I SMITH'S BATTER^y l^hamber. THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA LIBRARY THE WILMER COLLECTION OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS PRESENTED BY RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. j^lLMEa COLLECTION Digitized by tine Internet Arcliive in 2010 witli funding from University of Nortli Carolina at Chapel Hill http://www.archive.org/details/smithsbatteryOOcham By Modern Masters of Fiction SMITH'S BATTERY By Robert W. Chambers ^i/Mor^" Ashes of Empire," "The Conspirators," etc. ^ ^ I' NEW YORK Frederick A. Stokes Company Publishers From "THE HAUNTS OF MEN," Copyright, 1895, by Bacheller, Johnson & Bacheller. Copyright, 1896, by S. S. McClure Company. Copyright, 1897, by Charles Scribner's Sons. Copyright, 1898, by Peter Fenelon Collier. Copyright, 1898, by Robert W. Chambers. Copyright, 1898, by Frederick A. Stokes Company. SSSSSSESBS3SBBSSBSESSSSSSSEESSSSSSSSSSESSSSS^S3SESSSBSSSBSSS CON TENTS Smith's Battery An International Affair . . Pickets Page I • 51 . 7Q The God of Battles .... 97 683016 SMITH'S ATTERY Impotent Pieces of the Game He plays Upon this Checker-board of Nights and Days ; Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays. And one by one back in the Closet lays. Fitzgerald. ON the evening of the 15th the cavalry left by moon- light, riding along the rail- road toward Slow-River Junction. The bulk of the infantry followed two days later, leaving behind them "The Dead Rabbits," — a New York regiment, — a squad of cavalry, and Smith's four-gun battery, to gar- rison a hamlet inhabited principally by mosquitoes. The hamlet of Slow-River con- tained a red brick church, some houses, a water-tank, and a race-track. [^] in SMITH'S BATTERY The " Dead Rabbits " established their warren in the race-track sheds, the cavalry guarded the railway and water-tank, and Smith's battery dec- orated the graveyard around the red brick church. The inhabitants of Slow-River, barring the mosquitoes, had mostly disappeared toward Dixie before the arrival of Wilson's division. When Wilson moved on toward the Junc- tion, leaving behind him the " Dead Rabbits," — and Smith's Battery to take care of them — the non-com- batant population of Slow-River numbered two, — not including an Ethiopian of no account. Smith, of Smith's Battery, had constituted himself an inquisition of one. The Reverend Laomi Smull, pastor of the brick church, took the oath of allegiance and smacked the Book with moist thick lips. Mrs. Ashley, the remaining inhabitant of SMITH'S BATTERY Slow-River, widow of a Union of- ficer killed in the early days of the war, took the oath earnestly, then told Smith who she was and received his apologies with sensitive reserve. " I wished to take the oath," she said : " I have not had my country brought so near for many months." The Reverend Laomi Smull clasped his soft fingers together and surveyed the firmament while Mrs. Ashley brushed the tears from her blue eyes. When she thanked Smith for the privilege of publicly acknowl- edging her country, the Reverend Laomi nodded and closed his small eyes as though in ecstatic contempla- tion of a soul regenerated. "Where's the nigger?" inquired Smith when Mrs. Ashley had gone back to her cottage below the church. " Do you refer to our unfortunate coloured brother?" suggested the reverend gentleman. [J] SMITH'S BATTERY " Oh yes — of course," said Smith, fidgeting with his sabre. " Abiatha is anglipxg from the bridge," said Smull, wagging his double chin till his collar creaked. " What is he fishing for ? " inquired Smith, who was an angler. " Fish," said the Reverend Laomi, andentered his church with more agility than his fat bulk appeared to warrant. At the door he turned to cast one last sly glance at the firmament. Smith, distrustful, and of the earth earthy, walked back to the graveyard, lifting his sabre to prevent the clank- ing of the scabbard on fallen grave- stones. " Look out for that pastor," he said to Steele : " if I know a copper- head from a copper kettle he 's one with double fangs." " You think he may play tricks ? " asked Steele, toasting a rasher of bacon on the coals before his feet. SMITH'S BATTERY " Yes, I do. He '11 get no passes from me, I can tell you. I 'm going up into the church tower. Is there a bell there ? " " A cracked one," said Steele. " I '11 take the clapper out," ob- served Smith. He accepted a bit of bacon from Steele, laid it on a morsel of hardtack, munched silently for a few minutes, then washed his break- fast down with a tin of coffee, re- turned Steele's salute, and entered the church through the vestry. Climbing the belfry ladder on tiptoe, cap in hand, he could not prevent the ladder from creaking. So, when he stepped out on the loosely laid planks beside the bell, he found the Reverend Laomi SmuU leaning on the belfry-ledge, preoccupied with the sky. " Oh," said the reverend gentle- man with a start, " is it my young friend, Captain Smythe ? " Is] SMITH'S BATTERY "Smith," said the officer dryly, and felt in the bell for the iron clapper. " Where is the clapper ? " he added, turning on Smull. The Reverend Laomi regarded him calmly. " I do not know," he said. To search the person of the minis- ter was Smith's first impulse ; Smull divined it and smiled sadly. *' He 's thrown it from the tower where he can find it," thought Smith. Then he drew a jackknife from his blouse, cut the two bell-ropes and let them drop to the tiled floor far below. The thwack of the ropes echoed through the silent church ; Smith apologised for the military pre- caution and stepped to the tower parapet. There he could look out over the ravaged country toward the Junction where rumour reported an ominous concentration of Union troops. He could see the water- SHSHSaSESHSESaSESHSHSaSHSaSHSHaHHHSESESESHSESESHSaSHSSSHSESa SMITH'S BATTERY tower and the railroad and cavalry patrolling the embankment in the morning sunshine. He could see the weather-stained sheds of the race- track where the " Dead Rabbits " prowled, a nuisance and sometimes a terror to everybody except the enemy. Behind him he heard the Reverend Laomi pattering about over the loose planks that formed the belfry floor- ing. " I shall station a signal officer here," he said without turning. " Sir," stammered the minister. " I am sorry," said Smith Im- patiently : " we need the church more than you do." " I agree with you," said Smull in a peculiarly soft voice. " I am sorry to exclude you — " began Smith ^, turning, — and those words had wellnigh been his last, for one leg sHpped through an unex- pected fissure between the planks, [7] SaSa5a5B55SBSa5S:iH53SH£Z5S5B5HSH5H5H5BSB5S5a5gSBSaS3SHSB5B5a SMITH'S BATTERY and he clutched a beam beside him and drew himself up, deadly pale. He looked at SmuU ; the clergy- man overwhelmed him with congrat- ulations on his escape from pitching headlong to the tiled floor below. He spoke of the mercy of Providence, of the miracles of the Most High ; he deplored the condition of the belfry floor ; he reproached himself for not noticing the fissure. " I did not notice it either — when I came up," said Smith. He followed Smull down the lad- der and out of the church, return- ing the reverend gentleman's salute gravely. Then he ordered Steele to use the church for barracks and march his men in without delay. " Into the church ? " repeated Steele. " I guess Union soldiers won't des- ecrate this church or any other church," said Smith savagely, and turned on his heel. SMITH'S BATTERY On his way to the river he passed Mrs. Asnley's cottage ; she was hang- ing a home-made flag over the porch ; the stars and stripes were not symmet- rical, but they were stars and stripes. She stood on the top of a ladder, hammering tacks and holding the red, white, and blue folds in her pretty mouth. Occasionally she ham- mered one pink-tipped finger instead of a tack ; at such moments she re- peated, " Oh dear ! " Smith, cap in hand, offered to hold the ladder ; Mrs. Ashley thanked him and continued to hammer se- renely, until she remembered her ankles and descended precipitately. Then Smith climbed the ladder, drew out all the tacks Mrs. Ashley had hammered in, rehung the "symbol of light and law," draped and nailed it with military rigidity, and descended, covered with perspiration and mos- quito bites. [p] SMITH'S BATTERY Mrs. Ashley, cool and sweet in a white gown and black sash, thanked him and offered him a cup of tea under the magnolias. He accepted and sat down, sabre between his knees, to mop his face and evade mosquitoes until she returned with two cups of cold tea, creamless and sugarless. "I have some limes — if you wish, — Captain Smith," she ventured, holding out the golden-green fruit in her smooth palm. He thanked her and squeezed a lime into his tea. Overhead, among the magnolia blossoms, the summer harmony had already begun with the deep sym- phony of bees ; butterflies hovered under the perfumed branches ; a grass- hopper clicked incessantly among the myrtle vines. Mrs. Ashley rested her chin on her v/rist and looked at nothing. A SMITH'S BATTERY breeze began to stir the folds of the draped flag over the porch ; the crim- son stripes undulated, the stars rose and fell. " We hear nothing in Slow-River," said Mrs. Ashley: " has anything im- portant happened, Captain Smith ? " Her voice was almost inaudible. " Nothing important. The last battle went against us." " Will there be a battle here ?" " No — I don't know — I have no reason to suppose so," he said with conscientious precision. "If by any- possible chance the rebel cavalry- should ride around our army we might be visited here, but," he added, "the contingency is too remote for speculation." "Too remote for speculation?" repeated Mrs. Ashley under her breath. Smith looked up at her — he had been watching a file of ants bearing SMITH'S BATTERY off minute crumbs from the biscuit he was nibbling. Smith's shoulder- straps were too recent to admit of trifling, and he had an instinct that Mrs. Ashley considered him young. "Too remote for speculation," he repeated, and touched the down on his upper lip with decision. The faintest flicker of amusement stirred Mrs. Ashley's blue eyes. They spoke of the war, of battles on land and sea, of sieges and block- ades, of prisons and of death. List- ening to her passionless voice he forgot his shoulder-straps for a while. She noticed it. She spoke now as a very young hostess to a distinguished guest, and he appreciated it. Little by Httle they dropped into the half frank, halfguarded repertoire peculiar to conventional civilisation; he recog- nised her beauty; she conceded his gallantry ; the bees buzzed among the SMITH'S BATTERY magnolias; the warm breeze stirred the flag. Sitting there with white fingers in- terlaced, and blue eyes demurely fixed on his, she wondered at the pains she took to wind him around the least of those white fingers of hers. Yet there was reason enough for her ; her reason, in concrete form, skulked up-stairs under a mound of bedclothes, — a sallow-faced, furtive young man, reported killed at Bull Run, — a deserter from the Union army, a Rebel at heart, too cowardly to back his convictions, — the blight and sor- row and curse of her young life — her husband. From the day of their marriage, she had found him out and loathed him, yet, when he marched with a loyal regiment, she had bade him God- speed. When the news came from Bull Run she had wept and forgiven him SMITH'S BATTERY the past, because he had been good to her in death, — he had left her the widow of a Union soldier. His appa- rition in Slow-River almost killed her. The Reverend Laomi Smull sarcasti- cally bade her rejoice and put off her widow's weeds. She did neither. Suddenly Wilson's advance was signalled from the hills beyond the river ; the population of Slow-River fled Dixie-ward, — all except young Ashley, who lay sleeping ofFa debauch in his own gutter. The Reverend Laomi preferred to remain for several reasons. Hours after the Union cav- alry dashed into the village, Ashley awoke to consciousness. When he comprehended what had happened he crawled into bed and cursed his wife and his luck and the Union Army impartially. With what loathing did she aid in concealing him ! With what despera- tion did she evade questions and in- SMITH'S BATTERY trusive patrols and the quiet questions of officers, courteous young fellows in blue, who accepted her word of honour with a bow and went away, deceived by a loyal woman — the wife of a coward and traitor — for that traitor's sake. But she must play the frightful comedy to the end ; she was doing it now, smiling back at Smith with eyes that caressed ; with death in her heart. When he rose to go she dropped him the quaintest and stateliest cour- tesy that can be dropped by a girl of twenty. His cap swept the tall grass-blades ; Southern chivalry is in- fectious. So he passed on his way to the river. Five minutes later the Reverend Laomi Smull appeared at the gate, smirked at the young wife, entered the cottage, and ascended the stairs with a paradoxical nimbleness that SMITH'S BATTERY displayed two white cotton socks and inadequate attention to personal ensemble. Smith pursued his way to the river through a weed-tangled path choked with rank marshy stalks, mint, elder, and wild lady-slipper. The' little brown honey-bees hummed from bud to bud ; dragon-flies, balanced in mid- air on quivering wings, selected plump mosquitoes from the cloud that wavered above Smith's head, and darted so close to his ears that he dodged like a new recruit at a bullet. When he came to the narrow slug- gish river, where a footbridge swayed in the amber eddies, he took his cigar from his mouth and his Bible from his pocket. A dilapidated individual of African descent, legs dangling over the water, fishpole clasped in both black fists, glanced up at the young officer and said : "Mohnin,' suh!" Smith nodded, [16] SMITH'S BATTERY looked hard at the darkey, shrugged his shoulders, and restored the cigar to his lips and the Bible to his pocket. " What are you fishing for. Uncle ? " he asked. " Fishin' foh bass, suh," replied the dilapidated one. "Catch any?" ' " I done cotch free bass an' a tarry- pin turkle, suh." " Want to sell them ? " "No, suh." " Going to eat them all yourself. Uncle ? " " I 's gotter right ter," said the angler combatively. Smith glanced down on the river sand where, anchored to a string, three plump bass floated out in the current, " Are you going to eat the terrapin, too, Uncle ? " " Go's I is," sniffed the darkey ; " I 's gotter right ter." SMITH'S BATTERY " Let 's see it," said Smith. The angler climbed down to the strip of sand, picked up the terrapin, and held it out to Smith. " How much ? " asked Smith. " Two dollahs, suh." Smith paid the money grimly, picked up the terrapin, and stood a moment watching the darkey climb back to his perch on the footbridge. " You '11 leave your footprints on the sand of time," said Smith ; " you '11 be in Wall Street in a month — or in Sing-Sing." " Wha's dat yoh 's a-sayin' 'bout leabin' shoeprints on de san's ob time, suh ? " asked the sable one, much interested. " Nothing. If you get any more terrapin, bring them to the artillery camp. What 's your name, Uncle ? " " Nuffin', suh .? " "No name?" " No, suh, jess 'Biah, suh." SMITH'S BATTERY "Oh — Alcibiades? No? Then Abiatha ? " " Yaas, suh." " Whose darkey are you ? " " Mis' Ashley's niggah, suh." " Oh ! And the fish are for Mrs. Ashley ? " "Yaas, suh. Gwineter tote 'em back foh dinner, suh." " Then," said Smith, " take back your terrapin too, you rascal ! How dare you sell your mistress's prop- erty ! " 'Biah watched the terrapin fall on the sands again, then he ruefully fished out the two dollars from some rent in his ragged coat. For a mo- ment he struggled to tell the truth, — that Mrs. Ashley, in the present state of her finances, would rather have twenty-five cents than a dozen terrapins. Perhaps he feared Mrs. Ashley's wrath, perhaps a spark of Mrs. Ashley's pride had lodged be- r 'o 1 L - y J SMITH'S BATTERY neath his own shirtless bosom. He said nothing, but rose, holding his fishpole in one hand, and sidled along the footbridge toward Smith, money clutched in one outstretched fist. Smith glanced at the four silver half-dollars. " Keep them and buy a coat, 'Biah," he said, relighting his cigar. At the same instant a big bass seized 'Biah's hook and made off with it, and 'Biah, losing his balance, dropped the silver coins into the river. Then the tattered African lost his head, too ; for a minute, bass, darkey, pole, and line became a blur on the bridge, on the sands below, and finally in the water. When 'Biah emerged, he had the bass by the gills ; later he fished out pole and line, while Smith, wading through the shallows in his cavalry- boots, poked about for the lost coins with the butt of his sabre-scabbard. SMITH'S BATTERY Ten minutes later 'Biah had re- covered three of the half-dollars. Smith had found something else, — a bundle of soaked clothes bearing United States army buttons and a second lieutenant's shoulder straps. Instinctively he tossed the soaked packet into the alders and walked carelessly back to the footbridge where 'Biah, absorbed in disentang- ling his tackle, breathed hard and deep and muttered maledictions on " dat ole bull-bass what fink he know a heap moh 'n ole 'Biah." " Done drap mah hook in de hole," he puffed ; " gwine ter gitter hook an' tote mah fish, suh. Mohnin', suh, mohnin' ; " and 'Biah scram- bled to his feet and shuffled back along the weed-grown footpath that led to Mrs. Ashley's cottage. When the negro had disappeared, Smith leaped lightly to the sand below, parted the alders, found the SMITH'S BATTERY bundle of clothes, and cut the cord with his sabre. " New clothes," he muttered : "not a patch, not a rag — hello — what 's this ? " He drew a soaked bit of paper from the breast-pocket of the jacket, and, standing in the alders, read the pencilled memorandum. It was a receipt signed by the Reverend Laomi SmuU for pew-rent received from Anderson Ashley. But what troubled Smith was the date, for, if Mrs. Ashley's husband had been killed at Bull Run, how could he be renting pews from the Reverend Laomi in Slow-River ? Smith examined the paper closely ; it read : " Received from Anderson Ash- ley, Esquire, $3.75, pew-rent for Mr. and Mrs. Anderson Ashley." The date, two months back, start- led him. As he stood, holding the SMITH'S BATTERY paper, staring vacantly at the motion- less leaves on the alders, far away he heard the noon call from the artillery bugles, taken up by the cavalry trum- pets at the water-tank, and passed on to the infantry around the race-track. He shoved the wet clothes under a fallen log, opened the Bible in his pocket, placed the folded receipt be- tween the leaves, and, carrying the Bible in one hand, sword in the other, went back along the tangled footpath toward Mrs. Ashley's cot- tage. When the Reverend Laomi Smull displayed unexpected agility on Mrs. Ashley's staircase, Ashley himself, hearing the ascending footsteps, cow- ered under the bed-quilts and turned cold to the marrow of every bone. " It 's me," said the reverend gentleman, entering the bed-room and waving his fat hands at the pile of quilts under which Ashley SMITH'S BATTERY squirmed in fear : " it 's me, Ashley," he repeated, disregarding the finer points of grammatical construction : " Moseby's men is in the hills and I don't know what to do." Ashley's dissipated face emerged from the bed-covers. Fear stamped every feature with a grimace that amused Smull. " What did you say about Mose- by's men ? " stammered Ashley. " They 're in the hills across the river," repeated Smull : "I seen smoke on Painted Rock." " It 's a blockade still," suggested Ashley. " No it ain't," retorted Smull ; " it 's green wood burnin' — don't I know a still, hey ? It 's Confed- erate cavalry, an' they 've ridden around the Yankee army, that 's what they 've done." Ashley protruded his long pallid neck, looked around like an alarmed 1^4] SMITH'S BATTERY turkey in a weed patch, and finally stared at Smull. " What are you going to do ? " he asked. The fat cunning on Smull's face was indescribable. " Do ? " repeated Smull. "Yes, do! Didn't JMoseby tell you to ring the church bell on Sun- day as many times as there was Yankee companies in Slow-River ? Did n't he tell you to hang out your washing according to code, — a shirt, ' come ; ' two shirts, ' run ; ' a red un- der-shirt, ' run like the devil ' — say, did n't he and you fix up the code ? " SmuU's small eyes rested on the door, then on Ashley. " The Yankee Battery Captain came to look at the bell. I threw the clapper out into the bushes," he said. After a moment he added : " He came near falling through the plank SMITH'S BATTERY floor. Frightened me to death — most." Ashley's eyes met his ; Smull raised a fat white hand to conceal the expression of his mouth. " That 's all very well," said Ash- ley petulantly, " but I reckon you 'd better go. If I 'm caught I 'm toted out to a shootin' match — and I '11 be the target too." This observation appeared to start a new train of thought in SmuU's mind. And, as he cogitated, his ex- pression changed from sly malice to complacence, and then to that sanc- timonious smirk with which, in the gar- den below, he had greeted Mrs. Ashley. " Ashley," he said gravely, " I can't give no signals to Moseby, no- how. I regret," he continued piously, " 1 regret and see the error that the South has made in this here unchris- tian war." Ashley started and fixed his blood- [26^ SMITH'S BATTERY shot eyes on Smull,who immediately raised his own to the ceiHng and addressed it unctuously : " This here unchristian war to disrupt the sacred union of the States is a offence against God and man, my young friend, and I now am brought to see, by God's grace, the sin of secession an' slavery, an' Jefferson Davis an' his wicked ways. Surely the wicked shall perish and be cut down like the grass ; in the morning it flourisheth and grow- eth up, in the evenin' it is cut down an' withereth, my young fren'." Ashley had grown paler and paler ; his fingers clutched at the bedclothes, and he watched SmuU's increasing exaltation with a horror that pinched every feature in his face. " No ! " bawled SmuU : '' no ! no ! I have took the oath of allegiance to these here United States ! Blessed is the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy ! " SMITH'S BATTERY " Shut up ! " gasped Ashley ; " do you want to have the Yankee pro- vost here ? " Smull raised his hands and wept on ; " Behold I am utterly enlight- ened ! Blessed are the meek for they " — " Stop ! " shrieked Ashley, start- ing up in bed. Smull glanced sharply at him, then sat down with a sigh. " Are you going to give me up to the provost-marshal because you took the oath ? " quavered Ashley, beside himself with fright and fury. "No," said Smull, wagging his double chin and meeting Ashley's glance squarely ; " no, I will not bring the centurions for fear they utterly destroy thee with the sword." Ashley, sweating with terror, looked at the reverend gentleman and won- dered whether he could kill him without undue disturbance. That i28^ SMITH'S BATTERY fat neck could not be strangled with Ashley's slender fingers ; the revolver under the pillow was surer — and surer still to bring the Yankee soldiers pell-mell into the house. He had been jealous of Smull when that gentleman made his weekly call on Mrs. Ashley. He, besotted as he was, noticed the expression of Smull's small eyes when Mrs. Ashley entered the room, her mnocent heart filled with plans for charities suggested by the minister. Would the Reverend Laomi like to see Mrs. Ashley a real widow? Would he even aid fate toward the accomplishment of her widowhood? "What the hell made you holler like that !" stammered Ashley fiercely. " Damn you," he added, " if the Yankees had come into this room, you would have left it feet first an' fit for a hole m the ground ! " The Reverend Laomi Smull looked SMITH'S BATTERY sadly at the young man. There were tears on his fat cheeks. " YeSj I tote a gun," sneered Ash- ley, tapping the pillow under his head. " Don't be a fool. Hang out your shirt and let Moseby come and clean out these Yankees, for God's sake, before they shoot me and hang you on my evidence." " Moseby's men can't face can- non," observed Smull with sudden alacrity. " Then lock the cannoniers in the church when Moseby signals. You can do it ; you 've got the keys, have n't you ? " Smull nodded. " They '11 come at night, of course ; you can go and whine hymns in the church by special permit, and lock the door when the first carbine goes oflr." " And the bell on Sunday ? " in- quired Smull : " the clapper 's gone, SMITH'S BATTERY the ropes are cut, and the Yankee Battery Captain would n't let me ring it nohow." " Never mind the bell. If Moseby sees the shirt he '11 attack by night, unless he 's in force. If the whole Confederate cavalry has ridden around Wilson, then he '11 come by day and send the Yankees packing, battery or no battery. All you 've got to do is to hang out that shirt. Now go away, d' you hear? " Smull rose and walked softly to the door. "And," added Ashley, "if you play tricks on me you '11 hang on my evidence." Smull opened the door. " And you '11 not get my wife any- way, damn you ! " finished Ashley triumphantly from the bed. Smull turned and looked at him, then went out, quietly closing the door behind him. SMITH'S BATTERY At the foot of the stairs he met Mrs. Ashley, and he smirked and opened his thick moist Hps to speak, but the young wife's face startled him and he closed his mouth with a snap of surprise. " You intend to betray my hus- band," she said breathlessly. " You have been listening at your husband's door," he retorted savagely. She clenched her small hands : " What of it ! With cowards and traitors and hypocrites as guests, honest people need be forewarned ! Shame on you! Shame on your cloth ! Shame on your oath of allegiance ! You '11 sell my husband to steal his wife ! You '11 break your oath to bring the rebel cavalry down on us ! " She brushed the tears from her eyes with both trembling hands. " God knows," she said, ",I thought I was right to hide my husband, and I think so now. Yet, if he or you be- SMITH'S BATTERY tray these soldiers I shall denounce you both to the first picket ! " " Madame," began SmuU in thick persuasive tones, " you wrong me — " " Leave this house ! " she said, trembling. The Reverend Laomi bowed low, raised his eyes to the sky, sighed, and stepped out into the garden. There, before he could rearrange his expressive features, Smith met him face to face and returned the clergy- man's disconcerted salute gravely. " One moment, my dear young friend," stammered Smull. Smith wheeled squarely in his tracks and stood rigid. Smull hes- itated, passed a fat tongue over his lips, and weighed the chances. The next moment he made up his mind, glanced at the door, saw Mrs. Ash- ley entering the house, then leaned swiftly toward Smith and whispered. Smith drew himself up sharply ; the [^3 [JJ] 5:2SESE5BSESEECSES2SEHH=HSH5SEaS2SESHSESHS2EEBHSESaS2SHSHSSSH SMITH'S BATTERY Reverend Laomi Smull turned and left the garden, head bowed on his breast as though in anguish of spirit. A few minutes later he brought a wash basket out of his house and pinned a single shirt to the line with a wooden clothespin. Then he ran to the woods, as fast as he could, and squatted under a rock where a tangle of brambles fell like a curtain to screen him from the eyes of the impious, in- discreet, and importunate. Smith, holding his sabre very stiffly, raised the bronze knocker on Mrs. Ashley's door and rapped three times. Then he loosened the chin- strap of his forage-cap ; drew off both gauntlets, folded them, and placed them in his belt. As he waited for admittance he saw the flag over the porch, motionless in the still air ; he heard the wild bees' harmony overhead, he heard the rustle of a summer gown behind the SMITH'S BATTERY door. But the door did not open. He waited. A burr stuck to the crimson stripe on his riding-breeches ; he flicked it off with his middle finger. Presently he knocked again, once ; the door opened, and Mrs. Ashley came out, smiling faintly. " I hope you want another cup of tea," she said, with the slightest ges- ture toward the table under the mag- nolias where the two chairs till stood as they had left them in the morning. He attended her, cap in hand, to the table ; when she was seated, he stood beside her. " Is it tea. Captain Smith ? " she asked, looking up at him. He grew suddenly red, but did not reply. "What is it then?" she repeated, smiling : " not the; mere honour of my poor presence I am sure. But, as a gallant officer, you must contra- dict me, Captain Smith." [J5] SMITH'S BATTERY Fear whitened her lips that the smile had not left ; she faced him with the coquetry of desperation ; and the pathos of it turned him sick at heart. " I brought the Bible to you," he said ; " it is the one you swore on — the oath of allegiance. You kissed it." She inclined her throbbing head and took it. " Open it," he said. She obeyed. The wet bit of folded paper caught her eyes and she held it out to Smith, saying : " This is yours." " No ! " he said, " it is yours." She glanced swiftly up at him, caught her breath, and sat motion- less, the paper clutched nervously in her fingers. " Read it," he said in a scarcely audible voice. She opened it ; one glance was SMITH'S BATTERY enough. Then she dropped it on the grass at her feet. Presently he stooped and recovered it. " Yes," she said, obeying his eyes' command, "my husband is not dead. What of it?" " Where is he ? " She was silent. " A deserter." " Yes." " A traitor." "Yes." Smith walked to the gate, looked down the road toward the church where the artillery pickets paraded, naked sabres drawn. Then he came back. "You are under arrest," he said, looking at the ground. She turned a bloodless face to his, and raised one slender hand to her forehead. " Do you doubt my loyalty ? " she stammered. [J7] SESES2S2S25HSHSS5ESE5HS2SHSESHSESE55SSSHSaSHSHSES25HSHHHSESH SMITH'S BATTERY He turned his back sharply. " My loyalty ? " she repeated as though dazed. He was silent. " But — but you administered the oath — you saw me kiss the Book," she persisted with childlike insistence. " And your husband ? " he asked, turning abruptly. " What of him ! " she cried, re- volted ; "I am myself! — I have a brain and a body and a soul of my own ! Do you think I would damn my soul with a kiss on that Book? Do you think if I were a Rebel I would deny it to save my body ? " " You have denied it," he said. He took the Bible from her hand and opened it at a marked page : " By their acts ye shall know them," he read steadily, then closed the Book and laid it on the table. Their eyes met ; the anguish in his bore a message to her that pleaded SMITH'S BATTERY for forgiveness for what he was about to do. "Not that! — " she stammered, half rising from the chair. He turned, drew out a handker- chief, and signalled the artillery picket, flag-fashion. Then, before he could prevent it, she was on her knees to him, there on the grass, her white face lifted, speechless with horror. " For God's sake don't do that,'* he said, trying to raise her, but she clung to him and pushed him toward the gate murmuring, " Go ! Go ! " Furious at the agony he was caus- ing her, tortured by the agony it cost him, he held her firmly and told her to be silent. " Your husband is hidden in that house," he said : " he is attempting to add to his treason by communi- cating with the Rebel cavalry. He tried to force your own pastor, at the [JP] SMITH'S BATTERY point of a pistol, to hang a red shirt on his clothes-Hne, which means 'at- tack ' ! The pastor is a good man ; he had taken the oath; such villainy horrified him. To save his life in the room above he consented to hang out a signal, but the signal he hung out is a white shirt which means ' re- treat.' There it is ! " He pointed angrily at the white shirt hanging on the minister's clothes-line down the road. " Now," he said, " let me do my duty." He took her by the wrists, and looked straight into her eyes, adding: " I 'd rather be lying dead at your feet than doing what I 'vegot to do." " But," she cried, struggling to free herself, " but the signal ! Can't you understand ? The man lied ! He lied! He lied! The white rag means ' attack ' ! " SMITH'S BATTERY Stupefied, he dropped her wrists and stepped back. " Run to your battery ! " she wailed ; " run ! run ! Can't you understand ! They 're coming ! They'll kill you!" Scarcely had she spoken when a rifle-shot rang out from the race- track, another, another, then a scat- tered volley. An artillery guard approached the garden, halted, turned, then scattered pell mell toward the church. The next moment Smith was running for his battery and shouting to Steele, who, mounted, cantered among the grave-stones, and hurried the panic- stricken cannoniers to their stations. A frightful tumult arose from the race-track, where the " Dead Rab- bits," taken utterly unprepared by a cloud of Confederate cavalry, ran like rabbits very much alive. Through them galloped the Confederate riders, SMITH'S BATTERY heavy sabres dripping to the hilt. The Union cavalry at the water-tank was overwhelmed; the grey-jacketed troopers, shouting their " Hi ! yi ! yi ! yi ! " wheeled into the village, shaking a thousand glittering sabres ; but here they met a blast of canister from the churchyard that sent them reeling and tumbling back to the race-track, now swarming with the entire Confederate division. Smith's battery, limbered up, filed out of the churchyard, while Smith, looking annihilation in the face, saw the last of the " Dead Rabbits " leg- ging it for the woods. He turned with a groan to Steele, and Steele said, " Ride for it, if we 're to save the guns ! The whole rebel cavalry is here ! " Bullets began to sing into the bewildered column ; the cannoniers struggled with the horses and swore. Suddenly a shell fell squarely on the church tower and burst. SMITH'S BATTERY " They 've got artillery ; we 're goners!" shouted a teamster. Smith drew his sabre and raised it high above his head. " Battery for- ward!" he cried: "by the left flank! Gallop ! " " God help us ! " gasped Steele. Team after team dashed into posi- tion, dropped their guns, and wheeled into station behind. Smith dis- mounted and, standing by gun No. I, began to make calculations, pad and pencil in hand. Presently he gave his orders ; a shrapnel shell was rammed home, the screw twisted to the elevation, then : ^^Fire!" A lance of flame pierced the white cloud, the shell soared away toward the race-track and burst beyond it. Before gun No. 2 could be fired, a roar broke from the wooded heights close to the left, and a flight of shells struck Smith's battery amidships. SMITH'S BATTERY For a moment it was horrible; teams were butchered, guns dis- mounted, cannoniers torn to shreds. " Steele, bring that limber up ! " shouted Smith ; " they shan't have every gun ! " Steele seized the bridle ; the ter- rified animals lashed out right and left, threatening to kick the traces to bits. A cannonier tried to hook up the gun but fell dead under the lim- ber. A caisson blew up, hurling a dozen men into the air and stunning as many more. With blackened face and jacket, Steele reeled toward the gun again but fell on his face in the long grass. " Bring off that gun ! " shouted Smith, standing straight up in his stirrups. Crack ! went the wheel, and the gun sank to its axle. Then Smith sprang from his horse and helped the gunners take the spare wheel from the caisson, roll it up [4^1 SHSesaSPSPSHSBSSHHSHSeSaSBSaSBSaSBSESgSaSBSBBBSB'Ti'Tr-.aeSBSeBE SMITH'S BATTERY over the grass, and mount it on the broken pieces. Smith hammered it on the axle, then drove home the linchpin, brushed the sweat from his half-blinded eyes, and looked around. What he saw was the wreck of three guns and caissons, the blackened fragments of gunners and horses, and a mess of trampled grass ; and be- yond, between his single gun and the race-track, a long gray line, glit- tering with naked steel, sweeping straight upon him. Of his battery there remained three men with him ; the others were lying dead around Steele or stunned and mangled somewhere in the rank grass. Scarcely conscious of what he did, he helped his three gunners hook the gun to the limber, then mounted and followed the gun back into the village through a constantly increas- ing rain of bullets. One of his men fell to the earth. SMITH'S BATTERY " I guess the whole Rebel army 's here," he said, as though speaking to himself: "I guess I'd better get this gun to the Junction damn quick." In front of Mrs. Ashley's cottage, as the cannon passed, Ashley, in his shirt-sleeves, fired from the window point-blank at a cannonier and shot him out of his saddle. The dead man's clutch on the team's bridle brought the gun to a halt, and the remaining gunner sprang from his saddle with an oath and dashed into the house, sabre unsheathed. " Come back ! " shouted Smith, reining in ; " man ! man ! we 've got to save the gun ! Come back ! " He climbed from his own saddle into the saddle of the nigh battery horse and seized the heavy rawhide. A bullet broke his wrist as he lifted it. There was a struggle going on in the room from which Ashley had [46^ SMITH'S BATTERY firedj but Smith did not see it; his head swam and he looked at his gun with sick eyes. For a second all round grew black, then he found himself rising from his horse's neck, and, in the road beside him, he saw Mrs. Ashley and 'Biah, holding the bridles he had dropped. " They Ve hit me ; I can't guide the team," he said vacantly. " I 've got to save the gun, you know." His eyes fell on the dead body of her husband, lying where it had been flung from the window among the flowers below. "He's dead," said Mrs. Ashley. " I can't stay. Don't leave me ! I can sit a horse if you will let me. I '11 go with you. Don't refuse me ! " She sprang into the limber seat and clutched the railing with both hands ; 'Biah followed with a howl of terror. There was a whip there ; she swung the heavy rawhide and, seizing a l47] SMITH'S BATTERY horse by the mane, drew herself for- ward to the saddle, calling: " Here they come ! Gallop ! gallop ! " With a plunge the six horses leaped forward, and tore down the road, Smith swaying in his saddle with a broken arm, the young girl, enveloped in a torrent of dust, riding the nigh horse of the wheel-team, limber and gun swaying and crashing on behind, 'Biah bouncing, jouncing, and howl- ing intermittently. " Guide ! " called Smith faintly : " I can't." She seized the bridles and lashed the horses. 'Biah shrieked. " There are soldiers ahead ! " she cried to him, — " Rebel infantry ! They 're going to fire ! " " Drive over them ! " he gasped. With a rumble, a roar, and a tear- ing crash, the train broke into the shouting mass of men, the scurrying wheels crunched on something, there [48^ SMITH'S BATTERY came a flash of rifles, and Smith stag- gered. Before his eyes all was a blur; he still heard the hoofs clink, the chains clash, the wheels thump and pound. Gun and limber struck an opposing body and leaped into the air ; Smith's glazing eyes opened ; he clung to his mount and attempted to turn. He tried to say : "Is the wheel broken ? " She could not reply, nor did she dare turn her head to that heap in the road already far behind. Terror sealed her lips — had sealed her lips when, through the dust ahead, she saw Smull, almost under the head team's hoofs, start to run, then go down to death beneath her very eyes. Six wild horses, a runaway limber and gun, two half-dead creatures hanging to the saddles, and a frantic darkey on the limber, — that was all SMITH'S BATTERY of Smith's battery that tore into the Junction to the horror of Wilson and the scandal of the rank and file. It all happened years ago ; too long ago to fix the year or the date. Perhaps the incident is recorded in the archives of the Nation. Perhaps not. At all events, when they had picked some stray bullets out of Smith and set his wrist in splints, he went North on furlough. I think Mrs. Ashley went with him; and 'Biah, being of no account, toted their luggage and breathed hard. Iso] An International Affair "... Brown-bear clam' de ole fence rail, Rabbit holler 5 ' Whar yoh tail ? ' ..." Banjo Song. I WHEN the gunboats entered Sandy River, Cleland's regiment was ordered to garrison and reconstruct the forts at the Landing, evacuated by the Con- federate troops as soon as the gun- boats crossed the bar. The gunboats tossed a few shells after the leisurely retreating Con- federates, then dropped anchor below the Landing, and waited for some- thing to turn up. A week later they steamed out of the river, promptly stuck on the bar, churned and thrashed and whistled and signalled, AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR and finally slid out into blue water where a blockade runner tempted them into a chase that contributed to the amusement of the Southern Confederacy. By Thanksgiving time, Cleland's regiment had finished the forts at Sandy Landing. Cleland did it because he was told to, not because either forts or town were of the slightest military value to anybody. The Landing itself was a skunk- haunted village, utterly unimportant as supply depot, strategical pivot, or a menace to navigation. It was a key to nothing ; its single railway led nowhere, its whiskey was illegal, illimitable, and atrocious. Cleland's report embodied all of this. He was ordered to hold his ground, establish semaphores, and plant torpedoes. So he built his semaphores as directed, planted tor- pedoes, and reported. Twenty-four [5^1 AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR hours later orders came to go into winter-quarters. Then he was noti- fied that he was to be reinforced, so he built barracks for two more regi- ments, as directed, and wondered what on earth was coming. Nothing came except the two regiments ; one arrived on the first of December, by rail, — an Irish regiment; — the other turned up a week later in two cattle trains, band playing madly from the caboose. It was a German regiment full of strange oaths — and aromas. Now Cleland was enlightened ; he understood that the Landing was to be used as a species of cage for these two foreign regiments, raised. Heaven knows where, and destined to prove a nuisance to any army that harboured them. The Irish possessed an ap- palling record of pillage, bravery, and insubordination. The German regiment, raised " to march mit Sie- [5J] AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR gel," had an unbroken record of flight to its discredit. It had run at Grey's Ford, at Crystal Hill, at Yel- low Bank, and at Cypress-Court- House. It fled cheerfully, morning, noon, and night; its band stampeded naively and naturally ; it always fol- lowed its band, adored by all ; and the regiment bore no rancour when scourged in general orders. Fall- bach was its colonel, — known to the sarcastic and uninstructed as Fallback, — a rosy, short-winded, peaceful Teuton, who ran with his regiment every time, and always accepted censure with jocular res- ignation. " Poys will pe poys, ain't it ? " he would say with a shrug ; " Der band iss a fine band alretty. Dot trombone iss timid, und der poys dey follow der trombone." When Cleland understood that the authorities had rid themselves S2SESESSSaSESESBSSS£SSSESSSeSSSSSSSBSSSSSESE5SSSSSSSSSSaS3SZ AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR of the two regiments by interring them at Sandy Landing, he wrote a respectful protest, was snubbed and ordered to begin housekeeping for the winter, which meant that his regiment was now on police duty, stationed at the Landing to keep the peace between the Germans and their Irish neighbours. Trouble began promptly ; Ban- non, colonel of the ist Irish, met Fallbach of the ist Jagers, and mispronounced his name with an emphasis unmistakable. An hour later the two regiments knew the war was on and made preparations ac- cordingly. Hogan of the loth com- pany, crossing the street, hustled Franz Bummel of the Jagers and called him a " dootch puddy-fud I " Quinn, listening to the Jagers' band concert that afternoon, whistled " Doolan's Wake," and imitated Fritz Klein's piccolo, aided and [SS] AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR abetted by Phelan and McCue. That night there were three scuffles and a fight, and the provost-marshal had his work cut out for him. Little by Httle the two regiments were installed in distant sections of the town. Cleland dealt justice un- tempered with mercy, and the rival regiments understood that their war- fare would have to be carried on by stealth. When Phelan, Quinn, Hogan, and McCue were released from the guard- house, they rejoiced with their com- rades of the loth company, and prepared future calamity for the Jagers. But Fate was against them. Their regimental fetish, a strong young goat, disappeared, and that night the Jagers were reported to have revelled in a strangely sugges- tive stew. A day or two later, Quinn, fishing for suckers in the Sandy River, was AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR assaulted by three Jagers, his fish- pole and three fish confiscated, and he himself ducked amid grunts of universal satisfaction. The fury of the loth company passed all bounds when Quinn was relegated to the guard-house for con- duct unbecoming a soldier ; but the Teutons never strayed from their barracks except in force, and, as night leave was forbidden both regi- ments, the loth company hesitated to inaugurate riot by daylight. Quinn, squatting in the guard- house, found plenty of leisure to hatch revenge. He did not waste thought on mere individual schemes for assault and battery; he meditated a master stroke, a blow at the entire regiment calculated to tear every Teuton bosom. The two objects most cherished by the Jagers were their cat and a disreputable negro who cooked for the colonel. How [57] AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR to combine damage to these cen- tres of Teutonic affection occupied Quinn's waking hours. To kidnap the cat ; that was not enough, — the Teutons must be beguiled into eat- ing their cat — and liking it too. How ? Quinn sucked at an empty pipe and brooded. Bribe the ne- gro Cassius, first to kidnap the cat, then to cook it? Quinn writhed maliciously at the prospect; he hated Tom, the black and white cat who sang every night on the Jagers' bar- rack roof — sang to each individual star in the firmament to the indignation of every Irishman in Sandy Landing. When Quinn emerged from the guard-house he took council with Phelan and McCue ; and that even- ing Hogan was despatched to tempt Cassius with promises and a little cash. The aflfair was easier than Hogan had dared hope ; Cassius took the AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR cash and promised to betray, and Hogan, lips compressed, to stifle all outward mirthful symptoms, went back to the barracks where Quinn, Phelan, and McCue sat waiting in pessimistic silence. " He'll not kill the cat," said Hogan, "he'll fetch ut in a bag to the shanty foreninst the hill, — d'ye mind the hut, McCue ? " " I do," said McCue impressively. "Thin be aisy," continued Ho- gan; "we'll skin ut an' co-ook ut an' the naygur can take the stew to thot Dootch runaway sodger. Fall- back, bad cess to him an' his ! Pass th* potheen, McCue." " Sure there 's not stew in wan cat for all ! " objected Phelan. "There is! There is," said Quinn: " there 's cats in town to be had for the askin', an' nary a Dootchman will starve ! Usha ! but they '11 be crazy, th' omadhouns ! " [5P] AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR "'Twill choke them," said Phelan. " Did they choke wid the goat they shtole ? " demanded McCue angrily. " I met Bummel an' Klein," con- tinued Quinn : " ' Sure,* I sez, * 't is dhirty thricks ye play on the Irish.' ' Phwat 's that ? ' sez Klein. ' Ye ate our goat,' sez I. Wid that they grinned an' me phist hurrt wid the timptayshun of Bummel's nose. " * Sure,' sez I, ' 't is frinds we should be ! ' * Sorra th' day ! ' sez Klein. ' Phwy not ? ' sez I. 'Ye hate us an' bate us,' sez Klein ; M '11 not thrust ye, Mike Quinn.' ' Take me hand,' sez I, extindin' me fingers; * wan touch of nature, me lad ! 'T is a crool war entirely, an* it 's frinds we '11 be, an' no favour ! ' ' Prove ut,' sez he. * I wuU,' sez I, ' an' be th' same token 't is huntin* we go this day week, so look fur a Christmas [60] AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR dinner to shame the Pope's cook.' 'A dinner,' sez he, * wid th' town betchune us ! ' * Ye '11 dine wid us, yet,' sez I. * An' how,' sez he, a lickln' the chops av him. ' Whin ye dine wid the Irish ye should have a long spoon,' sez I, laughin' friendly like. ' We '11 sind ye a shtew, me b'y, if God sinds us the rabbits.' Thin," continued Quinn, "we parrted genteel ; an' they '11 hear we have lave to hunt on Christmas day — musha, bad luck to th' Dootch scuts ! — 't is cats they '11 be eatin' this blessed hour come Christmas, an' may the howly saints sind them the black cramp of Drumgoole! " II Christmas eve, while Hogan and Phelan lay slumbering, and Quinn and McCue walked their rounds, gloating over revenge, Cassius the dis- AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR reputablesat in the kitchenof the Jager barracks counting the advance pay- ment of cash received from Hogan, and leering at the black and white tom-cat who dosed peacefully by the dying fire. " Pore ole Tom," muttered Cas- sius guiltily, " hit 's gwinter s'prise dishyere kitty. 'Spec ole Tom gwin- ter git riled." The cat opened its yellow eyes. " Gwinter s'prise ole Tom," re- peated Cassius, compassionately purs- ing up his lips. The cat began to purr. " Pore ole Tom," sighed the darkey, tremulous with remorse. The cat rose and began to march around, purring and hoisting an in- terrogative tail. Cassius continued to bemoan Tom's fate and recount the money until he had hardened his heart suffi- ciently. Finally he pocketed the SESHS2S2SESeS2SH3BSHSHSHSE32S2SHSHS2SeSE5HSii3SS25E5EHESHSESE AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR coins, wiped his eyes, and approached the cat with seductive caution. Tom permitted caresses, courted further en- dearments, and suffered himself to be seized and dropped into a potato sack. But, once imprisoned, he scrambled and squalled and clawed until Cassius, unable to bear the sight and sound of Thomas's distress, deposited the sack in the pantry and fled from the bar- racks to the street. Guilt weighed heavily on the darkey's soul ; he shuffled along, battling with conscience, trying to think of some compromise to save the cat and his money at the same time. Moonlight flooded hill and valley; he heard the sentries calling from post to post, the stir of the horses in the artillery stables across the square, the creaking of leafless branches overhead. He went around to the chicken coop ; he often went there to enjoy the thrill of a temp- AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR tation that he dared not succumb to, also to keep stray cats from doing murder on their own account. For, though he dared not steal a single chicken, he could at least have the bitter pleasure of foiling the feline marauders of Sandy Landing. This he was accustomed to do with a tin box, placed on its side, a trip-stick, a string, and a bit of bone for bait. Cat after cat he had trapped and com- mitted to the depths of Sandy River, highly commended by his colonel and the rank and file of the Jagers. Now, as he stepped softly around the corner, his eyes fell on a black and white object, stealing toward the window where the long tin box stood temptingly baited. The next instant the trip-stick clicked, the weighted box-lid fell and snapped, and Cassius seized the box with a chuckle of triumph. " Cat ! cat ! " he repeated, address- 5HS2S2S2SSHESES?jiasasasas2555a5ESaSHSESasa5ESESES25ES2SESE5a AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR ing the frantic inmate of the box, "doan* yoh count yoh chickens 'fore dey 's hatched ! — " Cassius stopped short, pulsating with a new idea. Why sacrifice Tom when here was a victim ready at hand, doubtless provided by Providence in the nick of time to save a poor darkey from treachery ? And it was a kind of treachery that even Cassius found uncongenial. " Pit-a-pat ! Pit-a-pat ! " mocked Cassius derisively listening to the manoeuvres of the imprisoned victim; " Stop that scratchin' on de box ! He! He ! He ! I 'se gwineter let ole Tom outen de bag, — pore ole Tom ! Dish- yere nigger ain't no Judas ! Lan's sakes ! — that ole cat smell kinder funny ! " He wrinkled his nose, sniffed, turned a pair of startled eyes on the big box under his arm, then a sickly smile of intelligence spread over his [5] [^5] AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR face and he placed the box gently on the ground. " Had mah s'picions 'bout dat black an' white kitty-cat," he mut- tered. The animal inside scratched and writhed and scrambled. " Lan's sake ! " chuckled Cassius, grinning from ear to ear, " 'spec dat ole pole-cat gwine twiss he tail off 'n 'bout two-free minutes ! Yah ! yah ! — he! he! yiah — ho!" And as he entered the servants' quarters he smote his knees and shook his head, and laughed and laughed and laughed. About midnight he took his banjo from the nail, thumbed it, and began to croon to himself: Bob-cat he caynt wag he tail — Ain got no tail foh to wag ! Brown-bear clam' de ole fence rail. Rabbit holler j " Whar yoh tail ? " [66] AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR Bob-cat larf like he gwinter bus'; Pole-cat stop for to see de fuss, De bob-cat scoot, de bear turn pale, An' de rabbit he skip froo de ole fence rail. **Efyoh wanter see a tail," sez de pole-cat; •' see ! *• Mah tail 's long 'nuff fob mahfolks an' me ! " III About three o'clock on Christmas afternoon, Hogan's rifle exploded prematurely and killed a rabbit. The intense astonishment of McCue, Quinn, and Phelan nerved Hoganfor more glory, and he fired at every tuft of hill-weed until his cartridges were gone, and his temper too. "Bad cess to me goon ! " he shouted, " 't is twisted it do be, an' I '11 thank ye for th' loan avyere piece, McCue." "G'wan," said McCue, "'til I show ye a thrick ! " — and he blazed away at a rapidly vanishing cotton- tail and missed. Occasionally, firing AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR by volleys, they scored a rabbit to four rifles, and, at sunset, McCue spread out a dozen or so cotton-tails on the newly fallen snow before the door of the hill shanty. Phelan wiped his brow with the back of his fist. " Phwere 's th' naygur ? " he de- manded. Hogan looked at his watch and began to swear, just as Cassius ap- peared over the hilltop, a tin box under his arm, and on his face a smile of confidence. " Have ye th* ould Tom ? " de- manded Quinn, as Cassius shuffled up and, depositing the tin box on the doorstep, looked cheerfully around. " Evenin', gemmen, evenin'," said Cassius, licking his lips and leaning down to pinch the fat rabbits lying in a row ; " Kinder cold dishyere Chris'mus, gemmen. 'Spec we gwin- ter 'sperience moh snow — " [6S] AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR "Have ye the cat?" repeated Quinn sternly. "'Cose I has," said Cassius in- dignantly, " an' I 'se come foh de cash — " " Phwat *s that ! " snarled Hogan. " Hould a bit ! " interposed Qainn ; " is the torn in the box now ? " " 'Cose he is," repeated Cassius ; " yaas, sah, dasser mighty fine kitty, dat is ! Hit ain't no or'nary cat, hit ain't, — no sah. Dasser pole-cat, sah, dat is ! " " 'Tis a Dootch cat ! " said Phelan. " Sure Poles is Dootch, too," observed McCue , " Phwat are ye waitin' for I dunno ? " he added, scowling at the darkey. " I 'se lingerin' foh mah cash," said Cassius. " G' wan ! " said Phelan briefly. Cassius turned an injured face from one to the other. There was a hostile silence. Phelan produced a flour AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR sack and threw the rabbits into it, one by one. "'Scuse me, gemmen," began Cas- sius, — when an exclamation from Quinn silenced him and drew the attention of all to a black-and-white object advancing across the snow toward the shanty. " Lan's sake ! " muttered Cassius, " pole-cat in de box gwineter draw all de pole-cats in dishyere county ! " " 'T is a rabbit ! " said McCue, seizing his gun. " It 's a cat ! " said Hogan, " d' yez mind th' tail of ut ! " " Dat ain't no cat," said Cassius contemptuously, " dasser skunk." " Skoonk, is it ? An' phat 's a skoonk, ye black mutt ? " demanded McCue. At the same instant Phelan fired and missed ; Quinn, paralyzed with buck-fever, clutched his rifle, mouth agape, while Hogan, in an ex- cess of excitement, began shouting [70] AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR and kicking the darkey from snow- drift to snowdrift. " Now, will ye grin ! " he yelled ; " G' wan home ye omadhoun ! — " " Leggo mah wool ! " retorted the darkey, and rose from the snow with sullen alacrity : " Wha' foh yoh yank mah kinks ? " " Faith then, fur luck an' bad- luck," said Hogan, and followed Mc- Cue into the deserted shanty. A moment later, Quinn and Phelan came back after an eager but fortu- nately fruitless quest for the game, and McCue and Hogan issued from the shanty, bearing the tin box, ready to return to the barracks. " Me heavy hand on th' naygur ! " growled McCue : " he 's gone, where ? — I dunno, but he '11 carry the bag o' rabbits or me name 's not McCue ! Call him, Hogan." " Come out, ye bat-o'-th'-bog, ye ! Where are ye now ! — the Red Witch SSS3SSSSSBSSSSSSSSSSBES3S3SSSSSSSSSSSSSSBE5EBSSSSSSESSS3S:i33. AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR o' Drumgoole follow ye ! " shouted Hogan, tramping around the shanty and poking under the steps. " Lave th' black scut," said McCue with dignity, " I '11 carry the sack. Have ye th' sack ? " he added, turn- ing to Phelan. " I have not," said Phelan, " 'twas there foreninst the shanty." " Now the red itch o' Drumgoole on him ! " shouted McCue. " Usha, musha, he 's gone wid the sack, an' divil a bit or a sup av a shtew ye '11 eat the night ! Sorra the rabbit he 's left ! — me heavy hand on him an' his ! — may the saints sind him sor- row this blessed night ! " " We have th' ould torn in th* box, " said Quinn, with a significant flourish of his rifle. " There 's no luck in it — Care killed a cat, an' worrit the kittens. Begorra ! — I '11 kill no cat at all, at all ! " replied McCue superstitiously. sesesa AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR " May the Dootch robbers choke whin they sup this night ! " shouted Phelan ; j" wirra the day I set eye on the naygur an' his Dootch whip- pets ! " " They '11 have no luck, mark that ! — McCue ! " said Hogan : " We 've their Tom in a box an' they '11 have no luck ! " They gathered up their rifles in silence ; McCue carried the box ; one by one they filed down the darken- ing hillside toward the village where already a lantern or two glimmered along the stockade and the bugles were sounding the evening call. When the sportsmen reached the barracks, and it became known that the Jagers' tom-cat had been captured, the regiment went wild with enthu- siasm. It was decided not to open the box at once, because the cat might hastily migrate toward the familiar barracks of the Jagers ; but Quinn, [7J] AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR the prime mover in the capture of Thomas, was selected a delegate of one to present the box to Colonel Bannon as a surprise and a Christmas gift from the whole regiment. So, that night, the regiment ate their Christmas dinner in eager an- ticipation, and their hilarity was scarcely marred by Hogan's report that the Jagers' barracks resounded with a joyous din of feasting and song. " May th' banshee worrit thim ! Let them be wid their futther — an' — mutther ! May the red banshee sup with them in hell ! " said Quinn as he rose in obedience to the orderly who said the Colonel would receive him. He took the tin box gingerly, for the animal inside was very lively, and he followed the orderly to the door of the messroom in the officer's quarters. AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR Here the orderly left him a mo- ment but returned directly and whis- pered : " The colonel knows it 's the Dootch cat ye have, — but ye '11 say ye bought it. Sure he 's a dacent man, is Colonel Bannon, an' no love lost betwixt him an' Fallback. Are ye ready now ? " " Yis," said Quinn firmly, forage cap in one hand, box in the other : " is the rigiment outside on the parade ? " " It is, an' ready to cheer." "Then in I go," said Quinn. The colonel sat at the head of the table, flanked by his staff and line officers. His face, a little red with Christmas cheer, was gravely com- posed for the occasion. His officers, to a man, beamed with anticipation. " Quinn," said the colonel. " Sorr," said Quinn, standing at attention. [75] AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR " This is a very pleasant occasion," said the colonel, " and I am gratified that my men have remembered their colonel upon this blessed day. I am told you have a surprise for me, Quinn." " Yis sorr, — a cat, sorr." " A cat ! " said the colonel in af- fected surprise. " We 've lost our goat, sorr, but we '11 conshole our sorrow wid a cat, sorr — Colonel Bannon's cat if you plaze, sorr." The colonel's eyes twinkled. " 'T is a dacent kitty, sorr," said Quinn, undoing the rope that held the Hd ; " a Dootch Kitty they do say from Poland, sorr, where we sint for a dozen an' this is the pick o* them." The colonel suppressed a smile ; the officers gurgled. "I have the spachless honour, sorr," said Quinn, placing the box on the AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR table before the colonel, — "I have the unmintionable deloight in pre- sinting to our beloved colonel in the name av his beloved rigiment, this illegant kitty ! " And he took off the lid. There was a silence. Suddenly a long slender black and white creature sprang from the box to the table, flourishing a beautiful bushy tail ; there came a yell, a frightful stampede, a crash of glass, a piteous shriek from the colonel under the sofa : " Quinn ! Quinn ! Ye murtherin' scut ! 'T is a skoonk ! Usha, but I'll have yer Hfe fur this night's work ! " And Quinn, taking his nose firmly in both hands, pranced away like one demented — fled for his life through the falling snow of that blessed Christmas night. In the barracks of the Jagers was song and jest and Christmas cheer : [77] AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR — shouting and feasting and heart- friendships, and the intermittent din of trombones. Cassius, feeding to repletion in the kitchen with a bowl of rabbit stew between his knees, paused to hold his aching sides because it hurt him to laugh when he ate. Beside him on the floor, Thomas licked his whisk- ers, and yawned and stared into the dying fire. i7n PICKETS " y -y I, Yank ! " I 1 "Shut up!" replied i JL Alden, wriggling to the edge of the rifle-pit. Connor also crawled a little higher and squinted through the chinks of the pine logs. " Hey, Johnny ! " he called across the river, " are you that clay-eatin' Crackei with green lamps on your pilot ? " " Oh, Yank ! Are yew the U. S. mewl with a C. S. A. brand on yewr head-stall ? " "Go to hell I " replied Connor sullenly. A jeering laugh answered him from across the river. " He had you there, Connor," observed Alden with faint interest. Connor took off his blue cap and examined the bullet hole in the crown. [79] PICKETS " C. S. A. brand on my head- stall, eh ! " he repeated savagely, twirling the cap between his dirty fingers. " You called him a clay-eating Cracker," observed Alden ; " and you referred to his spectacles as green lanterns on his pilot." " I '11 show him whose head-stall is branded," muttered Connor, shov- ing his smoky rifle through the log crack. Alden sHd down to the bottom of the shalfow pit and watched him apathetically. The silence was intense ; the muddy river, smooth as oil, swirled noise- lessly between its fringe of sycamores ; not a breath of air stirred the leaves around them. From the sun-baked bottom of the rifle-pit came the stale smell of charred logs and smoke- soaked clothing. There was a stench of sweat in the air, and the heavy [80] PICKETS odour of balsam and pine seemed to intensify it. Alden gasped once or twice, threw open his jacket at the throat, and stuffed a filthy handker- chief into the crown of his cap, ar- ranging the ends as a shelter for his neck. Connor lay silent, his right eye fastened upon the rifle-sight, his dusty army shoes crossed behind him. One yellow sock had slipped down over the worn shoe heel and laid bare a dust-begrimed ankle. In the heated stillness Alden heard the boring of weevils in the logs overhead. A tiny twig snapped some- where in the forest ; a fly buzzed about his knees. Suddenly Connor's rifle cracked ; the echoes rattled and clattered away through the woods ; a thin cloud of pungent vapour slov/ly drifted straight upward, shredding into filmy streamers among the tan- gled branches overhead. [6] [81] PICKETS " Get him ? " asked Alden, after a silence. " Nope," replied Connor. Then he addressed himself to his late target across the river : "Hello, Johnny!" " Hi, Yank 1 " "How close?" " Hey ? " "How close?" " What, sonny ? " " My shot, you fool ! " " Why, sonny 1 " called back the Confederate in affected surprise, " was yew a shootin' at me ? " Bang ! went Connor's rifle again. A derisive cat-call answered him, and he turned furiously to Alden. " Oh, let up," said the young fel- low ; " it 's too hot for that." Connor was speechless with rage, and he hastily jammed another car- tridge into his long, hot rifle, while Alden roused himself, brushed away PICKETS a persistent fly, and crept up to the edge of the pit again. " Hello, Johnny ! " he shouted. " That you, sonny ? " replied the Confederate. " Yes. Say, Johnny, shall we call it square until four o'clock ? " " What time is it ? " replied the cautious Confederate ; " all our expen- sive gold watches is bein' repaired at Chickamauga." At this taunt, Connor showed his teeth, but Alden laid one hand on his arm and sang out : " It 's two o'clock, Richmond time ; Sherman has just telegraphed us from your State- house." " Wa-al, in that case this crool war is over," replied the Confederate sharpshooter ; " we '11 be easy on old Sherman." " See here ! " cried Alden ; " is it a truce until four o'clock ? " " All right ! Your word, Yank ! '* SBSSSS5SSSSSSSSB5SSBSS53SSSSSESESSSeSSSSSSSSSeSSSBSSBSS3S3SZ PICKETS " You have it ! " " Done ! " said the Confederate, coolly rising to his feet and strolling down to the river bank, both hands in his pockets. Alden and Connor crawled out of their ill-smelling dust wallow, leaving their rifles behind them. " Whew ! It 's hot, Johnny," said Alden pleasantly. He pulled out a stained pipe, blew into the stem, pol- ished the bowl with his sleeve, and sucked wistfully at the end. Then he v/ent and sat down beside Connor who had improvised a fishing pole from his ramrod, a bit of string, and a rusty hook. The Confederate rifleman also sat down on his side of the stream, puff- ing luxuriously on a fragrant corn-cob pipe. Presently the Confederate soldier raised his head and looked across at Alden. PICKETS "What's yewr name, sonny? " he asked. " Alden," replied the young fellow briefly. " Mine 's Craig," observed the Confederate ; " what 's yewr regi- ment ? " " Two hundred sixtieth New York; what's yours, Mr. Craig?" '' Ninety-third Maryland, Mister Alden." " Quit that throwin' sticks in the water ! " growled Connor ; " how do you s'pose I 'm goin' to catch any- thin' ? " Alden tossed his stick back into the brush-heap and laughed. " How 's your tobacco, Craig ? " he called out. " Bully ! How 's yewr coffee 'n 'tack, Alden ? " " First rate ! " replied the youth. After a silence he said : " Is it a go? [^S] PICKETS " You bet," said Craig, fumbling in his pockets. He produced a heavy twist of Virginia tobacco, laid it on a log, hacked off about three inches with his sheath knife, and folded it up in a big green sycamore leaf. This again he rolled into a corn-husk, weighted with a pebble, then stepping back, he hurled it into the air, saying : " Deal squar, Yank ! " The tobacco fell at Alden's feet. He picked it up, measured it care- fully with his clasp-knife, and called out : " Three and three-quarters, Craig. What do you want, hard-tack or coffee ? " " 'Tack," replied Craig : " don't stint ! " Alden laid out two biscuits. As he was about to hack a quarter from the third he happened to glance over the creek at his enemy. There was no mis- taking the expression in his face. Star- vation was stamped on every feature. [S6] PICKETS When Craig caught Alden's eye, he spat with elaborate care, whistled a bar of the " Bonny Blue Flag," and pretended to yawn. Alden hesitated, glanced at Connor, then placed three whole biscuits in the corn husk, added a pinch of coffee, and tossed the parcel over to Craig. That Craig longed to fling himself upon the food and devour it was plain to Alden, who was watching his face. But he did n't ; he strolled leisurely down the bank, picked up the parcel, weighed it critically before opening it, and finally sat down to examine the contents. When he saw that the third cracker was whole, and that a pinch of coffee had been added, he paused in his examination and re- mained motionless on the bank, head bent. Presently he looked up and asked Alden if he had made a mis- take. The young fellow shook his head and drew a long puff of smoke [87^ PICKETS from his pipe, watching it curl out of his nose with interest. " Then I 'm obliged to yew, Alden," said Craig ; " 'low, I '11 eat a snack to see it ain't pizened." He filled his lean jaws with the dry biscuit, then scooped up a tin-cup full of water from the muddy river and set the rest of the cracker to soak. " Good ?" queried Alden. " Fair," drawled Craig, bolting an unchewed segment and choking a little. " How 's the twist ? " "Fine," said Alden; "tastes like stable-sweepings." They smiled at each other across the stream. " Sa-a-y," drawled Craig with his mouth full, " when yew 're out of twist, jest yew sing out, sonny." "All right," replied Alden. He stretched back in the shadow of a sycamore and watched Craig with pleasant eyes. [88] PICKETS Presently Connor had a bite and jerked his Hne into the air. "Look yere," said Craig, "that ain't no way foh to ketch ' red-horse.' Yew want a ca'tridge on foh a sinker, sonny." "What's that ?" inquired Connor suspiciously. " Put on a sinker." " Go on, Connor," said Alden. Connor saw him smoking and sniffed anxiously. Alden tossed him the twist, telling him to fill his pipe. Presently Connor found a small pebble and improvised a sinker. He swung his line again into the muddy current with a mechanical sidelong glance to see what Craig was doing, and settled down again on his haunches, smoking and grunting. " Enny news, Alden ? " queried Craig after a silence. " Nothing much — except that Richmond has fallen," grinned Alden. \.89^ SSSSSSSSS3SSSSSE5SSSSSS3SSSESSSSBBSSScSSSSSE5SSSSSSSSeS3SSS& PICKETS " Quit foolin'," urged the South- erner ; "ain't thar no news? " " No. Some of our men down at Long Pond got sick eating catfish. They caught them in the pond. It appears you Johnnys used the pond as a cemetery, and our men got sick eating the fish." '' That so ? " grinned Craig ; " too bad. Lots of yewr men was in Long Pond, too, I reckon." In the silence that followed, two rifle-shots sounded faint and dull from the distant forest. "'N other great Union victory," drawled Craig. " Extry ! extry ! Rich- mond is took ! " Alden laughed and puffed at his pipe. " We Hcked the boots off of the 30th Texas last Monday," he said. " Sho ! " exclaimed Craig. " What did you go a lickin' their boots for ? — blackin' ? " [90] PICKETS " Oh, shut up ! " said Connor from the bank, " 1 can't ketch no fish if you two fools don't quit jawin'." The sun was dipping below the pine-clad ridge, flooding river and wood with a fierce radiance. The spruce needles glittered, edged with gold ; every broad green leaf wore a heart of gilded splendour, and the muddy waters of the river rolled on- ward like a flood of precious metal, heavy, burnished, noiseless. From a balsam bough a thrush uttered three timid notes ; a great gauzy-winged grasshopper drifted blindly into a clump of sun-scorched weeds, click ! click ! cr-r-r-r ! " Purty, ain't it," said Craig, looking at the thrush. Then he swallowed the last morsel of muddy hardtack, wiped his beard on his cuff, hitched up his trousers, took off his green glasses, and rubbed his eyes. PICKETS " A he-cat-bird sings purtier though," he said with a yawn. Alden drew out his watch, puffed once or twice, and stood up, stretch- ing his arms in the air. "It's four o'clock," he began, but was cut short by a shout from Connor. " Gee-whiz ! " he yelled, " what have I got on this here pole ? " The ramrod was bending, the line swaying heavily in the current. " It 's four o'clock, Connor," said Alden, keeping a wary eye on Craig. " That 's all right ! " called Craig ; " the time 's extended till yewr friend lands that there fish ! " " Pulls like a porpoise," grunted Connor, "damn it! I bet it busts my ramrod ! " " Does it pull ? " grinned Craig. " Yes, — a dead weight ! " " Don't it jerk kinder this way an' that ? " asked Craig, much interested. 5ESHSES2S2SHSSSa5ESESSSSSE5SS2SESHSHSHSEE2SHSHSESHSHS2SHHasa. PICKETS " Naw," said Connor, " the bloody thing jest pulls steady." " Then it ain't no ' red-horse,' it 's a catfish 1 " " Huh !" sneered Connor, — " don't 1 know a catfish ? This ain't no catfish, lemme tell yer ! " " Then it's a log," laughed Alden. " By gum ! here it comes," panted Connor ; " here, Alden, jest you ketch it with my knife, — hook the blade, blame ye ! " Alden cautiously descended the red bank of mud, holding on to roots and branches, and bent over the water. He hooked the big-bladed clasp knife like a scythe, set the spring, and leaned out over the water. " Now ! " muttered Connor. An oily circle appeared upon the surface of the turbid water, — another and another. A few bubbles rose and floated upon the tide. Then something black appeared PICKETS just beneath the bubbles and Alden hooked it with his knife and dragged it shoreward. It was the sleeve of a man's coat. Connor dropped his ramrod and gaped at the thing : Alden would have loosed it, but the knife-blade was tangled in the sleeve. He turned a sick face up to Connor. " Pull it in," said the older man, — " here, give it to me, lad — " When at last the silent visitor lay upon the bank, they saw it was the body of a Union cavalryman. Alden stared at the dead face, fascinated ; Connor mechanically counted the yel- low chevrons upon the blue sleeve, now soaked black. The muddy water ran over the baked soil, spread- ing out in dust-covered pools ; the spurred boots trickled slime. After a while both men turned their heads and looked at Craig. The South- erner stood silent and grave, his PICKETS battered cap in his hand. They eyed each other quietly for a moment, then, with a vague gesture, the Southerner walked back into his pit and presently reappeared, trailing his rifle. Connor had already begun to dig with his bayonet, but he glanced up at the rifle in Craig's hands. Then he looked suspiciously into the eyes of the Southerner. Presently he bent his head again and continued digging. It was sunset before he and Alden finished the shallow grave, Craig watching them in silence, his rifle between his knees. When they were ready they rolled the body into the hole and stood up. Craig also rose, raising his rifle to a "present." He held it there while the two Union soldiers shovelled the earth into the grave. Alden went back and lifted the two rifles from the pit, handed Connor his, and waited. PICKETS "Ready!" growled Connor, " aim ! Alden's rifle came to his shoulder. Craig also raised his rifle. " Fire ! " Three times the three shots rang out in the wilderness, over the un- known grave. After a moment or two Alden nodded good night to Craig across the river and walked slowly toward his rifle-pit. Connor shambled after him. As he turned to lower himself into the pit he called across the river : " Good night, Craig ! " " Good night, Connor," said Craig. [?<<] THE GOD of BATTLES Sovereign of the world . . . these sabres hold another language to-day from that they held yesterday. — Vathek. IT happened so unexpectedly, so abruptly, that she forgot to scream. A moment before, she had glanced out of the pantry win- dows, dusting the flour from her faded pink apron, and she saw the tall oats motionless in the field and the sun- light sifting through the corn. In the heated stillness a wasp, creeping up and down the window pane, filled the dim house with its buzzing. She remembered that, — then she remem- bered hearing the clock ticking in the darkened dining-room. It was [7] [p7] THE GOD OF BATTLES scarcely a moment ; she bent again over her flour pan, wistful, saddened by the summer silence, thinking of her brother ; then again she raised her eyes to the window. It was too sudden ; she did not scream. Had they dropped from the sky, these men in blue, — these toil- ing, tramping, crowding creatures ? The corn was full of them, the pas- ture, the road ; they were in the garden, they crushed the cucumbers and the sweet-peas, their muddy trousers tore tender tendrils from the melon vines, their great shoes, plod- ding across the potato hills, harrowed the bronzed earth and levelled it to a waste of beaten mould and green- stuff. They passed, hundreds, thou- sands, — she could not tell, — and at first they neither spoke nor turned aside, but she heard a harmony, sub- tile, vast as winds at sea, — a name- less murmur that sweeps through [9^ THE GOD OF BATTLES brains of marching men, — the voice- less prophecy of battle. Breathless, spellbound, she moved on tiptoe to the porch, one hand pressed trembling across her lips. The field of oats shimmered a mo- ment before her eyes, then a blue mass swung into it and it melted away, sheered to the earth in glim- mering swathes as gilded grain falls at the sickle's sparkle. And the men in blue covered the earth, the world, her world, which stretched from the orchard to Benson's Hill. There was something on Benson's Hill that she had never before seen. It looked like a brook in the sun- shine ; it was a column of infantry, rifles slanting in the sun. Somebody had been speaking to her for a minute or two, somebody below her on the porch steps, and now she looked down and saw a boy, slim, sunburnt, wearing gauntlets and THE GOD OF BATTLES spurs. His dusty uniform glittered with gilt and yellow braid ; he touched the vizor of his cap and fingered his sword hilt. She looked at him list- lessly, her hand still pressed to her lips. " Is there a well near the house ? " he asked. After a moment he re- peated the question. Men with red crosses on their sleeves came across the grass, trailing poles and rolls of dirty canvas. She saw horses too, dusty and patient, tied to the front gate. A soldier, with a yellow ornament on his sleeve, stood at their heads, holding a red flag in one hand. Something tugged gently at her apron, and, " show me the well, please," repeated the boy beside her. She turned mechanically into the house ; he followed, caking the rag- carpet with his boots' dry mud. In the woodshed she started and turned [too] THE GOD OF BATTLES trembling to him but he gravely mo- tioned her on, and she went, passing more swiftly under the trees of the orchard to the vine-covered well- curb. He thanked her ; she pointed at the dipper and rope ; but already blue-clad, red-faced soldiers were low- ering the bucket and the orchard hummed with the buzz of the wheel. She went back to the porch, not through the house but around it. Across the little lawn lay crushed stalks and dying flowers ; the potato patch was a slough of muddy green. Soldiers passed in the sunshine. She began to remember that her brother, too, was a soldier, some- where out in the world ; he had been a soldier for nearly a week, ever since Jim Bemis had taken him to Willow Corners to enlist. She remembered she had cried and gone into the pantry to make bread and cry again. She [/o/] THE GOD OF BATTLES remembered that first night, how she had been afraid to sleep in the house, how at dusk she had gone into the parlour to be near her mother. Her mother was dead, but her picture hung in the parlour. Soldiers were passing, clutching their rifle butts with dirty hands, turning toward her countless sun- dazzled eyes. The shimmer of gun- barrels, the dancing light on turning bayonets, the flicker and sparkle on belt and button dazed and wearied her. Somebody said, " We 're the boys for the purty girls ! Have ye no eyes for us, lass ? " Another said, " Shut up, Mike, she's not from the Bowery;" and, "G'wan ye dead rabbit!" retorted the first. A flag passed, and on it she read " New York," and another flag passed, dipped to her in grim salute, while the folds shook out a faded " Maine." [ ^^^] THE GOD OF BATTLES She began to watch the flags ; she saw a regiment plunge into the tram- pled corn, but she knew it was not her brother's because the trousers of the men were scarlet and the caps hung to the shoulders, tasselled and crim- son. " Maryland, Maryland, Maryland, 6oth Maryland," she repeated, but she did not know she spoke aloud until somebody said : " It 's yonder," and a blue sleeve swept towards the west. " Yonder," she repeated, looking at the ridge, cool in the beechwoods' shadow. " Is it the 6oth Maryland you want, Miss ? " asked another. " Silence," said an officer, wheeling a sweating horse past the porch. She shrank back, but turned her head toward the beechwoods. As she looked a belt of flame encircled the forest, once, twice, again and yet THE GOD OF BATTLES again, and through the outrushing smoke, the crash ! crash ! crash ! of rifles echoed and re-echoed across the valley. All around her thousands of men burst into cheers ; a deeper harmony grew on the idle breeze — the solemn tolling of cannon. The flags, the bright flags spread rainbow wings to the rising breeze ; they were breast- ing the hills everywhere. The din of the rifles, the shouting, the sudden swift human wave, sweeping by on every side, thrilled her little heart until it beat out the long roll with the rolling drums. In the orchard the rattle of the bucket, the creak and whirr of the well-wheel, never ceased. A very young officer sat on his horse, eat- ing an unripe apple and watching the men around the well. The horse stretched a glossy neck toward the currant bushes, mumbling twigs and [104] THE GOD OF BATTLES sun-curled leaves. A hen wandered near, peering fearlessly at the soldiers. The girl went into the kitchen, reached up for her sun-bonnet, dan- gling on a peg, tied it under her chin, and walked gravely into the orchard. The men about the well looked up as she passed. They admired re- spectfully. So did the very young officer, pausing, apple half-eaten ; so perhaps did the horse, turning his large, gentle eyes as she came up. The officer wheeled in his saddle and leaned toward her deferentially, anticipating perhaps complaint or insult. In Maryland "Dixie" was sung as often as " The Red, White, and Blue." Before she spoke she saw that it was the same officer who had asked her about the well ; she had not noticed he was so young. " I am sorry," he said, — and, as [ ^os ] THE GOD OF BATTLES he spoke, he removed his cap — " I am very sorry that we have trampled your garden. If you are loyal," the Government will indemnify you — " The sudden crash of a cannon somewhere among the trees drowned his voice. Stunned, she saw him, undisturbed, gather his bridle with a deprecatory gesture. His voice came back to her through the ringing in her ears : " We do not mean to be careless, but we could not turn aside, and your farm is in the line of advance." Her ears still rang, and she spoke, scarcely hearing her own voice : " It is not that — I am loyal — it is only I v/ish to ask you where my brother's regiment — where the 6oth Mary- land is." " The 6oth Maryland — oh — why it 's in King's Brigade, Wolcott's Division; I think it's yonder." He pointed toward the beechwoods. THE GOD OF BATTLES " Yonder ? Where they are fir- ing? Again the cannon thundered and the ground shook under her. She saw him nod, smiHng faintly. Other mounted officers rode up ; some looked at her curiously, others glanced carelessly ; the attitudes of all were respectful. She heard them arguing about the water in the well and the length of the road to Willow Cor- ners. They spoke of a turning movement, of driving somebody to Whitehall Station. The musketry on the hill had ceased; the cannon, too, were silent. Across the tram- pled corn a regiment moved list- lessly to the tap, tap of a drum. On the road that circled Benson's Hill, mounted soldiers were riding fast in the dust ; several little flags bobbed among them ; metal on shoulder and stirrup flashed through the dust, bur- nished by the mid-day sun. [707] THE GOD OF BATTLES She heard an officer say that there would be no fighting, and she won- dered, because the musketry began again, little spattering shots among the beeches on the ridge, and behind the house drums rolled and a sudden flurry of bugle music filled the air. Other officers rode up, some escorted by troopers who bounced in their saddles and grasped long-staffed flags, the butts resting in their stirrups. She reached up and bent down an apple bough, studded with clustered green fruit. Through the leaves she looked at the officers. The sunshine fell in brilliant spots, dappling flag and cap and the broad backs of horses ; there was a jingle of spurs ever)'^where. The hum of voices and the movement were grateful to her, for her loneliness was not of her own seeking. In the pleas- ant summer air the distant gunshots grew softer and softer ; the twitter of [ic8] THE GOD OF BATTLES a robin came from the ash-tree by the gate. Out on the road by Benson's Hill, the cavalry were still passing, the little flags sped along, rising and falling with the column, and the short clear note of a trumpet echoed the robin's call. But around the house the last of the troops had passed ; she could see them, not yet far away, moving up among the fields toward the ridges where the sun burned on the bronz- ing scrub-oak thickets. The officers, too, were leaving the orchard, spurr- ing on, singly or in groups, after the disappearing columns. From the main road came a loud thudding and pounding and clanking ; a battery of artillery, the long guns slanted, the drivers swinging their thongs — passed at a trot. After it rode sol- diers in blue and yellow, then waggons passed, ponderous grey wains covered [jog] THE GOD OF BATTLES with canvas, and on either side clat- tered more mounted troopers, their drawn sabres glittering through the heated haze. She stood a moment, holding the apple bough, watching the yellow dust hanging motionless in the rear of the disappearing column. When the last wain had creaked out of sight and the last trooper had loped after it, she turned and looked at the silent garden, trodden, withered, desolate. She drew a long breath, the apple bough flew back, the little green apples dancing. A bee buzzed over a trampled geranium, a robin ran through the longer grass and stopped short, head raised. Beyond Benson's Hill a bugle blew faintly ; distant rifle shots sounded along the ridge ; then silence crept through the sunlit mead- ows, across the levelled corn, across dead stalks and stems, a silence that spread like a shadow, nearer, nearer, r THE GOD OF BATTLES over the lawn, through the orchard to the house, and then from corner to corner, dulling the ticking of the clock, stifling the wasp on the win- dow, driving her before it from room to room. On the musty hair-cloth sofa in the parlour she lay, flung face down, hands pressed to her ears. But silence entered with her, stifling the sob in her throat. When she raised her head it was dusk. She heard the murmur of wind in the trees and the chirr of crickets from the fields. She sat up, peering fearfully into the dark- ness, and she heard the clock ticking in the kitchen and rustle of vines on the porch. After a moment she rose, treading softly, and felt along the wall until her hands rested on her mother's picture. Then, no longer afraid, she slipped silently across the room, and through the hallway to the pantry. [ 77/ ] THE GOD OF BATTLES It was nearly moonrise before she had cooked supper ; when she sat down alone at the long table, the moon, yellow, enormous, stared at her through the window. She sipped her tea, turned the lamp-wick a trifle lower, and ate slowly. The little grey dusk moths came humming in the open window and circled around her. The porch dripped with dew ; there was a scent of night in the air. When she had sat silent a little while dreaming over the sins of a blameless life, there came to her, peace, so sudden, so perfect, that she could not understand. How should she know peace ? What thought of the past might bring comfort ? She could just remember her mother, — that was all. She loved her picture in the parlour. As for her father, he had died as he had lived, a snarling drunkard. And her brother.'' A THE GOD OF BATTLES lank, blue-eyed boy, dissipated, un- wholesome, already cursed with his father's sin — what comfort could he be to her? He had gone away to enlist ; he was drunk when he did it. She thought of all these things, her finger tips resting on the edge of the table. She thought too — of the sol- diers passing, of the rippling crash of rifles, the drums, the cheering, the sunlight flecking the backs of the horses in the orchard. There was a creak at the gate, a click of a latch, and the fall of a foot on the moonlit porch. She half rose; she was not frightened. How she knew who it was, God alone knows, ; but she looked up, timidly, under- standing who was coming, knowing who would knock, who would enter, who would speak. And yet she had never seen him but once in her life. All this she knew, — this child made wise in the space of time marked in [//J] THE GOD OF BATTLES by the tick of the kitchen clock ; but she did not know that the memory of his smile had given her the peace she could not understand, she did not know this until he entered, dusty, slim, sunburnt, his yellow gauntlets folded in his belt, his cap and sabre in his hand. Then she knew it. When she understood this she stood up, pale, uncertain. He bowed silently and stepped forward, fumbling with his sabre hilt. She motioned toward a chair. He said he had a message for the master of the house, and glanced about vaguely, noting the single place at table and the single plate. She said he might give the message to her. " It is only that — if I do not inconvenience you too much — " he smiled faintly, — " if you would al- low me, — well, the truth is I am billeted here for the night." THE GOD OF BATTLES She did not know what that meant and he explained. " The master of the house is absent," she said, thinking of her brother. " Will he return to-night ? " he asked. She shook her head ; she was thinking that she did not want him to go away. Suddenly the thought of being alone laid hold of her with fresh horror. " You may stay," she said faintly. He bowed again. She asked him if he cared for supper, with a ges- ture toward the table, and when he thanked her she took courage and told him where to hang his cap and sabre. There was a small room between the parlour and the dining-room. She offered it to him, and he ac- cepted gratefully. While she was in the kitchen, toasting more bread. THE GOD OF BATTLES she heard him go to the front door and call. There came a clatter of hoofs, a quick word or two, and, as she re-entered the dining-room, he met her. " My orderly," he ex- plained, — " he may sleep in the stable, may he not ? " "My own bed-room is all I have here," she said. " Not — not the one you gave me ! " he asked. She nodded. " You may have it, — I often sleep in the parlour, — I did when my brother was home." " If I had had any idea — " he burst out. She stopped him with a gesture ; but he insisted and at last he had his own way. " If I may sleep in the parlour, I will stay," he said, and she nodded and seated her- self at the table. He ate a great deal; she wondered a little, but nodded again at his ex- cuses, and insisted that he must have THE GOD OF BATTLES more tea. She watched him ; the lamplight fell softly on his boyish head, on his faint moustache, and bronzed hands. He ate much bread and butter and many eggs; he spoke about his orderly and the horses, and presently asked for a lantern. She brought him one ; he lighted it. When he had gone away with his lantern, she rested her white face in her hands and looked at his empty chair. She thought of her brother, she thought of the village people who leered askance when she was obliged to go to the store at Wil- low Corners. The mention of her father's name, of her brother's name in the village aroused sneers or laughter. As long as she could remember the one great longing of her life had been to be respected. She had seen her father fall at night in the village street, drunk as a hog ; she had seen her brother reel across THE GOD OF BATTLES the fields at noonday. She knew that all the world knew — her world — that she was merely one of a drunkard's family. She never spoke to a neighbour, nor did she answer when spoken to. She carried her curse, — and her longing, — suppos- ing that she was a thing apart. In the orchard at midday a man, a young boy, a soldier, had spoken to her and looked at her in a way she had never known. All at once she realised, dreaming there in the lamp- light, that she was a woman to him, like other women ; a woman to be spoken to with deference, a woman to be approached with courtesy. She had read it in his eyes, she had heard it in his voice. It was this that brought to her a peace as gracious, as sweet, as the eyes that had met her own in the orchard. He was coming back from the stable now, — she heard his spurs I 118} THE GOD OF BATTLES click across the grass by the orchard. And now he had entered, now he was there, sitting opposite, smiHhg vaguely across the table. A rush of tears blinded her and she looked out into the night where the yellow moon stared and stared. She found herself in the parlour after a while, silent, listening to his voice ; and all about her was peace, born of the peace within her breast. He told her of the war. She had never before cared, but now she cared. He spoke of long marches, of hunger and of thirst, with a boy- ish laugh, and she laughed too, not knowing how else to show her pity. He spoke of the Land, and now, for the first time, she loved it; she knew it was also her Land. He spoke of the flag and what it meant. In her home she had no symbol of her country, and she told him so. He drew a penknife from his pocket, cut THE GOD OF BATTLES a button from his collar, and handed it to her. On the button was an eagle and stars, and she pinned it over her heart, looking at him with innocent eyes. She told him of her mother, — she could not tell much but she told him all she remembered. Then, involun- tarily, she told him more, — about her life, her hopes long dead, her brother bearing his father's name and curse. She had not meant to do this at first ; but as she spoke she had a dim idea that he ought to know who it was that he treated with gen- tleness and deference. She knew it would not change anything in him, that he would be the same. Perhaps it was a vague hope that he might advise her, — perhaps be sorry, she could not analyse it, but she felt the necessity of speaking. There is a time for all things ex- cept confession. But, to the lonely [120] THE GOD OF BATTLES soul, long Stifled, time is chosen for confession when God sends the opportunity. She spoke of honour as she under- stood it ; she spoke of dishonour as she had known it. When she was silent, he began to speak, and she listened breathlessly. Ah, but she was right ! The God of Battles had sent to her a messenger of peace. Out of the smoke and flame he had come to find her and pity her. Through him she knew she was worthy of respect, through him she learned her womanhood, from his lips she heard the truths of youth, which are truer than the truths of age. He sat there In the lamplight, his gilt straps gleaming, his glittering spurs ringing true with every move- ment, his bronzed young face bent to hers. She knew he knew every- thing that man could know ; she [72/] THE GOD OF BATTLES drank in what he said, humbly. When he ceased speaking, she still looked into his eyes. Their brill- iancy dazzled her ; the lamp spun a halo behind his head. Wondering at his knowledge, she wondered what those things might be that he knew and had not told. He was smiling now. She felt the power and mys- tery of his eyes. It is true that he had not told her all he knew, — although what a boy of eighteen knows is soon told. He had not told her that her brother lay buried in a trench in the beech-grove on the ridge, shot by court-martial for desertion in the face of the en- emy. Yet that was the very thing he had come to tell her. About midnight, when they had been whispering long together, he told her that her brother was dead. He told her that death with honour wiped out every stain, and she cried [122] THE GOD OF BATTLES a little and blessed God, — the God of Battles, who had purified her brother in the flames of war. And that night, when he lay asleep on the musty hair-cloth sofa, she crept in, white, silent, and kissed his hair. He never knew it. In the morn- ing he rode away. [^-^J] RARE BOOK COLLECTION THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA AT CHAPEL HILL Wilmer 204