. + +The general's gimlet eyes seemed to bore through her. "Is that all?" + +"All, thank you," she motioned with dry lips. + +"Are you properly fixed? What do you carry--a revolver?" + +She nodded in silence. + +"All right. Your troopers will be waiting outside.... Get him, in one +way or another; do you understand?" + +"Yes." + +A few moments later the staff galloped off and the escort clattered +behind, minus two troopers, who sat on the edge of the veranda in their +blue-and-yellow shell jackets, carbines slung, poking at the grass with +the edges of their battered steel scabbards. + +The Special Messenger came out presently, and the two troopers rose to +salute. All around her thundered the guns; sky and earth were trembling +as she led the way through an orchard heavy with green fruit. A volunteer +nurse was gathering the hard little apples for cooking; she turned, her +apron full, as the Special Messenger passed, and the two women, both +young, looked at one another through the sunshine--looked, and turned +away, each to her appointed destiny. + +Smoke, drifting back from the batteries, became thicker beyond the +orchard. Not very far away the ruddy sparkle of exploding Confederate +shells lighted the obscurity. Farther beyond the flames of the Union +guns danced red through the cannon gloom. + +Higher on the hill, however, the air became clearer; a man outlined in +the void was swinging signal flags against the sky. + +"Wait here," said the Special Messenger to Troopers Burke and Campbell, +and they unslung carbines, and leaned quietly against their feeding +horses, watching her climb the crest. + +The crest was bathed in early sunlight, an aerial island jutting up +above a smoky sea. From the terrible, veiled maelstrom roaring below, +battle thunder reverberated and the lightning of the guns flared +incessantly. + +For a moment, poised, she looked down into the inferno, striving to +penetrate the hollow, then glanced out beyond, over fields and woods +where sunlight patched the world beyond the edges of the dark pall. + +Behind her Captain West, field glasses leveled, seemed to be intent upon +his own business. + +She sat down on the grassy acclivity. Below her, far below, Confederate +shells were constantly striking the base of the hill. A mile away black +squares checkered a slope; beyond the squares a wood was suddenly belted +with smoke, and behind her she heard the swinging signal flags begin to +whistle and snap in the hill wind. She had sat there a long while before +Captain West spoke to her, standing tall and thin beside her; some +half-serious, half-humorous pleasantry--nothing for her to answer. But +she looked up into his face, and he became silent, and after a while he +moved away. + +A little while later the artillery duel subsided and finally died out +abruptly, leaving a comparative calm, broken only by slow and very +deliberate picket firing. + +The signal men laid aside their soiled flags and began munching +hardtack; Captain West came over, bringing his own rations to offer her, +but she refused with a gesture, sitting there, chin propped in her +palms, elbows indenting her knees. + +"Are you not hungry or thirsty?" he asked. + +"No." + +He had carelessly seated himself on the natural rocky parapet, spurred +boots dangling over space. For one wild instant she hoped he might slip +and fall headlong--and his blood be upon the hands of his Maker. + +Sitting near one another they remained silent, restless-eyed, brooding +above the battle-scarred world. As he rose to go he spoke once or twice +to her with that haunting softness of voice which had begun to torture +her; but her replies were very brief; and he said nothing more. + +At intervals during the afternoon orderlies came to the hill; one or two +general officers and their staffs arrived for brief consultations, and +departed at a sharp gallop down hill. + +About three o'clock there came an unexpected roar of artillery from the +Union left; minute by minute the racket swelled as battery after battery +joined in the din. + +Behind her the signal flags were fluttering wildly once more; a priest, +standing near her, turned nodding: + +"Our boys will be going in before sundown," he said quietly. + +"Are you Father Corby, chaplain of the Excelsiors?" + +"Yes, madam." + +He lifted his hat and went away knee-deep through the windy +hill-grasses; white butterflies whirled around him as he strode, head +on his breast; the swift hill swallows soared and skimmed along the +edges of the smoke as though inviting him. From her rocky height she saw +the priest enter the drifting clouds. + +A man going to his consecrated duty. And she? Where lay her duty? And +why was she not about it? + +"Captain West!" she called in a clear, hard voice. + +Seated on his perch above the abyss, the officer lowered his field +glasses and turned his face. Then he rose and moved over to where she +was sitting. She stood up at once. + +"Will you walk as far as those trees with me?" she asked. There was a +strained ring to her voice. + +He wheeled, spoke briefly to a sergeant, then, with that subtle and +pleasant deference which characterized him, he turned and fell into step +beside her. + +"Is there anything I can do?" he asked softly. + +"No.... God help us both." + +He halted. At a nod from her, two troopers standing beside their quietly +browsing horses, cocked carbines. The sharp, steel click of the locks +was perfectly audible through the din of the cannon. + +[Illustration: "Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and it +was empty."] + +The signal officer looked at her; and her face was whiter than his. + +"You are Warren Moray--I think," she said. + +His eyes glimmered like a bayonet in sunlight; then the old half-gay, +half-defiant smile flickered over his face. + +"Special Messenger," he said, "you come as a dark envoy for me. Now I +understand your beauty--Angel of Death." + +"Are you Major Moray?" She could scarcely speak. + +He smiled, glanced at the two troopers, and shrugged his shoulders. +Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and it was empty; and +his pistol glimmered in her hand. + +"For God's sake don't touch your sabre-hilt!" she said.... "Unclasp your +belt! Let it fall!" + +"Can't you give me a chance with those cavalrymen?" + +"I can't. You know it." + +"Yes; I know." + +There was a silence; the loosened belt fell to the grass, the sabre +clashing. He looked coolly at the troopers, at her, and then out across +the smoke. + +"_This_ way?" he said, as though to himself. "I never thought it." His +voice was quiet and pleasant, with a slight touch of curiosity in it. + +"How did you know?" he asked simply, turning to her again. + +She stood leaning back against a tree, trying to keep her eyes fixed on +him through the swimming weakness invading mind and body. + +"I suppose this ends it all," he added absently; and touched the sabre +lying in the grass with the tip of his spurred boot. + +"Did you look for any other ending, Mr. Moray?" + +"Yes--I did." + +"How could you, coming into our ranks with a dead man's commission and +forged papers? How long did you think it could last? Were you mad?" + +He looked at her wistfully, smiled, and shook his head. + +"Not mad, unless you are. Your risks are greater than were mine." + +She straightened up, stepped toward him, very pale. + +"Will you come?" she asked. "I am sorry." + +"I am sorry--for us both," he said gently. "Yes, I will come. Send those +troopers away." + +"I cannot." + +"Yes, you can. I give my word of honor." + +She hesitated; a bright flush stained his face. + +"I take your word," she murmured. + +A moment later the troopers mounted and cantered off down the hill, +veering wide to skirt the head of a column of infantry marching in; and +when the Special Messenger started to return she found masses of men +threatening to separate her from her prisoner--sunburnt, sweating, +dirty-faced men, clutching their rifle-butts with red hands. + +Their officers rode ahead, thrashing through the moist grass; a forest +of bayonets swayed in the sun; flag after flag passed, slanting above +the masses of blue. + +She and her prisoner looked on; the flag of the 63d New York swept by; +the flags of the 69th and 88th followed. A moment later the columns +halted. + +"Your Excelsiors," said Moray calmly. + +"They're under fire already. Shall we move on?" + +A soldier in the ranks, standing with ordered arms, fell straight +backward, heavily; a corporal near them doubled up with a grunt. + +The Special Messenger heard bullets smacking on rocks; heard their dull +impact as they struck living bodies; saw them knock men flat. Meanwhile +the flags drooped above the halted ranks, their folds stirred lazily, +fell, and scarcely moved; the platoon fire rolled on unbroken somewhere +out in the smoke yonder. + +"God send me a bullet," said Moray.... "Why do you stay here?" + +"To--give you--that chance." + +"You run it, too." + +"I hope so. I am very--tired." + +"I am sorry," he said, reddening. + +She said fiercely: "I wish it were over.... Life is cruel.... I suppose +we must move on. Will you come, please?" + +"Yes--my dark messenger," he said under his breath, and smiled. + +A priest passed them in the smoke; her prisoner raised his hand to the +visor of his cap. + +"Father Corby, their chaplain," she murmured. + +"Attention! Attention!" a far voice cried, and the warning ran from rank +to rank, taken up in turn by officer after officer. Father Corby was +climbing to the summit of a mound close by; an order rang out, bugles +repeated it, and the blue ranks faced their chaplain. + +Then the priest from his rocky pulpit raised his ringing voice in +explanation. He told the three regiments of the Irish Brigade--now +scarcely more than three battalions of two companies each--that every +soldier there could receive the benefit of absolution by making a +sincere act of contrition and resolving, on first opportunity, to +confess. + +He told them that they were going to be sent into battle; he urged them +to do their duty; reminded them of the high and sacred nature of their +trust as soldiers of the Republic, and ended by warning them that the +Catholic Church refuses Christian burial to him who deserts his flag. + +In the deep, battle-filled silence the priest raised up his hands; three +regiments sank to their knees as a single man, and the Special Messenger +and her prisoner knelt with them. + +"_Dominus noster Jesus Christus vos absolvat, et ego, auctoritate +ipius, vos absolvo ab omvir vinculo_----" + +The thunder of the guns drowned the priest's voice for a moment, then it +sounded again, firm and clear: + +"_Absolve vos a peccatis_----" + +The roar of battle blotted out the words; then again they rang out: + +"_In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti!... Amen._" + +The officers had remounted now, their horses plunging in the smoke; the +flags were moving forward; rivers of bayonets flowed out into the +maelstrom where the red lightning played incessantly. Then from their +front crashed out the first volley of the Irish Brigade. + +"Forward! Forward!" shouted their officers. Men were falling everywhere; +a dying horse kicked a whole file into confusion. Suddenly a shell fell +in their midst, another, another, tearing fiery right of way. + +The Special Messenger, on her knees in the smoke, looked up and around +as a priest bent above her. + +"Child," he said, "what are you doing here?" And then his worn gaze fell +on the dead man who lay in the grass staring skyward through his broken +eyeglasses with pleasant, sightless eyes. + +The Special Messenger, white to the lips, looked up: "We were on our +knees together, Father Corby. You had said the amen, and the bullet +struck him--here!... He had no chance for confession.... But you +said----" + +Her voice failed. + +The priest looked at her; she took the dead man's right hand in hers. + +"He was a brave man, Father.... And you said--you said--about those who +fell fighting for--their _own_ land--absolution--Christian burial----" + +She choked, set her teeth in her under lip and looked down at the dead. +The priest knelt, too. + +"Is--is all well with him?" she whispered. + +"Surely, child----" + +"But--his was the--_other_ flag." + +There was a silence. + +"Father?" + +"I know--I know.... The banner of Christ is broader.... You say he was +kneeling here beside you?" + +"Here--so close that I touched him.... And then you said.... Christian +burial--absolution----" + +"He was a spy?" + +"What am I, Father?" + +"Absolved, child--like this poor boy, here at your feet.... What is that +locket in your hand?" + +"His picture.... I found it in his house when the cavalry were setting +fire to it.... Oh, I am tired of it all--deathly, deathly sick!... Look +at him lying here! Father, Father, is there no end to death?" + +The priest rose wearily; through the back-drifting smoke the long battle +line of the Excelsiors wavered like phantoms in the mist. Six flags +flapped ghostlike above them, behind them men writhed in the trampled, +bloody grass; before them the sheeted volleys rushed outward into +darkness, where the dull battle lightning played. + +A maimed, scorched, blackened thing in the grass near by was calling on +Christ; the priest went to him, turning once on his way to look back +where the Special Messenger knelt beside a dead man who lay smiling at +nothing through his shattered eyeglasses. + + + + +IV + +ROMANCE + + +The Volunteer Nurse sighed and spread out her slender, iodine-stained +fingers on both knees, looking down at them reflectively. + +"It is different now," she said; "sentiment dies under the scalpel. In +the filth and squalor of reality neither the belief in romance nor the +capacity for desiring it endure long.... Even pity becomes atrophied--or +at least a reflex habit; sympathy, sorrow, remain as mechanical +reactions, not spontaneous emotions.... You can understand that, dear?" + +"Partly," said the Special Messenger, raising her dark eyes to her old +schoolmate. + +"In the beginning," said the Nurse, dreamily, "the men in their +uniforms, the drums and horses and glitter, and the flags passing, and +youth--_youth_--not that you and I are yet old in years; do you know +what I mean?" + +"I know," said the Special Messenger, smoothing out her riding gloves. +"Do you remember the cadets at Oxley? You loved one of them." + +"Yes; you know how it was in the cities; and even afterward in +Washington--I mean the hospitals after Bull Run. Young bravery--the +Zouaves--the multicolored guard regiments--and a romance in every +death!" She laid one stained hand over the other, fingers still wide. +"But here in this blackened horror they call the 'seat of war'--this +festering bullpen, choked with dreary regiments, all alike, all in +filthy blue--here individuals vanish, men vanish. The schoolgirl dream +of man dies here forever. Only unwashed, naked duty remains; and its +inspiration, man--bloody, dirty, vermin-covered, terrible--sometimes; +and sometimes whimpering, terrified, flinching, base, bereft of all his +sex's glamour, all his mystery, shorn of authority, devoid of pride, +pitiable, screaming under the knife.--It is different now," said the +pretty Volunteer Nurse.--"The war kills more than human life." + +The Special Messenger drew her buckskin gloves carefully through her +belt and buttoned the holster of her revolver. + +"I have seen war, too," she said; "and the men who dealt death and the +men who received it. Their mystery remains--the glamour of a man remains +for me--because he is a man." + +"I have heard them crying like children in the stretchers." + +"So have I. That solves nothing." + +But the Nurse went on: + +"And in the wards they are sometimes something betwixt devils and +children. All the weakness and failings they attribute to women come out +in them--fear, timidity, inconsequence, greed, malice, gossip! And, as +for courage--I tell you, women bear pain better." + +"Yes, I have learned that.... It is not difficult to beguile them +either; to lead them, to read them. That is part of my work. I do it. I +know they _are_ afraid in battle--the intelligent ones. Yet they fight. +I know they are really children--impulsive, passionate, selfish, often +cruel--but, after all, they are here fighting this war--here encamped +all around us throughout these hills and forests.... They have lost none +of their glamour for me. Their mystery remains." + +The Volunteer Nurse looked up with a tired smile: + +"You always were emotional, dear." + +"I am still." + +"You don't have to drain wounds and dry out sores and do the thousand +unspeakable offices that we do." + +"Why do you do them?" + +"I have to." + +"You didn't have to enlist. Why did you?" + +"Why do the men enlist?" asked the Nurse. "That's why you and I +did--whatever the motive may have been, God knows.... And it's killed +part of me.... _You_ don't cleanse ulcers." + +"No; I am not fitted. I tried; and lost none of the romance in me. Only +it happens that I can do--what I am doing--better." + +The Nurse looked at her a trifle awed. + +"To think, dear, that you should turn out to be the celebrated Special +Messenger. You were timid in school." + +"I am now.... You don't know how afraid a woman can be. Suppose in +school--suppose that for one moment we could have foreseen our +destiny--here together, you and I, as we are now." + +The Nurse looked into the stained hollow of her right hand. + +"I had the lines read once," she said drearily, "but nobody ever said +I'd be here, or that there'd be any war." And she continued to examine +her palm with a hurt expression in her blue eyes. + +The Special Messenger laughed, and her lovely, pale face lighted up with +color. + +"Don't you really think you are ever going to be capable of caring for a +man again?" + +"No, I don't. I know now how they're fashioned, how they think--how--how +revolting they can be.... No, no! It's all gone--all the ideals, all the +dreams.... Good Heavens, how romantic--how senseless we were in school!" + +"I am still," said the Special Messenger thoughtfully. "I like men.... +A man--the right one--could easily make me love him. And I am afraid +there are more than one 'right one.' I have often been on the +sentimental border.... But they died, or went away--or I did.... The +trouble with me is, as you say, that I am emotional, and very, very +tender-hearted.... It is sometimes difficult to be loyal--to care for +duty--to care for the Union more than for a man. Not that there is any +danger of my proving untrue----" + +"No," murmured the Nurse, "loyalty is your inheritance." + +"Yes, we--" she named her family under her breath--"are traditionally +trustworthy. It is part of us--our race was always, will always +be.... But--to see a man near death--and to care for him a little--even +a rebel--and to know that one word might save him--only one little +disloyal word!" + +"No man would save _you_ at that expense," said the Nurse disdainfully. +"I know men." + +"Do you? I don't--in that way. There was once an officer--a +noncombatant. I could have loved him.... Once there was a Confederate +cavalryman. I struck him senseless with my revolver-butt--and I might +have--cared for him. He was very young.... I never can forget him. It is +hard, dear, the business I am engaged in.... But it has never spoiled my +interest in men--or my capacity for loving one of them. I am afraid I am +easily moved." + +She rose and stood erect, to adjust her soft riding hat, her youthfully +slender figure in charming relief against the window. + +"Won't you let me brew a little tea for you?" asked the Nurse. "Don't +leave me so soon." + +"When do you go on duty?" + +"In about ten minutes. It will be easier to-morrow, when we send our +sick North. Will you come in to-morrow?" + +The Special Messenger shook her head dreamily. + +"I don't know--I don't know.... Good-by." + +"Are _you_ going on duty?" + +"Yes." + +"When?" + +"Now." + +The Nurse rose and put both arms around her. + +"I am so afraid for you," she said; "and it has been so good to see +you.... I don't know whether we'll ever meet again----" + +Her voice was obliterated in the noisy outburst of bugles sounding the +noon sick-call. + +They went out together, where the Messenger's horse was tied under the +trees. Beyond, through the pines, glimmered the tents of an emergency +hospital. And now, in the open air not very far away, they could hear +picket firing. + +"Do be careful," said the blue-eyed Nurse. "They say you do such +audacious things; and every day somebody says you have been taken, or +hanged, or shot. Dear, you are so young and so pretty----" + +"So are you. Don't catch fever or smallpox or die from a scratch from a +poisoned knife.... Good-by once more." + +They kissed each other. A hospital orderly, passing hurriedly, stopped +to hold her stirrup; she mounted, thanked the orderly, waved a smiling +adieu to her old schoolmate, and, swinging her powerful horse westward, +trotted off through the woods, passing the camp sentinels with a nod and +a low-spoken word. + +Farther out in the woods she encountered the first line of pickets; +showed her credentials, then urged her horse forward at a gallop. + +"Not that way!" shouted an officer, starting to run after her; "the +Johnnies are out there!" + +She turned in her saddle and nodded reassuringly, then spurred on again, +expecting to jump the Union advance-guard every moment. + +There seemed to be no firing anywhere in the vicinity; nothing to be +seen but dusky pine woods; and after she had advanced almost to the edge +of a little clearing, and not encountering the outer line of Union +pickets, she drew bridle and sat stock still in her saddle, searching in +every direction with alert eyes. + +Nothing moved; the heated scent of the Southern pines hung heavy in the +forest; in the long, dry swale-grass of the clearing, yellow butterflies +were flying lazily; on a dead branch above her a huge woodpecker, with +pointed, silky cap, uttered a querulous cry from moment to moment. + +She strained her dainty, close-set ears; no sound of man stirred in this +wilderness--only the lonely bird-cry from above; only the ceaseless +monotone of the pine crests stirred by some high breeze unfelt below. + +A forest path, apparently leading west, attracted her attention; into +this she steered her horse and continued, even after her compass had +warned her that the path was now running directly south. + +The tree-growth was younger here; thickets of laurel and holly grew in +the undergrowth, and, attempting a short cut out, she became entangled. +For a few minutes her horse, stung by the holly, thrashed and floundered +about in the maze of tough stems; and when at last she got him free, she +was on the edge of another clearing--a burned one, lying like a path of +black velvet in the sun. A cabin stood at the farther edge. + +Three forest bridle paths ran west, east, and south from this blackened +clearing. She unbuttoned her waist, drew out a map, and, flattening it +on her pommel, bent above it in eager silence. And, as she sat studying +her map, she became aware of a tremor in the solid earth under her horse's +feet. It grew to a dull jarring vibration--nearer--nearer--nearer--and +she hastily backed her horse into the depths of the laurel, sprang to +the ground, and placed both gauntleted hands over her horse's nostrils. + +A moment later the Confederate cavalry swept through the clearing at a +trot--a jaunty, gray column, riding two abreast, then falling into +single file as they entered the bridle path at a canter. + +She watched them as they flashed by among the pines, sitting their +horses beautifully, the wind lifting the broad brims of their soft hats, +the sun a bar of gold across each sunburned face. + +There were only a hundred of them--probably some of Ashby's old riders, +for they seemed strangely familiar--but it was not long before they had +passed on their gay course, and the last tremor in the forest soil--the +last distant rattle of sabre and carbine--died away in the forest +silence. + +What were they doing here? She did not know. There seemed no logical +reason for the presence of Stuart's troopers. + +For a while, awaiting their possible collision with the Union outposts, +she listened, expecting the far rattle of rifles. No sound came. They +must have sheered off east. So, very calmly she addressed herself to the +task in hand. + +This must be the burned clearing; her map and the cabin corroborated +her belief. Then it was here that she was to meet this unknown man in +Confederate uniform and Union pay--a spy like herself--and give him +certain information and receive certain information in return. + +Her instructions had been unusually rigid; she was to take every +precaution; use native disguise whether or not it might appear +necessary, carry no papers, and let any man she might encounter make the +advances until she was absolutely certain of him. For there was an ugly +rumor afloat that the man she expected had been caught and hanged, and +that a Confederate might attempt to impersonate him. So she looked very +carefully at her map, then out of the thicket at the burned clearing. +There was the wretched cabin named as rendezvous, the little garden +patch with standing corn and beans, and here and there a yellowing +squash. + +_Why had the passing rebel cavalry left all that good food undisturbed?_ + +Fear, which within her was always latent, always too ready to influence +her by masquerading as caution, stirred now. For almost an hour she +stood, balancing her field glasses across her saddle, eyes focused on +the open cabin door. Nothing stirred there. + +At last, with a slight shiver, she opened her saddle bags and drew out +the dress she meant to wear--a dingy, earth-colored thing of gingham. + +Deep in the thicket she undressed, folded her fine linen and silken +stockings, laid them away in the saddle bags together with waist and +skirt, field glasses, gauntlets, and whip, and the map and papers, which +latter, while affording no information to the enemy, would certainly +serve to convict her. + +Dressed now in the scanty, colorless clothing of a "poor white" of the +pine woods, limbs and body tanned with walnut, her slender feet rubbed +in dust and then thrust stockingless into shapeless shoes, she let down +the dark, lustrous mass of her hair, braided it, tied it with faded +ribbon, rubbed her hands in wood mold and crushed green leaves over them +till they seemed all stained and marred with toil. Then she gathered an +armful of splinter wood. + +Now ready, she tethered her horse, leaving him bitted and saddled; +spread out his sack of feed, turned and looked once more at the cabin, +then walked noiselessly to the clearing's edge, carrying her aromatic +splinters. + +Underfoot, as she crossed it, the charred grass crumbled to powder; +three wild doves flickered up into flight, making a soft clatter and +displaying the four white feathers. A quail called from the bean patch. + +The heat was intense in the sun; perspiration streaked her features; her +tender feet burned; the cabin seemed a long way off, a wavering blot +through the dancing heat devils playing above the fire-scorched open. + +Head bent, she moved on in the shiftless, hopeless fashion of the sort +of humanity she was representing, furtively taking her bearings and +making such sidelong observations as she dared. To know the shortest way +back to her horse might mean life to her. She understood that. Also she +fully realized that she might at that very instant be under hostile +observation. In her easily excited imagination, all around her the +forest seemed to conceal a hundred malevolent eyes. She shivered +slightly, wiped the perspiration from her brow with one small bare fist, +and plodded on, clutching her lightwood to her rounded breast. + +And now at last she was nearing the open cabin door; and she must not +hesitate, must show no suspicion. So she went in, dragging her +clumsily-shod feet. + +A very young man in the uniform of a Confederate cavalry officer was +seated inside before the empty fireplace of baked clay. He had a bad +scar on his temple. She looked at him, simulating dull surprise; he rose +and greeted her gracefully. + +"Howdy," she murmured in response, still staring. + +"Is this your house?" he asked. + +"Suh?" blankly. + +"Is this your house?" + +"I reckon," she nodded. "How come you-all in my house?" + +He replied with another question: + +"What were you doing in the woods?" + +"Lightwood," she answered briefly, stacking the fragrant splinters on +the table. + +"Do you live here all alone?" + +"Reckon I'm alone when I live heah," sullenly. + +"What is your name?" He had a trick of coloring easily. + +"What may be _yoh_ name, suh?" she retorted with a little flash of +Southern spirit, never entirely quenched even in such as she seemed to +be. + +Genuine surprise brought the red back into his face and made it, worn as +it was, seem almost handsome. The curious idea came to her that she had +seen him before somewhere. At the same moment speech seemed to tremble +on his lips; he hesitated, looked at her with a new and sudden keenness, +and stood looking. + +"I expected to meet somebody here," he said at length. + +She did not seem to comprehend. + +"I expected to meet a woman here." + +"Who? Me?" incredulously. + +He looked her over carefully; looked at her dusty bare ankles, at her +walnut-smeared face and throat. She seemed so small, so +round-shouldered--so different from what he had expected. They had said +that the woman he must find was pretty. + +"Was yuh-all fixin' to meet up with _me_?" she repeated with a bold +laugh. + +"I--don't know," he said. "By the Eternal, I don't know, ma'am. But I'm +going to find out in right smart time. Did you ever hear anybody speak +Latin?" + +"Suh?" blankly; and the audacity faded. + +"Latin," he repeated, a trifle discomfited. "For instance, '_sic itur_.' +Do you know what '_sic itur_' means?" + +"Sick--what, suh?" + +"'_Sic itur!_' Oh, Lord, she _is_ what she looks like!" he exclaimed in +frank despair. He walked to the door, wheeled suddenly, came back and +confronted her. + +"Either, ma'am, you are the most consummate actress in this war drama, +or you don't know what I'm saying, and you think me crazy.... And now +I'll ask you once for all: _Is this the road_?" + +The Special Messenger looked him full in the eyes; then, as by magic, +the loveliest of smiles transfigured the dull, blank features; her round +shoulders, pendulous arms, slouching pose, melted into superb symmetry, +quickening with grace and youth as she straightened up and faced him, +erect, supple, laughing, adorable. + +"_Sic itur--ad Astra_," she said demurely, and offered him her hand. +"Continue," she added. + +He neither stirred nor spoke; a deep flush mounted to the roots of his +short, curly hair. She smiled encouragement, thinking him young and +embarrassed, and a trifle chagrined. + +"Continue the Latin formula," she nodded, laughing; "what follows, if +you please----" + +"Good God!" he broke out hoarsely. + +And suddenly she knew there was nothing to follow except death--his or +hers--realized she made an awful mistake--divined in one dreadful +instant the unsuspected counter-mine beneath her very feet--cried out as +she struck him full in the face with clenched fist, sprang back, +whipping the revolver from her ragged bodice, dark eyes ablaze. + +"Now," she panted, "hands high--and turn your back! Quickly!" + +He stood still, very pale, one sunburned hand covering the cheek which +she had struck. There was blood on it. He heard her breathless voice, +warning him to obey, but he only took his hand from his face, looked at +the blood on palm and finger, then turned his hopeless eyes on her. + +"Too late," he said heavily. "But--I'd rather be you than I.... Look out +of that window, Messenger!" + +"Put up your hands!" + +"No." + +"Will you hold up your hands!" + +"No, Messenger.... And I--didn't--know it was _you_ when I came here. +It's--it's a dirty business--for an officer." He sank down on the wooden +chair, resting his head between both hands. A single drop of blood fell +brightly from his cut cheek. + +The Special Messenger stole a swift, sidelong glance toward the window, +hesitated, and, always watching him, slid along the wall toward the +door, menacing him at every step with leveled revolver. Then, at the +door, she cast one rapid glance at the open field behind her and around. +A thrill of horror stiffened her. The entire circle of the burned +clearing was ringed with the gray pickets of rebel cavalry. + +The distant men sat motionless on their horses, carbine on thigh. Here +and there a distant horse tossed his beautiful head, or perhaps some +hat-brim fluttered. There was no other movement, not one sound. + +Crouching to pass the windows beneath the sills she crept, heedless of +her prisoner, to the rear door. That avenue to the near clustering woods +was closed, too; she saw the glitter of carbines above the laurel. + +"Special Messenger?" She turned toward him, pale as a ghost. "I reckon +we've got you." + +"Yes," she said. + +There was another chair by the table--the only other one. She seated +herself, shaking all over, laid her revolver on the table, stared at the +weapon, pushed it from her with a nervous shudder, and, ashy of lip and +cheek, looked at the man she had struck. + +"Will they--hang me?" + +"I reckon, ma'am. They hung the other one--the man you took me for." + +"Will there be a--trial?" + +"Drumhead.... They've been after you a long, long while." + +"Then--what are you waiting for?" + +He was silent. + +She found it hard to control the nervous tremor of her limbs and lips. +The dryness in her throat made speech difficult. + +"Then--if there is no chance----" + +He bent forward swiftly and snatched her revolver from the table as her +small hand fell heavily upon the spot where the weapon had rested. + +"Would you do _that_?" he said in a low voice. + +The desperate young eyes answered him. And, after a throbbing silence: +"Won't you let me?" she asked. "It is indecent to h-hang +a--woman--before--men----" + +He did not answer. + +"Please--please--" she whispered, "give it back to me--if you are +a--soldier.... You can go to the door and call them.... Nobody will +know.... You can turn your back.... It will only take a second!" + +A big blue-bottle fly came blundering into the room and filled the +silence with its noise. Years ago the big blue flies sometimes came into +the quiet schoolroom; and how everybody giggled when the taller Miss +Poucher, bristling from her prunella shoes to her stiff side-curls, +charged indignantly upon the buzzing intruder. + +Dry--eyed, dry--lipped, the Messenger straightened up, quivering, and +drew a quick, sharp breath; then her head fell forward, and, resting +inert upon the table, she buried her face in her arms. The most +dangerous spy in the Union service--the secret agent who had worked more +evil to the Confederacy than any single Union army corps--the coolest, +most resourceful, most trusted messenger on either side as long as the +struggle lasted--caught at last. + +The man, young, Southern, and a gentleman's son, sat staring at her. He +had driven his finger-nails deep into his palms, bitten his underlip +till it was raw. + +"Messenger!" + +She made no response. + +"Are you afraid?" + +Her head, prone in her arms, motioned dull negation. It was a lie and he +knew it. He looked at the slender column of the neck--stained to a +delicate amber--at the nape; and he thought of the rope and the knot +under the left ear. + +"Messenger," he said once more. "I did not know it was _you_ I was to +meet. Look at me, in God's name!" + +She opened her eyes on him, then raised her head. + +"Do you know me now?" he asked. + +"No." + +"Look!" + +He touched the scar on his forehead; but there was no recognition in her +eyes. + +"Look, I tell you!" he repeated, almost fiercely. + +She said wearily: "I have seen so many men--so many men.... I can't +remember you." + +"And I have seen many women, Messenger; but I have never forgotten +you--or what you did--or what you did----" + +"I?" + +"You.... And from that night I have lived only to find you again. +And--oh, God! To find you here! My Messenger! My little Messenger!" + +"Who are you?" she whispered, leaning forward on the table, dark eyes +dilating with hope. + +He sat heavily for a while, head bowed as though stunned to silence; +then slowly the white misery returned to his face and he looked up. + +"So--after all--_you_ have forgotten. And my romance is dead." + +She did not answer, intent now on every word, every shade of his +expression. And, as she looked, through the numbness of her desperation, +hope stirred again, stealthily. + +"Are you a friend?" Her voice scarcely sounded at all. + +"Friends die for each other," he said. "Do you expect that of me?" + +The silence between them became terrible; and at last he broke it with a +bitter laugh: + +"You once turned a boy's life to romance--riding through it--out of +it--leaving scars on his brow and heart--and on his lips the touch of +your own. And on his face your tears. Look at me once more!" + +Her breath came quicker; far within her somewhere memory awoke, groping +blindly for light. + +"Three days we followed you," he said. "On the Pennsylvania line we +cornered you; but you changed garb and shape and speech, almost under +our eyes--as a chameleon changes color, matching the leaf it hides +on.... I halted at that squatter's house--sure of you at last--and the +pretty squatter's daughter cooked for us while we hunted you in the +hills--and when I returned she gave me her bed to sleep on----" + +Her hand caught at her throat and she half rose, staring at him. + +"Her own bed to sleep on," he repeated. "And I had been three days +in the saddle; and I ate what she set before me, and slept on her +bed--fell asleep--only a tired boy, not a soldier any longer.... +And awoke to meet your startled eyes--to meet the blow from your +revolver butt that made this scar--to fall back bewildered for a +moment--half-stunned--Messenger! Do you know me now?" + +"Yes," she said. + +They looked breathlessly at one another; suddenly a hot blush covered +her neck and face; and his eyes flashed triumph. + +"You have _not_ forgotten!" he cried. + +And there, on the very edge of death itself, the bright shame glowed and +glowed in her cheeks, and her distressed eyes fell before his. + +"You kissed me," he said, looking at her. + +"I--I thought I had--killed you--" she stammered. + +"And you kissed me on the lips.... In that moment of peril you waited to +do that. Your tears fell on my face. I felt them. And I tell you that, +even had I been lying there dead instead of partly stunned, I would have +known what you did to me after you struck me down." + +Her head sank lower; the color ran riot from throat to brow. + +He spoke again, quietly, yet a strange undertone of exaltation thrilled +his voice and transfigured the thin, war-worn features she had +forgotten, so that, as she lifted her eyes to him again, the same boy +looked back at her from the mist of the long dead years. + +"Messenger," he said, "I have never forgotten. And now it is too late to +forget your tears on my face--the touch of your lips on mine. I would +not if I could.... It was worth living for--dying for.... Once--I +hoped--some day--after this--all this trouble ended--my romance might +come--true----" + +The boy choked, then: + +"I came here under orders to take a woman spy whose password was the key +to a Latin phrase. But until you stood straight in your rags and smiled +at me, I did not know it was you--I did not know I was to take the +Special Messenger! Do you believe me?" + +"Yes." + +The boy colored painfully. Then a queer, pallid change came over his +face; he rose, bent over her where she rested heavily on the table: + +"Little Messenger," he said, "I am in your debt for two blows and a +kiss." + +She lifted a dazed face to meet his gaze; he trembled, leaned down, and +kissed her on the mouth. + +Then in one bound he was at the door, signaling his troopers with drawn +sabre--as once, long ago, she had seen him signal them in the Northern +woods. + +And, through the window, she saw the scattered cavalry forming column at +a gallop, obeying every sabre signal, trotting forward, wheeling fours +right--and then--and then! the gray column swung into the western forest +at a canter, and was gone! + +The boy leaning in the doorway looked back at her over his shoulder and +sheathed his sabre. There was not a vestige of color left in his face. + +"Go!" he said hoarsely. + +"What?" she faltered. + +"Go--go, in God's name! There's a door there! Can't you see it?" + + * * * * * + +She had been gone for a full hour when at last he turned again. A bit of +faded ribbon from her hair lay on the table. It was tied in a true +lover's knot. + +He walked over, looked at it, drew it through his buttonhole and went +slowly back to the door again. For a long while he stood there, +vague-eyed, silent. It was nearly sunset when once more he drew his +sabre, examined it carefully, bent it over one knee, and snapped the +blade in two. + +Then, with a last look at the sky, and standing very erect, he closed +the door, set his back firmly against it, drew his revolver, and looked +curiously into the muzzle. + +A moment later the racket of the shot echoed through the deserted house. + + + + +V + +RED FERRY + + +When Private Allen of Kay's Cavalry deserted with headquarters' dispatch +pouch, and headed straight for Dixie, there was a great deal of +consternation and excitement on the north bank of the river, and a +considerable amount of headlong riding. But on the tenth day he slipped +through the cordon, got into the woods, and was making for the river +when a patrol shot at him near Gopher Creek, but lost him in the +impenetrable cypress swamp beyond. + +However, the pursuit was pushed forward to the very edge of the enemy's +country; Kay's troopers patrolled the north bank of the river and +watched every road and ford; east and west Ripley's and Haynes's +brigades formed impassable curtains. + +Somewhere in this vast corral lay hidden a desperate, starving man; and +it was only a question of time before the hunted creature broke cover +for the water. + +That a trooper had deserted with arms and equipment was generally known; +but that, in his nocturnal flight, he had also taken vitally important +papers was known at first only to Kay and later to the Special +Messenger, who was sent to him post-haste from corps headquarters when +the fugitive headed for the river. + +Now, the south bank of the stream being in the enemy's territory, Kay +had not ventured to station patrols above the clay banks opposite, lest +rumor of invasion bring Stuart's riders to complicate a man chase and +the man escape in the confusion. + +And he explained this to the Special Messenger at their first +conference. + +"It ought to be guarded," insisted the Messenger tranquilly. "There are +three good fords and a ferry open to him." + +"I hold the fords on this side," argued Kay; "the ferryboat lies in the +eel-grass on the south shore." + +"Stuart's riders might cross if they heard of this trouble, sir!" + +"And if they see Union troops on the south bank they'll cross, sure pop. +It won't do, Messenger. If that fellow attempts the fords we'll catch +him, sure; if he swims we may get him in the water. The Lord knows I +want him badly, but I dare not invite trouble by placing vedettes across +the stream.... There's a ferryman over there I'm worried about, too. +He'd probably come across if Allen hailed him from the woods.... And +Allen was thick with him. They used to fish together. Nobody knows what +they hatched out between them. It worries me, I can tell you--that +ferry." + +The Messenger walked to the tent door and looked thoughtfully at the +woods around her. The colonel rose from his camp stool and followed her, +muttering: + +"I might as well try to catch a weasel in a wall, or a red horse in the +mud; and how to go about it I don't know." With set jaws and an angry +spot glowing in his gaunt cheeks, he stared wickedly around him and then +at the Messenger. "_You_ do miracles, they say. Can't you do one now?" + +"I don't know, sir. Who is this deserter?" + +"Roy Allen--a sullen, unwilling dog--always malingering. He's spent half +the time in the guardhouse, half in the hospital, since he arrived with +the recruits. Somebody got an idea that he'd been hit by the sun, but +it's all bosh. He's a bad one--that's all. Can you help me out?" + +The Messenger nodded. + +"You say he's fond of fishing?" + +"Crazy about it. He was often detailed to keep us in food when rations +ran low. Then the catfish made us sick, so I stopped his fishing. Then +he took French leave." + +"I want two troopers this evening, Colonel. May I have them?" she asked +thoughtfully. "I'm going to keep house at Red Ferry for a while." + +"All right, ma'am. Look out for him; he's a bad one." + +But the Messenger shook her head, smiling. + +At ten o'clock that night the Special Messenger, mounted astride and +followed by two cavalrymen with carbines, rode down through the river +mist to Bushy Ford. + +Daintily her handsome horse set foot in the water, hesitated, bent his +long, velvety neck, sniffed, and finally drank; then, satisfied, stepped +quietly forward, hock-deep, in the swirling, yellow flood. + +"Foller them stakes, Miss," cautioned the older trooper; "I sot 'em +m'self, I did." + +"Thank you. Keep close to me, Connor. I've crossed here before it was +staked." + +"Sho!" exclaimed Connor under his breath; "she do beat 'em all!" + +Twice, having no light but the foggy stars, they missed the stakes and +her horse had to swim, but they managed to flounder safely back to the +ford each time; and after a little while her mount rose, straining +through the red mud of the shore, struggled, scrambled madly, and drew +out, dripping. + +Up a slippery, crooked ascent they rode, out into a field of uncut corn +above, then, spurring, swung at a canter eastward along the river. + +There was a dim light in the ferry house; a lubberly, fat man ran to the +open door as they drew bridle before it. When the fat man saw the blue +troopers he backed hastily away from the sill and the Messenger +dismounted and followed him into the house, heavy revolver swinging in +her gloved hand. + +"What'n hell y'goin' to do to me?" he began to whimper; "I ain't done +nothin'"; but an excess of fright strangled him, and he continued to +back away from her until he landed flat against the opposite wall. She +followed and halted before him, cocking her weapon, with a terrible +frown. She said solemnly: + +"I want you to answer me one or two questions, and if you lie to me it +will be the last time. Do you understand?" + +He nodded and moistened his thick lips, gulping. + +"Then you are the ferryman, Snuyder, are you not?" + +He nodded, utterly incapable of speech. She went on, gloomily: + +"You used to fish sometimes with a Yankee recruit named Allen--Roy +Allen?" + +"Ye-s'm," he sniveled. "There's my fish-pole an' his'n layin' onto the +roof----" + +"How did he hail you when he wanted you to come across to take him +fishing?" + +"He jest come down to the shore an' hollered twicet----" + +She bent closer, scanning his dilated eyes; speech died on his lips. + +"How did he call to you at _night_?" + +"He ain't never called me at night--so help me----" + +"No; _but in case he ever wished to fish at night?_" + +The man began to stammer and protest, but she covered him suddenly, and +her dark eyes struck fire. + +"What signal?" she asked with a menacing ring in her voice. "Quick!" + +"Cock-o'-the-pines!... It didn't mean nothin'," gasped the man; ... "It +was jest private--between fishin' friends----" + +"Go on!" + +"Yes'm.... If I heard a cock-o'-the-pines squeal I was to squeal back, +an' then he was to holler--jest friendly--'Hallo-oo! How's fishin'?' +That's all, ma'am----" + +"And you were to cross?" + +"Yes'm--jest friendly like. Him an' me was fond o' fishin'----" + +"I see. Sit down and don't move. Nobody is going to hurt you." + +She went to the door, leisurely uncocking her revolver and pushing it +through her belt. + +"Oh, Connor," she called carelessly, "please mount my friend Mr. Snuyder +on my horse, take him across the ford, and detain him as my guest at +headquarters until I return. Wait a second; I'm going to keep my +saddlebags with me." + +And a few minutes later, as the troopers rode away in the mist with +their prisoner, her gentle voice followed them: + +"Don't be rough with him, Connor. Say to the colonel that there is no +harm in him at all, but keep him in sight until I return; and _don't_ +let him go fishing!" + + * * * * * + +She began housekeeping at sunrise by taking a daring bath in the stream, +then, dressing, she made careful inventory of the contents of the house +and a cautious survey of the immediate environment. + +The premises, so unexpectedly and unwillingly abandoned by its late +obese tenant, harbored, besides herself, only one living creature--a fat +kitten. + +The ferry house stood above the dangerous south bank of the river in a +grove of oaks, surrounded for miles by open country. + +A flight of rickety, wooden stairs pitched downward from the edge of the +grassy bank to a wharf at the water's edge--the mere skeleton of a wharf +now, outlined only by decaying stringpieces. But here the patched-up +punt was moored; and above it, nailed to a dead tree, the sign with its +huge lettering still remained: + + RED FERRY + HOLLER TWICE + +sufficiently distinct to be deciphered from the opposite shore. Sooner +or later the fugitive would have to come to the river. Probably the +cavalry would catch him at one of the fords, or some rifleman might +shoot him swimming. But, if he did not know the fords, and could not +swim, there was only one ferry for him; east, west, and north he had +long since been walled in. The chances were that some night a +cock-o'-the-pines would squeal from the woods across the river, and then +she knew what to do. + +During those broiling days of waiting she had leisure enough. Seated +outside her shanty, in the shade of the trees, where she was able to +keep watch both ways--south for her own safety's sake, north for the +doomed man--she occupied herself with mending stockings and underwear, +raising her eyes at intervals to sweep the landscape. + +Nobody came into that heated desolation; neither voice nor gunshot +echoed far or near. Day after day the foliage of the trees spread +motionless under cloudless skies; day after day the oily river slipped +between red mud banks in heated silence. In sky, on earth, nothing +stirred except, at intervals, some buzzard turning, high in the blinding +blue; below, all was deathly motionless, save when a clotted cake of red +clay let go, sliding greasily into the current. At dawn the sun struck +the half-stunned world insensible once more; no birds stirred even at +sunset; all the little creatures of the field seemed dead; her kitten +panted in its slumbers. + +Every night the river fog shrouded the land, wetting the parched leaves; +dew drummed on the rotting porch like the steady patter of +picket-firing; the widow bird's distracted mourning filled the silence; +the kitten crept to its food, ate indifferently, then, settling on the +Messenger's knees, stared, round-eyed, at the dark. But always at dawn +the sun burned off the mist, rising in stupefying splendor; the oily +river glided on; not a leaf moved, not a creature. And the kitten slept +on the porch, heedless of inviting grass stems whisked for her and the +ball of silk rolled past her in temptation. + +Half lying there, propped against a tree trunk in the heated shade, +cotton bodice open, sleeves rolled to the shoulders, the Special +Messenger mended her linen with languid fingers. Perspiration powdered +her silky skin from brow to breast, from finger to elbow, shimmering +like dew when she moved. Her dark hair fell, unbound; glossy tendrils of +it curled on her shoulders, framing a face in which nothing as yet had +extinguished the soft loveliness of youth. + +At times she talked to the kitten under her breath; sometimes hummed an +old song. Memories kept her busy, too, at moments quenching the +brightness of her eyes, at moments twitching the edges of her vivid lips +till the dreamy smile transfigured her. + +But always quietly alert, her eyes scanned land and river, the bank +opposite, the open fields behind her. Once, certain of a second's +safety, she relaxed with a sigh, stretching out full length on the +grass; and, under the edge of her cotton skirt, the metal of a revolver +glimmered for an instant, strapped in its holster below her right knee. + +The evening of the fourth day was cooler; the kitten hoisted its tail +for the first time in their acquaintance, and betrayed a feeble interest +in the flight of a white dusk-moth that came hovering around the porch +vines. + +"Pussy," said the Messenger, "there's bacon in that well pit; I am going +to make a fire and fry some." + +The kitten mewed faintly. + +"I thought you'd approve, dear. Cold food is bad in hot weather; and +we'll fry a little cornmeal, too. Shall we?" + +The kitten on its small, uncertain legs followed her into one of the +only two rooms. The fat tenant of the hovel had left some lightwood and +kindling, and pots and pans necessary for such an existence as he led on +earth. + +The Messenger twisted up her hair and pinned it; then culinary rites +began, the kitten breaking into a thin purring when an odor of bacon +filled the air. + +"Poor little thing!" murmured the Messenger, going to the door for a +brief cautionary survey. And, coming back, she lifted the fry pan and +helped the kitten first. + +They were still eating when the sun set and the sudden Southern darkness +fell over woods and fields and river. A splinter of lightwood flared +aromatically in an old tin candlestick; by its smoky, wavering radiance +she heated some well water, cleaned the tin plates, scoured pan and +kettle, and set them in their humble places again. + +Then, cleansing her hands daintily, she dried them, and picked up her +sewing. + +For her, night was the danger time; she could not avoid, by flight +across the river, the approach of any enemy from the south; and for an +enemy to discover her sitting there in darkness, with lightwood in the +house, was to invite suspicion. Yet her only hope, if surprised, was to +play her part as keeper of Red Ferry. + +So she sat mending, sensitive ears on the alert, breathing quietly in +the refreshing coolness that at last had come after so many nights of +dreadful heat. + +The kitten, too, enjoyed it, patting with tentative velvet paw the skein +of silk dangling near the floor. + +But it was a very little kitten, and a very lonely one, and presently it +asked, plaintively, to be taken up. So the Messenger lifted the mite of +fluffy fur and installed it among the linen on the table, where it went +to sleep purring. + +Outside the open door the dew drummed loudly; moths came in clouds, +hovering like snowflakes about the doorway; somewhere in the woods a +tiger owl yelped. + +About midnight, lying on her sack of husks, close to the borderland of +sleep, far away in the darkness she heard a shot. + +In one bound she was at the door, buttoning her waist, and listening. +And still listening, she lighted a pine splinter, raised her cotton +skirt, and adjusted the revolver, strapping the holster tighter above +and below her right knee. + +The pulsing seconds passed; far above the northern river bank a light +sparkled through the haze, then swung aloft; and she drew paper and +pencil from her pocket, and wrote down what the torch was saying: + +"Shot fired at Muddy Ford. Look out along the river." + +And even as the red spark went out in the darkness a lonely birdcall +floated across the river--the strange squealing plaint of the great +cock-o'-the-pines. She answered, imitating it perfectly. Then a far +voice called: + +"Hallo-o-o! How's fishin'?" + +She picked up her pine candle, hurried out to the bank and crept +cautiously down the crazy, wooden stairs. Setting her torch in the iron +cage at the bow, she cast off the painter and, standing erect, swung the +long pole. Out into obscurity shot the punt, deeper and deeper plunged +the pole. She headed up river to allow for the current; the cool breeze +blew her hair and bathed her bared throat and arms deliciously; crimson +torchlight flickered crisscross on the smooth water ahead. + +Every muscle in her body was in play now; the heavy pole slanted, rose +and plunged; the water came clip! slap! clap! slap! against the square +bows, dusting her with spray. + +On, on, tossing and pitching as the boat hit the swift, deep, center +current; then the pole struck shallower depths, and after a while her +torch reddened foliage hanging over the northern river bank. + +She drove her pole into the clay as the punt's bow grated; a Federal +cavalryman--a mere lad--muddy to the knees, brier-torn, and ghastly +pale, waded out through the shallows, revolver in hand, clambered +aboard, and struck the torch into the water. + +"Take me over," he gasped. "Hurry, for God's sake! I tell you----" + +"Was it you who called?" + +"Yes. Snuyder sent you, didn't he? Don't stand there talking----" + +With a nervous stroke she drove the punt far out into the darkness, then +fell into a measured, swinging motion, standing nearer the stern than +the bow. There was no sound now but the lapping of water and the man's +thick breathing; she strove to pierce the darkness between them, but she +could see only a lumpish shadow in the bow where he crouched. + +"I reckon you're Roy Allen," she began, but he cut her short: + +"Damn it! What's that to you?" + +"Nothing. Only Snuyder's gone." + +"When?" + +"Some days ago, leaving me to ferry folk over.... He told me how to +answer you when you called like a cock-o'-the-pines." + +"Did he?" The voice was subdued and sullen. + +For a while he remained motionless, then, in the dull light of the +fog-shrouded stars she saw him face her, and caught the faint sparkle of +his weapon resting on his knees, covering her. + +"It seems to me," he said fiercely, "that you are asking a good many +questions. Which side pays you?" + +They were tossing now on the rapid little waves in the center of the +river; she had all she could do to keep the punt steady and drive it +toward the spot where, against the stars, the oaks lifted their +clustered crests. + +At the foot of the wooden stairs she tied her boat, and offered to +relight the pine knot, but he would not have it and made her grope up +the ascent before him. + +Over the top of the bank she led him, under the trees, to her door, he +close at her heels, revolver in hand. And there, on the sill, she faced +him. + +"What do you want here?" she asked; "supper?" + +"Go into the house and strike a light," he said, and followed her in. +And, as she turned from the blazing splinter, he caught her by the arm, +feeling roughly for a concealed weapon. Face aflame, she struggled out +of his clutch; and he was as red as she as they confronted one another, +breathing heavily. + +"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I'm--h-half-crazed, I think.... If you're +what you look, God knows I meant you no insult.... But--but--their +damned spies are everywhere. I've stood too much--I've been in hell for +two weeks----" + +He wiped his mouth with a trembling, raw hand, but his sunken eyes still +glared and the pallor once more blanched his sunken face. + +"I'll not touch you again," he said hoarsely; "I'm not a beast--not +_that_ kind. But I'm starving. Is there anything--_anything_, I tell +you? I--I am not--very--strong." + +She looked calmly into the ravaged, but still boyish features; saw him +swing, reeling a little, on his heels as he steadied himself with one +hand against the table. + +"Sit down," she said in a low voice. + +He sank into a chair, resting the hand which clutched the revolver on +the table. + +Without a word she went about the business of the moment, rekindled the +ashes, filled the fry pan with mush and bacon. A little while afterwards +she set the smoking food before him, and seated herself at the opposite +side of the table. + +The boy ate wolfishly with one hand; the other seemed to have grown fast +to the butt of his heavy weapon. She could have bent and shot him under +the table had she wished; she could have taken him with her bare hands. + +But she only sat there, dark, sorrowful eyes on him, and in pity for his +certain doom her under lip trembled at intervals so she could scarcely +control it. + +"Is there a horse to be had anywhere near here?" he asked, pausing to +swallow what his sunken jaws had been working on. + +"No; the soldiers have taken everything." + +"I will pay--anything if you'll let me have something to ride." + +She shook her head. + +He went on eating; a slight color had come back into his face. + +"I'm sorry I was rough with you," he said, not looking at her. + +"Why were you?" + +He raised his head wearily. + +"I've been hunted so long that I guess it's turned my brain. Except for +what you've been good enough to give me, I've had nothing inside me for +days, except green leaves and bark and muddy water.... I suppose I can't +see straight.... There's a woman they call the Special Messenger;--I +thought they might have started her after me.... That shot at the ford +seemed to craze me.... So I risked the ferry--seeing your light +across--and not knowing whether Snuyder was still here or whether they +had set a guard to catch me.... It was Red Ferry or starve; I'm too weak +to swim; I waited too long." + +And as the food and hot tea warmed him, his vitality returned in a +maddened desire for speech after the weeks of terror and silence. + +"I don't know who you are," he went on, "but I guess you're not fixed +for shooting at me, as every living thing seems to have done for the +last fortnight. Maybe you're in Yankee pay, maybe in Confederate; I +can't help it. I suppose you'll tell I've been here after I'm gone.... +But they'll never get me now!" he bragged, like a truant schoolboy +recounting his misdemeanor to an awed companion. + +"Who are you?" she asked very gently. + +He looked at her defiantly. + +"I'm Roy Allen," he said, "of Kay's Cavalry.... If you're fixing to tell +the Union people you might as well tell them who fooled 'em!" + +"What have you done?" + +She inquired so innocently that a hint of shame for his suspicion and +brutality toward her reddened his hollow cheeks. + +"I'll tell you what I've done," he said. "I've taken to the woods, +headed for Dixie, with a shirtful of headquarter papers. That's what +I've done.... And perhaps you don't know what that means if they catch +me. It means hanging." + +"Hanging!" she faltered. + +"Yes--if they get me." His voice quivered, but he added boastingly: "No +fear of that! I'm too many for old Kay!" + +"But--but why did you desert?" + +"Why?" he repeated. Then his face turned red and he burst out violently: +"I'll tell you why. I lived in New York, but I thought the South was in +the right. Then they drafted me; and I tried to tell them it was an +outrage, but they gave me the choice between Fort Lafayette and Kay's +Cavalry.... And I took the Cavalry and waited.... I wouldn't have gone +as far as to fight against the flag--if they had let me alone.... I only +had my private opinion that the South was more in the right than we--the +North--was.... I'm old enough to have an opinion about niggers, and I'm +no coward either.... They drove me to this; I didn't want to kill people +who were more in the right than we were.... But they made me enlist--and +I couldn't stand it.... And now, if I've got to fight, I'll fight +bullies and brutes who----" + +He ended with a gesture--an angry, foolish boast, shaking his weapon +toward the north. Then, hot, panting, sullenly sensible of his fatigue, +he laid the pistol on the table and glowered at the floor. + +She could have taken him, unarmed, at any moment, now. + +"Soldier," she said gently, "listen to me." + +He looked up with heavy-lidded eyes. + +"I am trying to help you to safety," she said. + +A hot flush of mortification mantled his face: + +"Thank you.... I ought to have known; I--I am ashamed of what I +said--what I did." + +"You were only a little frightened; I am not angry." + +"You understand, don't you?" + +"A--little." + +"You are Southern, then?" he said; and in spite of himself his heavy +lids began to droop again. + +"No; Northern," she replied. + +His eyes flew wide open at that, and he straightened up in his chair. + +"Are you afraid of me, Soldier?" + +"No," he said, ashamed again. "But--you're going to tell on me after I +am gone." + +"No." + +"Why not?" he demanded suspiciously. + +She leaned both elbows on the table, and resting her chin on both palms, +smiled at him. + +"Because," she said, "you are going to tell on yourself, Roy." + +"What!" he blurted out in angry astonishment. + +"You are going to tell on yourself.... You are going back to your +regiment.... It will be your own idea, too; it _has_ been your own idea +all the while--your secret desire every moment since you deserted----" + +"Are you crazy!" he cried, aghast; "or do you think I am?" + +"--ever since you deserted," she went on, dark eyes looking deep into +his, "it has been your desire to go back.... Fear held you; rage +hardened your heart; dread of death as your punishment; angry brooding +on what you believed was a terrible injustice done you--all these drove +you to panic.... Don't scowl at me: don't say what is on your lips to +say. You are only a tired, frightened boy--scarcely eighteen, are you? +And at eighteen no heart can really be a traitor." + +"Traitor!" he repeated, losing all his angry color. + +"It is a bad word, isn't it, Roy? Lying hidden and starving in the +forest through the black nights you had to fight that word away from +you--drive it out of your half-crazed senses--often--didn't you? Don't +you think I know, my boy, what a dreadful future you faced, lying there +through the stifling nights while they hunted you to hang you? + +"I know, also, that what you did you did in a moment of insane rage. I +know that the moment it was done you would, in your secret soul, have +given the world to have undone it." + +"No!" he cried. "I was right!" + +She rose, walked to the door, and seated herself on the sill, looking up +at the stars. + +For an hour she sat there, silent. Behind her, leaning heavily on the +table, he crouched, hot eyes wide, pulse heavy in throat and body. And +at last, without turning, she called to him--three times, very gently, +speaking his name; and at the third call he rose and came stumbling +toward her. + +"Sit here." + +He sank down beside her on the sill. + +"Are you very tired?" + +"Yes." + +She placed one arm around him, drawing his hot head down on her +shoulder. + +"How foolish you have been," she whispered. "But, of course, your mother +must not know it.... There is no reason to tell her--ever.... Because +you went quite mad for a little while--and nobody is blamed for mental +sickness.... How bright the stars are.... What a heavenly coolness after +that dreadful work.... How feverish you are! I think that your regiment +believes you roamed away while suffering from sunstroke.... Their +Colonel is a good friend of mine. Tell him you're sorry." + +His head lay heavily on her shoulder; she laid a fresh hand over his +eyes. + +"If the South is right, if we of the North are right, God knows better +than you or I, Roy.... And if you are so bewildered that you have no +deep conviction either way I think you may trust Him who set you among +Kay's Cavalry.... God never betrayed a human soul in honest doubt." + +"It--it was the flag!--that was the hardest to get over--" he began, and +choked, smothering the dry sob against her breast. + +"I know, dear.... The old flag means so much--it means all that our +fathers have been, all that we ought to be for the world's sake. Anger, +private resentment, bitterness under tyranny--these are little things; +for, after all, the flag still stands for what we ought to be--you and I +and those who misuse us, wittingly or otherwise.... Where are the +papers you took?" + +He pressed his feverish face closer to her shoulder and fumbled at the +buttons of his jacket. + +"Here?" she asked softly, aiding him with deft fingers; and in a moment +she had secured them. + +For a while she held him there, cradling him; and his dry, burning face +seemed to scorch her shoulder. + +Dawn was in the sky when she unclosed her eyes--a cool, gray dawn, +hinting of rain. + +She looked down at the boy. His head lay across her lap; he slept, +motionless as the dead. + +The sun rose, a pale spot on the gray horizon. + +"Come," she said gently. And again, "Come; I want you to take me across +the ferry." + +He rose and stood swaying on his feet, rubbing both eyes with briar-torn +fists. + +"You will take me, won't you, Roy?" + +"Where?" + +"Back to your regiment." + +"Yes--I'll take you." + +For a few moments she was busy gathering up her spools and linen. + +"You carry my saddlebags," she said, "and I'll take the kitten. Isn't it +cunning, Roy? Do look at the poor little thing! We can't leave it here." + +Following, laden with her saddlebags, he stammered: + +"Do--d-do you think they'll shoot me?" + +"No," she said, smiling. "Be careful of the ferry steps; they are +dreadfully shaky." + +She began the descent, clasping the kitten in both arms; the boy +followed. Seated in the punt, they stowed away the saddlebags and the +kitten, then he picked up the pole, looked at her, hesitated. She +waited. + +"I guess the old man will have me shot.... But--I am going back," he +said, as though to himself. + +She watched him; he looked up. + +"You're right, ma'am. I must have been crazy. Everybody reads about +traitors--in school.... Nobody ever forgets their names.... I don't want +my name in school books." + +"Like Benedict Arnold's," she said; and he quivered from head to foot. + +"Oh, cricky!" he burst out, horrified; "how close I came to it! Have you +got those papers safe?" + +"Yes, Roy." + +"Then I'll go. I don't care what they do to me." + +As he rose with the pole, far away in the woods across the river a +cavalry band began to play. Faint and clear the strains of the +Star-Spangled Banner rose from among the trees and floated over the +water; the boy stood spellbound, mouth open; then, as the far music died +away, he sank back into the boat, deathly pale. + +"I--I ought to be hung!" he whispered. + +The Messenger picked up the fallen pole, set it, and drove the punt out +into the river. Behind her, huddled in the stern, the prodigal wept, +uncomforted, head buried in his shaking arms; and the kitten, being +afraid, left the shelter of the thwarts and crept up on his knees, +sitting there and looking out at the unstable world of water in +round-eyed apprehension. + +As the punt grated on the northern shore the Messenger drove her pole +into the mud, upright, and leaned on it. + +"Roy," she said, looking back over her shoulder. + +The boy rubbed his wet eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and got up. + +"Are you afraid?" + +"Not now." + +"That is well.... You'll be punished.... Not severely.... For you came +back of your own accord--repentant.... Tell me, were you really afraid +that the Special Messenger might catch you?" + +"Yes, I was," he said simply. "That's why I acted so rough with you.... +I didn't know; they say any woman you see may be the Special +Messenger.... So I took no chances.... Who are you, anyway?" + +"Only a friend of yours," she said, smiling. "Please pick up my kitten. +Thank you.... And some day, when you've been very, very good, I'll ask +Colonel Kay to let you take me fishing." + +And she stepped lightly ashore; the boy followed, holding the kitten +under one arm and drying his grimy eyes on his sleeve. + + + + +VI + +AN AIR-LINE + + +"As for me," continued Colonel Gay bitterly, "I'm driven almost frantic +by this conspiracy. Whenever a regiment arrives or leaves, whenever a +train stirs--yes, by Heaven, every time a locomotive toots or a mule +brays or a chicken has the pip--_somebody_ informs the Johnnies, and +every detail is known to them within a few hours!" + +The Special Messenger seated herself on the edge of the camp table. "I +suppose they are very disagreeable to you about it at headquarters." + +"Yes, they are--but how can I help it? Somehow or other, whatever is +done or said or even thought in this devilish supply camp is immediately +reported to Jeb Stuart; every movement of trains and troops leaks out; +he'll know to-night what I ate for breakfast this morning--I'll bet on +that. And, Messenger, let me tell you something. Joking aside, this +thing is worrying me sick. Can you help me?" + +"I'll try," she said. "Headquarters sent me. They're very anxious up +there about the railroad." + +"I can't help it!" cried the distracted officer. "On Thursday I had to +concentrate the line-patrol to drive Maxon's bushwhackers out of Laurel +Siding; and look what Stuart did to me. No sooner were we off than he +struck the unguarded section and tore up two miles of track! What am I +to do?" + +The Special Messenger shook her pretty head in sympathy. + +"There's a leak somewhere," insisted the angry officer; "it smells to +Heaven, but I can't locate it. Somewhere there's a direct, intelligent +and sinister underground communication between Osage Court House and Jeb +Stuart at Sandy River--or wherever he is. And what I want you to do is +to locate that leak and plug it." + +"Of course," murmured the Special Messenger, gently tapping her riding +skirt with her whip. + +"Because," continued the Colonel, "headquarters is stripping this depot +of troops. The Bucktails go to-day; Casson's New York brigade and +Darrel's cavalry left yesterday. What remains is a mighty small garrison +for a big supply depot--eleven hundred effectives, and they may take +some of them at any moment. You see the danger?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"I've protested; I've pointed out the risk we run; I sent my third +messenger to headquarters this afternoon. Of course, they don't intend +to leave this depot unguarded--probably they'll send the Vermont troops +from the North this week--but between the departure of Casson's column +and the theoretical arrival of reenforcements from Preston, we'd be in a +bad way if Stuart should raid us in force. And with this irritating and +constant leaking out of information I'm horribly afraid he'll strike us +as soon as the Bucktails entrain." + +"Why don't you hold the Pennsylvania infantry until we can find out +where the trouble lies?" asked the girl, raising her dark eyes to the +nervous young Colonel. + +"I haven't the authority; I've asked for it twice. Orders stand; the +Bucktails are going, and I'm worried to death." He shoved his empty pipe +into his mouth and bit viciously at the stem. + +"Then," she said, "if I'm to do anything I'd better hurry, hadn't I?" + +The young officer's face grew grimmer. "Certainly; but I've been a month +at it and I'm no wiser. Of course I know you are very celebrated, ma'am; +but, really, _do_ you think it likely that you can pick out this hidden +mischief-maker before he sends word to Stuart to-night of our deplorable +condition?" + +"How long have I?" + +"About a day." + +"When do the Bucktails go?" + +"At nine to-night." + +"Who knows it?" + +"Who doesn't? I can't move a regiment and its baggage in a day, can I? +I've given them twenty-four hours to break camp and entrain." + +"Does the train master know which troops are going?" + +"He has orders to hold three trains, steam up, night and day." + +"I see," she murmured, strapping her soft riding hat more securely to +her hair with the elastic band. Her eyes had been wandering restlessly +around the tent as though searching for something which she could not +find. + +"Have you a good map of the district?" she asked. + +He went to his military chest, opened it, and produced a map. For a +while, both hands on the table, she leaned above the map studying the +environment. + +"And Stuart? You say he's roaming around somewhere in touch with Sandy +River?" she asked, pointing with a pencil to that metropolis on the map. + +"The Lord knows where _he_ is!" muttered the Colonel. "He may be a +hundred miles south now, and in my back yard to-morrow by breakfast +time. But when he's watching us he's usually near Sandy River." + +"I see. And these"--drawing her pencil in a wavering line--"are your +outposts? I mean those pickets nearest Sandy River." + +"They are. Those are rifle pits." + +"A grand guard patrols this line?" she asked, rising to her feet. + +"Yes; a company of cavalry and a field gun." + +"Do you issue passes?" + +"Not to the inhabitants." + +"Have any people--civilians--asked for passes?" + +"I had two applications; one from a Miss Carryl, who lives about a mile +beyond here on the Sandy River Road; another from an old farmer, John +Deal, who has a fruit and truck farm half a mile outside our lines. He +wanted to come in with his produce and I let him for a while. But that +leakage worried me, so I stopped him." + +"And this Miss Carryl--did she want to go out?" + +"She owns the Deal farm. Yes, she wanted to drive over every day; and I +let her until, as I say, I felt obliged to stop the whole business--not +permit anybody to go out or come in except our own troops." + +"And still the leakage continues?" + +"It certainly does," he said dryly. + +The Special Messenger seated herself on one end of the military chest +and gazed absently at space. Her booted foot swung gently at intervals. + +"So this Miss Carryl owns John Deal's farm," she mused aloud. + +"They run it on shares, I believe." + +"Oh! Was she angry when you shut out her tenant, John Deal, and shut her +inside the lines?" + +"No; she seemed a little surprised--said it was inconvenient--wanted +permission to write him." + +"You gave it?" + +"Yes. I intimated it would save time if she left her letters to him +unsealed. She seemed quite willing." + +"You read them all, of course, before delivering them?" + +"Of course. There was nothing in them except instructions about plowing, +fruit picking, and packing, and various bucolic matters." + +"Oh! Nothing to be read between the lines? No cipher? No invisible ink? +No tricks of any sort?" + +"Not one. I had a detective here. He said there was absolutely no harm +in the letters, in Miss Carryl, or in John Deal. I have all the letters +if you care to look at them; I always keep the originals and allow only +copies to be sent to old man Deal." + +"Let me see those letters," suggested the Messenger. + +The Colonel, who had been sitting on the camp table, got off wearily, +rummaged in a dispatch box, and produced three letters, all unsealed. + +Two were directed in a delicately flowing, feminine hand to John Deal, +Waycross Orchard. The Messenger unfolded the first and read: + + Dear Mr. Deal: + + Colonel Gay has thought it necessary, for military reasons, to + revoke my pass; and I shall, therefore, be obliged hereafter to + communicate with you by letter only. + + I wish, if there are negroes enough remaining in the quarters, + that you would start immediately a seedling orchard of white + Rare-ripe peaches from my orchard here. I have permission to + send the pits to you by the military post-rider who passes my + house. I will send you twenty every day as my peaches ripen. + Please prepare for planting. I hope your rheumatism is better. + + Yours very truly, + Evelyn Carryl. + +The Messenger's dark eyes lifted dreamily to the Colonel: + +"You gave her permission to send the pits by your post-rider?" + +"Yes," he said, smiling; "but I always look over them myself. You know +the wedding gown of the fairy princess was hidden in a grape seed." + +"You are _quite_ sure about the pits?" + +"Perfectly." + +"Oh! When does the next batch of twenty go?" + +"In about an hour. Miss Carryl puts them in a bag and gives them to my +messenger who brings them to me. Then I inspect every pit, tie up the +bag, seal it, and give it to my messenger. When he takes the mail to the +outposts he rides on for half a mile and leaves the sealed bag at Deal's +farm." + +"Does your messenger know what is in the bag?" + +"No, he doesn't." + +She nodded, amused, saying carelessly: + +"Of course you trust your post-rider?" + +"Absolutely." + +The Special Messenger swung her foot absently to and fro, and presently +opened another letter: + + Dear Mr. Deal: + + I am sending you twenty more peach pits for planting. What you + write me about the bees is satisfactory. I have received the + bees you sent. There is no reason why you should not make the + exchange with Mr. Enderly, as it will benefit our hives as well + as Mr. Enderly's to cross his Golden Indias with my Blacks. + +The Messenger studied the letter thoughtfully; askance, the officer +watched the delicate play of expression on her absorbed young face, +perhaps a trifle incredulous that so distractingly pretty a woman could +be quite as intelligent as people believed. + +She looked up at him quietly. + +"So you gave Deal permission to send some bees to Miss Carryl and write +her a letter?" + +"Once. I had the letter brought to me and I sent her a copy. Here it +is--the original." + +He produced Deal's letter from the dispatch pouch, and the Messenger +read: + + Miss Evelyn Carryl, + Osage Court House. + + Respected Miss: + + I send you the bees. I seen Mr. Enderly at Sandy River he says + he is very wishful for to swap bees to cross the breed I says it + shorely can be done if you say so I got the pits and am studyin' + how to plant. The fruit is a rottin' can't the Yankees at Osage + buy some truck nohow off'n me? So no more with respect from + + John Deal + Supt. + +"That seems rather harmless, doesn't it?" asked the Colonel wearily. + +"I don't--know. I _think_ I'll take a look at John Deal's beehives." + +"His _beehives_!" + +"Yes." + +"What for?" + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +"I don't know--exactly. I was always fond of bees. They're so +useful"--she looked up artlessly--"so clever--quite wonderful, Colonel. +Have you ever read anything about bees--how they live and conduct +themselves?" + +The Colonel eyed her narrowly; she laughed, sprang up from the military +chest, and handed back his letters. + +"You have already formed your theory?" he inquired with a faintly +patronizing air, under which keen disappointment betrayed itself where +the grim, drooping mouth tightened. + +"Yes, I have. There's a link missing, but--I may find that before night. +You can give me--_how_ long?" + +"The Bucktails leave at nine. See here, Messenger! With all the civility +and respect due you, I----" + +"You are bitterly disappointed in me," she finished coolly. "I don't +blame you, Colonel Gay." + +He was abashed at that, but unconvinced. + +"Why do you suspect this Miss Carryl and this man, Deal, when I've +showed you how impossible it is that they could send out information?" + +"Somehow," she said quietly, "they _do_ send it--if they are the only +two people who have had passes, and who now are permitted to +correspond." + +"But you saw the letters----" + +"So did you, Colonel." + +"I did!" he said emphatically; "and there's nothing dangerous in them. +As for the peach pits----" + +"Oh, I'll take your word for them, too," she said, laughing. "When is +your post-rider due?" + +"In a few minutes, now." + +She began to pace backward and forward, the smile still lightly etched +on her lips. The officer watched her; puckers of disappointed anxiety +creased his forehead; he bit at his pipestem, and thought of the +Bucktails. Certainly Stuart would hear of their going; surely before the +northern reenforcements arrived the gray riders would come thundering +into Osage Court House. Fire, pillage, countless stores wasted, trains +destroyed, miles of railroads rendered useless. What, in Heaven's name, +could his superiors be thinking of, to run such risk with one of the +bases of supplies? Somewhere--_somewhere_, not far from corps +headquarters, sat incompetency enthroned--gross negligence--under a pair +of starred shoulder straps. And, musing bitterly, he thought he knew to +whom those shoulder straps belonged. + +"The damn fool!" he muttered, biting at his pipe. + +"Colonel," said the Messenger cheerily, "I am going to take the mail to +the outposts to-day." + +"As you like," he said, without interest. + +"I want, also, a pass for Miss Carryl." + +"To pass our lines?" + +"To pass _out_. She will not care to return." + +"Certainly," he said with amiable curiosity. + +He scratched off the order and she took it. + +"Ask for anything you desire," he said, smiling. + +"Then may I have this tent to myself for a little while? And would you +be kind enough to send for my saddlebags and my own horse." + +The Colonel went to the tent flap, spoke to the trooper on guard. When +he came back he said that it was beginning to rain. + +"Hard?" she asked, troubled. + +"No; just a fine, warm drizzle. It won't last." + +"All the better!" she cried, brightening; and it seemed to the young +officer as though the sun had gleamed for an instant on the tent wall. +But it was only the radiant charm of her, transfiguring, with its +youthful brilliancy, the dull light in the tent; and, presently, the +Colonel went away, leaving her very busy with her saddlebags. + +There was a cavalry trooper's uniform in one bag; she undressed +hurriedly and put it on. Over this she threw a long, blue army cloak, +turned up the collar, and, twisting her hair tightly around her head, +pulled over it the gray, slouch campaign hat, with its crossed sabres of +gilt and its yellow braid. + +It was a boyish-looking rider who mounted at the Colonel's tent and went +cantering away through the warm, misty rain, mail pouch and sabre +flopping. + +There was no need for her to inquire the way. She knew Waycross, the +Carryl home, and John Deal's farm as well as she knew her own home in +Sandy River. + +The drizzle had laid the dust and washed clean the roadside grass and +bushes; birds called expectantly from fence and thorny thicket, as the +sun whitened through the mist above; butterflies, clinging to dewy +sprays, opened their brilliant wings in anticipation; swallows and +martins were already soaring upward again; a clean, sweet, fragrant +vapor rose from earth and shrub. + +Ahead of her, back from the road, at the end of its private avenue of +splendid oaks, an old house glimmered through the trees; and the Special +Messenger's eyes were fixed on it steadily as she rode. + +Pillar, portico, and porch glistened white amid the leaves; Cherokee +roses covered the gallery lattice; an old negro was pretending to mow +the unkempt lawn with a sickle, but whenever the wet grass stuck to the +blade he sat down to examine the landscape and shake his aged head at +the futility of all things mundane. The clatter of the Special +Messenger's horse aroused him; at the same instant a graceful woman, +dressed in black, came to the edge of the porch and stood there as +though waiting. + +The big gateway was open; under arched branches the Messenger galloped +down the long drive and drew bridle, touching the brim of her slouch +hat. And the Southern woman looked into the Messenger's eyes without +recognition. + +Miss Carryl was fair, yellow-haired and blue-eyed--blonder for the dull +contrast of the mourning she wore--and her voice was as colorless as her +skin when she bade the trooper good afternoon. + +All she could see of this cloaked cavalryman was two dark, youthful eyes +above the upturned collar of the cloak, shadowed, too, by the wet hat +brim, drooping under gilded crossed sabres. + +"You are not the usual mail-carrier?" she asked languidly. + +"No, ma'am"--in a nasal voice. + +"Colonel Gay sent you?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +Miss Carryl turned, lifted a small salt sack, and offered it to the +Messenger, who leaned wide from her saddle and took it in one hand. + +"You are to take this bag to the Deal farm. Colonel Gay has told you?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Thank you. And there is no letter to-day. Will you have a few peaches +to eat on the way? I always give the mail-carrier some of my peaches to +eat." + +Miss Carryl lifted a big, blue china bowl full of superb, white, +rare-ripe peaches, and, coming to the veranda's edge, motioned the +Messenger to open the saddlebags. Into it she poured a number of +peaches. + +"They are perfectly ripe," she said; "I hope you will like them." + +"Thank'y, ma'am." + +"And, Soldier," she turned to add with careless grace, "if you would be +kind enough to drop the pits back into the saddlebag and give them to +Mr. Deal he would be glad of them for planting." + +"Yes'm; I will----" + +"How many peaches did I give you? Have you enough?" + +"Plenty, ma'am; you gave me seven, ma'am." + +"Seven? Take two more--I insist--that makes nine, I think. Good day; and +thank you." + +But the Messenger did not hear; there was something far more interesting +to occupy her mind--a row of straw-thatched beehives under the fruit +trees at the eastern end of the house. + +From moment to moment, homing or outgoing bees sped like bullets across +her line of vision; the hives were busy now that a gleam of pale +sunshine lay across the grass. One bee, leaving the hive, came humming +around the Cherokee roses. The Messenger saw the little insect alight +and begin to scramble about, plundering the pollen-powdered blossom. The +bee was a yellow one. + +Suddenly the Messenger gathered bridle and touched her hat; and away she +spurred, putting her horse to a dead run. + +Passing the inner lines, she halted to give and receive the password, +then tossed a bunch of letters to the corporal, and spurred forward. +Halted by the outer pickets, she exchanged amenities again, rid herself +of the remainder of the mail, and rode forward, loosening the revolver +in her holster. Then she ate her first peach. + +It was delicious--a delicate, dripping, snow-white pulp, stained with +pink where the pit rested. There was nothing suspicious about that pit, +or any of the others when she broke the fragrant fruit in halves and +carefully investigated. Then she tore off the seal and opened the bag +and examined each of the twenty dry pits within. Not one had been +tampered with. + +Her horse had been walking along the moist, fragrant road; a few moments +later she passed the last cavalry picket, and at the same moment she +caught sight of John Deal's farm. + +The house was neat and white and small; orchards stretched in every +direction; a few beehives stood under the fruit trees near a well. + +A big, good-humored looking man came out into the path as the Messenger +drew bridle, greeted the horse with a caress and its rider with a +pleasant salute. + +"I'm very much obliged to you," he said, taking the sack of pits. "I +reckon we're bound to have more fine weather. What's this--some peach +pits from Miss Carryl?" + +"Nine," nodded the Messenger. + +"Nine! I'll have nine fine young trees this time three years, I reckon. +Thank you, suh. How's things over to the Co't House?" + +"Troops arriving all the while," said the Messenger carelessly. + +"Comin' _in_?" + +"Lots." + +"Sho! I heard they was sendin' 'em East." + +"Oh, some. We've got to have elbow-room. Can't pack two army corps into +Osage Court House." + +"Two a'my co'ps, suh?" + +"More or less." + +John Deal balanced the sack in the palm of one work-worn hand and looked +hard at the Messenger. He could see only her eyes. + +[Illustration: "'Turn around,' said the Special Messenger."] + +"Reckon you ain't the same trooper as come yesterday." + +"No." + +"What might be yoh regiment?" + +The Messenger was looking hard at the beehives. The door of one of the +hives, a new one, was shut. + +"What regiment did you say, suh?" repeated Deal, showing his teeth in a +friendly grin; and suddenly froze rigid as he found himself inspecting +the round, smoky muzzle of a six-shooter. + +"Turn around," said the Special Messenger. Her voice was even and +passionless. + +John Deal turned. + +"Cross your hands behind your back. Quickly, please! Now back up to this +horse. Closer!" + +There was a glimmer, a click; and the man stood handcuffed. + +"Sit down on the grass with your back against that tree. Make yourself +comfortable." + +Deal squatted awkwardly, settled, and turned a pallid face to the +Messenger. + +"What'n hell's this mean?" he demanded. + +"Don't move and don't shout," said the Messenger. "If you do I'll have +to gag you. I'm only going over there to take a look at your bees." + +The pallor on the man's face was dreadful, but he continued to stare at +the Messenger coolly enough. + +"It's a damned outrage!" he began thickly. "I had a pass from your +Colonel----" + +"If you don't keep quiet I'll have to tie up your face," observed the +Messenger, dismounting and flinging aside her cloak. + +Then, as she walked toward the little row of beehives, carrying only her +riding whip, the farmer's eyes grew round and a dull flush empurpled his +face and neck. + +"By God!" he gasped; "it's _her_!" and said not another word. + +She advanced cautiously toward the hives; very carefully, with the butt +of her whip, she closed the sliding door over every exit, then seated +herself in the grass within arm's length of the hives and, crossing her +spurred boots, leaned forward, expectant, motionless. + +A bee arrived, plunder-laden, dropped on the sill and began to walk +toward the closed entrance of his hive. Finding it blocked, the insect +buzzed angrily. Another bee whizzed by her and lit on the sill of +another hive; another came, another, and another. + +Very gingerly, as each insect alighted, she raised the sliding door and +let it enter. Deal watched her, fascinated. + +An hour passed; she had admitted hundreds of bees, always closing the +door behind each new arrival. Then something darted through the range of +her vision and alighted, buzzing awkwardly on the sill of a hive--an +ordinary, yellow-brown honey bee, yet differing from the others in that +its thighs seemed to be snow-white. + +Quick as a flash the Messenger leaned forward and caught the insect in +her gloved fingers, holding it by the wings flat over the back. + +Its abdomen dilated and twisted, and the tiny sting was thrust out, +vainly searching the enemy; but the Messenger, drawing a pin from her +jacket, deftly released the two white encumbrances from the insect's +thighs--two thin cylinders of finest tissue paper, and flung the angry +insect high into the air. It circled, returned to the hive, and she let +it in. + +There was a groan from the manacled man under the trees; she gave him a +rapid glance, shook her head in warning, and, leaning forward, deftly +lifted a second white-thighed bee from the hive over which it was +scrambling in a bewildered sort of way. + +A third, fourth, and fifth bee arrived in quick succession; she robbed +them all of their tissue-paper cylinders. Then for a while no more +arrived, and she wondered whether her guess had been correct, that the +nine peaches and wet pits meant to John Deal that nine bees were to be +expected--eager home-comers, which he had sent to his mistress and +which, as she required their services, she released, certain that they +would find their old hives on John Deal's farm and carry to him the +messages she sent. + +And they came at last--the sixth, seventh--then after a long interval +the eighth--and, finally, the ninth bee whizzed up to the hive and fell, +scrambling, its movements embarrassed by the tiny, tissue cylinders. + +The Messenger waited another hour; there were no more messengers among +the bees that arrived. + +Then she opened every hive door, rose, walked over to the closed hive +that stood apart and opened the door of that. + +A _black_ honeybee crawled out, rose into the air, and started due +south; another followed, then three, then a dozen; and then the hive +vomited a swarm of _black_ bees which sped southward. + +Sandy River lay due south; also, the home-hive from which they had been +taken and confined as prisoners; also, a certain famous officer lingered +at Sandy River--one, General J. E. B. Stuart, very much interested in +the beehives belonging to a friend of his, a Mr. Enderly. + +When she had relieved each messenger-bee of its tissue-paper dispatch, +she had taken the precaution to number each tiny cylinder, in order of +its arrival, from one to nine. Now she counted them, looked over each +message, laid them carefully away between the leaves of a pocket +notebook, slipped it into the breast of her jacket, and, rising, walked +over to John Deal. + +"Here is the key to those handcuffs," she said, hanging it around his +neck by the bit of cord on which it was dangling. "Somebody at Sandy +River will unlock them for you. But it would be better, Mr. Deal, if you +remained outside our lines until this war is ended. I don't blame +you--I'm sorry for you--and for your mistress." + +She set toe to stirrup, mounted easily, fastened her cloak around her. + +"I'm really sorry," she said. "I hope nobody will injure your pretty +farm. Good-by." + +Miss Carryl was standing at the end of the beautiful, oak-shaded avenue +when the Messenger, arriving at full speed, drew bridle and whirled her +horse. + +Looking straight into the pretty Southern woman's eyes, she said +gravely: + +"Miss Carryl, your bees have double stings. I am very sorry for +you--very, very sorry. I hope your property will he respected while you +are at Sandy River." + +"What do you mean?" asked Miss Carryl. Over her pale features a painful +tremor played. + +"You know what I mean. And I am afraid you had better go at once. John +Deal is already on his way." + +There was a long silence. Miss Carryl found her voice at length. + +"Thank you," she said without a tremor. "Will I have any trouble in +passing the Yankee lines?" + +"Here is your passport. I had prepared it." + +As the Messenger bent over from the saddle to deliver the pass, somehow +her hat, with its crossed gilt sabres, fell off. She caught it in one +hand; a bright blush mantled throat and face. + +The Southern woman looked up at the girl in the saddle, so dramatically +revealed for what she was under the superb accusation of her hair. + +"_You?_" + +"Yes--God help us both!" + +The silence was terrible. + +"It scarcely surprises me," murmured Miss Carryl with a steady smile. "I +saw only your eyes before, but they seemed too beautiful for a boy's." + +Then she bent her delicately-molded head and studied the passport. The +Messenger, still blushing, drew her hat firmly over her forehead and +fastened a loosened braid. Presently she took up her bridle. + +"I will ask Colonel Gay's protection for Waycross House," she said in a +low voice. "I am so dreadfully sorry that this has happened." + +"You need not be; I have only tried to do for my people what you are +doing for yours--but I should be glad of a guard for Waycross. _His_ +grave is in the orchard there." And with a quiet inclination of the head +she turned away into the oak-bordered avenue, walking slowly toward the +house which, in a few moments, she must leave forever. + +In the late sunshine her bees flashed by, seeking the fragrant +home-hives; long, ruddy bars of sunlight lay across grass and tree +trunk; on the lawn the old servant still chopped at the unkempt grass, +and the music of his sickle sounded pleasantly under the trees. + +On these things the fair-haired Southern woman looked, and if her eye +dimmed and her pale lip quivered there was nobody to see. And after a +little while she went into the house, slowly, head held high, black +skirt lifted, just clearing the threshold of her ancestors. + +Then the Special Messenger, head hanging, wheeled her horse and rode +slowly back to Osage Court House. + +She passed the Colonel, who was dismounting just outside his tent, and +saluted him without enthusiasm: + +"The leak is stopped, sir. Miss Carryl is going to Sandy River; John +Deal is on his way. They won't come back--and, Colonel, won't you give +special orders that her house is not to be disturbed? She is an old +school friend." + +The Colonel stared at her incredulously. + +"I'm afraid you still have your doubts about that leak, sir." + +"Yes, I have." + +She dismounted wearily; an orderly took her horse, and without a word +she and the Colonel entered the tent. + +"They used bees for messengers," she said; "that was the leak." + +"Bees?" + +"Honey bees, Colonel." + +For a whole minute he was silent, then burst out: + +"Good God! _Bees!_ And if such a--an extraordinary performance were +possible how did _you_ guess it?" + +"Oh," she said patiently, "I used them that way when I was a little +girl. Bees, like pigeons, go back to their homes. Look, sir! Here, in +order, are the dispatches, each traced in cipher on a tiny roll of +tissue. They were tied to the bees' thighs." + +[Transcriber's Note: in the following cyphers, subscripted numerals +and special symbols are contained in curly brackets, like this: {3}] + +And she spread them out in order under his amazed eyes; and this is what +he saw when she pieced them together for him: + + EIO{2}W{2} x I{8}W{3} {triangle} NI{7}W{3} x + OII{6}I{5}W{3} x ENI{7}I{7}I{4}I{8}I{5}O{2} + N x I{7}IE x I{4}O{2}I{2} x + N x HI{5} x IO{2}E x + N x O x E x WNW{3} x + W x I{8}E{3}XHN {crescent} x + L x I{3} O{2}XW{3}I{5}W{3}NW{2} x + + I{4}I{2} x I{8}W{3}I{7}I{4}LI x NW{3}x + I{5}O{2}HI x O{2}I{4}EI{3}W{3} x + HNI{7}I{7} {circle+} W{2} + +"That's all very well," he said, "but how about this hieroglyphic? Do +you think anybody on earth is capable of reading such a thing?" + +"Why not?" + +"Can _you_?" + +"All such ciphers are solved by the same method.... Yes, Colonel, I can +read it very easily." + +"Well, would you mind doing so?" + +"Not in the slightest, sir. The key is extremely simple. I will show +you." And she picked up pencil and paper and wrote: + + One + Two + Three + Four + Five + Six + Seven + Eight + Nine + Ten + Eleven + Twelve + Thirteen + Fourteen + Fifteen + Sixteen + Seventeen + Eighteen + Nineteen + Twenty + +"Now," she said, "taking the second letter in each word, we can parallel +that column thus: + + N equals the letter A + W equals the letter B + H equals the letter C + O equals the letter D + I equals the letter E + +"Then, in the word _six_ we have the letter _I_ again as the second +letter, so we call it I{2}. And, continuing, we have: + + I{2} equals the letter F + E equals the letter G + I{3} equals the letter H + I{4} equals the letter I + E{2} equals the letter J + L equals the letter K + W{2} equals the letter L + H{2} equals the letter M + O{2} equals the letter N + I{5} equals the letter O + I{6} equals the letter P + E{3} equals the letter Q + I{7} equals the letter R + I{8} equals the letter S + W{3} equals the letter T + +"Now, using these letters for the symbols in the cipher: + + EIO{2}W{2} x I{8}W{3} {triangle} NI{7}W{3} x + OII{6}I{5}W{3} x ENI{7}I{7}I{4}I{8}I{5}O{2} + N x I{7}IE x I{4}O{2}I{2} x + N x HI{5} x IO{2}E x + N x O x E x WNW{3} x + W x I{8}E{3}XHN {crescent} x + L x I{3} O{2}XW{3}I{5}W{3}NW{2} x + + I{4}I{2} x I{8}W{3}I{7}I{4}LI x NW{3}x + I{5}O{2}HI x O{2}I{4}EI{3}W{3} x + HNI{7}I{7} {circle+} W{2} + +"We translate it freely thus, and I'll underline only the words in the +cipher: + + Gen'l Stuart (Sandy River?) + + (The present) Depot Garrison (of Osage Court House is) + One Reg(iment) (of) Inf(antry) + One Co(mpany of) Eng(ineers) + One Four G(un) Bat(tery) + Two Sq(uadrons) (of) Cav(alry) + Eleven Hun(dred men) Total + If (you) strike (strike) at once (and at) night! + + (Signed) Carryl. + +"Do you see, Colonel, how very simple it is, after all?" + +The Colonel, red and astounded, hung over the paper, laboriously +verifying the cipher and checking off each symbol with its alphabetical +equivalent. + +"What's that mark?" he demanded; "this symbol----" + +"It stands for the letter U, sir." + +"How do you know?" + +The Messenger, seated sideways on the camp table, one small foot +swinging, looked down and bit her lip. + +"Must I tell you?" + +"As you please. And I'll say now that your solving this intricate and +devilish cipher is, to me, a more utterly amazing performance than the +rebel use of bees as messengers." + +She shook her head slowly. + +"It need not amaze you.... I was born in Sandy River.... And in happier +times--when my parents were living--I spent the school vacations +there.... We had always kept bees.... There was--in those days--a boy. +We were very young and--romantic. We exchanged vows--and bees--and +messages in cipher.... I knew this cipher as soon as I saw it. I +invented it--long ago--for him and me." + +"W-well," stammered the bewildered Colonel, "I don't see how----" + +"I do, sir. Our girl and boy romance was a summer dream. One day he +dreamed truer. So did the beautiful Miss Carryl.... And the pretty game +I invented for him he taught in turn to his fiancee.... Well, he died in +The Valley.... And I have just given his fiancee her passport. It would +be very kind of you to station a guard at the Carryl place for its +protection. Would you mind giving the order, sir?... _He_ is buried +there." + +The Colonel, hands clasped behind him, walked to the tent door. + +"Yes," he said, "I'll give the order." + +A few moments later the drums of the Bucktails began beating the +assembly. + + + + +VII + +THE PASS + + +Her map, which at headquarters was supposed to be reliable, had grossly +misled her; the road bore east instead of north, dwindling, as she +advanced, to a rocky path among the foothills. She had taken the wrong +turn at the forks; there was nothing to direct her any farther--no +landmarks except the general trend of the watercourse, and the dull +cinders of sunset fading to ashes in the west. + +It was impossible now to turn back; Carrick's flying column must be +very close on her heels by this time--somewhere yonder in the dusk, +paralleling her own course, with only a dark curtain of forest +intervening. + +So all that evening, and far into the starlit night, she struggled +doggedly forward, leading her lamed horse over the mountain, dragging +him through laurel thickets, tangles of azalea and rhododendron, +thrashing across the swift mountain streams that tumbled out of starry, +pine-clad heights, foaming athwart her trail with the rushing sound of +forest winds. + +For a while the clear radiance of the stars lighted the looming +mountains; but when wastes of naked rock gave place to ragged woods, +lakes and pits of darkness spread suddenly before her; every gully, +every ravine brimmed level with treacherous shadows, masking the sheer +fall of rock plunging downward into fathomless depths. + +Again and again, as she skirted the unseen edges of destruction, chill +winds from unsuspected deeps halted her; she dared not light the +lantern, dared not halt, dared not even hesitate. And so, fighting down +terror, she toiled on, dragging her disabled horse, until, just before +dawn, the exhausted creature refused to stir another foot. + +Desperate, breathless, trembling on the verge of exhaustion, with the +last remnants of nervous strength she stripped saddle and bridle from +the animal; then her nerves gave way and she buried her face against her +horse's reeking, heaving shoulders. + +"I've got to go on, dear," she whispered; "I'll try to come back to +you.... See what a pretty stream this is," she added, half hysterically, +"and such lots of fresh, sweet grass.... Oh, my little horse--my little +horse! I'm so tired--so tired!" + +The horse turned his gentle head, mumbling her shoulder with soft, dusty +lips; she stifled a sob, lifted saddle, saddlebags, and bridle and +carried them up the rocky bank of the stream to a little hollow. Here +she dropped them, unstrapped her revolver and placed it with them, then +drew from the saddlebags a homespun gown, sunbonnet, and a pair of +coarse shoes, and laid them out on the moss. + +Fatigue rendered her limbs unsteady; her fingers twitched as she fumbled +with button and buckle, but at last spurred boots, stockings, jacket, +and dusty riding skirt fell from her; undergarments dropped in a circle +around her bare feet; she stepped out of them, paused to twist up her +dark hair tightly, then, crossing the moss to the stream's edge, picked +her way out among the boulders to the brimming rim of a pool. + +In the exquisite shock of the water the blood whipped her skin; fatigue +vanished through the crystal magic; shoulder-deep she waded, +crimson-cheeked, then let herself drift, afloat, stretching out in +ecstasy until every aching muscle thrilled with the delicious reaction. + +Overhead, tree swallows darted through a sky of pink and saffron, +pulsating with the promise of the sun; the tinted peak of a mountain, +jaggedly mirrored in the unquiet pool, suddenly glowed crimson, and the +reflections ran crisscross through the rocking water, lacing it with +fiery needles. + +She looked like some delicate dawn-sprite as she waded ashore--a +slender, unreal shape in the rosy glow, while behind her, from the dim +ravine, ghosts of the mountain mist floated, rising like a company of +slim, white angels drifting to the sky. + +All around her now the sweet, bewildered murmur of purple martins grew +into sustained melody; thrush and mocking bird, thrasher and cardinal, +sang from every leafy slope; and through the rushing music of bird and +pouring waterfall the fairy drumming of the cock-o'-the-pines rang out +in endless, elfin reveille. + +While she was managing to dry herself and dress, her horse limped off +into the grassy swale below to drink in the stream and feed among the +tender grasses. + +Before she drew on the homespun gown she tucked her linen map into an +inner skirt pocket, flat against her right thigh; then, fastening on the +shabby skirt, she rolled up her riding habit, laid it with lantern, +revolver, saddle, bridle, boots, and bags, in the hollow and covered all +over with heaps of fragrant dead leaves and branches. It was the best +she could do, and the time was short. + +Her horse raised his wise, gentle head, and looked across the stream at +her as she hastened past, then limped stiffly toward her. + +"Oh, I can't stand it if you hobble after me!" she wailed under her +breath. "Dearest--dearest--I will surely come back to you. +Good-by--good-by!" + +On the crest of the ridge she cast one swift, tearful glance behind. +The horse, evidently feeling better, was rolling in the grass, all four +hoofs waving at the sky. And she laughed through the tears, and drew +from her pockets a morsel of dry bread which she had saved from the +saddlebags. This she nibbled as she walked, taking her bearings from the +sun and the sweep of the southern mountain slopes; and listening, always +listening, for the jingle and clank of the Confederate flying battery +that was surely following along somewhere on that parallel road which +she had missed, hidden from her view only by a curtain of forest, the +width of which she had no time to investigate. Nor did she know for +certain that she had outstripped the Confederate column in the race for +the pass--a desperate race, although the men of that flying column, +which was hastening to turn the pass into a pitfall for the North, had +not the faintest suspicion that the famous Special Messenger was racing +with them to forestall them, or even that their secret was no longer a +secret. + +In hot haste from the south hills she had come to warn Benton's division +of the ambuscade preparing for it, riding by highway and byway, her +heart in her mouth, taking every perilous chance. And now, at the last +moment, here in the West Virginian Mountains, almost within sight of the +pass itself, disaster threatened--the human machine was giving out. + +There were just two chances that Benton might yet be saved--that his +leisurely advance had, by some miracle, already occupied the pass, or, +if not, that she could get through and meet Benton in time to stop him. + +She had been told that there was a cabin at the pass, and that the +mountaineer who lived there was a Union man. + +Thinking of these things as she crossed the ridge, she came suddenly +into full view of the pass. It lay there just below her; there could be +no mistake. A stony road wound along the stream, flanked by forest-clad +heights; she recognized the timber bridge over the ravine, which had +been described to her, the corduroy way across the swamp, the single, +squat cabin crowning a half-cleared hillock. She realized at a glance +the awful trap that this silent, deadly place could be turned into; for +one rushing moment her widening eyes could almost see blue masses of men +in disorder, crushed into that horrible defile; her ears seemed to ring +with their death cries, the rippling roar of rifle fire. Then, with a +sharp, indrawn breath, she hastened forward, taking the descent at a +run. And at the same moment three gray-jacketed cavalrymen cantered into +the road below, crossed the timber bridge at a gallop, and disappeared +in the pass, carbines poised. + +She had arrived a minute too late; the pass was closed! + +Toiling breathlessly up the bushy hillock, crouching, bending, creeping +across the stony open where scant grass grew in a meager garden, she +reached the cabin. It was empty; a fire smoldered under a kettle in +which potatoes were boiling; ash cakes crisped on the hearth, bacon +sizzled in a frying pan set close to the embers. + +But where was the tenant? + +A shout from the road below brought her to the door; then she dropped +flat on her stomach, crawled forward, and looked over the slope. + +A red-haired old man, in his shirt sleeves, carrying a fishing pole, was +running down the road, chased by two gray-jacketed troopers. He ran +well, throwing away his pole and the string of slimy fish he had been +carrying; but, half way across the stream, they rode him down and caught +him, driving their horses straight into the shallow flood; and a few +moments later a fresh squad of cavalry trotted up, forced the prisoner +to mount a led horse, and, surrounding him, galloped rapidly away +southward. + +The Special Messenger lay perfectly still and flat, watching, listening, +waiting, coolly alert for a shadow of a chance to slip out and through +the pass; but there was to be no such chance now, for a dozen troopers +came into view, running their lean horses at top speed, and wheeled +straight into the pass. A full squadron followed, their solid galloping +waking clattering echoes among the rocks. Then her delicate ears caught +a distant, ominous sound--nearer, louder, ringing, thudding, jarring, +pounding--the racket of field artillery arriving at full speed. + +And into sight dashed a flying battery, guns and limbers bouncing and +thumping, whips cracking, chains crashing, the six-horse teams on a dead +run. + +An officer drew bridle and threw his horse on its haunches; the first +team rushed on to the pass with a clash and clank of wheels and chains, +swung wide in a demi-tour, dropped a dully glistening gun, and then came +trampling back. The second, third, and fourth teams, guns and caissons, +swerved to the right of the hillock and came plunging up the bushy +slope, horses straining and scrambling, trampling through the wretched +garden to the level grass above. + +One by one the gun teams swung in a half circle, each dropped its +mud-spattered gun, the cannoneers sprang to unhook the trails, the +frantic, half-maddened horses were lashed to the rear. + +The Special Messenger rose quietly to her feet, and at the same instant +a passing cannoneer turned and saw her in the doorway. + +"Hey!" he exclaimed; "what you doin' thar?" + +A very young major, spurring up the slope, caught sight of her, too. + +"This won't do!" he began excitedly, pushing his sweating horse up to +the door. "I'm sorry, but it won't do--" He hesitated, perplexed, eyeing +this slim, dark-eyed girl, who stood as though dazed there in her ragged +homespun and naked feet. + +Colonel Carrick, passing at a canter, turned in his saddle, calling out: + +"Major Kent! Keep that woman here! It's too late to send her back." + +The boy-major saluted, then turned to the girl again: + +"Who are you?" he asked, vexed. + +She seemed unable to reply. + +A cannoneer said respectfully: + +"Reckon the li'l gal's jes' natch'ally skeered o' we-uns, Major, seein' +how the caval'y ketched her paw down thar in the crick." + +The Major said briefly: + +"Your father is a Union man, but nobody is going to hurt him. I'd send +you to the rear, too, but there's no time now. Please go in and shut +that door. I'll see that nobody disturbs you." + +As she was closing the door the young Major called after her: + +"Where's the well?" + +As she did not know she only stared at him as though terrified. + +"All right," he said, more gently. "Don't be frightened. I'll come back +and talk to you in a little while." + +As she shut the door she saw the cannon at the pass limber up, wheel, +and go bumping up the hill to rejoin its bespattered fellows on the +knoll. + +An artilleryman came along and dropped a bundle of picks and shovels +which he was carrying to the gunners, who had begun the emplacements; +the boyish Major dismounted, subduing his excitement with a dignified +frown; and for a while he was very fussy and very busy, aiding the +battery captain in placing the guns and verifying the depression. + +The position of the masked battery was simply devilish; every gun, +hidden completely in the oak-scrub, was now trained on the pass. + +Opposite, across the stream, long files of gray infantry were moving to +cover among the trees; behind, a battalion arrived to support the guns; +below, the cavalry had begun to leave the pass; troopers, dismounted, +were carefully removing from the road all traces of their arrival. + +Leaning there by the window, the Special Messenger counted the returning +fours as troop after troop retired southward and disappeared around the +bend of the road. + +For a while the picks and shovels of the gunners sounded noisily; +concealed riflemen, across the creek, were also busy intrenching. But +by noon all sound had ceased in the sunny ravine; there was nothing to +be seen from below; not a human voice echoed; not a pick-stroke; only +the sweet, rushing sound of the stream filled the silence; only the +shadows of the branches moved. + +Warned again by the sentinels to close the battered window and keep the +door shut, she still watched the gunners, through the dirty window +panes, where they now lay under the bushes beside their guns. There was +no conversation among them; some of the artillerymen seemed to be +asleep; some sprawled belly-deep in the ferns, chewing twigs or idly +scraping holes in the soil; a few lay about, eating the remnants of the +morning's scanty rations, chewing strips of bacon rind, and licking the +last crumbs from the palms of their grimy hands. + +Along the bush-hidden parapet of earth, heaps of ammunition +lay--cannister and common shell. She recognized these, and, with a +shudder, a long row of smaller projectiles on which soldiers were +screwing copper caps--French hand grenades, brought in by blockade +runners, and fashioned to explode on impact--so close was to be the +coming slaughter of her own people in the road below. + +Toward one o'clock the gunners were served noon rations. She watched +them eating for a while, then, nerveless, turned back into the single +room of the cabin and opened the rear door--so gently and noiselessly +that the boyish staff-major who was seated on the sill did not glance +around until she spoke, asking his permission to remain there. + +"You mustn't open that door," he said, looking up, surprised by the +sweetness of the voice which he heard now for the first time. + +"How can anybody see me from the pass?" she asked innocently. "That is +what you are afraid of, isn't it?" + +He shot a perplexed and slightly suspicious glance at her, then the +frowning importance faded from his beardless face; he bit a piece out of +the soggy corncake he was holding and glanced up at her again, amiably +conscious of her attractions; besides, her voice and manner had been a +revelation. Evidently her father had had her educated at some valley +school remote from these raw solitudes. + +So he smiled at her, quite willing to be argued with and entertained; +and at his suggestion she shyly seated herself on the sill outside in +the sunlight. + +"Have you lived here long?" he asked encouragingly. + +"Not very," she said, eyes downcast, her clasped hands lying loosely +over one knee. The soft, creamy-tinted fingers occupied his attention +for a moment; the hand resembled the hand of "quality"; so did the ankle +and delicate arch of her naked foot, half imprisoned in the coarse shoe +under her skirt's edge. + +He had often heard that some of these mountaineers had pretty children; +here, evidently, was a most fascinating example. + +"Is your mother living?" he asked pleasantly. + +"No, sir." + +He thought to himself that she must resemble her dead mother, because +the man whom the cavalry had caught in the creek was a coarse-boned, +red-headed ruffian, quite impossible to reconcile as the father of this +dark-haired, dark-eyed, young forest creature, with her purely-molded +limbs and figure and sensitive fashion of speaking. He turned to her +curiously: + +"So you have not always lived here on the mountain." + +"No, not always." + +"I suppose you spent a whole year away from home at boarding-school," he +suggested with patronizing politeness. + +"Yes, six years at Edgewood," she said in a low voice. + +"What?" he exclaimed, repeating the name of the most fashionable +Southern institute for young ladies. "Why, I had a sister +there--Margaret Kent. Were _you_ there? And did you ever--er--see my +sister?" + +"I knew her," said the Special Messenger absently. + +He was very silent for a while, thinking to himself. + +"It must have been her mother; that measly old man we caught in the +creek is 'poor white' all through." And, munching thoughtfully again on +his soggy corncake, he pondered over the strange fate of this +fascinating young girl, fashioned to slay the hearts of Southern +chivalry--so young, so sweet, so soft of voice and manner, condemned to +live life through alone in this shaggy solitude--fated, doubtless, to +mate with some loose, lank, shambling, hawk-eyed rustic of the +peaks--doomed to bear sickly children, and to fade and dry and wither in +the full springtide of her youth and loveliness. + +"It's too bad," he said fretfully, unconscious that he spoke aloud, +unaware, too, that she had risen and was moving idly, with bent head, +among the weeds of the truck garden--edging nearer, nearer, to a dark, +round object about the size of a small apple, which had rolled into a +furrow where the ground was all cut up by the wheel tracks of artillery +and hoofs of heavy horses. + +There was scarcely a chance that she could pick it up unobserved; her +ragged skirts covered it; she bent forward as though to tie her shoe, +but a sentinel was watching her, so she straightened up carelessly and +stood, hands on her hips, dragging one foot idly to and fro, until she +had covered the small, round object with sand and gravel. + +That object was a loaded French hand grenade, fitted with percussion +primer; and it lay last at the end of a long row of similar grenades +along the shaded side of the house. + +The sentry in the bushes had been watching her; and now he came out +along the edge of the laurel tangle, apparently to warn her away, but +seeing a staff officer so near her he halted, satisfied that authority +had been responsible for her movements. Besides, he had not noticed that +a grenade was missing; neither had the major, who now rose and sauntered +toward her, balancing his field glasses in one hand. + +"There's ammunition under these bushes," he said pleasantly; "don't go +any nearer, please. Those grenades _might_ explode if anyone stumbled +over them. They're bad things to handle." + +"Will there be a battle here?" she asked, recoiling from the deadly +little bombs. + +The Major said, stroking the down on his short upper lip: + +"There will probably be a skirmish. I do not dare let you leave this +spot till the first shot is fired. But as soon as you hear it you had +better run as fast as you can"--he pointed with his field glasses--"to +that little ridge over there, and lie down behind the rocks on the other +side. Do you understand?" + +"Yes--I think so." + +"And you'll lie there very still until it is--over?" + +"I understand. May I go immediately and hide there?" + +"Not yet," he said gently. + +"Why?" + +"Because your father is a Union man.... And you are Union, too, are you +not?" + +"Yes," she said, smiling; "are you afraid of me?" + +A slight flush stained his smooth, sunburnt skin; then he laughed. + +"A little afraid," he admitted; "I find you dangerous, but not in the +way you mean. I--I do not mean to offend you----" + +But she smiled audaciously at him, looking prettier than ever; and his +heart gave a surprised little jump at her unsuspected capabilities. + +"Why are you afraid of me?" she asked, looking at him with her engaging +little smile. In her eyes a bewitching brightness sparkled, partly +veiled by the long lashes; and she laughed again, poised there in the +sunshine, hands on her hips, delicately provoking his reply. + +And, crossing the chasm which her coquetry had already bridged, he paid +her the quick, reckless, boyish compliment she invited--a little +flowery, perhaps, possibly a trifle stilted, but very Southern; and she +shrugged like a spoiled court beauty, nose uptilted, and swept him with +a glance from half-closed lids, almost insolent. + +The sentry in the holly and laurel thicket stared hard at them both. And +he saw his major break off a snowy Cherokee rose and, bending at his +slim, sashed waist, present the blossom with the courtly air inbred +through many generations; and he saw a ragged mountaineer girl accept it +with all the dainty and fastidious mockery of a coquette of the golden +age, and fasten it where her faded bodice edged the creamy skin of her +breast. + +What the young major said to her after that, bending nearer and nearer, +the sentry could not hear, for the major's voice was very low, and the +slow, smiling reply was lower still. + +But the major straightened as though he had been shot through and +through, and bowed and walked away among the weeds toward a group of +officers under the trees, who were steadily watching the pass through +their leveled field glasses. + +Once the major turned around to look back: once she turned on the +threshold. Her cheeks were pinker; her eyes sparkled. + +The emotions of the Special Messenger were very genuine and rather +easily excited. + +But when she had closed the door, and leaned wearily against it, the +color soon faded from her face and the sparkle died out in her dark +eyes. Pale, alert, intelligent, she stood there minute after minute, +searching the single room with anxious, purposeless eyes; then, driven +into restless motion by the torturing tension of anxiety, she paced the +loose boards like a tigress, up and down, head lowered, hands clasped +against her mouth, worrying the fingers with the edge of her teeth. + +Outside, through the dirty window glass, she could see sentries in the +bushes, all looking steadily in the same direction; groups of officers +under the trees still focused their glasses on the pass. By and by she +saw some riflemen in butternut jeans climb into trees, rifles slung +across their backs, and disappear far up in the foliage, still climbing. + +Toward five o'clock, as she was eating the bacon and hoe cakes which she +had found in the hut, two infantry officers opened the door, stared at +her, then, without ceremony, drew a rough ladder from the corner, set +it outside, and the older officer climbed to the roof. + +She heard him call down to the lieutenant below: + +"No use; I can't see any better up here.... They ought to set a signal +man on that rock, yonder!" + +Other officers came over; one or two spoke respectfully to her, but she +did not answer. Finally they all cleared out; and she dragged a bench to +the back door, which swung open a little way, and, alert against +surprise, very cautiously drew from the inner pocket her linen contour +map and studied it, glancing every second or two out through the crack +in the door. + +Nobody disturbed her; with hesitating forefinger she traced out what +pretended to be a path dominating the northern entrance of the pass, +counted the watercourses and gullies crossing the ascent, tried to fix +the elevations in her mind. + +As long as she dared she studied the soiled map, but, presently, a quick +shadow fell across the threshold, and she thrust the map into the +concealed pocket and sprang to open the door. + +"Coming military events cast foreboding shadows," she said, somewhat +breathless. + +"Am I a foreboding and military event?" asked the youthful major, +laughing. "What do I threaten, please?" + +"Single combat," she said demurely, smiling at him under half-veiled +lids. And the same little thrill passed through him again, and the quick +color rose to his smooth, sunburnt face. + +"I was ready to beat a retreat on sight," he said; "now I surrender." + +"I make no prisoners," she replied in airy disdain. + +"You give no quarter?" + +"None.... Why did you come back?" + +"You said I might." + +"Did I? I had quite forgotten what I had said to you. When are you going +to let me go?" + +His face fell and he looked up at her, troubled. + +"I'm afraid you don't understand," he said. "We dare not send you away +under escort now, because horses' feet make a noise, and some prowling +Yankee vidette may be at this very moment hanging about the pass----" + +"Oh," she said, "you prefer to let me remain here and be shot?" + +He said, reddening: "At the first volley you are to go with an escort +across the ridge. I told you that, didn't I?" + +But she remained scornful, mute and obstinate, pretty head bent, +twisting the folds of her faded skirt. + +"Do you think I would let you remain here if there were any danger?" he +asked in a lower voice. + +"How long am I to be kept here?" she asked pettishly. + +"Until the Yankees come through--and I can't tell you when that will be, +because I don't know myself." + +"Are they in the pass?" + +"We don't know. Everybody is beginning to be worried. We can't see very +far into that ravine----" + +"Then why don't you go where you _can_ see?" she said with a shrug. + +"Where?" he asked, surprised. + +"Didn't you know that there is a path above the pass?" + +"A path!" + +"Certainly. I can show you if you wish. You ought to be able to see to +the north end of the pass--if I am not mistaken----" + +"Wait a moment!" he said excitedly. "I want you to take me there--just a +second, to speak to those officers--I'm coming back immediately----" + +And he started on a run across the ravaged garden, holding his sabre +close, midway, by the scabbard. + +That was her chance. Picking up her faded sunbonnet, she stepped from +the threshold, swinging it carelessly by one string. The sentries were +looking after the major; she dropped her sunbonnet, stooped to recover +it, and straightened up, the hidden hand grenade slipping from the crown +of the bonnet into her bodice between her breasts. + +A thousand eyes seemed watching her as, a trifle pale, she strolled on +aimlessly, swinging the recovered sunbonnet; she listened, shivering, +for the stern challenge to halt, the breathless shout of accusation, the +pursuing trample of heavy boots. And at last, quaking in every limb, she +ventured to lift her eyes. Nobody seemed to be looking her way; the +artillery pickets were still watching the pass; the group of officers +posted under the trees still focused their glasses in that direction; +the young major was already returning across the garden toward her. + +[Illustration: "She dropped her sunbonnet--stooped to recover it."] + +A sharp throb of hope set her pulses bounding--she had, safe in her +bosom, the means of warning her own people now; all she needed was a +safe-conduct from that knoll, and here it was coming, brought by this +eager, boyish officer, hastening so blithely toward her, his long, dark +shadow clinging like death to his spurred heels as he ran. + +Would she guide him to some spot where it was possible to see the whole +length of the pass? + +She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and turned, he at her side, +into the woods. + +If her map was not betraying her once more the path _must_ follow the +edges of the pass, high up among those rocks and trees somewhere. There +was only one way of finding it--to climb upward to the overhanging +ledges. + +Raising her eyes toward the leafy heights, it seemed to her incredible +that any path could lead along that wall of rock, which leaned outward +over the ravine. + +But somehow she must mount there; somehow she must manage to remain +there unmolested, ready, the moment a single Union vidette cantered +into the pass, to hurl her explosive messenger into the depths below--a +startling but unmistakable signal to the blue column advancing so +unsuspiciously into that defile of hell. + +As they climbed upward together through the holly-scrub she remembered +that she must not slip, for the iron weight in her bosom would endure no +rough caress from rock or earth. + +How heavy it was--how hot and rough, chafing her body--this little iron +sphere, with a dozen deaths sealed up inside! + +Toiling upward, planting her roughly shod feet with fearful precision, +she tried to imagine what it would be like if the tiny bomb in her bosom +exploded--tried to picture her terrified soul tearing skyward out of +bodily annihilation. + +"It is curious," she thought with a slight shudder, "how afraid I always +am--how deeply, deeply afraid of death. God knows why I go on." + +The boy beside her found the ascent difficult; spur and sabre impeded +him; once he lurched heavily against her, and his quick, stammered +apology was cut short by the dreadful pallor of her face, for she was +deadly afraid of the bomb. + +"Did I hurt you?" he faltered, impulsively laying his hand on her arm. + +She shivered and shook off his hand, forcing a gay smile. And they went +on together, upward, always upward, her pretty, provocative eyes meeting +his at intervals, her heart beating faster, death at her breast. + +He was a few yards ahead when he called back to her in a low, warning +voice that he had found a path, and she hastened up the rocks to where +he stood. + +Surely here was a trail winding along the very edge of the ledges, under +masses of overhanging rock--some dizzy runway of prehistoric man, +perhaps trodden, too, by wolf and panther, and later by the lank +mountaineer hunter or smuggler creeping to some eerie unsuspected by any +living creature save, perhaps, the silver-headed eagles soaring through +the fathomless azure vault above. + +Below, the pass lay; but they could see no farther into it at first. +However, as they advanced cautiously, clinging to the outjutting cliff, +which seemed maliciously striving to push them out into space, by +degrees crag and trail turned westward and more of the pass came into +view--a wide, smooth cleft in the mountain, curving away toward the +north. + +A few steps more and the trail ended abruptly in a wide, grassy space +set with trees, sloping away gently to the west, chopped off sheer to +the east, where it terminated in a mossy shelf overlooking the ravine. + +Only a few rods away the dusk of the pass was cut by a glimmer of +sunlight; it was the northern entrance. + +Something else was glimmering there, too; dozens of dancing points of +white fire--sunshine on buckle, button, bit and sabre. And the officer +beside her uttered a low, fierce cry and jerked his field glasses free +from the case. + +"Their cavalry!" he breathed. "The Yankees are entering the pass, so +help me God!" And he drew his revolver. + +So help him God! Something dark and round flew across his line of +vision, curving out into space, dropping, dropping into the depths +below. A clattering report, a louder racket as the rocky echoes, +crossing and recrossing, struck back at the clamoring cliffs. + +[Illustration: "White-faced, desperate, she clung to him with the +tenacity of a lynx."] + +_So help him God!_ Half stunned, he stumbled to his feet, his dazed eyes +still blurred with a vision of horsemen, vaguely seen through vapors, +stampeding northward; and, at the same instant, she sprang at him, +striking the drawn revolver from his hand, tearing the sabre free and +flinging it into the gulf. White-faced, desperate, she clung to him with +the tenacity of a lynx, winding her lithe limbs around and under his, +tripping him to his knees. + +Over and over they rolled, struggling in the grass, twisting, straining, +slipping down the westward slope. + +"You--devil!" he panted, as her dark eyes flashed level with his. "I've +got--you--anyhow----" + +Her up-flung elbow, flexed like a steel wedge, caught him in the throat; +they fell over the low ridge, writhing in each other's embrace, down the +slope, over and over, faster, faster--crack!--his head struck a ledge, +and he straightened out, quivering, then lay very, very still and heavy +in her arms. + +Fiercely excited, she tore strips from her skirt, twisted them, forced +him over on his face, and tied his wrists fast. + +Then, leaving him inert there on the moss, she ran back for his +revolver, found it, opened it, made certain that the cylinder was full, +and, flinging one last glance down the pass, hastened to her prisoner. + +Her prisoner opened his eyes; the dark bruise on his forehead was +growing redder and wetter. + +"Stand up!" she said, cocking her weapon. + +The boy, half stupefied, struggled to his knees, then managed to rise. + +"Go forward along that path!" + +For a full minute he stood erect, motionless, eyes fixed on her; then +shame stained him to the temples; he turned, head bent, and walked +forward, wrists tightly tied behind him. + +And behind him, weapon swinging, followed the Special Messenger in her +rags, pallid, disheveled, her dark eyes dim with pity. + + + + +VIII + +EVER AFTER + + --And they married, and had many children, and + lived happy ever after.--Old Tales + + +For two days the signal flags had been talking to each other; for two +nights the fiery torches had been conversing about that beleaguered city +in the South. + +Division after division, corps after corps, were moving forward; miles +of wagons, miles of cavalry in sinuous columns unending, blackened every +valley road. Later, the heavy Parrots and big Dahlgrens of the siege +train stirred in their parked lethargy, and, enormous muzzles tilted, +began to roll out through the valley in heavy majesty, shaking the +ground as they passed, guarded by masses of red artillerymen. + +Day after day crossed cannon flapped on red and white guidons; day after +day the teams of powerful horses, harnessed in twenties, trampled +through the valley, headed south. + +Off the sandy headland a Federal gunboat lay at anchor, steam up--a +blackened, chunky, grimy thing of timber and iron plates, streaked with +rust, smoke blowing horizontally from her funnels. And day after day she +consulted hill and headland with her kaleidoscopic strings of flags; and +headland and hill talked back with fluttering bunting by day and with +torches of fire by night. + +From her window in the emergency hospital the Special Messenger could +see those flags as she sat pensively sewing. Sometimes she mended the +remnants of her silken stockings and the last relics of the fine under +linen left her; sometimes she scraped lint or sewed poultice bandages, +or fashioned havelocks for regiments southward bound. + +She had grown slimmer, paler, of late; her beautiful hair had been +sheared close; her head, covered with thick, clustering curls, was like +the shapely head of a boy. Limbs and throat were still smooth and round, +but had become delicate almost to leanness. + +The furlough she had applied for had not yet arrived; she seemed to +remain as hopelessly entangled in the web of war as ever, watching, +without emotion, the old spider. Death, busy all around her, tireless, +sinister, absorbed in his own occult affairs. + +The routine varied but little: at dawn surgeons' call chorused by the +bugles; files of haggard, limping, clay-faced men, headed by sergeants, +all converging toward the hospital; later, in every camp, drums awaking; +distant strains of regimental bands at parade; and all day and all night +the far rumble of railroad trains, the whistle of locomotives, and, if +the wind veered, the faint, melancholy cadence of the bells swinging for +a clear track and right of way. + +Sometimes, sewing by the open window, she thought of her brother, now +almost thirteen--thought, trembling, of his restless letters from his +Northern school, demanding of her that he be permitted to take his part +in war for the Union, begging to be enlisted at least as drummer in a +nine-months' regiment which was recruiting within sight of the dormitory +where he fretted over Caesar and the happy warriors of the Tenth Legion. + +Sometimes, mending the last shreds of her cambric finery, she thought of +her girlhood, of the white porches at Sandy River; and always, always, +the current of her waking dream swung imperceptibly back to that swift +crisis in her life--a flash of love--love at the first glance--a word! +and his regiment, sabres glittering, galloping pell-mell into the +thundering inferno between the hills.... And sunset; and the wounded +passing by wagon loads, piled in the blood-soaked hay; and the glimpse +of his limp gold-and-yellow sleeve--and her own white bed, and her lover +of a day lying there--dead---- + +At this point in the dream-tale her eyes usually became too dim to see +the stitches, and there was nothing to do except to wait until the tired +eyes were dry again. + +The sentry on duty knocked, opened the door, and admitted a +weather-stained aide-de-camp, warning her respectfully: + +"Orders for you, ma'am." + +The Special Messenger cleared her eyes, breathing unevenly, and unsealed +the dispatch which the officer handed her. + +When she read it she opened a door and called sharply to a hospital +orderly, who came running: + +"Fit me with a rebel cavalry uniform--you've got that pile of +disinfected clothing in the basement. I also want one of our own cavalry +uniforms to wear over it--anything that has been cleaned. Quick, +Williams; I've only a few minutes to saddle! And bring me that bundle of +commissions taken from the rebel horsemen that were brought in +yesterday." + +And to the mud-splashed aide-de-camp who stood waiting, looking out of +the window at the gunboat which was now churning in toward the wharf, +billows of inky smoke pouring from the discolored stacks: + +"Please tell the general that I go aboard in half an hour. Tell him I'll +do my best." In a lower voice: "Ask him not to forget my brother--if +matters go wrong with me. He has given me his word.... And I think that +is all, thank you." + +The A.-D.-C. said, standing straight, hollow-backed, spurred heels +together: + +"Orders are verbally modified, madam." + +"What?" + +"If you do not care to go--it is not an order--merely a matter of +volunteering.... The general makes no question of your courage if you +choose to decline." + +She said, looking at the officer a little wearily: + +"Thank the general. It will give me much pleasure to fulfill his +request. Ask him to bear my brother in mind; that is all." + +The A.-D.-C. bowed to her, cap in hand, then went out, making +considerable racket with sabre and boots. + +Half an hour later a long, deep, warning blast from the gunboat's +whistle set the echoes flying through the hills. + +Aboard, leading her horse, the Special Messenger, booted and spurred, in +a hybrid uniform of a subaltern of regulars, handed the bridle to a +sailor and turned to salute the quarterdeck. + + * * * * * + +The United States gunboat, _Kiowa_, dropped anchor at the railroad wharf +two days later, and ran out a blackened gangplank. Over it the Special +Messenger, wrapped in her rubber cloak, led her horse to shore, mounted, +and galloped toward the hill where the flag of corps headquarters was +flapping in the wet wind. + +The rain ended as she rode inland; ahead of her a double rainbow glowed +and slowly faded to a rosy nimbus. + +Corps headquarters was heavily impressive and paternally polite, +referring her to headquarters of the unattached cavalry division. + +She remounted, setting her horse at an easy canter for the intervening +two miles, riding through acres of tents and vistas of loaded wagon +trains; and at last an exceedingly ornamental staff officer directed her +to her destination, and a few moments later she dismounted and handed +her bridle to an orderly, whose curiously fashioned forage cap seemed +strangely familiar. + +As the Special Messenger entered his tent and saluted, the colonel of +the Fourth Missouri Cavalry rose from a camp chair, standing over six +feet in his boots. He was magnificently built; his closely clipped hair +was dark and curly, his skin smoothly bronzed and flushed at the cheek +bones; his allure that of a very splendid and grave and youthful god, +save for the gayly impudent uptwist of his short mustache and the +stilled humor in his steady eyes. + +His uniform was entirely different from the regulation--he wore a blue +forage cap with short, heavy visor of unpolished leather shadowing the +bridge of his nose; his dark blue jacket was shell-cut; over it he wore +a slashed dolman trimmed at throat, wrists and edges with fur; his +breeches were buff; his boots finished at the top with a yellow cord +forming a heart-shaped knot in front; at his heels trailed the most +dainty and rakish of sabres, light, graceful, curved almost like a +scimiter. + +All this is what the Special Messenger saw as she entered, instantly +recognizing a regimental uniform which she had never seen but once +before in her brief life. And straight through her heart struck a pain +swift as a dagger thrust, and her hand in its buckskin gauntlet fell +limply from the peak of her visor, and the color died in her cheeks. + +What the colonel of the Fourth Missouri saw before him was a lad, slim, +rather pale, dark-eyed, swathed to the chin in the folds of a wet +poncho; and he said, examining her musingly and stroking the ends of his +curt mustache upward: + +"I understood from General Sheridan that the Special Messenger was to +report to me. Where is she?" + +The lightning pain of the shock when she recognized the uniform +interfered with breath and speech; confused, she raised her gloved hand +and laid it unconsciously over her heart; and the colonel of the Fourth +Missouri waited. + +"I am the Special Messenger," she said faintly. + +For a moment he scarcely understood that this slender young fellow, with +dark hair as closely clipped and as curly as his own, could be a woman. +Stern surprise hardened his narrowing gaze; he stood silent, handsome +head high, looking down at her; then slowly the latent humor flickered +along the edges of lip and lid, curbed instantly as he bowed, faultless, +handsome--only the persistently upturned mustache impairing the +perfectly detached and impersonal decorum with a warning of the _beau +sabreur_ behind it all. + +"Will you be seated, madam?" + +"Thank you." + +She sat down; the wet poncho was hot and she shifted it, throwing one +end across her shoulder. In her uniform she appeared willowy and slim, +built like a boy, and with nothing of that graceful awkwardness which +almost inevitably betrays such masqueraders. For her limbs were straight +at the knees and faultlessly coupled, and there seemed to be the +adolescent's smooth lack of development in the scarcely accented +hips--only a straightly flowing harmony of proportion--a lad's grace +muscularly undeveloped. + +Two leather straps crossed her breast, one weighted with field glasses, +the other with a pouch. From the latter she drew her credentials and +would have risen to present them, but the colonel of the Fourth Missouri +detained her with a gesture, himself rose, and took the papers from her +hand. + +While he sat reading, she, hands clasped in her lap, gazed at his +well-remembered uniform, busy with her memories once more, and the +sweetness of them--and the pain. + +They were three years old, these memories, now glimmering alive again +amid the whitening ashes of the past; only three years--and centuries +seemed to dim the landmarks and bar the backward path that she was +following to her girlhood! + +She thought of the white-pillared house as it stood at the beginning of +the war; the severing of old ties, the averted faces of old friends and +neighbors; the mortal apprehension, endless suspense; the insurgent +flags fluttering from porch and portico along the still, tree-shaded +street; her own heart-breaking isolation in the community when Sumter +fell--she an orphan, alone there with her brother and bedridden +grandfather. + +And she remembered the agony that followed the news from Bull Run, the +stupor that fell upon her; the awful heat of that battle summer; her +evening prayers, kneeling there beside her brother; the red moons that +rose, enormous, menacing, behind the trees; and the widow bird calling, +calling to the dead that never answer more. + +Her dead? Why _hers_? A chance regiment passing--cavalry wearing the +uniform and number of the Fourth Missouri. Ah! she could see them again, +sun-scorched, dusty, fours crowding on fours, trampling past. She could +see a young girl in white, fastening the long-hidden flag to its +halyards as the evening light faded on the treetops!... And then--and +then--_he_ came--into her life, into her house, into her heart, +alas!--tall, lean, calm-eyed, yellow-haired, wrapped in the folds of his +long, blue mantle!... And she saw him again--a few moments before his +regiment charged into that growling thunder beyond the hills somewhere. + +And a third time, and the last, she saw him, deathly still, lying on her +own bed, and a medical officer pulling the sheet up over his bony face. + + * * * * * + +The colonel of the Fourth Missouri was looking curiously at her; she +started, cleared the dimness from her eyes, and steadied the trembling +underlip. + +After a moment's silence the colonel said: "You undertake this duty +willingly?" + +She nodded, quietly touching her eyes with her handkerchief. + +"There is scarcely a chance for you," he observed with affected +carelessness. + +She lifted her shoulders in weary disdain of that persistent shadow +called danger, which had long since become too familiar to count very +heavily. + +"I am not afraid--if that is what you mean. Do you think you can get me +through?" + +The colonel said coolly: "I expect to do my part. Have you a rebel +uniform?" + +She nodded. + +"Where is it?" + +"On me--under this." + +The colonel looked at her; a slight shudder passed over him. + +"These orders suggest that I start before sunset," he said. "Meanwhile +this tent is yours. My orderly will serve you. The regiment will move +out about sunset with some six hundred sabres and Gray's Rhode Island +flying battery." + +He walked to the tent door; she followed. + +"Is that your horse?" he asked. + +"Yes, Colonel." + +"Fit for the work?" turning to look at her. + +"Yes, sir." + +"And _you_?" + +She smiled; through the open tent a misty bar of sunshine fell across +her face, turning the smooth skin golden. Outside a dismounted trooper +on guard presented his carbine as the tall, young colonel strode out. An +orderly joined him; they stood a moment consulting in whispers, then the +orderly ran for his saddled horse, mounted, and rode off through the +lanes of the cavalry camp. + +From the tent door the Special Messenger looked out into the camp. Under +the base of a grassy hill hundreds of horses were being watered at a +brook now discolored by the recent rains; beyond, on a second knoll, the +guns of a flying battery stood parked. She could see the red trimmings +on the gunners' jackets as they were lounging about in the grass. + +The view from the tent door was extensive; a division, at least, lay +encamped within range of the eye; two roads across the hills were full +of wagons moving south and east; along another road, stretching far into +the valley, masses of cavalry were riding--apparently an entire +brigade--but too far away for her to hear the trample of the horses. + +From where she stood, however, she could make out the course of a fourth +road by the noise of an endless, moving column of horses. At times, +above the hillside, she could see their heads, and the enormous +canvas-covered muzzles of siege guns; and the racket of hoofs, the +powerful crunching and grinding of wheels, the cries of teamsters united +in a dull, steady uproar that never ceased. + +From their camp, troopers of the Fourth Missouri were idly watching the +artillery passing--hundreds of sunburned cavalrymen seated along the +hillside, feet dangling, exchanging gibes and jests with the drivers of +the siege train below. But from where she stood she could see nothing +except horses' heads tossing, blue caps of mounted men, a crimson guidon +flapping, or the sun glittering on the slender, curved blade of some +officer's sabre as he signaled. + +North, east, west, south--the whole land seemed to be covered with +moving men and beasts and wagons; flags fluttered on every eminence; +tents covered plowed fields, pastures, meadows; smoke hung over all, +crowning the green woods with haze, veiling hollows, rolling along the +railway in endless, yellow billows. + +The rain had washed the sky clean, but again this vast, advancing host +was soiling heaven and blighting earth as it passed over the land +toward that beleaguered city in the South. + +War! Everywhere the monotony of this awful panorama, covering her +country day after day, month after month, year after year--war, always +and everywhere and in every stage--hordes of horses, hordes of men, +endless columns of deadly engines! Everywhere, always, death, or the +preparation for death--every road and footpath crammed with it, every +field trampled by it, every woodland shattered by it, every stream +running thick with its pollution. The sour smell of marching men, the +stale taint of unclean fires, the stench of beasts--the acrid, +indescribable odor that hangs on the sweating flanks of armies seemed to +infect sky and earth. + +A trooper, munching an apple and carrying a truss of hay, passed, cap +cocked rakishly, sabre banging at his heels; and she called to him and +he came up, easily respectful under the grin of bodily well being. + +"How long have you served in this regiment?" she asked. + +He swallowed the bite of apple which crowded out his freckled cheeks: +"Three years, sir." + +[Illustration: "'We was there--I know that, yes, an' we had a fight.'"] + +She drew involuntarily nearer the tent door. + +"Then--you were at Sandy River--three years ago?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Do you remember the battle there?" + +The soldier looked doubtful. "We was there--I know that; yes, an' we had +a fight----" + +"Yes--near a big white house." + +The soldier nodded. "I guess so; I don't seem to place no big white +house----" + +She asked calmly: "Your regiment had a mounted band once?" + +He brightened. + +"Yes, sir-ee! They played us in at Sandy River--and they got into it, +too, and was cut all to pieces!" + +She motioned assent wearily; then, with an effort: "You don't know, +perhaps, where he--where their bandmaster was buried?" + +"Sir?" + +"The bandmaster of the Fourth Missouri? You remember him--that tall, +thin young officer who led them with his sabre--who sat his horse like a +colonel of regulars--and wore a cap of fur like--like a hussar of some +militia State guard----" + +"Well, you must mean Captain Stanley, who was at that time bandmaster of +our regiment. He went in that day at Sandy River when our mounted band +was cut to pieces. Orders was to play us in, an' he done it." + +There was a silence. + +"Where is he--buried?" she asked calmly. + +"Buried? Why, _he_ ain't dead, is he?" + +"He died at Sandy River--that day," she said gently. "Don't you +remember?" + +"No, sir; our bandmaster wasn't killed at Sandy River." + +She looked at him amazed, almost frightened. + +"What do you mean? He is dead. I--saw him die." + +"It must have been some other bandmaster--not Captain Stanley." + +"I saw the bandmaster of your regiment, the Fourth Missouri Cavalry, +brought into that big white house and laid on my--on a bed----" She +stared at the boy, caught him by the sleeve: "He is dead, isn't he? Do +you know what you are telling me? Do you understand what I am saying?" + +"Yes, sir. Captain Stanley was our bandmaster--he wasn't captain then, +of course. He played us in at Sandy River--by God! I oughter know, +because I got some cut up m'self." + +"You--you tell me that he wasn't killed?" she repeated, steadying +herself against the canvas flap. + +"No, sir. I heard tell he was badly hurt--seems like I kinder +remember--oh, yes!" The man's face lighted up. "Yes, sir; Captain +Stanley, he had a close shave! It sorter comes back to me now, how the +burial detail fetched him back saying they wasn't going to bury no man +that twitched when they shut his coffin. Yes, sir--but it's three years +and a man forgets, and I've seen--things--lots of such things in three +years with Baring's dragoons. Yes, sir." + +She closed her eyes; a dizziness swept over her and she swayed where she +stood. + +"Is he here?" + +"Who? Captain Stanley? Yes, sir. Why, he's captain of the Black Horse +troop--F, third squadron.... They're down that lane near the trees. +Shall I take you there?" + +She shook her head, holding tightly to the canvas flap; and the trooper, +saluting easily, resumed his truss of hay, hitched his belt, cocked his +forage cap, and went off whistling. + +All that sunny afternoon she lay on the colonel's camp bed, hands +tightly clenched on her breast, eyes closed sometimes, sometimes wide +open, gazing at the sun spots crawling on the tent wall. + +To her ears came bugle calls from distant hills; drums of marching +columns. Sounds of the stirring of thousands made tremulous the dim +silence of the tent. + +Dreams long dead arose and possessed her--the confused dreams of a +woman, still young, awakened from the passionless lethargy of the past. + +Vaguely she felt around her the presence of an earth new born, of a new +heaven created. She realized her own awakening; she strove to comprehend +_his_ resurrection, and it frightened her; she could not understand that +what was dead through all these years was now alive, that the ideal she +had clung to, evoking it until it had become part of her, was real--an +actual and splendid living power. In this vivid resurgence she seemed to +lose her precise recollections of him now that he was alive. + +While she had believed him dead, everything concerning his memory had +been painfully real--his personal appearance, the way he moved, turned, +the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand as it tightened in hers +when he lay there at sunset, while she and Death watched the color +fading from his face. + +But now--now that he was living--here in this same world with her +again--strive as she would she could neither fix either his features nor +the sound of his voice upon her memory. Only the stupefying wonder of it +possessed her, dulling her senses so that even the happiness of it +seemed unreal. + + * * * * * + +How would they meet?--they two, who had never met but thrice? How would +they seem, each to the other, when first their eyes encountered? + +In all their lives they had exchanged so little speech! Yet from the +first--from the first moment, when she had raised her gaze to him as he +entered in his long, blue cloak, her silence had held a deeper meaning +than her speech. And on that blessed night instinct broke the silence; +yet, with every formal word exchanged, consciousness of the occult bond +between them grew. + +But it was not until she thought him dead that she understood that it +had been love--love unheralded, unexpected, incredible--love at the +first confronting, the first encountering glance. And to the memory of +that mystery she had been faithful from the night on which she believed +he died. + +How had it been with him throughout these years? _How had it been with +him?_ + +The silvery trumpets of the cavalry were still sounding as she mounted +her horse before the colonel's tent and rode out into the splendour of +the setting sun. + +On every side cavalrymen were setting toe to stirrup; troop after troop, +forming by fours, trotted out to the crest of the hill where the Western +light lay red across the furrowed grass. + +A blaze of brilliant color filled the road where an incoming Zouave +regiment had halted, unslinging knapsacks, preparing to encamp, and the +setting sun played over them in waves of fire, striking fiercely across +their crimson fezzes and trousers. + +Through their gorgeous lines the cavalry rode, colonel and staff +leading; and with them rode the Special Messenger, knee to knee with the +chief trumpeter, who made his horse dance when he passed the gorgeous +Zouave color guard, to show off the gridiron of yellow slashings across +his corded and tasseled breast. + +And now another infantry regiment blocked the way--a heavy, blue column +tramping in with its field music playing and both flags flying in the +sunset radiance--the Stars and Stripes, with the number of the regiment +printed in gold across crimson; and the State flag--white, an Indian and +an uplifted sword on the snowy field: Massachusetts infantry. + +On they came, fifes skirling, drums crashing; the colonel of the Fourth +Missouri gave them right of way, saluting their colors; the Special +Messenger backed her horse and turned down along the column. + +Under the shadow of her visor her dark eyes widened with excitement as +she skirted the halted cavalry, searching the intervals where the troop +captains sat their horses, naked sabres curving up over their shoulder +straps. + +"Not this one! Not _this_ one," her little heart beat hurriedly; and +then, without warning, panic came, and she spurred up to the major of +the first squadron. + +"Where is Captain Stanley?" Her voice almost broke. + +"With his troop, I suppose--'F,'" replied that officer calmly; and her +heart leaped and the color flooded her face as she saluted, wheeled, and +rode on in heavenly certainty. + +A New York regiment, fresh from the North, was passing now, its +magnificent band playing "Twinkling Stars"; and the horses of the +cavalry began to dance and paw and toss their heads. + +One splendid black animal reared suddenly and shook its mane out; and at +the same moment she saw _him_--knew him--drew bridle, her heart in her +mouth, her body all a-tremble. + +He was mastering the black horse that had reared, sitting his saddle +easily, almost carelessly, his long, yellow-striped legs loosely +graceful, his straight, slim figure perfect in poise and balance. + +And now the trumpets were sounding; captain after captain turned in his +saddle, swung his sabre forward, repeating the order: "Forward--march! +Forward--march!" + +The Special Messenger whirled her horse and sped to the head of the +column. + +"I was just beginning to wonder--" began the colonel, when she broke in, +breathless: + +"_May_ I ride with Captain Stanley of F, sir?" + +"Certainly," he replied, surprised and a trifle amused. She hesitated, +nervously picking at her bridle, then said: "When you once get me +through their lines--I mean, after I am safely through and you are ready +to turn around and leave me--I--I would like--to--to----" + +"Yes?" inquired the colonel, gently, divining some "last message" to +deliver. For they were desperate chances that she was taking, and those +in the beleaguered city would show her no mercy if they ever caught her +within its battered bastions. + +But the Special Messenger only said: "Before your regiment goes back, +may I tell Captain Stanley who I am?" + +The colonel's face fell. + +"Nobody is supposed to have any idea who you are----" + +"I know it. But is there any harm if I only tell it to--to just this +one, single man?" she asked, earnestly, not aware that her eyes as well +as her voice were pleading--that her whole body, bent forward in the +saddle, had become eloquent with a confession as winning as it was +innocent. + +The colonel looked curiously into the eager, flushed face, framed in its +setting of dark, curly hair, then he lifted a gauntleted hand from his +bridle and slowly stroked his crisp mustache upward to hide the smile he +could not control. + +"I did not know," he said gravely, "that Captain Stanley was +the--ah--'one' and 'only' man." + +She blushed furiously, the vivid color ran from throat to temple, +burning her ears till they looked like rose petals caught in her dark +hair. + +"You may tell Captain Stanley--if you must," observed the colonel of the +Fourth Missouri. He was gazing absently straight between his horse's +ears when he spoke. After a few moments he looked at the sky where, +overhead, the afterglow pulsated in bands of fire. + +"I always thought," he murmured to himself, "that old Stanley was in +love with that Southern girl he saw at Sandy River.... I had no idea he +knew the Special Messenger. It appears that I am slightly in error." +And, very thoughtfully, he continued to twist his mustache skyward as he +rode on. + +When he ventured to glance around again the Special Messenger had +disappeared. + +"Fancy!" he muttered; "fancy old Stanley knowing the mystery of the +three armies! And, by gad, gentlemen!" addressing, _sotto voce_, the +entire regiment, as he turned in his stirrups and looked back at the +darkening column behind him--"by gad! gentlemen of the Fourth Dragoons, +no prettier woman ever sat a saddle than is riding this moment with the +captain of Troop F!" + +What Captain Stanley saw riding up to him through the dull afterglow was +a slightly built youth in the uniform of the regular cavalry, yellow +trimming on collar, yellow welts about the seams of the jacket, yellow +stripes on the breeches; and, as the youth drew bridle, saluted, and +turned to ride forward beside him, he caught sight of a lieutenant's +shoulder straps on the sergeant's shell jacket. + +"Well, youngster," he said, smiling, "don't they clothe you in the +regulars? You're as eccentric as our butternut friends yonder." + +"I couldn't buy a full uniform," she said truthfully. She did not add +that she had left at a minute's notice for the most dangerous +undertaking ever asked of her, borrowing discarded makeshifts anywhere +at hazard. + +"Are you a West Pointer?" + +"No." + +"Oh! You've their seat--and their shapely leanness. Are you going with +us?" + +"Where are _you_ going?" + +Stanley laughed. "I'm sure I don't know. It looks to me as though we +were riding straight into rebeldom." + +"Don't you know why?" she asked, looking at him from under the shadow of +her visor. + +"No. Do you?" + +"Yes." + +After a pause: "Well," he said, laughing, "are you going to tell me?" + +"Yes--later." + +Neck and neck, knee and knee they rode forward at the head of the Black +Horse troop, along a road which became dusky beyond the first patch of +woods. + +After the inner camp lines had been passed the regiment halted while a +troop was detailed as flankers and an advanced guard galloped off ahead. +Along the road behind, the guns of the Rhode Island Battery came +thudding and bumping up, halting with a dull clash of chains. + +Stanley said: "This is one of Baring's pet raids; we've done it dozens +of times. Once our entire division rode around Beauregard; but I didn't +see the old, blue star division flag this time, so I guess we're going +it alone. Hello! There's infantry! We must be close to the extreme +outposts." + +In the dusk they were passing a pasture where, guarded by sentinels, lay +piled, in endless, straight rows, knapsacks, blankets, shelter tents, +and long lines of stacked Springfield rifles. Soldiers with the white +strings of canteens crossing their breasts were journeying to and from a +stream that ran, darkling, out of the tangled woodland on their right. + +On the opposite side of the road were the lines of the Seventieth +Indiana, their colors, furled in oilcloth, lying horizontally across the +forks of two stacks of rifles. Under them lay the color guard; the +scabbarded swords of the colonel and his staff were stuck upright in +the ground, and the blanket-swathed figures of the officers in poncho +and havelock reposed close by. + +The other regiment was the Eleventh Maine. Their colonel, strapped with +his silver eagles, was watching the disposal of the colors by a sergeant +wearing the broad stripe, blue diamond and triple underscoring on each +sleeve. With the sergeant marched eight corporals, long-limbed, rugged +giants of the color company, decorated with the narrow stripe and double +chevron. + +A few minutes later the cavalry moved out past the pickets, then swung +due south. + +Night had fallen--a clear, starlit, blossom-scented dimness freshening +the air. + +The Special Messenger, head bent, was still riding with Captain Stanley, +evidently preferring his company so openly, so persistently, that the +other officers, a little amused, looked sideways at the youngster from +time to time. + +After a while Stanley said pleasantly: "We haven't exchanged names yet, +and you haven't told me why a regular is riding with us to-night." + +"On special service," she said in a low voice. + +"And your name and regiment?" + +She did not appear to hear him; he glanced at her askance. + +"You seem to be very young," he said. + +"The colonel of the Ninetieth Rhode Island fell at twenty-two." + +He nodded gravely. "It is a war of young men. I think Baring himself is +only twenty-five. He's breveted brigadier, too." + +"And you?" she asked timidly. + +He laughed. "Thirty; and a thousand in experience." + +"I, too," she said softly. + +"You? Thirty?" + +"No, only twenty-four; but your peer in experience." + +"Your voice sounds Southern," he said in his pleasant voice, inviting +confidence. + +"Yes; my home was at Sandy River." + +Out of the corners of her eyes she saw him start and look around at +her--felt his stern gaze questioning her; and rode straight on before +her without response or apparent consciousness. + +"Sandy River?" he repeated in a strained voice. "Did you say you lived +there?" + +"Yes," indifferently. + +The captain rode for a while in silence, then, carelessly: "There was, I +believe, a family living there before the war--the Westcotes." + +"Yes." She could scarcely utter a word for the suffocating throb of her +heart. + +"You knew them?" + +"Yes." + +"Do--do they still live at Sandy River?" + +"The house still stands. Major Westcote is dead." + +"Her--I mean their grandfather?" + +She nodded, incapable of speech. + +"And"--he hesitated--"and the boy? He used to ride a pony--the most +fascinating little fellow----" + +"He is at school in the North." + +There was a silence, then the captain turned in his saddle and looked +straight at her. + +"Does Miss Westcote live there still?" + +"Do you mean Celia Westcote?" asked the Messenger calmly. + +"Yes--Celia--" His voice fell softly, making of her name a caressing +cadence. The Special Messenger bent her head lower over her bridle. + +"Why do you ask? Did you know her?" + +"Yes." + +"Well?" + +The captain lifted his grave eyes, but the Messenger was not looking at +him. + +"I knew her--in a way--better than I ever knew any woman, and I saw her +only three times in all my life. That is your answer--and my excuse for +asking. Does she still live at Sandy River?" + +"No." + +"Do you know where she has gone?" + +"She is somewhere in the South." + +"Is she--married?" he asked under his breath. + +The Special Messenger looked up at him, smiling in the darkness. + +"No," she said. "I heard that she lost her--heart--to a bandmaster of +some cavalry regiment who was killed in action at Sandy River--three +years ago." + +The captain straightened in his saddle as though he had been shot; in +the dim light his lean face turned darkly scarlet. + +"I see her occasionally," continued the Messenger faintly; "have you any +message--perhaps----" + +The captain turned slowly toward her. "Do you know where she is?" + +"I expect that she will be within riding distance of me--very soon." + +"Is your mission a secret one?" + +"Yes." + +"And you may see her--before very long?" + +"Yes." + +"Then tell her," said the captain, "that the bandmaster of the Fourth +Missouri--" He strove to continue; his voice died in his throat. + +"Yes--yes--say it," whispered the Special Messenger. "I will tell her; +she will understand--truly she will--whatever you say." + +"Tell her--that the bandmaster has--has never forgotten----" + +"Yes--yes----" + +"Never forgotten her!" + +"Yes--oh, yes!" + +"That he--he----" + +"Yes! Oh, please--please say it--don't be afraid to say--what you wish!" + +The captain's voice was not under perfect control. + +"Say that he--thinks of her.... Say that--that he--he thought of her +when he was falling--there, in the charge at Sandy River----" + +"But he once told her that himself!" she cried. "Has he no more to tell +her?" + +And Captain Stanley, aghast, fairly leaped in his stirrups. + +"Who are you?" he gasped. "What do _you_ know of----" + +His voice was smothered in the sudden out-crash of rifles, through which +startled trumpets sounded, followed by the running explosions of cavalry +carbines. + +"Attention! Draw sabres!" rang out a far voice in the increasing uproar. + +The night air thrilled with the rushing swish of steel drawn swiftly +across steel. + +"Forward!" and "Forward! Forward!" echoed the officers, one after +another. + +"Steady--right dress!"--taken up by the troop officers: "Steady--right +dress! By fours--right wheel--march!" + +Pell-mell the flanking parties came crashing back out of the dusky +undergrowth, and: + +"Steady--trot! Steady--right dress--gallop!" came the orders. + +"Gallop!" repeated her captain, blandly; and, under his breath: "We are +going to charge. Quick, tell me who you are!" + +"Steady--steady--charge!" came the clear shout from the front. + +"Charge! Charge! Charge!" echoed the ringing orders from troop to troop. + +In the darkness of the thickets she rode knee to knee with her captain. +The grand stride of her horse thundering along beside his through +obscurity filled her with wild exultation; she loosened curb and snaffle +and spurred forward amid hundreds of plunging horses, now goaded frantic +by the battle clangor of the trumpets. + +Everywhere, right and left, the red flash of Confederate rifles ran +along their flanks; here and there a stricken horse reared or stumbled, +rolling over and over; or some bullet-struck rider swayed wide from the +saddle and went down to annihilation. + +Fringed with darting flames the cavalry drove on headlong into the +unseen; behind clanked the flying battery, mounted gunners sabering the +dark forms that leaped out of the underbrush; on--on--rushed horses and +guns, riders and cannoneers--a furious, irresistible, chaotic torrent, +thundering through the night. + +[Illustration: "'Yes,' she gasped, 'The Special +Messenger--noncombatant!'"] + +Far behind them now danced and flickered the rifle flames; fainter, +fainter grew the shots; and at last, galloping steadily and, by degrees, +reforming as they rode, the column swung out toward the bushy hills in +the west, slowed to a canter, to a trot, to a walk. + +"We are through!" said the Special Messenger, brokenly, breathing fast +as she pulled in her mount and turned in the starlight toward the man +she rode beside. + +At the same moment the column halted; and he drew bridle and looked +steadily at her. + +All around them was the confusion and turmoil of stamping, panting +horses, the clank of metal, the heavy breathing of men. + +"Look at me!" she whispered, baring her head in the starlight. "Quick! +Look at me! Do you know me now? Look at me--if you--love me!" + +A low cry broke from him; she held out both arms to him in the dim +light, forcing her horse up against his stirrup. + +"If you love me," she breathed, "say so now!" + +Leaning free from his saddle he caught her in his arms, held her, looked +into her eyes. + +"You?" + +"Yes," she gasped, "the Special Messenger--noncombatant!" + +"The Special Messenger? _You?_ Good God!" + +A dull tattoo of hoofs along the halted column, nearer, nearer, +clattering toward them from the front, and: + +"Good-by!" she sobbed; "they're coming for me! Oh--do you love me? Do +you? Life was so dark and dreadful without you! I--I never +forgot--never, never! I----" + +Her gloved hands crept higher around the neck of the man who held her +crushed in his arms. + +"If I return," she sighed, "will you love me? Don't--don't look at me +that way. I will return--I promise. I love you so! I love you!" + +Their lips clung for a second in the darkness, then she swung her horse, +tearing herself free of his arms; and, bared head lifted to the skies, +she turned south, riding all alone out into the starlit waste. + + +THE END + + + + * * * * * * + + +OTHER BOOKS + +BY + +ROBERT W. CHAMBERS + +Mr. Chambers is unquestionably the most popular of American novelists +to-day. He is the author of some thirty books of extraordinary variety +in fiction. He was born in New York, and studied in the studios of Paris +to become an artist. While working at painting he took up writing as a +pastime, and had such immediate success that he soon gave up art and +turned to literature as his life work. Always, as a part of this +interest, he has studied and worked in the field of natural history, so +that to-day he is something of an authority on birds and butterflies, a +confirmed fisherman, and a good shot. All these qualities--the study of +art, the experience with nature, both in the line of sport and as an +entomologist--have put their stamp upon his work, as will be seen by a +glance at his books, for only a few of which there is space here +available. + +THE FIRING LINE + + The most recent of his works is the third in a group of studies + in American society life. It is full of the swing of good + romance, behind which lies the bright philosophy that the saving + quality in our American families is to come with the injection + of fresh blood into each new generation. The story itself deals + with the adopted daughter of a multimillionaire, who does not + even know her own parentage--a girl from nowhere, with all the + charm and beauty which a bringing up in the midst of wealth can + give her. The hero is a young American of good family who first + meets her at Palm Beach, Florida. Here is a background that Mr. + Chambers loves--the outdoor life of exotic Florida, the + everglades, the hunting, the shooting, and the sea--all in the + midst of that other exotic life which goes with a winter resort + and a large group of the idle rich. The story--already in its + 150th thousand--is, perhaps, the author's favorite piece of + work. + +THE YOUNGER SET + + is also of the social _comedie humaine_ of America, with + its scenes laid in New York and on Long Island. Here again, + behind a romance of love and of society complications, Mr. + Chambers conceals his philosophic suggestions that may be + gathered from the title. The younger set comes into our society + fresh and unspoiled with each generation, and in its way + contributes something of freshness, something of vigor to keep + the social world from going down hill on a grade of decadence. + The story deals with a man who, although still young, feels that + his life is practically over because his marriage, through no + fault of his own, has proved a failure and ended in divorce. He + meets a young girl just introduced into society, whose wholesome + youth charms him and leads him back to optimism and life. The + character of _Eileen_ is perhaps one of Mr. Chambers's most + real and most successful creations. The fact that this novel, + after one year, is in its 200th thousand is sufficient proof of + its popularity. In + +THE FIGHTING CHANCE + + the author still deals with American society, but here his + background is the consideration of the evil influences of + inheritance in old families. The scene is still New York and + Long Island, full of the charm of outdoor life and hunting + episodes. The principal male character _Siward_ is cursed + with the inheritance of drink. _Siward's_ struggles to + conquer his Enemy, and the fighting chance he sees at last in + the affection of a girl, carry on the story to a hopeful finish. + The novel has been published two years and a few months and more + than 250,000 copies have been sold, so that its claims to + success are undeniable. + +THE RECKONING + + The varied interests of the author which have been suggested + above are sustained in this novel. It is a story of a side light + of the American Revolution, and it makes the fourth novel in a + series of books telling in fiction of the scenes and invoking + the characters in the Mohawk Valley during the war for American + Independence. The first novel of the series was "Cardigan"; the + second, "The Maid-at-Arms"; the third is still to be written, + when the distinguished author can find time; while "The + Reckoning" is the last. + +IOLE + + Another splendid example of the author's versatility is this + farcical, humorous satire on the _art nouveau_ of to-day. + Mr. Chambers, with all his knowledge of the artistic jargon, has + in this little novel created a pious fraud of a father, who + brings up his eight lovely daughters in the Adirondacks, where + they wear pink pajamas and eat nuts and fruit, and listen to him + while he lectures them and everybody else on art. It is easy to + imagine what happens when several rich and practical young New + Yorkers stumble upon this group. Everybody is happy in the end. + +THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS + + Here again is a totally different vein of half humor and half + seriousness. Mr. Chambers selects a firm of detectives (based, + by the way, on fact) who guarantee to find lost persons, missing + heirs, etc. In this case the author's fancy and humor suggest to + a young bachelor, who has always had an ideal girl in mind, that + he go and describe her as a real person to _Mr. Keen_, the + Tracer of Lost Persons. He gives his description, and, as may be + supposed, _Mr. Keen_ finds the girl, but after such a + series of episodes, escapes, discoveries and denouements that it + takes a full-grown novel to accomplish the task. + +THE TREE OF HEAVEN + + Half in fancy, half in fact, the thread of an occult idea runs + through this weird theme. You cannot, even at the end, be quite + sure whether the author has been making fun of you or not. + Perhaps, if the truth were told, he could not quite tell you + himself. The tale all hangs about one of a group of friends who + lives for years in the Far East and gathers some of the occult + knowledge of that far-off land. Into the woof of an Eastern rug + is woven the soul of a woman. Into the glisten of a scarab is + polished the prophecy of a life. Into the whole charming romance + of the book is woven the thread of an intangible, "creepy," + mysterious force. What is it? Is it a joke? Who knows? + +SOME LADIES IN HASTE + + This novel is as widely different from all the others as if + another hand had written it and another mind conceived it. This + time, too, it is impossible to say whether the author is + quizzing our new thought transference and telepathic friends, or + whether he is half inclined to suggest that "there may be + something in it." Here is a character who suddenly discovers + that by concentrating his mind on certain ideas he can inject or + project them into others. And forthwith he sets half a dozen + couples making love to each other in most grotesque surroundings. + They climb trees and become engaged. They put on strange Panlike + costumes and prance about the woods--always charming, always + well bred, always with a touch of romance that makes the reader + read on to the end and finally lay the book down with a smile of + pleasure and a little sigh that it is over so soon. + +One might run on for twenty books more, but there is not space enough +even to mention Mr. Chambers's delightful nature books for children, +telling how _Geraldine_ and _Peter_ go wandering through "Outdoor-land," +"Mountain-Land," "Orchard-Land," "River-Land," "Forest-Land," and +"Garden-Land." They, in turn, are as different from his novels in fancy +and conception as each of his novels from the other. No living writer +has given to the public so varied a list of books with such +extraordinary popularity in all of them as Mr. Robert W. 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