1 
 
 nun 
 
 ttJHMJ 
 
 I 
 
 rrr 
 
 V'.,',v{;-sJ-,\,\.V/.-, ) 
 
 *HS 
 
 ■III 
 
 CIRCLING 
 " CAMPS 
 
 J.A.ALTSHELER 
 
LIBRARY OF THE COMMANDERY OF 
 THE STATE OF MASSACHUSETTS MILITARY 
 ORDER OFTHE LOYAL LEGION OF THE 
 UN ITED STATES 
 
 CADET ARMORY, BOSTON 
 
 W ■ 
 
 &_ - 
 
 5 
 
 is/////'/ '' 
 
 •y 
 
 £6 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/incirclingcampsrOOalts 
 
IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
By J. A. ALTSHELER. 
 
 A Herald of the West. 
 
 An American Story of 1811-1815. 
 
 i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 "A portion of our history that has not before been 
 successfully embodied in fiction. . . . Extremely well writ- 
 ten, condensed, vivid, picturesque, and there is continual 
 action. ... A rattling good story, and unrivaled in fiction 
 for its presentation of the American feeling toward England 
 during our second conflict." — Boston Herald. 
 
 "Holds the attention continuously. . . . The book 
 abounds in thrilling attractions. . . . It is a solid and 
 dignified acquisition to the romantic literature of our own 
 country, built around facts and real persons." — Chicago 
 Times- Herald. 
 
 " 'A Herald of the West ' is a romance of our history 
 which has not been surpassed in dramatic force, vivid color- 
 ing, and historical interest." — San Francisco Chronicle. 
 
 A Soldier of Manhattan, 
 
 And his Adventures at Ticonderoga 
 and Quebec. 
 
 l2mo. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cents. 
 
 "The story is told in such a simple, direct way that it 
 holds the reader's interest to the end, and gives a most ac- 
 curate picture of the times." — Boston Transcript. 
 
 " Graphic and intensely interesting. . . .The book may 
 be warmly commended as a good specimen of the fiction 
 that makes history real and living." — San Francisco 
 Chronicle. 
 
 The Sun of Saratoga. 
 
 A Romance of Burgoyne's Surrender. 
 
 i2mo. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents. 
 
 "Taken altogether, 'The Sun of Saratoga* is the best 
 historical novel of American origin that has been written 
 for years, if not, indeed, in a fresh, simple, unpretending, 
 unlabored, manly way, that we have ever read." — New 
 York Mail and Express. 
 
 " A sprightly and spirited romance gracefully written 
 in a crisp, fresh style that is simply delightful to read." — 
 Philadelphia Press. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 
 
IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 A HERALD OF THE WEST, A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN, 
 
 THE SUN OF SARATOGA, ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 1900 
 
Copyright, 1900, 
 By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. — The plat of words 1 
 
 II. — A MODEST ARRIVAL 11 
 
 III. — A SOLDIER OF THE REPUBLIC 18 
 
 IV. — A SKY OF STEEL 26 
 
 V. — Making a ruler 32 
 
 VI. — An evening with Varian 44 
 
 VII. — The sheen of the spears 54 
 
 VIII. — The call of the drum 61 
 
 IX. — The penetration of Shaftoe 66 
 
 X. — A Southern home 73 
 
 XI. — The little church of Shiloh .... 90 
 
 XII. — With the vanguard 104 
 
 XIII. — The unbidden guest 113 
 
 XIV. — The drunken squad's last stand . . . .119 
 
 XV. — The song of the shell 130 
 
 XVI. — The night between 139 
 
 XVII. — The second day 145 
 
 XVIII. — A stray shot 150 
 
 XIX. — When my eyes opened 156 
 
 XX. — A beneficent jailer 163 
 
 XXI. — The time to act 171 
 
 XXII. — The prize of daring 184 
 
 XXIII. — The wind among the trees 191 
 
 XXIV. — " Whither thou goest, i will go " . . . 196 
 
 v 
 
vi IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXV. — The flight across the hills .... 201 
 
 XXVI.— At Last Chance 213 
 
 XXVII.— Prisoners of Varian 222 
 
 XXVIII.— One woman's way 231 
 
 "XXIX. — With friendly foes 242 
 
 XXX. — Within old Libby's walls .... 248 
 
 XXXI. — Before the generals 259 
 
 XXXII. — On a narrow stage 264 
 
 XXXIII. — In the wilderness 271 
 
 XXXIV.— A man of heart 283 
 
 XXXV. — The heralds of Lee 296 
 
 XXXVI.— The price of shoes 309 
 
 XXXVII. — The Bucktails grow angry .... 319 
 
 XXXVIII. — Battle's shift and change .... 331 
 
 XXXIX. — The clicking of the wires .... 340 
 
 XL. — The tale that Pembroke told . . . 347 
 
 XLI. — A MAN BORN TOO LATE 355 
 
 XLIL— The Devil's Den 366 
 
 XLIII. — High-water mark 386 
 
 XLIV. — The field of the slain 400 
 
 XLV. — The last of a later Roman .... 407 
 
 XLVI. — The call of the plough 414 
 
IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE PLAY OF WORDS 
 
 They were dancing in the ballroom, and the music — 
 the light flow of an Austrian waltz — rippled through the 
 halls, the careless notes of the melody, played on such 
 a night, returning to me with a sinister echo. Yet the 
 touch of foreboding was faint, and I felt that it was 
 alike folly and bad taste to be sad when others laughed. 
 
 " And I hear that he has turned back," said Varian, 
 in cool, precise tones. " A President without a nation 
 or a nation without a President, which is it? — either or 
 both? Now, being elected President, which no one de- 
 nies, why does not Lincoln come to claim his own? " 
 
 This was news that he told, and I felt a quickening 
 of my blood. Unwelcome though his words were, I 
 would have asked him to speak more fully; but I saw 
 Elinor's face, and knowing from the quiver of her lips 
 that she was about to take up the thread of the talk, I 
 was silent. 
 
 " Turned back, do you say, Mr. Varian? " she asked. 
 " Do you mean to tell us that Mr. Lincoln is not now 
 on the way to Washington? — that the man whom the 
 people have chosen to be their President is not per- 
 mitted to come to the capital? " 
 
 A flush due chiefly to indignation rose to her cheeks, 
 and her blue eyes, as clear and direct as her question, 
 
 1 
 
2 IN CIRCLING. CAMPS 
 
 looked into Varian's. Anger, if it be without sacri- 
 fice of dignity, becomes a beautiful woman; and having 
 no cause to like Varian, I could find it in my heart to 
 forgive him when I saw the look of admiration on his 
 face. To show a proper appreciation of Elinor Maynard 
 was to prove one's own good sense. 
 
 " I heard in the ballroom a half hour ago," re- 
 plied Varian, smiling a little and showing his even 
 white teeth — " Tourville, the man from South Carolina, 
 I think it was who told me — that Lincoln came as far as 
 Harrisburg to-day, became frightened there, because of 
 a conspiracy here to kill him, carry off his Presidential 
 Chair, or commit some other deed of violence repugnant 
 to a peaceful Illinois rail splitter, and promptly facing 
 about, fled to Philadelphia." 
 
 I had been trying to decide for a long time whether 
 I liked Varian. He was a man of many facets, and each 
 glittered with a different light. His ease of manner, 
 his careless air, his long life in the Old World, and the 
 inability of any one to say whether he was American 
 or European by birth, which lent to his name a certain 
 agreeable mystery, made him an interesting figure 
 among us, while none could deny the charm of his con- 
 versation or his knowledge of a larger and more com- 
 plex society than ours. I fancy it was the latter quality 
 that made him attractive to young men like Pembroke 
 and myself. 
 
 But at the present moment I was sure that I did 
 not like him. The facet that he was presenting to our 
 gaze gave forth a light, repellent — to me at least. He 
 seemed to cheapen alike the nation and the crisis at 
 the verge of which it stood, and the look that he 
 bent upon Elinor was a little bolder than I liked, 
 perhaps a little freer than the usage of our country 
 favoured. 
 
 " This retreat is only for the moment," said Elinor, 
 whose high blood, I knew, was aflame. " Lincoln will 
 
 RBC 
 NcU 
 
THE PLAY OP WORDS 3 
 
 start again, and we shall all see him become President 
 upon the appointed day." 
 
 She spoke with the spirit of a young and beautiful 
 woman, having a mind not inferior to her youth and 
 beauty. Varian's eyes were upon her, and the gleam 
 of admiration in them deepened. There was a strange 
 attraction about Elinor Maynard that drew all men, 
 an illusive charm that I have never known in any 
 other woman. I think it was the peculiar mingling 
 of Northern and Southern blood in her veins, the 
 odd grafting of Massachusetts stock upon Kentucky 
 soil. 
 
 Varian's eyes lingered upon her, and the admiration 
 in his look remained unrepressed. I noticed with a 
 slight contraction of the heart his deepening anxiety 
 to please her, and the manner in which he called to 
 his aid all his knowledge of the world and women, 
 learned in lands older and more polished than ours. As 
 I read his eyes then he coveted this maid, and yet I 
 knew that I had no right to blame him, since he was not 
 alone in such a wish. He was older than Pembroke or 
 I, but his youth was not wholly passed. He seemed to 
 me to be at an age dangerous to women. 
 
 " A newsboy is calling his wares," I said; " perhaps 
 the papers are telling of Lincoln's flight." 
 
 I raised the window a little, but I could hear only 
 the call and not its significance. The chill February 
 air blew in, but the night -outside was silent save for the 
 newsboy's cry and the rattle of a lone soldier's bayonet 
 as they changed the guard. I shut the window and 
 then heard only ourselves and the music from the ball- 
 room. 
 
 Paul Warner, our host, heavy and fussy, joined us. 
 He was a large, fat man, with pouchy, black rings under 
 his eyes, and a variety of jewels on his fingers. He 
 reeked of his wealth, and I often reflected that I had 
 never seen two more unlike than Paul Warner, Govern- 
 
4 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 ment contractor and rich man, and his niece, Elinor 
 Maynard. 
 
 " I have been looking for you the last half hour, 
 Elinor," he said, in short, gasping sentences, spread- 
 ing out his hands in a deprecatory gesture until the 
 rings upon them flashed in the gaslight. " A dozen 
 people have asked me where you are, and I could not 
 tell them. I have prepared for you the finest ball of 
 the season, and you have fled." 
 
 " We were discussing important news, uncle," said 
 Elinor. 
 
 "And what is that, my dear niece?" 
 
 " Mr. Lincoln came no farther than Harrisburg, and 
 has returned from there to Philadelphia, to escape, it is 
 said, a plot to kill him." 
 
 " Do you know this to be a fact? " 
 
 " I am responsible for the statement so far as this 
 room is concerned," said Varian, " and I have no doubt 
 of its truth." 
 
 Mr. Warner dropped his lids over his eyes until the 
 beam from them narrowed to a point, sharp and pene- 
 trating. The vulgarity of his manners disappeared for 
 the time, and he was the shrewd, alert business man 
 looking into the future. I was willing to wager with 
 an invisible opponent that I knew the trend of Paul 
 Warner's thoughts. 
 
 " If Lincoln has gone back it means that the capital 
 is to be left to the South, and that has the savour of 
 speedy war," he said. " It will be war anyhow, but the 
 flight of Lincoln will hasten it. The South has her 
 mind made up; she is able and decided, while the North 
 is lazy, doubting, and negligent. Who could have 
 thought that each section would show qualities the 
 exact opposite of those we associate with it! " 
 
 He seemed to be thoughtful, and I might have 
 added as a spur to his reflections that war demanded 
 supplies which made possible large contracts and 
 
THE PLAY OP WORDS 5 
 
 equally large profits for the wary and tolerant, but I 
 thought it neither necessary nor polite. The beam in 
 his eye changed to a twinkle, and I saw that Paul 
 Warner was not displeased. But he changed the sub- 
 ject; and, in truth, war was an inopportune topic, time 
 and place considered. 
 
 " Come," he said, " it is time to go to supper now. 
 That is a call, perhaps, that does not speak so loudly 
 to the young as it does to us who are of middle age or 
 more, but you must heed it." 
 
 ft was my privilege to take Elinor, and Varian 
 went with our host in search of the lady with whom he 
 was to have the happiness, f saw Elinor's eyes watch- 
 ing him until he disappeared in the ballroom, and when 
 he was gone she seemed grave and abstracted. I feared 
 that she felt the charm of this man's manner and speech 
 and of the indefinable quality that we call, for the lack 
 of a better name, personal magnetism. That he had it 
 I could not deny, and men as well as women were glad 
 to be seen receiving his notice. 
 
 " Can you tell me who and what he is, Henry? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Why does he arouse every one's curiosity? " I 
 said, feeling a pang of jealousy and making my reply a 
 question. " Even you are now asking about him, Elinor, 
 and ordinarily there is so little in your nature that is 
 inquisitive." 
 
 " I do not know why," she replied simply. 
 
 " No one here has learned much concerning him," I 
 said, somewhat ashamed of the feeling that had shown 
 in my tone. " Philip Augustus Yarian has been in 
 Washington the last six months. He came from 
 Europe, so it is said, and there have been wagers as to 
 whether he is English or American, while others equally 
 wise hold that he is neither." 
 
 " He speaks English without an accent." 
 
 " Likewise French and German; so we can infer 
 
6 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 nothing from that. In fact, Varian's interests seem to 
 be French. It is said, whether truly I do not know, 
 that he has some sort of a commission here from the 
 French Emperor. Napoleon is building up an em- 
 pire in Mexico with the Austrian Maximilian as his 
 little wooden man to wear the crown, and he wants 
 to win more prestige by breaking up the American 
 republic, appearing then as the patron and protector 
 of the South, for which France will take benefits. It 
 is said that Varian — and again I warn you I know not 
 whether it is true — is here to speak for him with the 
 Southern leaders. Certain it is, he is intimate with 
 some of the ablest secessionists. Elinor, I think that 
 Varian is a dangerous man." 
 
 " Why so ? " she asked, turning her clear eyes upon 
 me. " The South is going to secede whether Mr. Varian 
 is here or not, and if he is hostile to the Union there 
 are ten thousand more in Washington who are equally 
 so." 
 
 I was not thinking of politics or war, and I did not 
 answer her. We were at the door of the supper room, 
 from which came the sound of many voices, and I had a 
 good excuse. 
 
 No one could complain justly of Paul Warner's 
 table, and this night he reached the extreme degree of 
 luxuriance and prodigality. Yet he was diplomatic, as 
 became his trade, never extreme in the expression of 
 opinion, and the partisans of North and South alike met 
 around his silver and glass and china, setting the seal 
 of approval upon his hospitality. Varian was not far 
 from us, but on the other side of the table, where I 
 could see him well, and I was compelled to admit that 
 his features were strong and handsome. The sunburn 
 of his face, and the calm, easy air with which he ac- 
 cepted all things as a matter of course, became him. He 
 was in a uniform of white and silver, which I took to be 
 a variation of a French colonel's, modified by his own 
 
THE PLAY OF WORDS 7 
 
 taste, and he was the most splendid figure in the room. 
 He was talking just then to Elinor's aunt, Mrs. May- 
 nard, a lady of thin features, acid smile, and gray com- 
 plexion, who had always done me the honour of with- 
 holding from me her approval. Varian's manner toward 
 her was as deferential as if Elinor sat in her place, and 
 the slight softness of her features showed that she was 
 pleased. 
 
 " Your health to-night, Miss Maynard," said a 
 voice. " We are all your subjects. What a pity we 
 could not cast off our allegiance in order that we might 
 have the pleasure of coming back, renewing it, and 
 then throwing ourselves at your feet, thus obtaining the 
 blessings allotted to the one sinner out of a hundred. 
 To look at this scene one would not think, Miss May- 
 nard, that the breath of war is already upon our cheeks. 
 War is a dreadful thing, but the nations have never 
 been able to get along without it; it is one of the 
 five necessary plagues — war, work, disease, debt, and 
 Yankees." 
 
 The liquid trickle of his talk ceased for a moment as 
 he took breath. It was Major Titus Tyler, of Mississippi, 
 who spoke, he of the endless speech and supreme good 
 nature, a man who saw the world through optimistic 
 eyes. His title was not to be taken in vain. It had 
 been earned honestly on Mexican battlefields, bravery 
 being one of his natural and irresponsible quali- 
 ties. Habit had not dimmed for me the contrast be- 
 tween the idle flow of the major's speech and the dis- 
 tinction of his appearance. 
 
 " You hold that war is a necessary evil, Major 
 Tyler," said Varian, who was within easy hearing. " I 
 agree with you in part at least. It is not exactly a 
 necessary evil, but an evil that we must expect." 
 
 I did not hear the reply, a faint sound from the 
 street coming just then to my ears and claiming my at- 
 tention with its significance. It was the marching of 
 
8 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 troops to the slow distant beat of a drum — no new 
 sound in Washington in the closing months of the win- 
 ter of 1860-'61. But the words of Major Tyler, " The 
 breath of war is already upon our cheeks," so idly 
 spoken, borrowed new force from the prophetic drum- 
 beat. Yet there was no sign of war within. The silver 
 and the glass shone in the rays of many lights, and the 
 red wine sparkled in the goblets. Mr. Warner beamed 
 from his black-ringed eyes and expanded in his wide 
 waistcoat. Men and women were joyous, taking the 
 evening for what it was. I believed that we alone had 
 been talking or even thinking of coming dangers. 
 
 " It's the drum that you hear, Mr. Kingsf ord," said 
 Varian, who saw me listening. " It is not a bad sound. 
 All the nations have marched to its tune." 
 
 " If there is anything I hate particularly, it's trying 
 to prove things right through precedents," said Pem- 
 broke. " You can always find a precedent, because, as 
 the wise man said, there is nothing new under the sun." 
 
 Varian smiled tolerantly, and the talk shifted to 
 lighter topics. The drumbeat was forgotten, and there 
 was no bar to the increasing gaiety of the guests. I 
 saw through the open doors of the room into the long 
 halls, where the lights stretched in parallel rows like 
 two belts of flame, narrowing in the distance. Mr. 
 Warner was at his happiest. Much incense floated to 
 him at the head of the table, and the flavour of it was 
 pleasant. The house was one of the finest in Wash- 
 ington, and it was his. The beauty and distinction of 
 his niece were reflections of his own glory. The colour 
 and the lights appealed to his physical senses, and he 
 was responsible for them too. 
 
 We returned to the ballroom. I could not expect to 
 claim much of Elinor's time on such an evening, and 
 leaving her, I paid my respects to her aunt, Mrs. May- 
 nard. We had never been very good friends. Per- 
 haps the hostility grew out of the ill feeling between 
 
THE PLAY OF WORDS 9 
 
 Mrs. Maynard and my grandmother, which, was of an 
 origin antedating my birth, and therefore so far as 
 concerned me was an inheritance. They were near 
 neighbours in Kentucky, and my grandmother, who was 
 a devout woman — believing sincerely that the Kingdom 
 of Heaven was bounded on the north by the Ohio River, 
 and on the east, south, and west by the Presbyterian 
 Church — had a righteous distrust of Mrs. Maynard's 
 Northern origin and Episcopal affiliations. Mrs. May- 
 nard, a woman capable of speaking for herself, retali- 
 ated, and, planted in such fertile ground and neurished 
 by proximity, the weed of discord grew. 
 
 These memories must have been present with Mrs. 
 Maynard on this night, as she received with small fa- 
 vour my efforts to please, the gray parchment of her 
 face wrinkling dryly at my best-turned sentences, and 
 her eyes following Elinor and Varian, who were then 
 dancing together. So I excused myself presently, and 
 walked with Pembroke into the garden, where we might 
 find fresh air. We stood there in the darkness, the 
 moon having faded, and looked back at the house, alive 
 with many lights. But we remained silent, each full 
 of his own thoughts, and I believed that his, like mine, 
 were of Elinor and Varian. 
 
 When we returned to the house I decided that it 
 was time for me to go. I sought Elinor, that I might 
 pay my parting respects, and found her aunt, Varian, 
 and Major Titus Tyler near her. There was a slight 
 change in her manner toward me — not a lack of warmth, 
 but a difference in its quality; I seemed younger to her. 
 
 " Mr. Kingsford and Elinor were children together, 
 Mr. Varian," said Mrs. Maynard, drawing her thin lips 
 into an acid smile. 
 
 " An ideal relationship," said Varian. " The only 
 Platonic friendship that can endure. One might wish 
 for the sake of example that nothing would interfere 
 with the continuity of this." 
 
10 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " Nothing is likely to do so. These old friendships 
 begun in childhood are very beautiful," said Mrs. May- 
 nard. 
 
 I did not reply to them, though my blood was hot, 
 and said good night in a firm voice. Then I passed 
 down the street into another atmosphere, and the lights 
 of the srreat house soon faded. 
 
CHAPTEE II 
 
 A MODEST AERIVAL 
 
 It was far toward morning and a light wind was 
 dying. The night was quiet, and I saw no one near me. 
 Alone in the darkness the news that I had heard of Lin- 
 coln's flight became a greater weight upon my spirits, 
 and I wondered at the laxity of the North in remaining 
 unready for the issue. 
 
 Although official winter was scarcely gone the night 
 was mild and full of spring promise. A tremulous haze 
 of warmth, a gift from the far south, hung over the 
 city. 
 
 I could find no joy in the touch of spring: the 
 distant glimpses of the river, running like melted 
 silver in the moonlight, and the softened outlines of 
 stone buildings near by, with the rim of hills beyond, 
 floating up, like a mist. The approaching splendour 
 of Nature was obscured by a sense of the disaster and 
 wreck that would come with it, and the parting of old 
 ties, never to be replaced by the new. My vision was 
 coloured by my thoughts, and the haze in the air took a 
 tinge of ominous red, tinting river and hills, and hang- 
 ing like a threat over the city and its people. I won- 
 dered whose capital it would be a year from then. 
 
 I trust that I am not excitable, nor possessed of an 
 excessive sensibility, but various causes made me keen- 
 ly alive to impressions that night, especially to those 
 of a gloomy character. There are things more serious 
 2 11 
 
12 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 to a young man than the imminence of a great war — 
 in truth, the odour of coming battles is sometimes at- 
 tractive — but Elinor's changed manner toward me, 
 slight though it was, and the presence and power of 
 Varian coloured all else. 
 
 Having the constitutional objection of the early twen- 
 ties to melancholy, I turned my back upon the Capitol, 
 and walked more rapidly down Pennsylvania Avenue, 
 approaching the region of light and movement. The 
 sounds of life increased, and I passed many people. 
 The city, usually so sober and in bed at ten, was now 
 awake late every night, like a debauchee, and lights 
 burned in some rooms until day. There was talk of 
 spies and traitors, of tyranny and death — heated, per- 
 haps; it was said that plottings and treason were going 
 on, and of the former there was no doubt. Yet many 
 of us, of different faith, could and would remain 
 friends, and were able to talk calmly of the coming 
 trial. 
 
 I heard the click of metal, and paused to look at a 
 company of soldiers gathered around a fire that smoul- 
 dered on a grass plot, sending up alternate tongues of 
 flame and smoke. Most of the men were half asleep, 
 sitting there in apathetic silence, the dim light of the 
 unsteady flames falling now and then across their lean 
 faces and revealing their strong features. They were 
 of the North, and I was impressed more deeply than 
 ever before by the lack of difference between them and 
 the Southerners: merely a little more sun in the cheeks 
 of the Southern men, merely a little more briskness in 
 the speech of the Northern, and that was all. 
 
 The fire blazed up a little and flickered over the 
 steel of bayonet and rifle barrel. The men remained 
 silent and motionless in dusky rows in front of the coals, 
 but the sentinels walked their beats with regular step. 
 I had seen companies of militia, more or less for play 
 and display, but these men came for another purpose. 
 
A MODEST ARRIVAL 13 
 
 Their own serious faces, the lack of sport and jest, and 
 the sombre silence told that the soldiers were there to 
 carry on their real trade — fighting; not to protect the 
 city from invasion, but Americans in arms against 
 Americans — for the first time. 
 
 They began to change the guard, and some one said: 
 " All's well." This struck me as the grimmest joke of 
 my time. The two halves of a nation that had intended 
 to enlighten mankind and make it better were going to 
 cut each other's throats, and all the world would sit 
 by and laugh at the sight. And we would not be 
 able to deny that the spectators were entitled to their 
 laugh. 
 
 I looked at my watch, and finding daybreak nearly 
 due concluded that it was not worth while to seek my 
 bed. So I continued my walk, choosing to meditate, 
 which we can do best when in motion. 
 
 A few whiffs of rain were blown into my face by the 
 irregular puffs of wind, and the air became raw and 
 cold with the edge of winter. But I was wrapped in 
 a heavy coat, and, with hands deep in the pockets and 
 the collar high around my throat, I thought nothing 
 of bodily suffering; instead I rather liked the rain upon 
 me, as it imparted a pleasant coolness to the blood. 
 
 The hum of the plotting city died; the men with 
 the thin, eager faces were gone at last from the streets, 
 given up now to the lone watchman and a few such 
 as I who were not in search of sleep. But, occupied 
 with plans, important to myself at least, I did not feel 
 lonely, walking to and fro until the misty light in 
 the east betokened the sunrise. 
 
 I watched idly as the sun showed the edge of his 
 great red disk above the hills and looked upon the city, , 
 but when he swung clear of the earth and began to 
 creep up the eastern skies I walked back toward the 
 avenue. 
 
 The light was yet misty in the streets between the 
 
14 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 houses, and when I heard a faint hut steady heat and 
 looked for its cause I saw only a formless bulk approach- 
 ing. I stopped, my curiosity aroused, not so much by 
 the figure as by this jar upon the hours of silence and 
 loneliness which came upon me like an awakening. 
 Out of the formless bulk four points of light shone, 
 and as the beat grew louder the eyes of two horses 
 appeared, and a carriage slowly rose behind them in 
 the dusk. The horses blew the rime of frost from 
 their noses and came on with regular tread. The 
 driver sat upon his seat, holding the lines with me- 
 chanical hand, his face red with cold, and the silver 
 incrusting his mustache. He glanced once my way, 
 but wasted no further time upon me, and my lack of 
 importance did not hurt my feelings. 
 
 I looked at the carriage — a heavy, ordinary, closed 
 affair, spattered with mud — and my eyes, passing, 
 would have left it, forgotten forever, but they were 
 caught by a face at the glass door — the worn, anxious, 
 and apprehensive face of a man — and I looked again. 
 I wondered what could take abroad so distinguished a 
 member of Congress as this in a closed carriage at such 
 an early hour in the morning. 
 
 I had recognised him at once, and I knew, moreover, 
 that he was one of the boldest, strongest, and most re- 
 sourceful of the Eepublican leaders. No ordinary 
 errand could draw him just when the daylight was 
 coming, and, burning with curiosity — a curiosity that 
 I felt to be pardonable in the troubled times — I 
 turned back and followed the carriage, which had now 
 passed me. 
 
 It went on at a steady walk, apparently by the 
 modesty of its gait and appearance desiring to avoid the 
 attention of the awakening capital; its course did not 
 lead it toward the residence of the man who occupied 
 it or of any other conspicuous personage, and the cir- 
 cumstance confirmed me in the belief that I was wit- 
 
A MODEST ARKIVAL 15 
 
 nessing a phase in some one of the schemes and plots 
 of which the city was now so full. Determined more 
 than ever to see its development, if consistent with 
 honour and not too difficult, I followed at even pace, 
 keeping twenty yards or so between myself and the 
 chase, the pursuit not wholly devoid of humour. The 
 light of the rising sun fell sometimes in fiery shafts 
 across the red face of the stolid driver, but was not 
 able to add much to the vividness of its tints. 
 
 The carriage proceeded at its sober gait, as if it had 
 all the world and eternity before it, no noise disturbing 
 the dawning morning but the roll of its wheels and the 
 beat of the horses' feet. Presently it entered the 
 railroad station for the Northern trains and stopped 
 there, the driver remaining stolidly in his seat. The 
 statesman opened the door and looked up the railroad 
 track, his eyes following the shining rails with intense 
 anxiety; evidently the gaze ended at nothing but the 
 horizon, for a look of disappointment came into the 
 eager eyes, and then he closed the door and shut him- 
 self in, as if wishing to escape observation even in the 
 moments of waiting. There were no others about the 
 station save a few employees and two or three people 
 who seemed to expect friends on an early train. 
 
 My eyes had followed the statesman's up the rail- 
 road track into the north, and they too had seen only 
 the horizon and the rising splendour of the morning. 
 
 But I believed now that I knew the cause of the 
 evasive, almost secret, journey of this carriage, and 
 again I thanked fortune because I was there to see. 
 My watch marked half past six, and a few moments 
 later I saw a faint brown spot appear against the 
 silvery edge of the horizon; it expanded, then deep- 
 ened in colour, throwing off shreds and patches of white, 
 and the rails began to hum with the coming train. 
 
 The statesman stepped out of the carriage and en- 
 tered the station. I followed him, and, affecting an air 
 
16 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 of unconcern as if I expected a friend, met the train too. 
 A very tall man came out of a car and, descending the 
 step, looked around as if he knew some one would be 
 there to meet him. It seemed to me that he was fully 
 six and a half feet in height, somewhat bent in the 
 shoulders, and with one of those long, meagre, bony, 
 brown, and seamed faces so characteristic of the West, 
 where winters and summers are extreme and life has 
 been hard. I looked once into the stranger's eyes, and 
 thought them the saddest that I had ever seen, so 
 full were they of melancholy, and yet with a certain 
 pleading. As the member of Congress ran forward to 
 meet him he climbed awkwardly down the step. His 
 gait was so shambling, his black clothes hung so un- 
 gracefully about him, his whole appearance was so 
 different from the men of easy manners and distin- 
 guished bearing whom the South chose for high place, 
 that my first emotion was one of keen disappointment. 
 He looked the rail splitter that he had been; an awk- 
 ward Western borderer, with nothing in his appearance 
 to inspire the respect — fear, even — that was needed at 
 so critical a time, when the strongest of the nation were 
 at each other's throats. I thought of a missionary with 
 a prayer book* trying to control a cageful of tigers, when 
 the man wanted was a Hercules with a red-hot bar of 
 iron. The stranger's melancholy eyes met my own again, 
 and at this second meeting I was powerfully attracted; 
 I thought that I saw there so much pity, so much 
 human affection; then his gaze wandered on to the 
 member of Congress, whose eyes were alight with glad- 
 ness, showing an obvious feeling of great relief. 
 
 The statesman helped the tall stranger into the 
 carriage, then entering too, closed the door hastily, but 
 spoke first to the stolid driver, who drove away much 
 faster than he had come. 
 
 I did not follow, but I watched the carriage as it 
 passed out of sight. I understood the full importance 
 
A MODEST ARRIVAL 17 
 
 of the event that I had just witnessed. Lincoln, the 
 President elect, was in Washington, when all hut the 
 few who helped to bring him believed that he had 
 turned back and was at Philadelphia, afraid to enter 
 the capital and take the seat to which he had been 
 chosen, dreading the extreme anger of the South. The 
 first great step was taken, and taken safely. I knew 
 well that the news of his coming, and in such a man- 
 ner, would set the South on fire, being looked upon 
 there as a hostile movement, while the North would 
 celebrate it as a victory. 
 
CHAPTEK III 
 
 A SOLDIER OF THE REPUBLIC 
 
 I visited none of my friends that day, wishing to 
 be alone — that is, alone in a crowd, where I could ob- 
 serve and myself pass unnoticed. The drama now un- 
 folding in Washington was of the most absorbing na- 
 ture, and all my personal interests were involved in it. 
 Yet my own course was clear, and I could watch others. 
 
 I passed from crowd to crowd, noting the increasing 
 strain of the situation, caused by the arrival of Lincoln, 
 the news of which soon spread throughout the city, 
 and the growing volume of belligerent talk, much of 
 it real. In the course of the afternoon I entered a 
 hotel where the crowd in the public room was the 
 thickest that I had met yet; a crowd, too, which seemed 
 to be wholly Southern. I saw no one whom I knew, 
 and my attention wandering shortly, I began to think 
 of Varian and Elinor and Mrs. Maynard. The thought 
 of these three in connection was not pleasant, but I 
 could not dismiss it. 
 
 When I looked up again I saw that another man in 
 all that turbulent crowd was silent. The stranger's 
 glance wandered my way presently, and I was drawn 
 by his expression of humorous sympathy. There seemed 
 to be between us the indefinable but mutual attraction 
 of two who are of one mind and differ from those around 
 them, the hostile crowd acting as a force to press them 
 together. 
 
 18 
 
A SOLDIER OP THE REPUBLIC 19 
 
 I examined this man who held my gaze. He was 
 about fifty, short, dark, thick, his shoulders and chest 
 immense, his face almost as brown as an Indian's, and 
 his hands large and rough. His dress was plain and 
 careless; evidently he was not of high station in life, 
 but the open expression of his broad face, his steady 
 gaze which said, though not offensively, that he con- 
 sidered himself as good as anybody, made him singu- 
 larly attractive to those who liked strength and can- 
 dour. His eyes twinkled as if he were enjoying a fine 
 comedy at a theatre, and presently he came over and 
 sat down beside me. I observed at once the erectness 
 of his figure, the manner in which he threw back his 
 shoulders, and that his was a soldier's walk. 
 
 " Heap big talk, as the Indians would say," began 
 the stranger, filling his pipe slowly and lighting it. 
 
 His manner invited confidence. 
 
 " They are telling each other that the war will last 
 but two or three months," I said, wishing to draw him. 
 " One or two battles they believe will suffice to divide 
 the Union." 
 
 The stranger took his pipe from his mouth and 
 watched a whiff of smoke rise to the ceiling. His eyes 
 still twinkled, and the lines of his face curved into a 
 smile, making deep creases. 
 
 " I heard them," he replied. " I had an uncle who 
 was a sailor. He used to say that lots of stuff came 
 alongside, but he hoisted mighty little of it on board, 
 and stowed away still less in the hold. That's my 
 opinion of talk like this." 
 
 He waved his hand at the crowd, which was paying 
 no attention either to him or me. 
 
 " What do they know of war? " he continued. " Not 
 one of them ever saw a battle." 
 
 " You are a soldier," I said, my first impression con- 
 firmed. 
 
 " Perhaps these gabblers would not call me one, 
 
20 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 but I've drawn Uncle Sam's pay for thirty years, and 
 I've tried to earn my little per diem. I followed old 
 Fuss and Feathers to the Halls of the Montezumas — and 
 I don't want any such halls to live in; I can tell you 
 the tribe of every Indian on the plains by the style of 
 his war paint; and I know by one look into a quarter- 
 master's eye whether he steals rations. Isn't that 
 enough? " 
 
 He took the pipe out of his mouth again, and with 
 heartfelt satisfaction watched the smoke curl upward. 
 Evidently he had the just proportion of egotism that 
 makes a man happy. He showed, too, the slight and re- 
 pressed tinge of garrulity necessary to a good comrade. 
 
 " You are of the regular army, then? " I said. 
 
 " Of course; I never heard of any other army — real 
 army." 
 
 Obviously his professional pride was aroused. My 
 liking increased. The stranger's appearance was attrac- 
 tive and his manner yet more so. He was the incarna- 
 tion of good humour. 
 
 " Thirty years in the army! " I repeated. 
 
 " Yes, and it's more years than you are old, with, 
 some to spare. Thirty years ago I enlisted with Uncle 
 Sam as a private — a common, raw private, mind you — 
 a green, fool private — a private that was nothing but 
 dirt under the captain's heel, and six months ago I 
 resigned as a " 
 
 "As a what?" 
 
 " As a private, still a common private." 
 
 He laughed a quiet but deep and unctuous laugh. 
 
 " Still a private," he resumed, " and willing to be 
 one, but not a raw private, nor a green private, nor dirt 
 under the officer's heel. A good many lieutenants fresh 
 from West Point, with their dress-parade uniforms on, 
 and with as much knowledge of real war as a baby has 
 of a saw mill, have been willing to ask the opinion of 
 Thomas Shaftoe, private soldier, U. S. A." 
 
A SOLDIER OF THE REPUBLIC 21 
 
 "Why did you quit the army?" 
 
 " Things were dull then. I didn't know that this 
 war was breeding so fast; but now it's close at hand, and 
 I'll enlist again. I'm going to join the volunteer boys 
 in the West; they're fine stuff — the best in the world, 
 but raw, and maybe an old soldier like myself can do 
 a lot of good among them." 
 
 He smoked his pipe vigorously, looking keenly at 
 me from under his heavy eyebrows. 
 
 He said presently: 
 
 " You're carrying the whole world on your shoul- 
 ders! " 
 
 I started and then smiled. His manner was so genial 
 that one could not take offence. 
 
 " Why do you say that? " I asked. 
 
 " I know it; I can see it, and the load's getting 
 heavy, young man; throw it off! you look tired. Don't 
 fret; it doesn't pay; there are just twelve hundred mil- 
 lion people in the world, so I've heard, and no man is 
 responsible for every one of them. Now, I take it that 
 you're trying to settle this whole war business all by 
 your young and inexperienced self, and, just naturally, 
 you are getting mixed up and troubled with the size of 
 the job. Let it go and do your part, which is the one 
 twelve-hundred-millionth of the whole. It will come 
 out all right; if it don't, let it go wrong — you'll not be 
 to blame." 
 
 " You are sure that there will be a war? " I asked, 
 pleased at his sympathy, but not telling him that the 
 coming struggle was not the whole cause of my concern. 
 
 " As sure as I am that the sun will rise in the morn- 
 ing. You don't think that the political orators, the 
 stump speakers, have been at work all these years for 
 nothing, do you? You've heard, no doubt, that there 
 are special hells reserved for special people, but if I 
 had my way the special hell of the special hells would 
 be put aside for the stump speakers. It's a funny thing 
 
22 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 to me that the people of this country, who do most 
 things so well, and are so keen, should allow themselves 
 to be led off by any man with the gift of gab that comes 
 along. He may be a fool or a scamp in everything but 
 stump speaking, a drunkard, a gambler, a fellow who 
 does not pay his debts, and whose word you would not 
 trust five minutes; but let him get up on a platform 
 and tell a string of jokes, and rave about our wrongs, 
 and the whole crowd will shout that he's the very fel- 
 low to manage the finances and the army and the navy 
 and the post office, and everything else that the Gov- 
 ernment's got. Now, the South knows that slavery is 
 wrong, even when she says it's not; but she's been 
 abused so much about it, and charged with so many 
 things that she hasn't done by the Northern people — 
 some of whom are still living on the inherited profits of 
 the slave trade, and whose consciences have spoken late 
 — that she's put her back up, and she says: * All right; 
 I've got slavery, and I'm going to keep it; what are you 
 going to do about it? ' She is so mad she can't see 
 straight, and she will make a fool of herself and 
 have a war; but if you could find a wide plain, lead 
 all the thirty million people of the United States into 
 it, introduce 'em to each other, and let 'em see what 
 they really are, the whole trouble — slavery, State rights, 
 and everything else — would be finished in ten minutes. 
 Instead, there will be a bloody war, and the demagogues 
 of both sides who have caused it will be the first to 
 take to the woods when the shooting begins." 
 
 He spoke with frankness, and it was manifest from 
 his tone that he had no feeling against either section. 
 The more I looked at him the more I liked him, and I 
 thought that he liked me as well. This seemed to be 
 one of those happy chances of which every man has a 
 fair percentage, and a serious thought developed itself 
 rapidly in my mind. Meanwhile I gazed at him with 
 intentness, though in a manner that was unconscious. 
 
A SOLDIER OF THE REPUBLIC 23 
 
 " Well, Mr. Judge, what do you think of me ? " he 
 asked at length, the humorous twinkle reappearing in 
 his eyes, and the creases forming again around his 
 mouth. 
 
 I would have apologized for my rude gaze, but I 
 saw that he was not offended, and I said: 
 
 "I think that you look like a good soldier and a 
 man who would prove a first-class comrade. I am to 
 he a soldier, too, or at least try. I suggest that you 
 undertake my education in the ranks." 
 
 " It's a heavy responsibility that you are putting on 
 me," he replied, the twinkle deepening. " Are you pre- 
 pared to take advice and never to sulk?" 
 
 " I'll try." 
 
 " Then, if you keep your word, you will make a good 
 beginning," he said, " and we stand agreed." 
 
 The bargain was signed, attested, and sealed with 
 a handshake, and then we adjourned to hear a street 
 preacher, who had been on the sidewalk for the last five 
 minutes haranguing whomsoever would listen. 
 
 In our country, where every man may speak. his 
 mind, or his lack of it, strange people sometimes lift 
 up their voices and add to the picturesqueness of life, 
 if not to its wisdom. The preacher who addressed the 
 crowd was tall, thin, angular, and the fire of fanaticism 
 burned in his eyes. 
 
 " I bring a message of peace on earth and good will 
 to men," he said. 
 
 The words had an unreal echo in the war-laden at- 
 mosphere of that city. Somebody laughed. 
 
 "You prepare for war, and lo! the kingdom of 
 heaven is at hand," continued the preacher, turning his 
 burning eyes upon the one who laughed. 
 
 The crowd was silent, respecting his earnestness, 
 and he began to talk with a natural but wild and dis- 
 jointed eloquence. He quoted the command, " Thou 
 shalt do no murder." He spoke of the wicked cities 
 
24 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 destroyed for their sins, and he said that we were 
 marching to the same fate. He was like some Hebrew 
 prophet upbraiding the children of Israel when they 
 were sunk in sin. 
 
 The crowd was awed for a little while by his wild 
 emphasis and his striking appearance as he stood there, 
 his eyes lighting up his meagre face like two coals and 
 his long white hair thrown back. But the impression 
 soon faded, and they began to laugh at him as a fanatic. 
 Then I saw how idle his efforts were. The passions of 
 the multitude had been raised, and they could not be 
 stilled by a few words. One might as well preach to 
 soldiers of the blessings of peace when their fingers were 
 on the trigger and the enemy coming. 
 
 The crowd passed from laughing to jeering, and 
 then two or three missiles were thrown, but in a moment 
 a tall man strode among them and pushed the offenders 
 violently to one side, speaking to them so sternly and 
 with such authority that they slipped away ashamed. 
 
 It was Varian. 
 
 " It is just as I told you, Mr. Kingsf ord," he said 
 to me. " The mob is fit only to be ruled by the best, 
 who are also the fewest. Freedom of speech, even to 
 the lowest, is one of the chief boasts of this country, 
 and you have just beheld the common people them- 
 selves trying to prevent it. Only an aristocracy can 
 secure free speech and other rights for the multitude. 
 I think that if I had not interfered you would have 
 done so speedily." 
 
 He held out his hand as if we were the best of 
 friends, and I had no choice but to take it. Then I 
 introduced my new acquaintance Shaftoe, and he was 
 polite to him also. 
 
 " You are a type of the American regular soldier, 
 Mr. Shaftoe," he said, " and I think that you will soon 
 have a chance to prove what you can do." 
 
 Shaftoe assented silently, and we walked a 'little way 
 
A SOLDIER OP THE REPUBLIC 25 
 
 together. Then the soldier left us, he and I agreeing to 
 meet on the morrow. 
 
 " Bough, but honest and stanch, I should say," com- 
 mented Varian. " The plebeian type in its best form. 
 Society, I repeat, Mr. Kingsford, must be composed of 
 two classes, the patrician and plebeian, each with its 
 virtues. The ancient world has proved it. I know 
 that you do not agree with me, but at last you will find 
 me to be right." 
 
 When we parted he gave me a courteous invitation 
 to visit him at his rooms. 
 
 " I shall have some friends there," he said, " who, I 
 think, you will find agreeable, and we can play cards, 
 discuss politics or not, as you choose, and practise with 
 the foils. I learned swordsmanship in Europe, and I 
 think I can promise that you shall not be bored." 
 
 His manner as he gave me the invitation was simple 
 and wholly agreeable, and I accepted. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 A SKY OF STEEL 
 
 I met Shaftoe the next day, according to appoint- 
 ment, and the second talk with him strengthened the 
 first impression. He was a man who had served his 
 country well for many years and had received little re- 
 ward, but was without bitterness. His steady optimism 
 made me feel ashamed of my momentary fits of depres- 
 sion, when I reflected how much kinder Providence had 
 been to me than to this veteran, who was never gloomy. 
 I introduced him to Pembroke, and they became good 
 friends at once. 
 
 " Sorry you are going wrong," said Shaftoe to Pem- 
 broke. " The South is in for a terrible licking, and she 
 won't be able to say that it was in a just cause." 
 
 " I can't help it," replied Pembroke. "lama son 
 of Virginia, and what Virginia does, that I do. I am 
 like Colonel Randolph, one of our neighbours, Mr., 
 Shaftoe. They came to him last week and offered him a 
 general's commission in the Confederate army, because 
 he was a veteran of the Mexican War, and a man of 
 influence and judgment. He said: 'Well, boys, you 
 will get whipped like the devil and you will deserve it, 
 but you are my people and I am with you.' That's the 
 way I feel about it, without admitting that we are to 
 get the whipping or that we shall deserve it, and I mean 
 no criticism of you, Henry, for I believe in a man fol- 
 lowing the course that he thinks right." 
 26 
 
A SKY OP STEEL 27 
 
 Meanwhile the days passed, and that most frightful 
 of all disasters, a civil war, came nearer and nearer to 
 our poor country. 
 
 The development of events in Washington could not 
 fail to be of the deepest interest. Every one was free 
 to look on and watch. The arrival of Lincoln set the 
 torch, in truth, and the conflagration had begun. And 
 but one party to the inevitable war was preparing. 
 
 Spring again made treacherous promises; tender 
 young blades of grass crept up among the withered 
 herbage of winter, streaks of green began to appear in 
 the foliage, and the breezes of the south had the scent 
 of flowers, but then the cold winds would come again 
 and the skies would turn gray and overcast. Through 
 warmth and cold alike the warlike work of the South 
 went on, the capital clung to its old sloth, and the 
 heavy North, immersed in business, refused to believe; 
 it said that the South was only joking. 
 
 I kept away from Paul Warner's house for the pres- 
 ent, nor did I pay my promised visit to Varian. Yet I 
 often heard of both Elinor and him through Pem- 
 broke and Major Tyler. In truth, I passed Elinor twice 
 in the street. Once she was riding with Varian and 
 did not notice me until she was near, when he called 
 her attention. She bowed, and I saw a faint flush on 
 her face. 
 
 She was in a carriage the second time with her 
 aunt, who sat erect, stiff, and sharper faced than ever. 
 
 " Henry," said Major Tyler to me, " the odds are 
 ten to five that she will be Varian's wife inside of six 
 months. The uncle favours it and so does the aunt, 
 both from worldly reasons. The uncle's god is money, 
 and therefore he has no party; he wants to keep favour 
 with both sides: if the South wins, Varian, his friend 
 and nephew-in-law, will be a power, while if the South 
 doesn't win there is nothing lost. The aunt is caught 
 by Varian's foreign glitter, visions of a title for her 
 3 
 
28 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 niece, a great position at the French Emperor's court, 
 and much reflected glory for herself; it's a failing of 
 our American women — the only one that they have, I 
 admit. There were those Baltimore beauties who mar- 
 ried British noblemen of high rank, and they have set 
 a most unfortunate example. Stick to your own kind, 
 I say, and you will be happier." 
 
 " But Varian is not a nobleman," I said. " You do 
 not even know that he is not American." 
 
 " That is true," admitted the major; " but whatever 
 he is he is a splendid fellow, and a man of power. He 
 represents at least one great sovereign, and perhaps 
 he can speak for another, too. And I don't mind tell- 
 ing you, Henry, for you know it already, he's one of the 
 best friends the South ever had. What a pity you can't 
 go with us! Change your mind and make your friends 
 happy." 
 
 All the major's sanguine nature beamed in his eyes, 
 and I saw that he, too, had succumbed to the person- 
 ality and influence of Varian. He repeated his state- 
 ment that Varian would be Elinor's husband inside of 
 six months, and he asked why not? Elinor was a fine 
 girl and Varian was a fine man, and a fine couple they 
 would make. As for himself, he was enchanted with 
 him. He had never before met a man who was at 
 once a courtier, a diplomatist, a scholar, and a philoso- 
 pher, a man of taste and humour, who excelled in all 
 things. He was proud to know him. 
 
 Then he spoke of Varian's value to the South, and 
 from that subject passed to the South itself, speaking 
 of its glorious and approaching future. 
 
 " What are your plans for an independent South ? " 
 I asked, curious to see the full splendour of the major's 
 dream. 
 
 " As soon as our independence is established and our 
 power consolidated we shall round out our empire," 
 he said in his grandest manner. " Cuba is to come 
 
A SKY OF STEEL 29 
 
 first. It belongs to the American continent, and Spain 
 is no longer able to manage the island. Then we shall 
 annex Mexico — an easy enough matter, as she is eaten 
 up by internal dissensions and needs us. Central 
 America will follow, and maybe more after that. We 
 shall have an empire of two million square miles at the 
 least, as much as Imperial Eome had in her zenith, and 
 we shall build around the Gulf and the Caribbean a 
 power equal to that which she established around the 
 Mediterranean. Our propaganda is already in progress; 
 the Knights of the Golden Circle have attended to 
 that." 
 
 His eyes sparkled and his face flushed with the 
 splendour of his vision as he saw it. He was not too 
 old to dream dreams. He never would be. 
 
 The major's discourse confirmed me in my avoidance 
 of Elinor and her people. But Pembroke reproached me. 
 
 " You are doing wrong, Henry," he said. " It's 
 stupid stubbornness, and I tell you so. Only yesterday 
 she was asking about you, and wondering at your 
 strange conduct. I was unable to make any apology 
 for you." 
 
 " There was no necessity for your doing so," I re- 
 plied hastily. 
 
 " You can not quarrel with me, I warn you," said 
 the honest boy, looking at me so frankly that I was 
 ashamed of myself. He came the next day with a posi- 
 tive message from Elinor that I must see her at Mr. 
 Warner's. 
 
 When I called at the house I was in dread lest Mrs. 
 Maynard's sour face should be the first to appear, but 
 my fortune was better; it was Elinor who met me. 
 
 " You wished to see me? " I said stiffly. 
 
 She seemed to take no notice of my manner, but 
 asked me why I had deserted her uncle's house. I 
 was embarrassed, and I made some vague explanations 
 about preparing for the war. 
 
30 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " I thought that I would not be missed," I added, 
 coming nearer to the heart of the matter. " Mr. Varian 
 fills my place so well — that is, if I ever had one." 
 
 " It is sufficient for Mr. Varian to fill his own place, 
 if he have any," she replied, the colour in her cheeks 
 deepening a little. She saw that I noticed the new 
 flush, and it increased. Then she attacked me with fine 
 irony, telling me that she had heard how I was passing 
 my time in moody loneliness — I knew that Pembroke 
 was the informer — and was I to turn off all my old 
 friends merely because they were choosing a different 
 side in the war? 
 
 " Don't you see how hard it is for me to stand firm 
 when all those around me oppose me?" she said. "It 
 is easy for a man to choose his course and pursue it, 
 but what can a woman do when the world has bound 
 her with many cords ? " 
 
 There was appeal in her voice, and I replied, rather 
 weakly: 
 
 " Your aunt does not wish me to come here." 
 
 " Let us not quarrel now," she continued. " The 
 war will soon separate all of us who are here in Wash- 
 ington." 
 
 " And then we may never see each other again," 
 I said. 
 
 She did not answer, and I left presently. As I 
 passed through the hall I was overtaken by Paul War- 
 ner. He was friendly and familiar, shook my hand 
 heartily, and then took my arm under his. 
 
 " I am going your way," he said, " and we shall walk 
 together. I want to talk to you, and you have seen 
 Elinor. I am glad you came. She has been inquiring 
 what has become of you. Elinor is a girl who is faithful 
 to old acquaintance, and she will not forget when she 
 enters upon a newer and larger life. It's all true. 
 You've heard the gossip, of course, about her and 
 Varian. He is ready to think that the ground she walks 
 
A SKY OF STEEL 31 
 
 on is sacred. He is a great man, too, and if his plans 
 here fail, he'll take her to Europe, where she'll have a 
 position worthy of her. It will be either Madame la 
 Comtesse So-and-so at Paris, or My Lady Something- 
 or-other at London, and you and I, Henry, shall go 
 over there some day and see them in all their glory." 
 
 He talked volubly, a coarse and in the main good- 
 natured man, and passing from one topic to another 
 soon approached the subject of the war. 
 
 " It's an ill wind that blows nobody good, eh, 
 Henry?" he quoted. "Who said that? Either the 
 Bible or Shakespeare, I'll wager, and both are good au- 
 thorities. Now young men like you will shoulder rifles, 
 go off and get killed, while I shall stay here and — 
 and " 
 
 " What shall you do, Mr. Warner? " I asked, as he 
 hesitated. 
 
 " I shall stay here out of range of the bullets and 
 not get killed," he replied. 
 
 But I knew very well that he saw before him the 
 gleam of a pyramid of golden dollars, and he continued 
 to talk of the opportunities the war would offer to the 
 alert and the cautious. I did not say nay, and when 
 we parted he was still under the impression that I had 
 been drinking at the fountain of wisdom. 
 
 Meanwhile the time for the inauguration of the new 
 President approached. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 MAKING A RULER 
 
 The morning of the 4th of March came, dark, 
 cloudy, and threatening, cold winds blowing off the hills 
 and river, and men and women wrapping themselves in 
 cloaks and overcoats. Faces became pinched, and lips 
 showed blue in the blasts. Spring had fled again with 
 all her deceitful promises; the premature buds were 
 nipped, the young green on the foliage was frostbitten 
 into brown, and winter wailed in full desolation through 
 the streets and around the houses of the city. 
 
 Yet it was a day for people to come forth, because a 
 new ruler was about to take the office to which he had 
 been elected, and duty ordered a whole nation to rejoice 
 with him. But with the event only a few hours away, 
 there were still some who believed that it might never 
 occur; and many more who wished the belief true. It 
 seemed to me that everybody was forgetting the vast toil 
 and cost with which the nation had been built up, that 
 sacrifices, countless in number, made in the earlier days 
 had been dismissed as nothing, and the counsels of the 
 great men, the memory of whom all revered, tossed 
 aside. But the founders themselves had shirked the 
 very questions now dividing the people and threatening 
 them with a bloody war; and I reflected on the truth of 
 the saying, that the sins of the fathers are visited on the 
 children, although nothing had been said about such a 
 32 
 
MAKING A RULER 33 
 
 heavy compounding of interest as I was about to 
 witness. 
 
 No omen of good fortune could be drawn from the 
 angry skies which lowered in the whole circle of the 
 heavens, and shivering in my overcoat, I went forth to 
 witness the last act in the making of a ruler. A Con- 
 gress depleted by the secession of Southern members 
 had voted down the day before a peace resolution, a 
 proposed compromise which pleased nobody and an- 
 gered everybody; and one side as before went on with 
 its preparations, while the other remained absorbed in 
 business and still would not believe. 
 
 My good friends, Shaftoe and Pembroke, the one 
 for the Union and the other for the South, were with 
 me. Their difference of opinion never caused any dis- 
 agreement between them, nor was it necessary for us 
 in our talk to ignore the quarrel which was about to 
 divide the nation. We could discuss it with perfect 
 good temper, which I think was a sure proof of lasting 
 friendship. I congratulated myself daily upon the im- 
 pulse which had caused me to seek the companionship 
 of Shaftoe. 
 
 We passed through the streets and joined a crowd 
 in front of Willard's Hotel who were waiting to see the 
 man of the hour come forth and take his place. It was 
 a strange gathering, of which we made a small part: 
 a few who had come there from a curiosity of high pur- 
 pose, and after these all the idle and noisy of the capi- 
 tal, a ragged crowd, at least half of it negroes, many of 
 it boys and not so many women, noisy, talkative, chew- 
 ing much tobacco and spitting more, cracking bad jokes 
 and cursing sometimes, because the chief figure in the 
 show did not hurry upon the stage and let himself be 
 seen, and yet not bad natured, nor wishing any mis- 
 chance to happen, unless the display should prove un- 
 picturesque. The metallic rattle of arms and the flash 
 of bayonets came down the avenues, adding to the 
 
34 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 sombre note that was dominant on this official day of 
 rejoicing. 
 
 Looking at my watch, I saw that it was past noon, 
 and the new man had not come forth to be President. 
 He lingered yet behind the walls that had sheltered him 
 since his arrival in the capital, and the crowd eager for 
 its free show was becoming impatient and critical. Not 
 especially hostile to Lincoln, it grew angry with him 
 because it had to wait so long in the cold for its rights, 
 and I shared the feeling. Perhaps Lincoln at the very 
 last would shirk the issue and the mighty risks and cost 
 of civil war. 
 
 " He is afraid," said some one aloud. " The rail 
 splitter of the backwoods knows that he does not be- 
 long in the seat of Washington and Jefferson." 
 
 It was Tourville, the South Carolinian, who spoke, 
 likable enough most of the time, but possessing the 
 gift of irresponsible speech, and the spirit of prophecy 
 was heavy upon him just then. Not far away hovered 
 Major Tyler, stately in his finest array, his red cheeks 
 redder in the March wind, and his long white hair show- 
 ing like snow against his black hat brim. Neither saw 
 us just then, and it was soon evident that the major 
 shared Tourville's feelings, as they began to jeer. 
 
 They talked of the great break-up just ahead, the 
 superiority in all vital respects of the republic that the 
 South would establish to the shop-worn, cast-off rem- 
 nant left to the North; the ridiculous nature of the new 
 President, the Illinois rail splitter, the first ignorant 
 backwoodsman to be chosen ruler of the nation; they 
 wondered if his message to the people would be merely 
 a string of the bad jokes which were his only product. 
 I grew angry, but I held my wrath; I began to feel a 
 great sympathy for this Lincoln whom everybody 
 abused. Ugly and commonplace in bearing he might 
 be, but those sad eyes could not belong to a dishonest 
 or cruel man, and the seams in his face and stoop in his 
 
MAKING A RULER 35 
 
 shoulders had been made by work, the common heritage 
 of his countrymen. I had been disappointed in his 
 appearance, I scarcely confessed to myself how deeply, 
 but after all we had no right to expect anything else of 
 a man chosen from surroundings of such utter democ- 
 racy. Unconsciously I began to look upon the new 
 leader as a sort of prophet. 
 
 " I hope you don't think, Henry, that they are talk- 
 ing for me as well as for themselves, just because I am 
 going with the South too," said Pembroke, looking an- 
 noyed at the wholesale and violent criticism to which 
 we were compelled to listen. " Tourville, when the 
 blood has gone to his head, speaks first and thinks after- 
 ward, and the major is borne away by the force of his 
 example." 
 
 " Why shouldn't they talk if they feel that way? " 
 said Shaftoe. " They are not the men who do the 
 most harm. It's the silent ones that our side have to 
 dread." 
 
 The crowd swayed about, and groaned, not with 
 pain, but impatience. The cold wind swept down from 
 the hills, and the gray circle of clouds thickened and 
 darkened. There was no cheerful note in all the sombre 
 scene save that which came from a little group of which 
 Major Tyler and Tourville had become the centre; they 
 seemed to draw an acute delight from the embarrassed 
 situation, the ominous skies, the necessity of an armed 
 force to protect the shabby entrance of the new ruler 
 upon his duties, and the chance that he might not come 
 out at all to take the oath before men, but accept it in 
 his own apartments in the same secret manner in which 
 he had arrived in Washington. I suspected that part 
 of their gaiety and talk was a mere assumption, since 
 not even a friend of the South and wellwisher of its 
 plans could feel very cheerful at such a gloomy scene, 
 surely serving some day as a landmark from which to 
 date many disasters. We walked farther away, not. 
 
36 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 wishing to hear more, drawing our overcoat collars 
 higher around our faces and turning our backs to the 
 winds from the hills, which were growing colder and 
 cut to the bone. 
 
 The shabby crowd billowed and heaved like deep 
 waters in a storm, began to give forth shouts and ap- 
 proving cries, and then parted in half, forming a narrow 
 lane, down which came a carriage containing a single 
 man, and that man old and troubled. He was a large, 
 but awkward figure, the wrinkles and seams were inter- 
 woven thickly on his broad face, and his hair was short, 
 thin, and gray. He was very old, showing all his years 
 and more, and his look of time was heightened by his 
 old-fashioned dress; his silk hat was low in the crown 
 and extremely broad in the brim, his tall, stiff collar 
 cut his ears, and over his chest and throat surged the 
 waves and folds of a huge white tie. Beneath the col- 
 lar and tie all his dress was jet black, the swallowtail 
 coat of a cut many years earlier. The man's appearance 
 was not without dignity, but the pathetic note predomi- 
 nated. His whole aspect was of one crushed by care; it 
 showed in the sunken eyes, the seamed face, and the 
 drooping lines around the mouth. It seemed fitting 
 that he should be alone in the carriage, for so he was in 
 the world, rejected by all the parties, including his own, 
 paying the usual price of one who tries to please people 
 who do not please each other. 
 
 There was a hum in the crowd as he rode through, 
 followed by a faint groan, a cheer equally faint, and 
 then apathetic silence. The men and the women and 
 the boys showed no curiosity, their interest in him 
 was due solely to the fact that he was the signal for 
 something else, and after the signal they waited for 
 the other. 
 
 The solemn, gloomy man went on, turning his heavy 
 eyes but once or twice to look upon the crowd that four 
 years before had watched him coming in, not going 
 
MAKING A RULER 37 
 
 out, and, full of eager curiosity, had thundered in ap- 
 plause at the sight of his face. He felt the full keen- 
 ness of the old and cruel jest, " The king is dead; long 
 live the king! " and he knew that the reign of the 
 dying king would never be considered glorious. He, 
 too, shivered a little as the cold winds cut his face, and 
 drew the collar of his coat more closely around his neck. 
 I looked once at the group of Southerners; they were 
 regarding the man in the carriage with eyes in which 
 anger and contempt were mingled, as if he had been 
 half their friend and then had failed. 
 
 The solemn coachman stopped at the hotel and 
 opened the door of the carriage for the sombre old man, 
 who climbed heavily and awkwardly out, disappearing 
 a moment later in the building. 
 
 The crowd burst into talk when he had gone, but in 
 another minute relapsed into the silence of waiting. 
 We pushed a little closer, looking over the heads of 
 those shorter than ourselves. 
 
 The door of the hotel opened again, and the old 
 man came out arm in arm with another man, as solemn 
 and awkward as himself. The second towered over the 
 first, despite the stoop in his shoulders, and had he 
 straightened himself up there would have been none 
 perhaps in the watching crowd to match him in height. 
 Gaunt, hollow-cheeked, his face too a network of seams, 
 with the sad, pathetic eyes looking from under the 
 heavy brows, he also was a melancholy figure, and it 
 seemed fitting that the two men should lean upon each 
 other. His costume was as sombre and old-fashioned 
 as his companion's — new in cloth, but bad in cut, and 
 seeming in every particular to have been made for 
 some one else. He carried in his disengaged hand a 
 great black cane with a huge gold head, and as he 
 twirled it about in his uneasy awkwardness it gave to 
 his bearing a strange grotesqueness, at which one, how- 
 ever, could never laugh. Nobody was further from 
 
38 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 laughing than I; the pathos of this man, his uncon- 
 scious air of martyrdom, his look of benignity which 
 seemed to embrace all, friends and enemies alike, im- 
 pressed me more powerfully than ever, and made me 
 forget his awkwardness and ugliness. 
 
 The same impression seemed to have been made 
 upon the thoughtless or sneering crowd; no one spoke 
 aloud when the two appeared, and the silence continued 
 while they climbed heavily into the carriage. There 
 they sat side by side, the old and the new, and the sol- 
 emn coachman, turning his solemn horses, drove sol- 
 emnly toward the Capitol, the crowd stringing out be- 
 hind it in a procession which was not dignified, nor was 
 it disorderly — merely curious and often ragged and im- 
 mature. 
 
 The two men in the carriage never looked back at 
 their following, and rarely spoke to each other. No ray 
 of sunlight fell upon them. Once I thought I felt a 
 dash of rain against my face, but looking up I saw 
 only the threatening clouds stalking across the sky. 
 There was no colour in all the scene save the gleam of 
 bayonets, and that added only another sombre touch 
 to the tragedy. Soldiers had been there at similar 
 events, but never before with the expectation of using 
 the arms they carried. Shaftoe and Pembroke walked 
 by my side in silence. 
 
 The carriage stopped before a square platform built 
 from the Capitol, and the two helped each other 
 out. Nobody looked at the first, all at the second man 
 who walked upon the wooden stage and stood for a 
 moment facing ten thousand people looking so curiously 
 at him; he took off his hat and held it awkwardly in 
 one hand, while he swung the great cane with equal 
 awkwardness in the other. There were men at the far 
 corner of the platform, but none came forward, none 
 spoke. His look became embarrassed, and the crowd 
 gazing at him felt a strange embarrassment too; neither 
 
MAKING A RULER 39 
 
 seemed to know what to do, and each understood the 
 trouble of the other. I shared the feeling, and the pain 
 of the suspense was increased when my eyes wandered 
 beyond the lone figure in black and stopped at another 
 figure, a Texas senator whom I knew, a zealous sup- 
 porter of the new Southern empire, a bitter enemy of 
 the old republic as it stood, leaning against the doorway 
 of the Capitol, his arms folded across his breast, his 
 face smiling, contemptuous, his white teeth showing as 
 he looked upon the new ruler, standing in awkward 
 silence, and the waiting and puzzled crowd below; he 
 did not move or speak, but remained fixed in his dra- 
 matic attitude, his smiling gaze, which contained only 
 irony, passing from Lincoln to the crowd and from the 
 crowd to Lincoln, as if he would cast a malignant spell 
 over both. 
 
 The tall man in black at last leaned his great cane 
 against a corner of the railing that surrounded him like 
 the boards of a pen, and looked vainly for a place to 
 put his hat. A short, thickset man stepped from the si- 
 lent group behind him and taking the hat from his 
 hands held it and waited. The rescuer was one of those 
 whom Lincoln had beaten in the race for the Presi- 
 dency, the choice of a great party, and the crowd, seeing 
 the grace of the act, the first of the day not marked by 
 constraint or awkwardness, applauded, though not 
 loudly, the gloomy heavens and the strange nature of 
 the moment seeming to forbid much noise. 
 
 Then another came forward, a figure, older and 
 drier and thinner than all that had gone before, a 
 wrinkled man, clad in heavy black robes, out of which 
 his face looked, as pale as that of the dead. The Chief 
 Justice of the nation was ready to administer the oath 
 to the new President, while the old one, who had ridden 
 with him in the carriage, compelled by custom to assist 
 at his own burial, was about to pass his last minute of 
 office. 
 
40 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " The parson has come, the funeral can go on," said 
 some one, and others laughed. 
 
 Yet I was forced to admit the justice of the com- 
 parison. Those weary old men waiting there, and 
 then the oldest of them all appearing in his black robes, 
 struck me with a deeper chill than any that I had felt 
 before. My thoughts had always given funerals a colour 
 and note like this — sodden gray skies, a raw March 
 wind, wrinkled old men in black reciting mechanical 
 phrases in monotonous voices, and a group of silent 
 people listening in pious resignation, anxious to get it 
 over quickly and go home. Yes, it was a funeral, and 
 perhaps but few sincere mourners were present. 
 
 The old man, the oldest of the old, administered the 
 oath; the new President was born and the old one, 
 standing sadly in the background, the heavy lids droop- 
 ing over his eyes, ceased to be. 
 
 Mr. Lincoln then turned his face to the crowd and 
 read his address, according to the custom prescribed to 
 new presidents. Much of his awkwardness, his air of 
 hesitation, had vanished, and he straightened the curve 
 out of his shoulders, showing his real great height; his 
 voice became clear and strong as he read the words, and 
 he looked with an air of confidence over the crowd, 
 which he knew contained so many threatening to him- 
 self. He understood the extraordinary nature of the 
 scene in which he was the chief and almost the only 
 actor; that he was pronouncing a benediction to be 
 followed immediately not by peace, but by a bloody con- 
 vulsion involving the whole nation, and himself perhaps 
 as the chief victim. Though seeing all these things with 
 the preternatural foresight which Nature had given to 
 him as a recompense, and over, for many of the things 
 which she had bestowed upon the ordinary man, but 
 not him, he did not flinch, and I saw in his manner 
 and bearing evidences of the rare quality which consti- 
 tutes true greatness, a courage that increases with the 
 
MAKING A RULER 41 
 
 dangers confronting it. The ugliness of his face passed 
 away and I beheld only the light of his eyes — brave, 
 forgiving, and still pathetic. 
 
 The penetrating voice went on with the reading, and 
 once or twice the crowd applauded, though not with 
 spirit. The theatrical figure of the sneering senator 
 leaning against the doorway did not stir, nor did 
 the look upon his face depart. The chilling blasts 
 came oftener from the hills and fluttered the black 
 coat-tails of the speaker about his long and spare figure, 
 the thin-blooded old men shivered in their heavy 
 clothes, and the ancient Chief Justice drew his head 
 down into his collar like a mouse going into its hole. 
 
 My eyes wandered a moment from the President's 
 face to the city about us. The Capitol rose above us 
 white and gleaming, despite the clouds, and along the 
 hills and slopes were other structures, massive and built 
 for time, but the old and civilized was still jostled by 
 the new and untamed. The crowd itself was shabby in 
 the main; many of the men on the platform and near it, 
 names of note in the nation, were careless in dress, and 
 seemed to take little thought of appearances. Signs of 
 newness were yet visible everywhere; the people stood 
 forth in all their raw strength, unadorned, and uncon- 
 scious of it, a race that had known little in its life but 
 hard work and expected nothing else. I saw men of 
 either section about us, and I noticed them closely; I 
 knew how much those lank and often awkward figures 
 could do and endure, and I felt a sudden glow of pride 
 which the most peaceful can not escape, evil though it 
 may be, that if they must make a war what a war they 
 would make! 
 
 The sombre clouds threatened rain again, and the 
 arms of the soldiers rattled as they shifted their posts; 
 but I paid no attention, forgetting my comrades, fol- 
 lowing only the speaker, who was now near the end 
 of his address, and confident, as I saw the light in his 
 
42 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 eyes, that this was the man for the time and place. 
 The crowd began to disperse, its fringe dropped off, 
 disappearing silently. Nothing impressed me more than 
 the lack of noise on a day usually so noisy, and it 
 seemed fitting; perhaps the same feeling had taken hold 
 of the careless mob. Little streams of people flowed 
 away, and the grayness that enveloped the city swal- 
 lowed them up; two or three of the old men crept from 
 the stage and into the building, where they sought to 
 warm their withered fingers; the lake of heads around 
 the wooden stage diminished steadily as the streams 
 trickled off in all directions, and I saw Tourville, Major 
 Tyler, and their friends preparing to go. 
 
 The speaker finished, and stood a moment looking 
 over the heads of the people, his melancholy eyes not 
 seeing them, seeing only what was in his thoughts, and 
 that I did not know; then he turned and walked quietly 
 from the stage, the feeble applause quickly dying, 
 and the crowd dispersing with little noise in the gray 
 fog. My mind was full of the event I had just wit- 
 nessed, so shabby in some of its aspects, yet so solemn 
 and significant, and it was a minute or two before I 
 recalled the presence of Shaftoe and Pembroke. Then 
 Pembroke said that Elinor and her uncle and aunt were 
 near. They were in Paul Warner's carriage, and the 
 crowd had hidden them from us until the inauguration 
 was over. Varian was on horseback by the carriage, 
 and Elinor, closely wrapped in a long gray cloak, sat 
 beside her aunt. We approached, and Varian raised his 
 hat cheerfully. 
 
 " Was it comedy or tragedy that we have just wit- 
 nessed, Mr. Kingsford? " he asked. 
 
 " Tragedy," I replied, " with perhaps a slight touch 
 of comedy." 
 
 " I think you are right," he continued. " It is likely 
 to be the last of its kind, and the end of anything is 
 pathetic." 
 
 
MAKING A RULER 43 
 
 " I can not agree with you, Mr. Varian," said Elinor, 
 with sudden emphasis. " I believe that you and your 
 friends will find in that melancholy, awkward man a 
 far more powerful opponent than you expect." 
 
 " We always defer to the opinion of a lady, even 
 when she is wrong," said Varian, with his most grace- 
 ful bow. 
 
 " Wherein you do not compliment the lady," replied 
 Elinor with spirit; " if you wish to flatter us, disagree 
 with us sometimes, as you would with men, and it will 
 show that you take our opinions seriously." 
 
 "I suggest that we drive on," said Mrs. Maynard, 
 with some asperity. " This east wind is dangerous, at 
 least to one of my age." 
 
 It seemed that Pembroke and I brought the east 
 wind with us, but her request could not be disregarded, 
 and so the carriage drove on, with Varian riding be- 
 side it, while Pembroke, Shaftoe, and I walked slowly 
 away. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 AN" EVENING WITH VARIAN 
 
 Affairs drifted, both those of the nation and my 
 own, which, however humble compared with the inter- 
 ests of thirty millions, were none the less important to 
 me. The new President, they said, showed gleams of a 
 crude, but rather Western humour; he had even taken 
 in good part, so it was reported, a suggestion made by a 
 distinguished member of his cabinet that, inasmuch as 
 he was inexperienced, he let the aforesaid distinguished 
 gentleman perform for him the duties of his office, and 
 thus reign, but not rule. It was said that he received 
 the suggestion with becoming gravity and gratitude, 
 although he declined the kindly offer. It was argued 
 that this showed on his part at least a sense of the 
 superior merit of others, and therefore he was not 
 wholly undeserving. 
 
 Meanwhile the South increased her armaments, and 
 the sluggish North still would not believe. 
 
 I saw Elinor several times in this interval of wait- 
 ing, despite the cold and scrutinizing gaze of Mrs. May- 
 nard, who seemed to have discovered reasons why I 
 should be subjected to a critical analysis; but I have 
 been charged with having a stubborn nature, and I 
 resolved that Elinor's aunt should be brought to a 
 proper and realizing sense of my value. 
 
 About a week after the inauguration, when I had 
 been out for a morning's ride and was returning toward 
 44 
 
AN EVENING WITH VARIAN 45 
 
 the city from the Eock Creek country, I overtook 
 Elinor. She was breathing her chestnut mare after a 
 sharp gallop, and her cheeks were brilliant with the 
 exercise and the cold wind of early spring. We rode 
 slowly toward the city. 
 
 I knew that she and her aunt expected to go home 
 in a very short time, and I asked her if the day had 
 been chosen. When she replied that it was only a week 
 away I gave some suggestions about the mode of travel, 
 feeling that I had a right to do so in such troubled 
 times. 
 
 " But we shall not be alone," she said. " Mr. Varian 
 is also going to the West, and he has promised us his 
 protection. You know that he has great influence, and 
 I do not understand how he has obtained it, but Aunt 
 Ellen says that the members of the new Government are 
 ready to do much for him, if he will only ask." 
 
 Her gaze met mine firmly, but the scarlet in her 
 cheeks became brighter. I felt a burst of angry resent- 
 ment because Varian seemed to have become indis- 
 pensable to everybody for whom I cared, but I am 
 thankful that I was able to control the impulse — and 
 who was I to call free men and women to account for 
 what they did? 
 
 " I wish often," I said, " that I could have spent a 
 few years in Europe. Perhaps we Americans are prone 
 to undervalue some of the graces and courtlier usages 
 which they seem there to think so important. I won- 
 der if this finer finish really has so much weight with 
 men. I am quite sure that women are willing to in- 
 clude it among the Ten Commandments." 
 
 " I think that you are trying to draw an indictment 
 of Mr. Varian, Henry," she replied, the scarlet again 
 deepening in her cheeks, " and that would indicate a 
 fear lest he might be superior in some respect." Then 
 she continued more seriously: " This finer finish, as you 
 call it, has its influence not only upon women, but upon 
 
46 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 men as well, much though they may deny it. We always 
 speak highly of a rough diamond, but I should like to 
 ask you if a rough diamond is any better than a 
 diamond cut and polished, or as good? I do not think 
 so, nor do I see why Mr. Varian alone should possess 
 these qualities of which you speak." 
 
 We were silent during the remainder of the ride, 
 and I noticed the lithe and strong figure, and the firm 
 face of the girl who rode beside me. She had been 
 lately a puzzle to me. I fancy that all women are always 
 a puzzle to us, but I felt that whenever she chose a 
 course she would be likely to pursue it. Whether I 
 liked, then, that quality in her I could not say. 
 
 I paid my promised visit to Varian on the evening 
 of the same day. His rooms were the most beautiful 
 that I had entered in Washington, and notable among 
 all the articles gathered there from many regions was 
 the collection of swords, daggers, and knives that 
 adorned his walls. I believe that every nation and tribe 
 had sent a weapon. 
 
 " Spolia opima, Kingsford," he said, following my 
 eyes and laughing; " but I hope you will not think my 
 fondness for sharp edges is an index to my character. 
 I wish to add, too, that this luxury which you see is 
 merely for the eye. I really live like a soldier. Look 
 through that open door there and behold my bedroom. 
 Is it not furnished with entire simplicity?" 
 
 A faint apology seemed to be lurking in his tone, 
 but I had never accused him even silently of effeminacy. 
 There was nothing in his manner to suggest it, and, as 
 he said truly, the luxury of his chambers was the luxury 
 of the eye and not of the body. 
 
 I heard much laughter and talk in the next room. 
 
 " Our friends," he said. " You are the last to 
 arrive." 
 
 We passed into the adjoining apartment, and I 
 found that in truth a cheerful company was assembled 
 
AN EVENING WITH VARIAN 47 
 
 there, and, as was fit and natural, its centre was Major 
 Titus Tyler, of Mississippi, radiant with good humour 
 and describing minutely and at length the manner in 
 which he, assisted by some companies of soldiers, re- 
 pulsed the great charge of the Mexican cavalry at 
 Buena Vista. The listening circle was composed of 
 Pembroke, Tourville, Charlie Mason, a Pennsylvanian, 
 and two men whom I did not know. One of the latter 
 was young and apparently a Frenchman, the other was 
 middle-aged and certainly American. I liked the looks 
 of the Frenchman, one of those yellow-haired, blue-eyed 
 Gauls, from the north of France, but the American had 
 heavy lowering features, thin, cruel lips, and teeth like 
 a wolf's. 
 
 " Monsieur Henri Louis Eaoul Auguste de Cour- 
 celles, of Brittany and Paris," Varian said ornately, 
 nodding toward the Frenchman, " this is Mr. Kingsford; 
 you are two friends of mine who ought to know each 
 other." 
 
 The Frenchman smiled and showed his white teeth 
 as the syllables of his long name flowed off Varian's lips. 
 I judged that its length troubled him little, and know- 
 ing that I would like him, I hoped that he would like 
 me as well. 
 
 " De Courcelles was a lieutenant of mine in some 
 little diplomatic affairs abroad," said Varian; " and he 
 is to take my place here while I go South to get myself 
 perforated by a Yankee bullet." 
 
 Then he introduced the second man briefly as Mr. 
 Covin Blanchard, also, more or less, an associate of his 
 in a diplomatic way. Mr. Blanchard said nothing, but 
 made his acknowledgments with a curt nod. He seemed 
 to have the gift of silence, and I gave him credit for it, 
 not wishing, however, to continue the acquaintance. 
 
 " The Mexican cavalry were advancing at a gallop, 
 the pennons and steel of their lances glittering and 
 flashing in the sunlight," said Major Tyler. " The 
 
48 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 thunder of hoofs was like the roar of a coming hurri- 
 cane, and drawing my sword, I " 
 
 " While the cavalry are coming, suppose that we 
 take a little wine, major," said Varian, putting his hand 
 on Major Tyler's shoulder in the most friendly manner. 
 " A stimulant will give strength at such a critical mo- 
 ment for the shock." 
 
 " Just what I would have proposed," replied Major 
 Tyler, with zest; " and, Mr. Varian, you are a true mili- 
 tary genius." 
 
 A servant brought the wine, hut Varian himself 
 poured it, holding the bottle high and letting a thin, 
 red stream flow into the glass. 
 
 " This wine had its origin on a German hillside, and 
 it has found its flavour in a German cellar," he said. 
 " I fear, too, that your Government has collected no 
 duty upon it. I make the avowal without shame, such 
 an achievement being one of the weaknesses of human 
 nature. Perhaps you do not drink much wine, Mr. 
 Kingsford. Few Americans do. It is only the older 
 and more advanced nations that use it habitually. 
 I think that you can measure the civilization of any 
 people by its taste in wine. In truth, it is the only 
 infallible test. When a race is young, strong, rough, 
 and boisterous, it likes whisky, beer, and other crude 
 liquors, but when it grows old, polite, and discriminat- 
 ing, it develops a fine taste in wine. If you apply this 
 test you will find that the French are the most highly 
 civilized people in the world, a fact which can not be 
 denied, and the Spanish and Austrians come next. It 
 shows also that the English are the least civilized people 
 in Europe, although they are at the same time the 
 strongest." 
 
 " And continuing your argument," I said, " we, I 
 suppose, are the last of all the white races in civiliza- 
 tion?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly," he replied; " but let me add, Mr. 
 
AN EVENING WITH VARIAN 49 
 
 Kingsford, that civilization, in my opinion, consists 
 chiefly of forms; and forms, as all of us know, are often 
 deceitful. I would never undertake to say that the most 
 highly civilized nation is the hest. Your glasses, gentle- 
 men! Mr. Kingsford, let us drink, each to his heart's 
 best wish." 
 
 He looked straight into my eyes as he lifted his glass, 
 and I met his gaze with a resolution that mine should 
 not waver, for I understood his meaning. He paused 
 when the glass was near his lips, and repeated, still keep- 
 ing his eyes on mine : " Each to his heart's best wish, 
 Mr. Kingsford! " I drank, and repeated: " Each to his 
 heart's best wish, Mr. Varian! " 
 
 " Which ought to mean to those who are or expect 
 to become soldiers," said De Courcelles, " glory on the 
 battlefield and a true sweetheart at home. Mr. Varian 
 has just given to us Frenchmen the credit of the high- 
 est civilization, although he would seem to deny us 
 the greatest morality, and perhaps we have acquired 
 through the former a sense of discrimination which tells 
 us what constitutes genuine happiness. France is too 
 old to have any illusions about happiness, although 
 she may be mistaken sometimes in her choice of means 
 to obtain it." 
 
 " Such distinctions are too fine for me," said Major 
 Tyler, shaking his head sorrowfully. " I only know 
 that when the thunder of the Mexican cavalry grew 
 louder, and our companies preparing themselves for the 
 shock rallied around me, I " 
 
 He was interrupted by Varian, who sat down at the 
 piano and began to play. A year ago I would have con- 
 sidered a piano in a man's rooms a mark of effeminacy, 
 taking the thought from the surroundings of my youth, 
 but I had learned better, knowing, too, as it had been 
 told to me, that the rough diamond was not necessarily 
 better than the cut and polished gem. 
 
 He played new music, a music that I had never 
 
50 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 heard before, a strange, wailing note that pierced the 
 heart at first like a human voice in agony, but, growing 
 louder and louder, changed into a song of joy, swelling 
 like the crash of the sea, then dying away with a last 
 faint echo. 
 
 "Who composed that?" asked Pembroke. 
 
 " A mad German musician," replied Varian. " At 
 least, the other composers call him mad, although I 
 suspect the next generation will swear that he is a mas- 
 ter genius." 
 
 We asked him to play again, but he dismissed the 
 subject with easy indifference, saying: "It is only a 
 trifle or two that I know; I have no real skill, and I 
 should be ashamed to touch a key in the presence of a 
 master." 
 
 Then he talked of books and art, and I noticed that 
 wherever he led the conversation the others followed as 
 if he had chosen the very subject of which they wished 
 to speak. The charm of his manner was over them all. 
 He had personal magnetism, and whatever he said they 
 felt at once that it was true. I noticed, too, what the 
 rest of the company did not, that always he spoke di- 
 rectly to me. 
 
 " Do you play, Mr. Kingsf ord ? Perhaps you would 
 oblige us," he asked, nodding toward the piano. 
 
 I confessed that I could not, and I admitted, too, 
 my unfamiliarity with other topics upon which he led 
 the talk. Once he shrugged his shoulders slightly, but 
 said nothing. 
 
 " We haven't had time yet," said Pembroke, " to 
 acquire all the more graceful arts." 
 
 " But you will acquire them," said De Courcelles. 
 " There is a dash of the French spirit in your nature 
 which will make you an improvement on the Anglo- 
 Saxon of Europe, a bulldog of a more handsome breed. 
 We Frenchmen are egotistical, but how can we help it 
 with such good cause? " 
 
AN EVENING WITH VARIAN 51 
 
 We laughed, and Varian, taking a foil, began to 
 show us swordsmanship as it was practised in the 
 best schools of Europe. He held, so he said, that the 
 finer arts could not save if those requiring skill and 
 courage were not practised at the same time, and we 
 agreed with him. I admired the strength and supple- 
 ness of his wrist, the light balancing of his strong 
 figure, and the alert eyes, as he showed us the latest 
 tricks in thrust and parry. 
 
 " The sword is more ornamental than useful to an 
 officer in battle," he said, " and the duel has been abol- 
 ished in England. Here, I understand, it is now prac- 
 tised only in the South, and even there is often an im- 
 promptu affair; but it has claims to consideration. I 
 think sometimes that it should have remained a re- 
 spected institution. It was the world's most sovereign 
 remedy for idle and malicious tongues, and the edge 
 of the tongue has done more harm than the edge of the 
 sword. Preserve the latter, and perhaps we should not 
 have the former." 
 
 He turned presently to me and said: 
 
 " You are a Kentuckian, Mr. Kirigsford, and they 
 practise there all the manly arts, including the appeal 
 to arms for the sake of honour. Perhaps you would try 
 the foils with me a little? Do you know the sword?" 
 
 My father had been a swordsman in his time, and 
 he trained me, not with the expectation of use, but as a 
 gentle accomplishment. I do not think that Varian 
 expected me to accept, but he smiled when I said that 
 I would take a foil and stand before him. 
 
 " I would not do it, Henry," said Pembroke in a 
 low tone, when Varian went into the next room for the 
 masks. " You will appear at a disadvantage." 
 
 " Others doubtless think so too," I replied, " but I 
 may be a better swordsman than you think, Pembroke." 
 
 Varian in a slight tone of instruction, which I did 
 not appear to notice, advised me how to adjust my mask, 
 
52 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 and then, taking our foils in hand, we stood before each 
 other. 
 
 " I will look after Mr. Kingsford," said De Cour- 
 celles, " and by my lady's smile, I like his position. 
 Surely he learned that from some one taught in the 
 school of the French masters." 
 
 " Will you do a similar good work for me, Mr. Pem- 
 broke? " asked Varian, and Pembroke moved to his side 
 of the room. 
 
 I felt my blood leaping higher than a mere friendly 
 massage at arms gave warrant, and I tightened my 
 ngers on the hilt of the foil. Varian's eyes flashed be- 
 veen the bars of his mask, and I thought that I saw 
 in them the glitter of malice. He would show his supe- 
 riority, and I resented the intent. 
 
 "Not. quite so tight," said De Courcelles to me. 
 " You strain the muscles and your wrist loses its elas- 
 ticity." 
 
 I nodded my thanks for his friendly warning, and 
 relaxed my grasp a little. It had been the result of 
 feeling and not of calculation. Then we began to fence, 
 Varian thrusting straight at my heart, as if he would 
 touch me there with the button and show what he 
 really could do were the game in earnest. I parried, 
 and his foil slipped off mine. The slight, ringing sound 
 of steel was in the air. I had not taken my eyes from 
 his and I saw them flash again through the bars of his 
 visor, but with a look of surprise. And that look gave 
 me joy. This may seem a little thing, but I had chafed 
 at his air and manner as he intended that I should, and 
 I summoned to my use whatever skill and strength I 
 might possess, resolving that I would defeat him were 
 it possible. 
 
 He thrust again, and a second time I parried, his foil 
 slipping off mine. This left him unguarded, and I 
 thrust quickly in return. Only an agile step to one side 
 saved him, and the look of malice from the bars of the 
 
AN EVENING WITH VARIAN 53 
 
 visor flashed upon me again. I felt a sudden great ex- 
 hilaration, unwarranted, perhaps, by the circumstances, 
 and yet not to be checked. We paused a few minutes, 
 and Varian said politely: 
 
 " You fence well, Mr. Kingsford. I expected to find 
 a pupil, but instead I meet a master." 
 
 I bowed as I was bound to acknowledge such a 
 graceful compliment, and De Courcelles said: 
 
 " I am proud of my principal. I am really happy 
 to be his second." 
 
 And De Courcelles looked as if he meant his words. 
 
 The interest of the others in our little mimic battle 
 increased, and they hung upon it as if it were for life. 
 We began again, and Varian became more careful, 
 leaving no opening, and attempting to drive me back 
 toward the wall. While cautious, he also pushed the 
 combat, evidently wishing to end it with a quick vic- 
 tory. His attack was so strong that I retreated a yard 
 or two, but I remembered two or three of the old tricks 
 of my father's. I lowered my sword for a moment, and 
 when he thrust quick as a flash for the opening, I knew 
 that my chance had come. His foil, caught on mine, 
 was drawn from his hand to fall ringing upon the floor, 
 and my button touched him fairly over the heart. 
 
 "Well done! well done! Monsieur Kingsford, by my 
 faith, 'twas well done! " cried De Courcelles, clapping 
 his hands in delight. "Had the duel been real, you 
 would now be a dead man, Monsieur Varian! " 
 
 " Happily for me it was not real," said Varian, 
 taking off his mask, and offering me his hand. " You 
 have now the victory, Mr. Kingsford, and I do not say 
 it merely as an attempt to praise my own skill when I 
 call you a good swordsman." 
 
 His words and tone were graceful enough, and yet 
 I detected some annoyance in his manner, as unreason- 
 able, perhaps, as my own secret joy, and when we turned 
 to other subjects he seemed to have lost part of his zest. 
 
CHAPTEK VII 
 
 THE SHEEN OF THE SPEARS 
 
 The conversation lagged after my little triumph, 
 and I rose presently to go home. Pembroke, Tourville, 
 and Mason said that they would go too, and Varian sug- 
 gested that he and his friends accompany us, at least 
 part of the way. 
 
 So we threw on our cloaks and walked into the 
 street. Finding the night pleasant, the chill of early 
 spring being tempered by a gentle southern wind, and 
 many stars shining, we strolled on together. 
 
 " I have such a sense of vastness here, gentlemen," 
 said De Courcelles, looking up at the skies, " but, 
 I do not know whether it is that your country is so 
 large or merely a trick that the imagination plays me 
 because I learned in school of its great size." 
 
 " It is the imagination only," said Varian. " The 
 country is about to be divided, and yet your sense of 
 vastness is not diminished. Ah, see that signal light! 
 and there goes another! and a third! " 
 
 Our eyes followed his pointing forefinger, and we 
 saw far beyond the Potomac a red light shoot up, hang 
 blazing for a moment against the sky of dusky blue, 
 and then bursting into a spray of fire, sink and die away. 
 It was followed by another, and then another, and then 
 more until we counted six in all. 
 
 " Some of our Southern friends holding a little quiet 
 conversation with each other," said Varian. " It may 
 54 
 
THE SHEEN OP THE SPEARS 55 
 
 mean something important, or it may be merely young 
 militiamen seizing a chance to burn fireworks. But you 
 see, Mr. Kingsford, what a fatal mistake you are mak- 
 ing. The Southern armies are already gathering almost 
 within sight of the capital, and your Northern Gov- 
 ernment is supine. Come with us! Come with the 
 men whose courage and energy are a proof of what they 
 will do. You are a Southerner yourself, and you should 
 cling to your own people. The agreeable and the right 
 go together in this case." 
 
 I shook my head. It might be pleasanter to go 
 with one's own people, but I had settled that question 
 long since. We were a little in advance of the others, 
 and he turned to me suddenly. 
 
 " Have you ever thought," he asked, " how your 
 choice would affect you with Miss Maynard? " 
 
 I fancy that I looked my surprise at his use of 
 Elinor's name in such a conversation, but I suppressed 
 it in a moment, though secretly wondering at his mo- 
 tive in asking the question, and replied: 
 
 " Miss Maynard believes as I do, despite her sur- 
 roundings. We are in agreement upon that point." 
 
 " Ah, yes, she thinks so for the present, but you do 
 not know how easy it is to change a woman's political 
 opinions, and how much pressure can be brought to 
 bear upon her. I do not mean it as a criticism, but 
 rather as a compliment when I say that Miss Maynard 
 is likely to be, a year from now, an enthusiastic ad- 
 herent of the South. Believe me, Mr. Kingsford, you 
 would be much wiser to seek your fortune with us." 
 
 His manner was most ingratiating, and I do not 
 know what reply I should have made, but at that mo- 
 ment Tourville interrupted. He had overtaken us and 
 caught the latter part of Varian's speech. His com- 
 ment surprised me even more than Varian's invi- 
 tation. 
 
 " I think you are wrong, Mr. Varian," he said posi- 
 
56 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 tively. " If Henry believes that the South is wrong and 
 the North is right, he ought to go with the North. 
 Now, I know that the South is right, hut you can't 
 convince Henry; I've tried it and failed." 
 
 I was glad enough that Tourville had spoken, al- 
 though he and I had had some fiery altercations on this 
 very subject. It was always hard to tell which way his 
 impulsive nature would swing him, but now it brought 
 him to my side. 
 
 " I shall not argue with you, Mr. Tourville," said 
 Varian, with entire good nature. " Two are too strong 
 for me, but I shall ask you to go with me to the railway 
 station. Many Southerners start to-night on a pil- 
 grimage, and the spectacle should be interesting." 
 
 Then he told us that more than one hundred people 
 were leaving on a special train for their homes in the 
 South. I knew that many of them expected to return, 
 but not to the capital of a united nation. His proposal 
 was acceptable to all, 'our curiosity rising at once, and 
 we changed our course, 
 
 I would have walked with De Courcelles, whom I 
 wished to know better, but Varian held me with his con- 
 versation, seeming resolved that I should receive his 
 whole attention that evening. However, my mind wan- 
 dered from the subject as we talked. I felt that our 
 little company was of a various character, of more than 
 one nation, divided in regard to the coming struggle, 
 and yet we were able to walk peacefully together. I 
 wished that our example might serve. 
 
 We soon reached the station. It was a gloomy 
 enough place, like all American railroad stations of the 
 time, without the slightest ornamentation, with only the 
 barest comforts, and not all of them; dusty brown 
 Avails, hard wooden benches, and an old stove emitting 
 more smoke than heat, feebly attempting to warm the 
 desolate room. 
 
 But the place was full of bustle and noise, and the 
 
THE SHEEN OF THE SPEARS 57 
 
 dim lights showed many human faces. Men and women 
 alike were going home, but, as I had thought, most of 
 them were expecting to return. They talked much, and 
 they were cheerful. It seemed never to occur to any 
 one in that sanguine crowd that the result might he 
 otherwise than they wished. Our own party was silent. 
 Perhaps our discussions made us think more of the dif- 
 ficulties and dangers. 
 
 " You see how futile your Government is," said 
 Varian. " Many of these men are going away to fight 
 you, and you know it; but you do nothing. What 
 can you do? How can you hold a people who do not 
 wish to be held? " 
 
 Another crowd began to gather about the station, a 
 hostile and threatening crowd containing many roughs, 
 men who might use violence. The emigrants, or exiles, 
 as they called themselves, often talked rashly or with 
 excessive heat, but both sides had abstained so far 
 from physical force. Yet it looked as if the rule might 
 be broken now. 
 
 A short, thick figure came out of the darkness, and 
 the light fell upon the large head and powerful shoul- 
 ders of Shaftoe. 
 
 " It's curiosity that brought me here," he said. 
 " The same curiosity, I guess, that brought you." 
 
 Some of us he knew, and I introduced him to the 
 others. 
 
 "A fine specimen of your peasant class, I take it," 
 said De Courcelles aside. 
 
 " On the contrary, he belongs to our nobility, al- 
 though he has no title," I replied. I could never con- 
 ceive of such a man as Shaftoe as a peasant, and, more- 
 over, I disliked the word. 
 
 The mutterings of the crowd increased, and the de- 
 parting Southerners, while taking no notice otherwise, 
 used in their talk to each other allusions and jests 
 that could not fail to irritate. It was unwise, but it was 
 
58 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 natural. I saw presently the senator from Texas, the 
 man whose ironical face, as he leaned against the pillar 
 at the inauguration, had impressed me so. He showed 
 the same character now, regarding the crowd with in- 
 dolent indifference, save now and then when he per- 
 mitted himself a sarcastic smile. One of the roughs 
 jeered at him, but he merely looked at the man con- 
 temptuously. The crowd pressed closer, and some came 
 into the station. A policeman tried to keep them back, 
 but he was outnumbered and shoved aside. " Traitors! " 
 they shouted at the emigrants. The senator sneered, 
 and moved his hand as if he were sweeping dirt away. 
 One of the roughs laid hold of his collar, but the sena- 
 tor seized him instantly, and threw him against the wall. 
 A rush was made for the offending Southerner, but 
 Shaftoe sprang forward and hurled back the first man 
 against the second. 
 
 " Stop! " he shouted. " These people must go away 
 peacefully! I am a Northern man myself, as true as 
 any of you, I hope, and you shall not disgrace us! " 
 
 " Your friend is bold and ready," said Varian to me, 
 " and, moreover, he is right. I shall help him." 
 
 All of us stepped forward to the assistance of Shaf- 
 toe; and the crowd paused. The roughs looked us 
 over, and, convinced by our numbers and strength, de- 
 parted with their bruised comrade. 
 
 Then the emigration continued. The attack of the 
 mob became a forgotten episode. The crowd resumed 
 its light-heartedness and gaiety. Some one looking out 
 at the capital with its lights twinkling in the dusk, 
 quoted the words of the Numidian leaving old Eome, 
 " venal city, about to perish! " but I remembered 
 that it was the Numidian who came back to die in a 
 dungeon at Rome, and Rome went on. I could not see 
 that any of these people were troubled; they seemed 
 to anticipate nothing but good fortune, and it struck me 
 that the gravest moments of our lives are perhaps those 
 
 
THE SHEEN OF THE SPEARS 59 
 
 that create the smallest apprehensions. It was obvious, 
 however, that they felt they were in the right. They 
 were firm in the belief that the North was wholly given 
 up to a sordid commercialism, and that the grace and 
 beauty of life remained in the South alone. 
 
 They were all aboard, the engine whistled, and away 
 they went into the darkness, the lights of the train 
 quickly dying. 
 
 " I do not wonder that you are silent and sad," said 
 Varian to me, as we walked back toward the central 
 part of the city. " When a scene like this impresses 
 so much a stranger, one whose interest is not personal, 
 as it does me, I can understand the effect that it must 
 have upon you, who have ties alike with those who re- 
 main and those who stay." 
 
 I wondered if his sympathy were genuine, but I 
 thanked him for it. 
 
 Elinor and Mrs. Maynard left for their home two 
 days later under the escort of Varian, who, I was told, 
 was to have a Confederate command in the Southwest. 
 When I said good-bye to Elinor I could not refrain 
 from warning her. 
 
 " Elinor," I said, " I do not trust Mr. Varian." 
 
 " Perhaps he does not trust you, and so you are 
 even," she said, looking at me with a quick smile. 
 
 " I do not seek to jest," I replied, " but I could wish 
 on your account that Mrs. Maynard had sought the 
 advice and protection of any other." 
 
 " Perhaps I am able to take care of myself," she 
 said, her cheeks reddening and a flash appearing in her 
 eyes. I saw that I had made a mistake, and I talked 
 of other things. I remember her now as she was on 
 that last day, tall and slender and beautiful, and not 
 like those who had gone away in the night, laughing 
 and full of eager anticipations, but grave and sad and 
 seeming to look ahead to events which could furnish no 
 triumph. 
 
 5 
 
60 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 Mrs. Maynard gave me a cold farewell. Varian was 
 courteous, even showing warmth in his manner. 
 
 " We may meet soon, Mr. Kingsf ord," he said, " and 
 if we do, it is most likely that it will be on the battle- 
 field; then I trust that the stronger will be able to show 
 mercy." 
 
 I noticed that the man Blanchard, his face as heavy 
 and lowering as ever, was with him, and I liked his 
 presence but little. 
 
 Then all my friends departed-^-Major Tyler, Pem- 
 broke, Mason, Tourville, and eve*De Courcelles, who 
 went to New York on business for the French Govern- 
 ment, so he said. The city was lonely when they were 
 gone. 
 
 The war clouds thickened fast, and shots were heard. 
 
CHAPTEE VIII 
 
 THE CALL OF THE DRUM 
 
 Then I listened to the call of the drum. 
 
 Fort Sumter was fired upon, and the first cannon 
 shot there set this war drum to beating in every vil- 
 lage; it was never silent; its steady roll day after day 
 was calling men up to the cannon mouth; it was per- 
 sistent, unsatisfied, always crying for more. 
 
 Its beat was heard throughout a vast area, over re- 
 gions whose people knew of each other as part of the 
 same nation, but had never met, calling above this line 
 to the North, calling below it to the South, summoning 
 up the legions for a struggle in which old jealousies and 
 old quarrels, breeding since the birth of the Union, were 
 to be settled. 
 
 The drum beat its martial note in the great cities of 
 the Atlantic, calling the men away from the forges and 
 the shops and the wharves — clerks, moulders, longshore- 
 men, the same call for all; it passed on, and its steady 
 beat resounded among the hills and mountains of the 
 North, calling to the long-limbed farmer boys to drop 
 the plough and take up the rifle, sending them on to 
 join the moulders, and clerks, and longshoremen, and 
 putting upon all one stamp, the stamp of the soldier, 
 food for the cannon — and this food supply was to be 
 the largest of its time, though few yet dreamed it. 
 
 The roll of the drum went on, through the fields, 
 along the rivers, by the shores of the Great Lakes, out 
 
 61 
 
62 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 upon the plains, where the American yet fought with 
 the Indian for a foothold, and into the interminable 
 forests whose shades hid the pioneers; over levels and 
 acres and curves of thousands of miles, calling up the 
 deep-chested Western farmers, men of iron muscles and 
 no pleasures, to whom unbroken hardship was the 
 natural course of life, and sending them to join their 
 Eastern brethren at the cannon mouth. 
 
 It was an insistent drum, beating through all the 
 day and night, over the mountains, through the sunless 
 woods and on the burnt prairies, never resting, never 
 weary. The opportunity was the greatest of the time, 
 and the drum did not neglect a moment; it was without 
 conscience, and had no use for mercy, calling, always 
 calling. 
 
 Another drum and yet the same was beating in the 
 South, and those who came at its call differed in little 
 from the others who were marching to the Northern 
 beat, only the clerks and the mill hands were much 
 fewer; the same long-limbed and deep-chested race, 
 spare alike of figure and speech, brown-faced men from 
 the shores of the Gulf, men of South Carolina in whom 
 the original drop of French blood still tinctured the 
 whole; brethren of theirs from Louisiana, gigantic Ten- 
 nesseans, half -wild horsemen from the Texas plains — all 
 burning with enthusiasm for a cause that they believed 
 to be right. 
 
 This merciless drum rolling out its ironical chuckle 
 noted that these Northern and Southern countrymen 
 gathering to their standards were alike in their lack of 
 pleasure; they were a serious race; life had always been 
 a hard problem for them, a fight, in fact, and this fight 
 into which they were going was merely another kind 
 of battle, with some advantages of novelty and change 
 and comradeship that made it attractive, especially to 
 the younger, the boys. They had been hewers of wood 
 and drawers of water in every sense of the word, though 
 
THE CALL OF THE DRUM 63 
 
 for themselves; generations of them had fought In- 
 dians, some suffering torture and death; they had en- 
 dured bitter cold and burning heat, eaten at scanty 
 tables, and lived far-away and lonely lives in the wilder- 
 ness. They were a rough and hard-handed race, taught 
 to work and not to be afraid, knowing no masters, accus- 
 tomed to no splendours either in themselves or others, 
 holding themselves as good as anybody and thinking it, 
 according to Nature; their faults those of newness and 
 never of decay. These were the men who had grown up 
 apart from the Old World and all its traditions, far 
 even from the influence which the Atlantic seaboard felt 
 through constant communication. This life of eternal 
 combat in one form or another left no opportunity for 
 softness; the dances, the sports, and all the gaieties 
 which even the lowest in Europe had were unknown to 
 them, and they invented none to take their place. 
 
 They knew the full freedom of speech; what they 
 wished to say they said, and they said it when and where 
 they pleased. But on the whole they were taciturn, 
 especially in the hour of trouble; then they made no 
 complaints, suffering in silence. They imbibed the stoi- 
 cism of the Indians from whom they won the land, and 
 they learned to endure much and long before they cried 
 out. This left one characteristic patent and decisive, 
 and that characteristic was strength. These men had 
 passed through a school of hardship, one of many 
 grades; it had roughened them, but it gave them bodies 
 of iron and an unconquerable spirit for the struggle they 
 were about to begin. 
 
 Another characteristic of those who came at the call 
 of the drum was unselfishness. They were willing to do 
 much and ask little for it. They were poor bargain 
 drivers when selling their own flesh and bones, and their 
 answer to the call was spontaneous and without price. 
 
 They came in thousands and scores of thousands. 
 The long roll rumbling from the sea to the Eocky Moun- 
 
64 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 tains and beyond cleared everything; the doubts and 
 the doubters were gone; no more committees; an end to 
 compromises! The sword must decide, and the two 
 halves of the nation, which yet did not understand their 
 own strength, swung forward to meet the issue, glad 
 that it was obvious at last. 
 
 There came an exultant note into the call of the 
 drum, as if it rejoiced at the prospects of a contest that 
 took so wide a sweep. Here was long and happy work 
 for it to do; it could call to many battles, and its note 
 as it passed from village to village was resounding and 
 defiant; it was cheerful too, and had in it a trick; it told 
 the long-legged boys who came out of the woods of vic- 
 tories and glory, of an end for a while to the toil which 
 never before had been broken, of new lands and of 
 cities; all making a great holiday with the final finish 
 of excitement and reasonable risk. It was no wonder 
 that the drum called so effectively when it mingled such 
 enticements with the demands of patriotism. Most of 
 those who heard were no strangers to danger, and those 
 who did not know it themselves were familiar with it 
 in the traditions of their fathers and forefathers; every 
 inch of the land which now swept back from the sea 
 three thousand miles had been won at the cost of suf- 
 fering and death, with two weapons, the rifle and the 
 axe, and they were not going to shun the present trial, 
 which was merely one in a long series. 
 
 The drum was calling to men who understood its 
 note; the nation had been founded as a peaceful repub- 
 lic, but it had gone already through the ordeal of many 
 wars, and behind it stretched five generations of colonial 
 life, an unbroken chain of combats. They had fought 
 everybody; they had measured the valour of the Eng- 
 lishman, the Frenchman, the Spaniard, the Hessian, the 
 Mexican, and the red man. Much gunpowder had been 
 burned within the borders of the Union, and also its 
 people had burned much beyond them. Those who fol- 
 
THE CALL OF THE DRUM 65 
 
 lowed the call of the drum were flocking to no new 
 trade. By a country with the shadow of a standing 
 army very many battles had been fought. 
 
 They came, too, without regard to blood or origin; 
 the Anglo-Saxon predominated; he gave his character- 
 istics to North and South alike, all spoke his tongue, 
 but every race in Europe had descendants there, and 
 many of them — English, Irish, Scotch, French, Germanj 
 Spanish, and so on through the list — their blood fused 
 and intermingled, until no one could tell how much he 
 had of this and how much of that. 
 
 The untiring drumbeat was heard through all the 
 winter and summer, and the response still rolled up 
 from vast areas; it was to be no common struggle — 
 great armies were to be formed where no armies at all 
 existed before, and the preparations on a fitting scale 
 went on. The forces of the North and South gathered 
 along a two-thousand-mile line, and those trying to look 
 far ahead saw the nature of the struggle. 
 
 The preliminary battles and skirmishes began, and 
 then the two gathered themselves for their mightiest 
 efforts. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE PENETKATION OF SHAFTOE 
 
 Shaftoe and I were two among the thousands who 
 oheyed the call of the drum, and we went together to 
 Kentucky, I finding again on the journey that I had 
 chosen wisely when I resolved to make him my com- 
 rade. I was grateful, too, that he saw fit to help me 
 out of the store of his experience and wisdom, falling in 
 with my plan, for I felt that I was the one who received 
 benefits and gave but little in return. He began now 
 to instruct me in the arts of the campaigner. 
 
 " You are to be a soldier soon," he said, " and so 
 you will have to begin life over again. You really know 
 nothing about taking care of yourself. No man does 
 until he has served at least two years as a private. 
 Unless I watch over you you are sure to have shoes 
 either too tight or too loose, and inside of a week 
 you will be so lame you can't walk. You will go to sleep 
 on the damp ground just because you are so tired that 
 you stop thinking, and the next day you will have chills 
 and fever. In short, you will be dead before you hear 
 the whistle of an enemy's bullet if you don't take good 
 advice, which, of course, is mine." 
 
 I promised him that I would obey all his instruc- 
 tions, and his pleasure at my assurance was obvious. 
 Where his military knowledge was concerned he showed 
 a fine strain of egotism, but it proceeded from such good 
 cause that it seemed logical and natural. Moreover, he 
 66 
 
THE PENETRATION OF SHAFTOE 67 
 
 took no credit to himself for anything else, and I like 
 to see a man proud of the work that he can do best. I 
 found that he was not an easy master at first. His dis- 
 cipline was severe, and if I failed to tell what I ought 
 to do in any military emergency, his criticism was in- 
 stant and emphatic. " This little West Point of mine 
 must be carried on right," he said. " I haven't had a 
 chance to lecture anybody for a long time before, and 
 don't you think that I'm going to let it pass." 
 
 Yet I knew that he liked me, as otherwise he would 
 not have taken so much trouble to make me a good 
 soldier. 
 
 We went by rail to Cincinnati, where I received a 
 letter from Elinor. I had asked her to write to me 
 there, and tell me of her safe arrival. Her letter was 
 brief: 
 
 " We reached here without trouble or long delay," 
 she said. " We heard of nothing on our way but war, 
 and the talk of great battles soon to come. Colonel 
 Varian — he is a colonel now, his commission came from 
 Mr. Davis himself, and he is esteemed highly in the 
 South — was most kind and assisted us in many ways. 
 But he was rather silent and reserved, and we have seen 
 little of him since our arrival here. Henry, I trust that 
 you will come to no harm in this war, and that the war 
 itself will soon be ended, for it seems a cruel thing." 
 
 I thought over the letter for a while, not being able 
 to tell from it Elinor's feelings toward Varian. Shaftoe 
 was close by when I received it, smoking, and presently 
 I saw him take his pipe out of his mouth and look 
 fixedly at me. Being so much older and more experi- 
 enced than I, he felt that he could take liberties. At 
 length he said: 
 
 "A girl?" 
 
 Silence. 
 
 " Not a girl, but the girl." 
 
 Silence. 
 
68 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 Private Thomas Shaftoe, TJ. S. A., relighted his pipe 
 and smoked for a minute or two with great deliberation, 
 but did not take his translating eye off me. 
 
 " I was sure it was the girl and not a girl," he said 
 presently. 
 
 Still silence. 
 
 " A mighty soldier such as you are to become would 
 never be disturbed so much by anything except the girl." 
 
 I stirred a little, for I was uneasy under his gaze. 
 
 " That's confirmation," said Shaftoe. " Now, I want 
 to ask you one thing. Aren't you afraid the war will 
 lag through a division of your attention? Perhaps it 
 may cause the North to suffer several great defeats." 
 
 The veteran pulled calmly at his pipe and looked 
 with seeming laziness through the rising smoke. But 
 his keen eyes were on me, and I believe that they read 
 every thought passing in my mind. It had become 
 Shaftoe's opinion lately that I was taking life with a 
 seriousness and intensity bordering upon strain, and 
 I felt that he wished to indulge his humour a little at 
 my expense. 
 
 " You wonder why I know about the girl — that is, 
 the particular girl and not a girl," he resumed. " It's 
 easy enough to know; I didn't have to hunt up the 
 fact; you advertised it to me in billboard letters a yard 
 high, all in red ink. The only way for me not to see it 
 was to shut my eyes tight, and I can't keep that up 
 twenty-four hours a day." 
 
 He laughed silently, but with enjoyment. 
 
 "Oughtn't I to know the signs?" he resumed. 
 "Haven't I been through it all? Yes, sir, every stage 
 of the disease from catch to cure! There she stands 
 now, nineteen years old, as spry as a deer and as wild, 
 black eyes and black hair, cream on her brow and 
 roses on her cheeks and mischief in her soul. I was 
 sure I'd die or kill somebody if I didn't marry her. 
 Neither happened." 
 
THE PENETRATION OF SHAFTOE 69 
 
 " Why didn't you marry her? " 
 
 " Asked her, but she preferred to marry some one 
 else. That was long ago. I got over it, as you will 
 get over your attack, my son." 
 
 Private Thomas Shaftoe, U. S. A., laughed again, 
 and blew a smoke ring high above his head. Then he 
 added: 
 
 " At least the United States got a first-class soldier 
 by it, if I do say it myself/' 
 
 Then he seemed to sigh, but so softly that I could 
 not hear him; I doubt if he heard himself. 
 
 It was our intention to continue the journey by rail 
 from Cincinnati to Louisville, but we found the trains 
 from the former place choked with volunteers and 
 material of war, and so we secured passage on the packet 
 steamer Island Queen down the Ohio, arriving at Louis- 
 ville the next day in safety. 
 
 I was more or less acquainted in Louisville, and I 
 beheld here for the first time and on a large scale the 
 painful division of families, which I believe that all 
 acknowledge to be the saddest feature of a civil war. 
 Shaftoe left me on the second day, going to Indiana, 
 where he was to assist in the organization and drill of a 
 new regiment. Some Indiana troops were already in 
 Louisville, tall, gawky young countrymen, and the Ken- 
 tuckians, with that contempt which they always feel 
 for the Indianians — a contempt which has nothing to 
 do with the respective merits of the two — hooted them 
 as they walked through the streets and asked them what 
 they were. I shall not forget the reply. " We are free 
 citizens of the State of Indiana," answered the Hoosiers 
 proudly, remembering that the Kentuckians were slave- 
 holders and they were not. And yet, by another of the 
 contradictions of human nature, those Indianians came 
 from a county which to this day will not allow a negro 
 to remain twenty-four hours on its soil. 
 
 I was in a state of uncertainty. I wished to visit my 
 
70 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 grandmother before entering upon active service, but I 
 could not yet learn whether a man known to be a vol- 
 unteer for the Northern army having visited that part 
 of the State would be able to return to his duty. I 
 took, meanwhile, a room at the Gait House, and on the 
 second day when I went to breakfast I met Varian. He 
 saw me first, and came to my table, offering his hand 
 with a cheerful good morning. 
 
 " I had heard that you were here, Mr. Kingsford," 
 he said. " Our careers, or rather our wishes, seem to 
 take us along the same path." 
 
 I was forced to return his greeting in kind, although 
 surprised and not wholly pleased to see him there. 
 Elinor had written that he was already a colonel in the 
 Confederate service, and surely he must know his risk 
 in coming to Louisville. 
 
 He invited me to join Mr. Blanchard and himself 
 at his table, and I found Mr. Blanchard there, silent and 
 lowering as ever. Varian, talking freely, gave me much 
 news, and despite the gaiety of his manner, I noticed a 
 thread of irony which seemed to me at times to become 
 marvellously like bitterness. 
 
 The southern part of the State, he said, was swarm- 
 ing with the Confederate forces. Mrs. Maynard and her 
 niece were at their house, and my respected grand- 
 mother, so he said, was quietly at hers, very anxious 
 about me and hoping to see me soon. Miss Maynard was 
 still of divided feelings, loving the South and yet sure 
 that the North was right and would win. He had 
 sought in vain to convert her to sounder political and 
 military beliefs, but women were guided in these mat- 
 ters as in all others by their emotions, or by that in- 
 stinct which usually leads them wrong, rather than by 
 their reason. I was not sure that a woman's instinct 
 usually led her wrong, and I said so. 
 
 " At any rate," he replied lightly, " a man can not 
 depend upon them. Just when he thinks he has con- 
 
THE PENETRATION OF SHAPTOE fl 
 
 vinced them, he is sure to find that they think the very 
 opposite. Perhaps it is the fine contrariety of the sex 
 that makes them so beautiful to us." 
 
 I watched his face with new interest, but it expressed 
 no emotion, and he began to talk of other subjects. I 
 asked him why he had come to Louisville, and was he 
 not afraid of detention. 
 
 " It is necessary in this life to have strong friends," 
 he replied, shrugging his shoulders, " and perhaps I 
 have them. At all events, I feel no apprehensions. 
 The war has not really begun, although all of us know 
 that it will begin." Then he discussed the military 
 situation, talking to me quite frankly, telling me that 
 Kentucky was a pivotal State, and whichever side could 
 hold it would drive a wedge into the heart of the 
 other. Possession, he said, would be the prize of 
 swiftness and decision, and so far the South had shown 
 herself superior in those qualities. He described the 
 campaign as he would conduct it for the South if he 
 were in chief command, and it seemed to me that his 
 was a true military genius, since his tone had the ring 
 of knowledge and confidence, and one was convinced in 
 spite of himself. 
 
 " I could wish, Mr. Varian," I said, " that you would 
 choose our side." 
 
 " Not so much as I wish you to take ours," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 I thanked him for the compliment, and presently 
 tried to engage his companion, the sullen Mr. Blanch- 
 ard, in conversation. But if Mr. Blanchard had any 
 ideas worth the telling, he was pleased to consider them 
 better worth the keeping, as he made but brief replies 
 to all my questions and suggestions, and Varian resum- 
 ing the thread of the conversation, he was left to his 
 original silence. 
 
 Varian asked me if I intended a visit to my home, 
 and I said that I would surely go if I found the way to 
 
72 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 be open. He made no comment, but left the room a 
 few moments later with Blanchard. 
 
 I inquired the next morning for him, but I found 
 that he and his familiar were gone, and I learned 
 from others that his flight was hastened by the danger 
 of arrest. The rumour was spreading that a man, al- 
 ready a colonel in the Southern service, was in the 
 city, possibly as a spy, and while one might tolerate 
 much before active hostilities, this was going too far. 
 
 I decided the next day that I would visit my home, 
 taking the chances of detention and capture, and an 
 hour after forming this resolution I started. 
 
CHAPTEE X 
 
 A SOUTHEEN HOME 
 
 " I knew that you ought not to come, but I knew 
 that you would come, and right glad am I to see you," 
 said my grandmother. 
 
 She stood in the doorway, a woman of sixty-five, 
 just a little above the medium height, her iron-gray 
 hair — it was not white until years afterward — arranged 
 in little corkscrew curls on her temples, her gray eyes 
 still clear, and the full brow above them almost as 
 smooth as the forehead of a young woman. She was as 
 straight as an Indian chief, and I can remember that 
 when I first came to live with her she was, to my child- 
 ish mind, the personification of strength and self-reli- 
 ance. People told me that she was a far sterner char- 
 acter than my mother, who died when I was at the age 
 of seven, but when she sent for me, we two being all 
 that were left of the family, they said also, as I learned 
 afterward, that I had fallen into- safe hands. 
 
 My grandmother when the lone little boy arrived 
 kissed me on the forehead, then looking into my eyes 
 fixedly for a moment, said: 
 
 " Ah, yes; it is the same look." 
 
 Then she went abruptly into the next room, leaving 
 me wondering and frightened. But she returned in a 
 few moments, brisk, sharp, and snappy. 
 
 "William Penn! " she cried, "why do you leave 
 the child to starve ? " 
 
 73 
 
74 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 And William Penn Johnson, the man of all work, 
 my grandmother's right hand, came in to rescue me 
 from the pangs of starvation, although it was she who 
 had been guilty, if there was any guilt at all. 
 
 " Don't give up to her too easy," said William Penn, 
 when he had taken me to the kitchen, where a kindly 
 maid supplied me plentifully with bread and butter. 
 " She's a terrible woman with those who are afraid of 
 her. She thinks they have no spirit, and she hates 
 people who have no spirit. You needn't cross her, but 
 just you be foxy; let her talk and think she's getting 
 her way, while you have yours, and then you'll lead a 
 quiet life, which is the only kind that's worth living." 
 
 This was blunt advice to give to a young man of 
 seven years, but even then I was wise enough to receive 
 it with a grain of allowance, and to profit by the good 
 that it really contained. Thus I prospered under a 
 stern and kindly rule, sharing in youthful spirit in the 
 feud that my grandmother conducted with her neigh- 
 bour, Mrs. Maynard, a quarrel which had become neces- 
 sary to her personal satisfaction; and all went well 
 until Mrs. Maynard's orphan niece arrived from the 
 North. 
 
 " A New England child, a Yankee! " said my grand- 
 mother in horror. " Perhaps her parents were abolition- 
 ists. Yet I might have expected that Ellen Maynard 
 would bring her here. It is like the woman to defy the 
 best opinion of the community. Henry, you must never 
 go near that house again." 
 
 She laid this injunction upon me with the greatest 
 earnestness and weight, but my curiosity was aroused 
 so deeply that I was ready to risk the sin of disobedience. 
 I had never seen a Yankee, though I had heard strange 
 tales of them, and so I slipped away from our house, 
 and a half hour later was peeping through the palings 
 of the fence that surrounded Mrs. Maynard's lawn. I 
 saw a little girl three or four years younger than myself, 
 
A SOUTHERN HOME 75 
 
 a child with blue eyes and black hair, and of most won- 
 derful complexion. She was a stranger to me, but I 
 beckoned to her, and she came obediently. 
 
 " Little girl," I said, " there is a terrible Yankee 
 here. My grandmother told me so, and I want to see 
 the Yankee. I never saw one in my life." 
 
 She looked into my eyes with those blue eyes of hers, 
 laughed, and said: 
 
 " I'm the terrible Yankee." 
 
 And yet, in spite of all my early education and ac- 
 quired prejudices, I was forced to admit that she did 
 not look terrible. I conceded in truth that she was a 
 very pretty little girl, and might become a good com- 
 rade. I unlearned then much of my previous knowl- 
 edge, nor did I know until I was a man how great my 
 awakening had been. 
 
 My grandmother and Mrs. Maynard fought against 
 our youthful friendship. The former's feelings of 
 a lifetime against Yankees could not be swept away 
 in an hour, and, moreover, she did not wish her only 
 grandson to be the playmate of Ellen Maynard's niece. 
 But youthful perseverance triumphed. When Madam 
 Arlington, my grandmother, saw the pretty face and 
 modest ways of the little maid, she relented gradually. 
 " Ah, well," she said, " she could not help the misfor- 
 tune of her birth in New England, and perhaps she came 
 away before she was old enough to be corrupted. The 
 poor child is to be pitied, not blamed." 
 
 After this Elinor steadily made progress in the stern 
 old woman's heart. I was in a fair way myself to be- 
 come spoiled. I hunted often in the old library for 
 stories on the long lonesome days when I had no one 
 with whom to play, and I gathered a strange assort- 
 ment of bookish knowledge, much to my grandmother's 
 pride, as I soon discovered. The minister, always a man 
 of distinction and honour in our State, was at our din- 
 ner table, and unwisely made an excursion into ancient 
 6 
 
76 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 history, quoting a date and quoting it wrong, as I knew, 
 since it was one of those miscellaneous and chance facts 
 that I had gathered in my bookish excursions. I cor- 
 rected him promptly, and in a loud voice, somewhat to 
 his confusion, and more to that of my grandmother. 
 When the dinner was over and the minister had gone I 
 received severe attentions with a willow switch, which 
 I endured without a tear, and after my grandmother 
 had dismissed me William Penn informed me confi- 
 dentially that she had boasted of my learning to the 
 whole household, and asserted that her grandson was 
 to become a scholar. I know she cherished an am- 
 bition that I should some day write a book, and that she 
 would be the first to read it. 
 
 I risked my favour again, a year or two after this, 
 when she found me reading old histories. 
 
 " Put them down, Henry," she said sternly. " Those 
 histories are written by Yankees, and of course are lies. 
 You ought to read histories written by Southern men." 
 
 " But, grandmother," I protested, " the Southern 
 men don't write books." 
 
 " That is true," she replied with a sigh; " and so the 
 world will never know the truth about the South, but 
 will always believe that the Yankees have done every- 
 thing." 
 
 I think that her ambition for me then took definite 
 shape. The book that I was "to write was to be a great 
 history, setting forth the grand and glorious deeds of 
 the South, and describing its surpassing virtues. Per- 
 haps I never understood how deep her grief was when a 
 few years later I began to express opinions differing in 
 many important respects from hers. 
 
 " It's those books," she said. " I ought to have 
 burned them; or it's that Yankee girl. I should never 
 have let her come into my house. They say there's no 
 fool like an old fool, and I say so too, unless it's a 
 young one." 
 
A SOUTHERN HOME 77 
 
 I feared for a time that she might speak rudely to 
 Elinor, but I ought to have known better. My grand- 
 mother never forgot that she was a gentlewoman. 
 
 When I was a man grown and the gulf began to 
 open between North and South I told her, thinking it 
 was best to leave no illusions, that if war came I should 
 take the side of the North. She stared fixedly at the 
 wall, her face quite gray, and at length said: 
 
 " I have long known it. God's will be done! " 
 
 She scarcely spoke for the next two days, but on 
 the morning of the third she said, with some return 
 of her old cheerfulness: 
 
 " I never dreamed that the North could be right in 
 any particular, but surely it can not be wholly wrong, 
 for I hear that Ellen Maynard is claiming to be the best 
 Southerner of us all." 
 
 Her cheerfulness continued to increase, and by and 
 bye she was her old, strong, reliant self, and William 
 Penn, who had enjoyed a period of rest and peace un- 
 known to him for years before, was roused again to a 
 life of activity. 
 
 " William Penn," I asked, " if the war comes, as it 
 surely will, shall you go to it? " 
 
 "Henry," said truthful William, looking at me in 
 amazement, " I have served Madam Arlington faith- 
 fully for thirty years, and I think that I have done 
 my share." 
 
 It had been fifteen years since I first came into my 
 grandmother's house, but when she met me now she 
 looked only a little older and grayer, and as erect and 
 strong as ever. Just as on that earlier day, she kissed 
 me on the forehead, looked into my eyes, and said: " It 
 is the same look; they are Mary's eyes." Then that old 
 scene suggested by the same emotions reproduced itself. 
 Again she went into the next room, leaving me alone, 
 and when she came back, she called loudly: 
 
 "William Penn, shall the boy starve, when he has 
 
78 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 come perhaps at the risk of his life to see us? Why 
 do you leave him here alone ? " 
 
 And William Penn came forth, also a little older and 
 a little grayer, but with no loss of strength, and was 
 ready to see that all the house contained was at 
 my service. Then my grandmother told me the tale 
 of her narrow world, interspersing the narrative with 
 brief and crisp commentaries after her fashion. 
 
 " Ellen Maynard is at her home," she said, " saying 
 little and taking no part in the disputes that agitate 
 the neighbourhood. She must mean mischief. Elinor 
 is there. The girl has been to see me once only, and she 
 looked pale and troubled. There is a stranger too — a 
 man of distinguished appearance and great manners, 
 they say — who is often at the house, and he is in high 
 favour with Ellen Maynard. His name is Varian, and 
 nobody knows where he comes from, but it is certain 
 that he is to have a high command in the Southern 
 army. I wonder what it means? Ellen Maynard is an 
 ambitious woman and full of intrigue. I always knew 
 that she could never be trusted. Elinor, however, is dif- 
 ferent. I don't understand how there can be such a 
 contrast between two people of the same blood. All 
 this does not mean any good for you, Henry. Why do 
 you get on the wrong side? Why don't you go with 
 those who are sure to win? " 
 
 Madam Arlington never for a moment doubted the 
 complete triumph of the South, and I had no heart to 
 argue with her this important point. She had not been 
 in all her life twenty miles from the house in which she 
 was born, but she took the keenest interest in current 
 affairs, accepting without qualification the old fable 
 that one Southerner could whip five Yankees. She was 
 full of news, or rather gossip, of the great army that was 
 gathering to the southward. 
 
 " And it is to be commanded by Albert Sidney 
 Johnston, one of our Kentuckians — a great general, as 
 
A SOUTHERN HOME 79 
 
 every one admits." This she said triumphantly, and 
 then she added regretfully: "You ought to be on his 
 staff, Henry. He is sure to be a victor. I know that 
 there is always room for doubt, but I am sure that in 
 this instance I am right." 
 
 I went to Elinor's home the next day. She came to 
 meet me, showing unexpected warmth, and gave me 
 both of her hands. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, Henry," she said; " but why 
 did you come ? " 
 
 Then I noticed that she was pale and undeniably 
 anxious, as Madam Arlington had said. 
 
 " Why should I not come ? " I asked. 
 
 " It is dangerous for you here," she replied. 
 
 " At your house ? " 
 
 " Not here alone, but at Madam Arlington's house 
 too, or at any other in this country." 
 
 However, I was not afraid. Yet it was pleasant to 
 feel that she was alarmed for me. It was true that our 
 country was much divided, but most of those who were 
 going from it to the war had been my friends all my 
 life, and I did not believe that they would betray me. I 
 asked after Varian, telling her I had heard of his 
 presence. 
 
 " Yes, he has been here more than once," she re- 
 plied, " and he is somewhere in this county now with 
 Mr. Blanchard, raising troops. Mr. Varian is a gentle- 
 man, and none need fear treachery from him; that is, I 
 think not, but I do not trust Mr. Blanchard." 
 
 Elinor seemed anxious for me to leave at once, and 
 urged me to return northward. But my pride was 
 aroused. I would not flee in such haste. Many who 
 thought as I were in the vicinity. This was debatable 
 ground, and having come, I should feel like a coward if 
 I fled between the first two suns. I returned an evasive 
 answer, although it warmed my heart so much to see 
 her apprehension on my account that I wished her to 
 
80 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 ask me again. But she was silent, her look of anxiety 
 remaining. 
 
 I sent my compliments to Mrs. Maynard. She did 
 not choose to see me. Then I bade farewell to Elinor. 
 
 " You are going northward very soon, Henry," she 
 said; " I know that you must, and we may not see each 
 other again in a long time, or it may be never. I pray 
 God that he will watch over you." 
 
 She spoke with such deep feeling that I took her 
 hand and kissed it after the fashion of an earlier time, 
 and as I turned away I saw that her eyes were full of 
 tears. I looked back when I had gone a little distance, 
 and she was standing in the doorway gazing after me. 
 She waved her hand and I waved mine. Then I rode 
 rapidly away, looking back no more. 
 
 It was clear to me from her words that she did not 
 wish me to come again, and I respected her wish. Why 
 she was so anxious for me to leave the country at once 
 I did not understand; but on the next day, while I was 
 passing through the woods only a mile from Madam 
 Arlington's house, some one shot at me. The bullet 
 whizzed most unpleasantly near my head; when I 
 rushed to the spot whence the report of the weapon 
 had come, no one was there. I would have called it an 
 accident, the careless shot of some stray hunter, had it 
 not been for the quick disappearance of the man. I 
 was disturbed greatly. It is not pleasant to feel that 
 an assassin is pursuing one. Varian and I were antag- 
 onists, and my first thought was of him; then I believed 
 it impossible that he should commit or abet such a deed, 
 and my mind turned to Blanchard. I distrusted the 
 man, and yet I could not discern a motive. I continued 
 my walk, and presently met William Penn Johnson. 
 
 " Did you hear a rifle shot, William Penn? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " I did," he replied, " and I immediately walked at 
 a brisk pace in the other direction. I thank God every 
 
A SOUTHERN HOME 81 
 
 day that I am not a brave man, for being as I am I 
 feel that I shall live a long and useful life, war or no 
 war." 
 
 So saying he went contentedly about his work, and I 
 returned to the house. It was, in truth, time that I 
 should go, but I did not like to be driven away. I was 
 at that age when one cares a great deal for the ap- 
 pearance of bravery. I said nothing about the adven- 
 ture to Madam Arlington, knowing how she would 
 be grieved and alarmed, and I still lingered, receiving 
 on the fourth day thereafter my reward, in the shape 
 of a second bullet, fired at me apparently at a distance 
 of about fifty yards from behind a rail fence, the 
 man again escaping through woods without my being 
 able to get so much as a glimpse of him. This bullet 
 was the nearest of all to success, passing through my 
 clothing and grazing my shoulder. I was glad that 
 the marksmanship of my unknown enemy was as evil as 
 his intent. Two fair shots at me and ne^er a hit! Yet 
 I shivered. Could one expect always to escape such 
 attempts? How was I to fight a hidden enemy? 
 
 When I went home to dinner I noticed Madam 
 Arlington's keen eyes upon me. Unfortunately I had 
 forgotten that nothing ever escaped her notice. 
 
 " Henry," she said sternly, " isn't that a hole in the 
 shoulder of your coat? " 
 
 " Yes, grandmother," I said dutifully; " I tore it 
 on a splinter in the barn, and I had since forgotten 
 about it. I fear that I am becoming a sloven in spite of 
 all your teaching and discipline." 
 
 " Henry," she continued, with increasing sternness, 
 " come here at once! " 
 
 I rose, and standing before her, said, with great 
 respect: 
 
 " Yes, grandmother." 
 
 She examined the rent in my coat slowly and critic- 
 ally. 
 
82 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " Henry/' she said, " do you mean to tell me that 
 when your coat strikes a splinter it tears a neat round 
 hole like that? And it is through the waistcoat, too! 
 Are you to begin telling me falsehoods after fifteen 
 years under this roof ? " 
 
 I flushed guiltily. 
 
 " Grandmother," I said, " I was hunting rabbits, 
 and when I leaned my gun against a fence the trigger 
 caught on a rail, and bang! it went. It was careless, I 
 know, as the bullet grazed my shoulder." 
 
 She looked at me doubtfully. 
 
 "Humph!" she said. "Then you are too young 
 for me to let you go out with a gun. Finish your 
 dinner." 
 
 I obeyed orders with some embarrassment, and she 
 said nothing more. I sat that evening with her, and 
 the weather being rather warm we left open one of 
 the windows of the room. Madam Arlington was near 
 the lamp, busy with some fine stitching. Usually she 
 talked a great deal, as hers was a full mind and it liked 
 expression, but this evening she was silent. Yet I could 
 see that her thoughts were busy, although not with her 
 work. It occurred to me suddenly as I sat there look- 
 ing at her that she must have been very beautiful in 
 her youth. All others who knew her may have ob- 
 served this long ago, but I believe we seldom pause to 
 think whether our mothers or grandmothers are or were 
 beautiful or ugly. Her features were regular, her hair 
 was still glossy, and there was a complexion that once 
 must have been brilliant. Her chief characteristic now 
 was strength. Perhaps it had not always been so. I felt 
 then how deep is the misfortune of women left alone. 
 
 Madam Arlington suddenly laid down her stitching 
 and turned her eyes to the open window. 
 
 " There is some one coming, Henry," she said; " a 
 rider who comes fast! " 
 
 " I hear nothing, grandmother," I replied. 
 
A SOUTHERN HOME 83 
 
 " I am nearest the window," she said, " and I hear 
 distinctly the beat of horses' feet. It means you. 
 Henry, why did you stay so long? And yet I am to 
 blame, for I should have made you go." 
 
 She rose and the stitching fell unheeded to the floor. 
 Her face expressed the deepest alarm. I sought to re- 
 assure her, feeling that her fears were caused solely by 
 her apprehensions for me. 
 
 " Come to the window," she said, " and you can 
 hear." 
 
 I obeyed, and then the tramp of a horse ridden 
 rapidly reached me. 
 
 " They intend to arrest you," cried Madam Arling- 
 ton. " Run, Henry! There is time yet to escape from 
 the back of the house. No, there is only one coming, 
 and I would not have a grandson of mine flee from a 
 single man! " 
 
 The spirit of the pioneers who dared all the dangers 
 of the great forests flamed up in her eyes, and she stood 
 by the window, motionless and waiting. 
 
 The tread grew louder, a horse and rider shot into 
 the moonlight, stopped in front of the house, and, to 
 our unutterable surprise, Elinor Maynard leaped down, 
 ran to the door, and beat upon it heavily with the butt 
 of her riding whip. 
 
 I rushed to the door and opened it. Elinor stood 
 there, the whip still raised in her hand, her face flushed 
 with excitement. 
 
 " You must go at once, Henry! " she cried. " They 
 are coming for you! " 
 
 I saw then that she had ridden to warn me of some 
 danger, and I felt a warm and grateful glow. 
 
 " But," I said, " you can not stand here. Come in- 
 side." 
 
 " Bless my soul ! " cried Madam Arlington. " It's 
 Elinor Maynard! Why, child, what errand has brought 
 you: 
 
 I?" 
 
84 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 Then she seized Elinor by the arm and fairly- 
 dragged her into the house, while Elinor was crying to 
 me to go at once, for my life. Troops were coming to 
 seize me; they were even then on the way. 
 
 " But I am not yet in the Northern service," I said; 
 " and even if I were, they could do nothing more than 
 hold me as a prisoner." 
 
 " You do not know who commands them," she said. 
 " It is Captain Blanchard, and there are others with 
 him who bear you malice. I tell you that your life 
 is not safe! You must go immediately, Henry! " 
 
 " And you have come to warn me? " I said. 
 
 " Why should I not? " she replied. 
 
 I was gratified and embarrassed too. I spoke of 
 her own danger; she said there was none for her, and 
 again she entreated me to go at once. 
 
 " I know of no one who wishes my life," I said, and 
 as I said it I remembered the shots that had been fired 
 at me. But if any danger really threatened I could not 
 slip away in the dark and leave unprotected Madam 
 Arlington and the woman who had come to save me. I 
 uttered my objection, and my grandmother spoke with 
 decision. 
 
 " Elinor is right," she said. " She would not have 
 come here in the dark without reason for coming, and 
 you must go. No protests! I will take care of her 
 to-night, and carry her back safely in the morning. 
 William Penn, the horses at once! You must ride with 
 Henry as far as the river! " 
 
 It was Madam Arlington, ready, resourceful, and 
 commanding, who now spoke. I knew that she was 
 right. Moreover, Elinor begged me with her eyes to go, 
 and who could resist such pleadings? William Penn 
 had come forth obedient to the call for his services, 
 and while I made my hasty preparations for flight 
 he saddled and bridled two horses. In the border 
 country between the warring sections there were thou- 
 
A SOUTHERN HOME 85 
 
 sands of us on either side who fled in like haste by 
 moonlight or no light at all, before that long war was 
 over. 
 
 " William Penn," I asked, " are you not afraid to 
 go with me, you who profess to be such a coward? " 
 
 " We are running from the enemy, not toward him," 
 he replied calmly; " and that's the best way to keep 
 out of danger." 
 
 I took Elinor's hand in mine and told her good-bye. 
 
 " Elinor," I said, " I do not go to stay. I shall come 
 again." 
 
 " I shall pray for your safety," she said, with a sad 
 little smile. 
 
 Then my grandmother kissed me again on the fore- 
 head after her custom. There was not a tear in her eye. 
 
 " I could wish that you had chosen the other side, 
 Henry," she said; " but it is better to be an honourable 
 man and be right on the wrong side than wrong on 
 the right side. Bear that in mind. This is not new to 
 me; your grandfather, my husband, then for a year 
 only, fought at New Orleans, but he came back safely, 
 as I have faith that you, too, shall come." 
 
 My heart was too full for me to say more to either; 
 waving my hand at both I galloped away into the 
 darkness with William Penn. 
 
 We rode for a while in silence, save the beat of 
 our horses' feet. The night was dark and William 
 Penn's face seemed ghostly beside me. I liked little 
 this flight from the home of my childhood, leaving be- 
 hind me, and unprotected, those whom I held most dear; 
 but war has less to do than anything else I know of 
 with human affections, and it was no time to mourn. 
 
 " We did not leave too soon," said William Penn ten 
 minutes after our start. " I hear them behind us." 
 
 We stopped a moment, and bending our heads lis- 
 tened. The tread of a troop of horse came to my ears. 
 
 " They've been to the house, and not finding me 
 
86 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 guessed that I would take the southern road, which was 
 correct," I said. 
 
 " It is easy enough to turn aside in the woods and 
 hide from them," replied William Penn. 
 
 " And perhaps be taken on the morrow," I said. 
 "No, I shall keep straight on, and do you, William 
 Penn, who are a man of peace, ride into the forest there 
 and you can be safely at home again before morning." 
 
 " Oh, no," replied William Penn; " I should be 
 frightened alone there in the darkness among the trees. 
 If I have to run, I'd rather run in company." 
 
 I thanked him with a pressure of the hand, and say- 
 ing nothing more we increased the speed of our horses. 
 The gallop of the men behind us grew louder. Elinor 
 had told us that Blanchard was in command of the ex- 
 pedition to our house, and I felt no doubt that this was 
 his troop. She had informed us, too, that others were 
 with him who meant me great harm. 
 
 " They are coming fast," said William Penn. 
 
 " You chose the best horses, did you not? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Trust me for that much," he replied. 
 
 We paused for a moment on the crest of a hillock, 
 where the road stretched in a straight line behind 
 us for a quarter of a mile. The cavalrymen were now 
 near enough to see us there in the moonlight, and 
 we heard their distant shout. 
 
 " It's four miles from here to the river, is it not, 
 William Penn? " I asked. 
 
 " Four miles and one rod over, by the survey." 
 
 " And the river is in flood from the spring rains? " 
 
 " Yes, and there's no bridge." 
 
 " Then that's our safety line. Come! our horses 
 are fresh, and we will show those men what it is to ride 
 a real race." 
 
 We started at a gallop, and again we heard the dis- 
 tant halloo of the troopers behind us. Our horses 
 
A SOUTHERN HOME 87 
 
 swung forward at a steady gait, and the forest on either 
 side of us slid past. 
 
 " They can do better than this. I trained them my- 
 self," said William Penn, flicking the mane of his horse 
 with his free right hand. 
 
 " I have no doubt of it," I replied, " but a waiting 
 race is most often a winning one." 
 
 On we sped, the dark forest racing by, and our 
 horses' feet drumming on the road. Our pursuers 
 drew a little nearer. They raised their triumphant 
 shout again, and their rifles began to crack. But I 
 knew the bullets would fall short. 
 
 " William Penn," I said, " we may be under fire 
 soon. Gallop into the woods there and you will be 
 safe. It is not you whom they want." 
 
 " If I get wounded," he replied, turning his patient 
 face toward me, " I want to be with a comrade who will 
 hear my groans and tie up my wounds. None of this 
 hero's business of dying in silence and alone for me." 
 
 His horse never swerved from the side of mine. 
 
 " They are still gaining," he said presently. " I 
 hear their hoof beats now distinctly. Oughtn't we to 
 hurry? " 
 
 " But our horses are by far the fresher; let us wait a 
 little." 
 
 The exhilaration of the wild gallop entered my 
 blood. I felt the swing of the horse under me, regular 
 and true, as if his muscles were made of steel, and I 
 felt no fear. 
 
 " William Penn," I said, " there are worse things 
 than this." 
 
 " There may be, but I don't want to meet 'em." 
 
 " Think what a glorious ride! " 
 
 " I don't care for glory." 
 
 Our pursuers drew a little nearer. More shots were 
 fired, and we heard the whine of one bullet as it sped 
 over our heads. 
 
88 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " Lord forgive me, but what was that? " cried Wil- 
 liam Penn. 
 
 " A hint." 
 
 " A hint for what? " 
 
 " A hint to go a little faster." 
 
 We eased our grasp on the bridle reins and our 
 horses shot forward. The hoof beats behind us became 
 fainter. 
 
 " That's what I call really glorious, the dying of 
 that sound/' said William Penn. " But we can do bet- 
 ter than this. I trained 'em myself. Come, Henry, let 
 'em show you how well they can do." 
 
 " Be patient, William Penn; there is yet time." 
 
 " One can be too patient, Henry. We can widen 
 the gap between us and those men if we wish, and O 
 Henry! how thankful I am for that gap! " 
 
 We continued for another mile at the same pace, and 
 then William Penn made a new appeal to me to show 
 how good the horses were. I saw that his pride was 
 really aroused, and I gave the word. Urged on by our 
 voices they leaped forward, and our pursuers sank back 
 in the moonlight. 
 
 " Did I not tell you? " cried William Penn exult- 
 antly. 
 
 " You told the exact truth." 
 
 We presently saw ahead of us the silver line of the 
 river; and then as we galloped on, the silver changed to 
 the yellow surface of a flood running bank full. 
 
 " They will not follow us across the river — and now 
 good-bye, William Penn," I said. " You have been a 
 good and faithful comrade. ISTo one could have been 
 truer." 
 
 " I shall cross the river, too," he said. " If they 
 won't follow you to the other side, they won't follow me 
 either, and Pve been pursued enough to-night." 
 
 We urged our horses into the flood and, swimming 
 with strong and steady stroke, they soon reached the 
 
A SOUTHERN HOME 89 
 
 further shore. Our pursuers, as we had expected, 
 stopped at the river, which all but those most confident 
 of their horses might well hesitate to cross. Moreover, 
 they saw that the chase had become useless. 
 
 William Penn and I stopped at last. 
 
 " Now, William Penn," I said, " you have gone far 
 enough." 
 
 " If I were not so much afraid of bullets I think I 
 would continue with you to the war," he said, looking at 
 me inquiringly. 
 
 " William Penn," I replied, " nobody can find fault 
 with your particular brand of cowardice, but you are 
 too old to become a soldier, and, besides, you must go 
 back and take care of Madam Arlington." 
 
 " And of Miss Elinor, if need be? " he said, still 
 looking at me inquiringly. 
 
 " Yes," I replied, meeting his gaze firmly. 
 
 " Then perhaps I can be of more use at home than 
 if I became a soldier? " 
 
 "Undoubtedly!" 
 
 Tears stood in the eyes of this faithful old friend as 
 he shook my hand once, twice, thrice, and then turned 
 to go. He rode away with bowed head. When he had 
 gone a rod, he called back: 
 
 " Henry! " 
 
 " Yes, William Penn." 
 
 " Eemember that it's no part of a soldier's duty to 
 get in the way of the bullets unless he has to." 
 
 " I shall remember." 
 
 "Good-bye!" 
 
 "Good-bye!" 
 
 Then he was gone, and I rode on alone. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE LITTLE CHURCH OF SHILOH 
 
 A regiment was marching, and marching it held its 
 tongue. 
 
 The soldiers had learned through time and trouble 
 — two able teachers — that talk was a waste, and they 
 forbore. They had even ceased to swear, except at the 
 worst of luck, which indicated either discipline or resig- 
 nation. The sound made by hundreds of feet, sunk 
 deep in the mud, and then pulled out again like a 
 stopper from a bottle, kept up a curious succession of 
 muffled volleys, a kind of monotonous accompaniment 
 to their marching. Mingled with it came the solemn 
 clank of artillery, the rattle of rifles against each other, 
 and now and then the forlorn neigh of a tired horse. 
 But the soldiers maintained their obstinate silence, 
 bending their heads a little to the rain which was 
 pounding in their faces like the leaden hail of hostile 
 armies, and trod silently on. Sodden vapours floated 
 over the plain and weary bushes bent to the moaning 
 wind. The sky was a dirty gray, and huge clouds of 
 smoky brown moved solemnly from horizon to hori- 
 zon. 
 
 A river of yellowish, muddy water flowed beside the 
 toiling soldiers, its pace scarcely greater than theirs, 
 and upon its current floated some squat, ugly gunboats, 
 with cannon looking out of the portholes, and tired 
 men on the decks. Occasionally the gunboats emitted 
 90 
 
THE LITTLE CHURCH OF SHILOH 91 
 
 a weary whistle, as if they, too, wondered when the long 
 march would come to an end, but the men whom they 
 carried were as silent as those on the land. Talk was 
 vanity and waste to both. Besides, there was nothing 
 to be said. 
 
 The country was sombre and desolate like the . 
 skies, the two matching well. Bushes, logs, and weeds, 
 swept away by the high waters, floated on the yellow 
 current of the river. The land was sterile and stony, 
 a bleak red soil that nourished only dwarfed forests 
 and patches of sassafras bushes — land and products ob- 
 viously ashamed of each other; apparently it was unin- 
 habited, save for two or three distant log cabins that 
 snuggled between the low hills. 
 
 I was the third soldier on the left in one of the 
 front companies, and it seemed to me that the most 
 impressive thing in the march of all those hundreds was 
 the silence of the men. " Men " was really the wrong 
 word, for they were nearly all boys, fair and large, with 
 the brown faces of open-air life, farmer boys, sons of the 
 forest and prairie. 
 
 It grew colder after awhile and hailed. 
 
 " A dreary sight," I said at last to Shaftoe, who was 
 my comrade on the right. I had rejoined him at 
 Louisville after my escape across the river, and we were 
 still together, although it was now the second year of 
 the war. 
 
 " I have seen worse, Henry," he replied cheerfully. 
 
 "When and where?" I asked, unbelievingly. 
 
 "When I went out with Albert Sidney Johnston, 
 the same that we're going to fight, to Salt Lake City, to 
 punish the Mormons for having five wives apiece when 
 one's too many," replied Shaftoe. "What's a bit of 
 chilly weather like this to a storm on the great plains, 
 when the cold freezes off all your toes and fingers, and 
 the hail is as big as baby cannon balls? Then any 
 night the buffalo herds, forty million strong, might 
 7 
 
92 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 stampede our horses and run over our whole army, and 
 if we escaped them the chances were nine out of ten 
 that we'd starve to death long before we could get to 
 Brigham Young's capital and see if it was really true 
 that he had seven dozen wives. There's nothing so bad 
 that it can't be a lot worse. Don't forget it." 
 
 " Then what would you call this? " I asked. 
 
 " A little exercise and change of the weather for the 
 sake of the blood," said the veteran regular, in his usual 
 cheerful tone. 
 
 "But when are we going to reap the glories of 
 war? " I persisted. 
 
 " Don't make trouble for yourself; it's a bad plan," 
 he replied, and smiled solemnly at me. 
 
 I relapsed perforce into silence, but I clung to my 
 opinion that the glory was far ahead. I had been nearly 
 a year in the service and I had done little save to make 
 long marches or share in futile skirmishes. Moreover, 
 the war was taking a bad course, and the prospect of a 
 reunited nation seemed distant. I had suffered various 
 emotions when we began the invasion of my own State, 
 and those emotions were increased when we passed 
 within twenty miles of Madam Arlington's house. I 
 had not heard from my grandmother since the night 
 of my flight, and I expected no news although so near, 
 but as we went into camp a gray old man rode up and, 
 after enduring patiently the jests from rude soldiers, 
 was passed on to me for whom he had inquired. It was 
 William Penn, and his joy at the meeting shone in his 
 eyes. His was not less than mine. 
 
 " Your grandmother is well," he said, " and she 
 sends you word to keep your head cool and your feet 
 dry." 
 
 He brought most welcome news, and he replied, too, 
 to my eager questionings, that Mrs. Maynard and Elinor 
 were still at their home and had not been troubled by 
 the soldiers of either side. 
 
THE LITTLE CHURCH OP SHILOH 93 
 
 " Miss Elinor comes to see your grandmother often/' 
 said William Penn, " and they are as thick as two peas 
 in a pod. Mrs. Maynard does not like it, but that does 
 not make any difference with Madam Arlington. You 
 know her." 
 
 I thought that in truth I knew my grandmother, and 
 I was forced to smile. I asked if he had heard any- 
 thing more of Varian. He replied that Varian had 
 been at the Maynard house often until some months ago 
 when he went South to join Johnston's army, with 
 which he was now supposed to be. 
 
 When William Penn started home he slipped in my 
 hands a flask. 
 
 " It's the best Kentucky make," he said, " and I 
 wouldn't be putting temptation in the hands of the 
 young, but it will be medicine to you on these long 
 winter marches." 
 
 I thought over the good William Penn's visit, and 
 now as I marched by Shaftoe's side I wished that he 
 might come again with another message from those for 
 whom I cared. 
 
 The wind and the hail had entered into a conspiracy 
 against the bedraggled army. It was that curious 
 weather of southern Kentucky and northern Tennes- 
 see, when winter and spring, trying to meet, fail, and 
 the hiatus is filled in with any sort of a day you dislike, 
 a succession of hot and cold extremes, in beautiful alter- 
 nation. 
 
 The wind died soon and the skies were obscured by 
 rolling brown clouds, forming a depressing canopy 
 under which we trod in silence, while fog rose up from 
 the damp earth. 
 
 " See! the sun will shine again," said Shaftoe pres- 
 ently, pointing to a dim redness showing through the 
 vapours. " Watch it scatter these mists and clouds." 
 
 The light grew, throwing out both red and yellow 
 beams, the fog began to shred away, the bayonets rose 
 
94 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 out of it again like a hedge of steel, the faces of the men 
 appeared, damp as if from a bath, patches of fog floated 
 away like steam from the manes of the horses. I was 
 filled with admiration at this sudden reappearance of 
 the lost regiment, glittering now in the sun, whose 
 radiant light gilded the brown faces of the men and 
 their sombre garments. The clouds fled in defeated 
 battalions from the skies, which arched overhead, a 
 dome of satinlike blue, save where the sun, gorgeous 
 in red and gold, filled a circle in the western curve, and 
 long bars of crimson light shot away toward the hori- 
 zon. Winter had suddenly fled, and spring, after the 
 frequent custom of the middle South, came crowding 
 on its footsteps, granting not a minute's delay. A 
 warm wind blew from the west, and the desolate trees 
 raised their boughs and showed green. 
 
 " To enjoy being dry it's well to have been wet," 
 said Shaftoe. 
 
 A man of most singular appearance walked just 
 ahead of us. He was tall, thin, with sharp face and 
 wonderfully bright eyes, and he was not in uniform, his 
 clothing being black, and his coat very long. He was 
 the chaplain of our regiment. Before we left Louis- 
 ville I was on sentinel duty when he undertook to walk 
 into the lines. I stopped him and asked who he was. 
 
 " Friend," he replied sternly, " I am a humble fol- 
 lower of the meek and lowly Jesus; and pray who 
 are you? " 
 
 I said that I was the sentinel on watch, and then 
 he gave me a card on which was written, " The Eev- 
 erend Elkanah Armstrong, Eevivalist." He became 
 our chaplain shortly afterward, and a braver man I 
 never saw. He was of the denomination known in 
 the West as Hard-shell Baptist, and he shirked no 
 toil or danger. Now he strode on before in silence, an 
 example of self-reliance and devotion to duty. 
 
 We passed into deep forests of oak, and hickory, 
 
THE LITTLE CHURCH OP SHILOH 95 
 
 and beech, and pine. It was a large regiment, with 
 horses and wagons, and artillery, but the forest was so 
 great that it swallowed us up, and took no note of our 
 passage, just as it had swallowed up the Army of the 
 Tennessee, to which this regiment belonged, and which 
 it was endeavouring to overtake. The main force had 
 come on the Tennessee by steamer, but our regiment 
 was compelled to make the last stretch of the journey 
 by land. 
 
 Even in the forest, as if to atone for its long eclipse, 
 the brilliant sun penetrated the leafy shadows, throwing 
 its yellow beams across the trees and the young grass, 
 where the drops of water still twinkled like many-col- 
 oured beads. The wind from the far southwest brought 
 with it the odour of summer flowers. The spirits of the 
 boys, marching in ragged ranks, rose. One began to 
 sing — 
 
 " We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand 
 more," 
 
 and all the other boys took it up in a huge volume of 
 sound which may not have been musical, although not 
 without grandeur, as it rolled in waves through the 
 illimitable forest. 
 
 " Some of the officers are trying to stop this; it's a 
 mistake," said Shaftoe to me. " The spirit to sing 
 means the spirit to fight." 
 
 " But we may never overtake the Southern army," I 
 said. 
 
 " Then there's consolation in that," he replied, " for 
 we won't die a sudden and violent death, which, I take 
 it, will be agreeable to our feelings." 
 
 The splendour of the sun increased, its brilliant rays 
 cutting a way through the budding foliage of the forest 
 and finding every cranny. The arms of the soldiers 
 glittered, and the west was a flood of red and yellow, 
 great clouds of gold and scarlet piling upon each other 
 
96 IN CIKCLING CAMPS 
 
 like terraces in the sky. The waves of warmth flowed 
 northward, and the moist earth dried under their heal- 
 ing touch. 
 
 We overtook at nightfall the Army of the Tennes- 
 see, just camping in the forest which rolled away on 
 every side, seemingly without end, and began to gather 
 brushwood from the littered ground for the fires. I 
 went with Shaftoe on one of these trips, and wandering 
 far from the camp we came presently to a little wooden 
 house standing in a clearing — a lone, bare building, 
 square and plain, never costing more than a few dollars 
 to build. The place was silent, nowhere did we see a 
 sign of life; there were no outbuildings, just that lone 
 little box, and yet it was not without a sort of silent 
 majesty; the huge red disk of the sun was sinking be- 
 hind the distant hills, and its rays fell full upon the win- 
 dow of the little house; the glass gave them back with 
 interest, and seemed to blaze in red fire; every plank, 
 and log, and shingle was luminous in this last light, and 
 as the sun became dimmer the little house seemed to 
 grow in size. 
 
 " Now, if I believed in ghosts Fd say that place was 
 haunted," said Shaftoe. " I vote we don't go in." 
 
 " I don't want to go in any more than you do," I 
 said, and shivered, feeling the chill of the coming night; 
 " but across yonder is another clearing, and I see now a 
 farmer getting ready to go home; let's talk with him." 
 
 The light of the setting sun made a focus of the 
 farmer, showing all his angles and seams as he stood 
 on a distant hillside, unhitching his horse from the 
 plough. "We hastened over the rough ground and over- 
 took him just as he mounted to ride home. He was old, 
 gnarled, knotty, and brown, a man who had passed 
 through many cold winters and hot summers, enduring 
 both as they came. 
 
 I knew that the farmer must be like others whom we 
 met in those regions, devoted adherents of the South, 
 
THE LITTLE CHURCH OF SHILOH 97 
 
 but I hailed him in friendly fashion. He merely nod- 
 ded, paying no attention to our blue uniforms. 
 
 " What country is this? " I asked. 
 
 " Tennessee." 
 
 " I know that/' I said, " but your answer is vague." 
 
 " The answer fitted the question." 
 
 " What is that? " asked Shaftoe, pointing to the 
 lone building which was now half in shadow. 
 
 " That," replied the old man, his eyes following 
 Shaftoe's pointing finger, "is the little church of 
 Shiloh." 
 
 " A lonesome place," I said. 
 
 The farmer did not reply. 
 
 " You've been ploughing," I added, irritated a little 
 at his taciturn manner. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But your soil is sterile," I continued, pointing to 
 the red hillside. " It ought to be fertilized." 
 
 " Perhaps it will be." 
 
 "With what?" 
 
 "With your bones." 
 
 Then the old man clucking to his horse, rode off 
 through the woods. 
 
 " What did he mean by that? " I asked. 
 
 " I don't know," said Shaftoe; " but you can wager 
 your chance of heaven against a glass of lemonade that 
 he's a thick-and-thin rebel, and you'll never smell fire." 
 
 I watched the old man for a few moments as he 
 rode away between the trees, which grew in long rows 
 like columns, his figure forming a sombre blur against 
 the background of the twilight. I had listened to 
 many prophets and most were false, but this might 
 be a true one. The little church of Shiloh was in- 
 visible now, save a single beam of light from the lost 
 sun which struck upon the glass of the window and 
 twinkled in the twilight like a bead of fire, and, then 
 going out, left no ray of brightness in the darkening 
 
98 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 woods, silent save for the moaning wind, though the 
 Northern army of forty thousand men lay not far away. 
 
 We hastened back toward that army, oppressed 
 somewhat by the lengthening shadows and the wailing 
 of the wind in the lonely woods. 
 
 Presently a luminous haze showed through the 
 darkness, and its pink light grew into red as we ap- 
 proached the camp, where hundreds of fires already were 
 burning. The forest was illuminated; while dark on 
 the outside it was warm at heart, and my spirits sprang 
 up at the sight. Thousands of voices' blending made 
 a cheerful chatter, and figures passed and repassed, 
 black lines before and behind the flames. Millions of 
 sparks flew off among trees still too damp to catch 
 fire, and the forty thousand men and boys, farmers 
 nearly all, accustomed to self-help and a life in the open 
 air, took comfort basking in the firelight and cooking 
 their suppers, which they ate without criticism. 
 
 " What soldiers they will make with a little disci- 
 pline and trial in the fire! " said Shaftoe, eyeing the 
 muscular forms; and then under his breath, although 
 I heard him, " if they are not killed first." 
 
 A faint shadow appeared on the veteran's face as 
 he looked at this multitude of boys who endured so 
 much and were happy over so little. " Good food for 
 the cannon — too good! " I heard him add. 
 
 I took my place with Shaftoe beside one of the fires, 
 but the old regular would not let me rest; first it was 
 shoes and socks to be dried, and then the clothing that I 
 wore next to my skin. 
 
 " Look to your feet; it's the first duty of a soldier," 
 he said, thus confirming my grandmother's advice. 
 " They are the beginning of a man, starting right at the 
 ground, and the rest is built upon 'em. They are the 
 foundation of him, and he must take care of 'em. What 
 use has the Government for a soldier who can't march? 
 It's bought all your fighting qualities, paying you so 
 
THE LITTLE CHURCH OP SHILOH 99 
 
 much per month for 'em, and if you are an honest man 
 you'll stick to the whole text of the bargain. So don't 
 forget your feet." 
 
 He made all those about him follow his suggestions 
 and did a hundred other things which seemed little, 
 but which I know now were vital to the soldier on the 
 march. Yet in all this work, received sometimes un- 
 gratefully, he was lively and gay, pretending that he 
 was doing nothing, repressing the disorderly, encourag- 
 ing the weak, and becoming the father, protector, and 
 confessor of the company. I, looking on, admired, and 
 at last asked how he did it. 
 
 " If a man can't learn anything in thirty years he's 
 a born fool, with nature improved by art/' replied 
 Shaftoe. 
 
 He would say no more, and the captain of the com- 
 pany, who had seen just enough of the military life to 
 feel sure that Shaftoe knew a hundred times as much as 
 himself, smoked a pipe and was wisely silent. We had 
 plenty of stores, and supper was abundant. The men 
 ate and were happy. The fires ran in lines through the 
 forest and formed a great core of light which shone over 
 the brown faces, the rifles, and the cannon. Shaftoe 
 loosened his belt and said life was good; I did not deny 
 it, feeling a great content. Some one produced an old 
 accordion and began to play the martial strains of 
 Dixie. 
 
 " That's not our tune/' I said. " It belongs to the 
 South; besides, the Southerners played it at Bull Eun 
 when they beat us." 
 
 "It's all right," said Shaftoe. "We're in Dixie 
 now and we can borrow their music — spoils of con- 
 quest. And it's lively." 
 
 Some of the men began to dance, and the officers 
 did not stop them. Their figures swung back and forth 
 before the background of the blazing fires like sil- 
 houettes on a screen, and the effect became ghostly 
 
100 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 and unreal to me. Forty thousand shadows dancing by 
 night in the wilderness! I laughed at my fantasy 
 and concluded that it was too huge. Those were real 
 figures of real men, my comrades, and good fellows. 
 
 The rattle of distant rifle shots came from two or 
 three points, but we did not stir. 
 
 " That's a bad practice the men have got into," 
 said the regular, " firing off their guns when they 
 change guard. It's a waste of ammunition, a warning 
 to the enemy if he ever comes within hearing, and it's 
 contrary to every rule of discipline in every book of 
 warfare that was ever printed. What would our col- 
 onel have said to such a thing in the little old regular 
 army? " 
 
 I grew sleepy. The old accordion still played the 
 martial tunes, the forest giving back discordant echoes, 
 but its tones seemed softer, the fires danced about 
 in queer fashion, and I lay down upon the ground 
 for my night's rest. I was aroused by a jerk from 
 Shaftoe. 
 
 "Get up!" cried the regular. "Don't you know 
 enough yet not to go to sleep on the bare ground, 'spe- 
 cially when it's soaking with damp as it is to-night? 
 One would think that you were a raw recruit." 
 
 I apologized with some shame for my lack of precau- 
 tion, and securing an armful of boughs and brushwood 
 stretched myself upon them, wrapped in my blanket. 
 The forest moved off into space, the noises ceased, the 
 fires faded and went out, and I slept. 
 
 I awoke once in the night, and I always remember 
 that scene as if it were a dream. A light fog was rising, 
 the earth having received so much rain that the damp- 
 ness lingered. The fires smouldered, and the soldiers 
 lay so thick that they seemed to my half-conscious 
 senses to form a living carpet for the earth. Sleeping 
 the heavy sleep of exhaustion, they were so silent that I 
 was awed. Forty thousand men lying there in the forest 
 
 ^ 
 
THE LITTLE CHURCH OF SHILOH 101 
 
 were like forty thousand dead. The horses, weary with 
 work, were as still as their masters. Above them all 
 floated the clouds of fog and darkness. 
 
 I was aroused after midnight by Shaftoe, who told 
 me that it was my turn at the watch. He was to stand 
 guard with me. 
 
 We walked westward through the forest, no one 
 paying the slightest heed to us, and passed a large tent 
 open at one side, with the light of two lanterns shining 
 from it and disclosing its occupants. A half dozen 
 men sitting in the tent were talking earnestly or bend- 
 ing over maps and papers. 
 
 " That's Grant on the left," said Shaftoe. 
 
 I looked curiously at the victor of Fort Donelson, 
 the short, thickset man with the reddish beard, the 
 strong face, and the heavy jaw. This general had be- 
 gun to attract attention by his vigour and his capture 
 of Donelson, and it was said that he was the single 
 Northern leader of great promise in the West. I no- 
 ticed that he was the only one in the tent who said 
 nothing, apparently content with listening. 
 
 " A council of war," said Shaftoe. " They're try- 
 ing to put their hand on that Southern army; they 
 can't, and maybe if they could they'd be sorry they did, 
 like the man who caught the fox." 
 
 We moved on in the darkness, which closed in be- 
 hind us, enveloping the tent and its occupants and hid- 
 ing them from our gaze. 
 
 As we took our places we heard the reports of many 
 shots, and again Shaftoe scored the foolish habit in 
 which the men were indulging as they changed the 
 guard, and the laxity of the officers in permitting it. 
 
 " More good powder burnt," he said, " and a lot of 
 noise for nothing. War isn't a mere popping of fire- 
 crackers." 
 
 After that the night was not disturbed, and, the 
 long hours passing in silence, I saw at last the sun 
 
102 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 rising out of the east, the welcome signal that our 
 watch was over. Eesigning my place to my relief, I re- 
 turned with Shaftoe to the camp and breakfast. As we 
 approached we heard a tumult and the sound of oaths. 
 
 " Only some of those Kentuckians drunk again," 
 said a regular, an acquaintance of Shaftoe's. 
 
 They were bringing the drunkards in, a sodden lot, 
 some young, and all very drunk. They had got at 
 the sutler's stores and had gone through the liquor 
 like a fire in a broom sedgefield. A middle-aged man 
 with a scar on his face was sustained by two of his com- 
 rades and his faith in his own greatness, though his 
 feet wabbled like those of a baby. A boy walking near 
 him lurched wildly, but did not fall. Two or three 
 others were trying to sing, committing hideous outrages 
 upon familiar old tunes. I was disgusted and I felt 
 shame, too, because they were from my own State. 
 
 " It's a pity," said Shaftoe, " especially as some of 
 'em would make good soldiers — if they'd keep sober. 
 The man with the scar on his face, Jake Sibley, went 
 through the Mexican war — that's where he got the scar 
 — and he's as brave as a hornet." 
 
 " Perhaps," I replied; " but he's only drunk now." 
 
 Sibley had begun to shout in a kind of lax enthu- 
 siasm, and one of the guard prodded him in the side 
 with a gun muzzle to keep him quiet. A tall, thin man 
 with the face and gravity of a clergyman, but as drunk 
 as any of the rest, began to remonstrate, but made his 
 protests with curses, which he poured out in such a 
 stream and with so much solemnity that I was amazed. 
 
 " His name's Parker, William Parker — the ' Eever- 
 end Bill ' they call him sometimes," said Shaftoe. " He 
 was educated for the ministery, but I don't think his 
 education was finished; at least there was a misfit some- 
 where, as you can see." 
 
 The noisy crowd was driven on by the guard to work 
 out its offences in camp labour, and I sought my bed 
 
THE LITTLE CHURCH OP SHILOH 103 
 
 of boughs again as the army about us came to life and 
 prepared to take breakfast. The note of many thou- 
 sand voices rose cheerfully. The men of the West, 
 sinewy and enduring, were forgetting already their la- 
 bours and privations. Used to the open air and the 
 woods, they found no difficulty in making this forest, 
 new to them, their home. I thought of Shaftoe's 
 words, and I began to see what soldiers these long- 
 limbed, hardy sons of the fields and plains would make 
 when they acquired the proper experience and disci- 
 pline, and, so thinking, I went to sleep again. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 WITH THE VANGUAED 
 
 Some days passed and the Army of the Tennessee, 
 forty thousand recruits, waiting for the Army of the 
 Ohio, forty thousand of the same kind, to come up, 
 took root where it lay, with its sides resting on Owl 
 and Lick Creeks, and its back to the Tennessee River. 
 I heard it said among the soldiers who exercised their 
 privilege of free speech that we would resume our 
 southward march as soon as Buell arrived with the 
 Army of the Ohio; and all were impatient to see him, 
 since we were afraid that the Southern forces, reported 
 to be gathering in great strength at Corinth, in Missis- 
 sippi, would retreat farther into the heart of the Con- 
 federacy. 
 
 Our young force lying in the Southern woods, 
 with the spring growing about it, and the memory of its 
 victory at Donelson, which was called brilliant, yet 
 fresh, began to feel the high blood in its veins and re- 
 joice at its vigour. The few men and women who lived 
 there were loyal to the South, and if they knew any- 
 thing to tell of the Southern army at Corinth nothing 
 could have drawn from them the telling of it. That 
 army we began to believe had become a fantasy, a 
 dream; it was worse — a joke. Sibley served his term 
 for drunkenness and proved himself a braggart as well 
 as a soak. 
 
 " We took all the rebels at Donelson," he said; " the 
 rest are ghosts." 
 104 
 
WITH THE VANGUARD 105 
 
 His pronouncement was received with applause, and 
 feeling approval he swaggered more than ever. The 
 eighteen-year-old boy, Masters, already a hardened 
 drunkard, imitated him with success, and considered 
 himself on the road to greatness. But I saw the gen- 
 erals sometimes, and I was a witness to the anxiety on 
 their faces when they looked upon the raw army and 
 wondered if they would ever get a chance at their eva- 
 sive foe. 
 
 The spring still unfolded, and the steamers puffed 
 up and down the river, the lazy coils of smoke trailing 
 across the blue sky. One evening some cavalry, scout- 
 ing, exchanged shots with Confederates, but it was only 
 a partisan band, they said, and the camp, ashamed to 
 have aroused itself over such a trifle, settled back to its 
 waiting. Buell, with the second army, was close at 
 hand, and then, being in great force, we would start 
 South again. The next night was that of Saturday, 
 April 5, 1862, beautiful, warm, and clear, fit to pre- 
 cede the day of rest, Sunday, and near midnight Shaf- 
 toe and I took our places on the picket line. Our beats 
 adjoined, and as we trod back and forth, and met, 
 we exchanged a word now and then, but oftener were 
 silent. 
 
 The forest was luminous behind me with the lights 
 from a thousand fires, and when I looked back I saw 
 the tracery of the trees appearing black and sharp, 
 an infinite network against the glow of crimson and 
 pink; but in front my eyes met only the wall of the 
 forest, dark and silent, rising like an impregnable bar- 
 rier between the army and the South. The nearest 
 trees waved ghostly boughs in the moonlight, but far- 
 ther on they melted together and no light passed be- 
 tween. A curious wailing noise, the sighing of the night 
 breeze among the foliage, came out of that forest, and, 
 though I knew its nature, I was moved by its lonely note. 
 The sound was distinct in my ear, despite the tumult 
 
106 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 of the camp behind me, which had not yet died even at 
 so late an hour. It was like a faint sob, and it rose and 
 sank but never ceased. A small creek flowed near and 
 some rays of moonlight fell on its surface, disclosing the 
 silver bubbles, but the creek, too, quickly sank into the 
 black wall of the forest and vanished. There was a 
 rustle in a thicket and I took my rifle from my shoulder, 
 but it was only a rabbit which leaped over a hillock and 
 was gone, running northward. I put my weapon back 
 on my shoulder and resumed my lonely beat. Lonelier 
 I was to-night than I had been in many days, for my 
 mind was running back over the past year and to those 
 who were dear to me, though I kept my eyes on the for- 
 est because it was my duty to look that way, and because 
 there was a spell in the solemn blank presented there; 
 it was not a barrier only, but a mystery too, and the 
 moan of the wind through the boughs was its voice, 
 which I could not interpret. 
 
 There was a rustle; it was only another rabbit that 
 leaped out of a thicket and scurried away; two more 
 followed presently. I remembered a little later that 
 all of them like the first ran northward. 
 
 The rumble of the camp behind me continued, and it 
 was not one voice, but many, most of which were 
 known to me. I heard the heavy clank of a cannon 
 moved into a new position, the rattle of rifles against 
 each other, the clatter of pots and kettles thrown into a 
 corner for the morning's use. The next day was Sun- 
 day, and the chaplains would hold services in the camp, 
 for our Westerners were a religious people, liking the 
 faith and the externals, and not much addicted to in- 
 trospection. 
 
 The luminous haze over the camp which gave it 
 such a picturesque effect sank a little, the dimness of 
 the night was creeping down and inclosing the army. 
 Far above shoals of stars twinkled in a sky of cloud- 
 less blue. 
 
WITH THE VANGUARD 107 
 
 I walked back toward the eastern end of my beat and 
 saw Shaftoe approaching. The regular at that moment 
 was in an open space and the moon's rays clothed him 
 in a garment of misty silver, wrapping it about his 
 figure like a veil, enlarging and idealizing him. I no- 
 ticed that he was still elastic, upright, his dress trim, 
 the man like his equipment in perfect order, and ready 
 with a great reserve of strength for any call no matter 
 how unexpected. It seemed to me that he bore upon 
 him the seal of the United States Government, the 
 American regular soldier, made especially for his work; 
 the guarantee that the goods were perfect was current 
 in any market. 
 
 Shots were heard to the right. 
 
 " Those fool volunteers firing off their guns again 
 at the change of guard," said Shaftoe. 
 
 We stood a moment when we met, listening, but the 
 shots ceased. Then we looked toward the forest which 
 had the same peculiar attraction for both. 
 
 " Do you know that we two are alone with the uni- 
 verse?" asked Shaftoe. 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " There are forty thousand men behind us, but we 
 do not see one of them. So far as we are concerned 
 we are the only two human beings on this globe. A man 
 feels it on a night like this in the forest, but he feels it 
 most of all in the dark, and in the immensity of the 
 great plains, where a bullet might travel a thousand 
 miles east, west, north, or south, and hit nothing. 
 It's out there, in all the huge loneliness, that the 
 regulars have been doing their great work clearing 
 the way for new States. Some day the world may hear 
 of it." 
 
 He did not say these things in any tone of complaint, 
 but merely as a fact, and shouldering his rifle again 
 walked back on his beat. I followed him with my eyes. 
 This man had served his Government for thirty years, 
 
108 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 unknown, unrewarded, and unthanked; he stood now 
 where he was when he began, plus nothing except thirty 
 years, and yet he had no complaint to make, no fault 
 to find with anybody, but did his duty as cheerfully and 
 well in the thirtieth year as in the first. I leaned upon 
 Shaf toe although I did not know it then. 
 
 The fires of the camp sank lower, the misty dusk 
 hovering between the clear blue sky and the earth 
 thickened, the clang of weapons and the talk of the 
 men ceased. Most of the camp was sleeping. The 
 wind increased a little, and its moan among the trees 
 grew louder. The flames died, and only the glowing 
 coals remained. All but the generals and sentinels 
 slept. The camp was still, save a murmur like a heavy 
 wind, made by the regular breathing of forty thousand 
 men in slumber. As I walked my beat I heard nothing 
 but this, the real wind in the forest, and the tread of my 
 own footsteps. I was always glad when I went back 
 toward the right, and met the regular returning on his 
 beat. 
 
 " Do you see the forest in front of us twisting itself 
 into fantastic shapes ? " I asked. 
 
 " What do you mean? " replied Shaf toe, staring. 
 
 " Those boughs across yonder are curved into the 
 outlines of a giant's face; those two spots where the 
 moon is peeping through form the eyes, and yonder is a 
 church, and yonder is something else which I can't 
 exactly make out." 
 
 Shaftoe laughed. 
 
 " You can make out enough," he said. " Too much 
 imagination, Henry; besides, you are thinking too hard. 
 Don't do it. Just watch and walk, or you'll be thinking 
 and imagining yourself into a fever." 
 
 I quieted my fancy and the hours passed slowly on. 
 Behind me was only a gleam from the fires and it lay 
 close to the earth; now and then little white clouds 
 sailed peacefully between the stars and me. In front 
 
WITH THE VANGUARD 109 
 
 the forests remained sombre and black, and the nearest 
 trees holding out their boughs, like weapons, threatened. 
 The idea that Shaftoe and I were alone with the uni- 
 verse still gripped me. Another rabbit leaped out of 
 the woods and scurried by, almost brushing my foot. 
 
 " Either that was a very bold or a very scared rab- 
 bit! " I said to myself. 
 
 Like its predecessors it fled northward. 
 
 Presently there was a rustling heavier than that 
 of a rabbit in the thicket before me. I cocked my 
 rifle. A deer came out of the brush and, stopping ab- 
 ruptly, looked at me with great, frightened eyes. It 
 panted and its flanks were hot with steam; evidently it 
 had been running far and fast, and the terror of pursuit 
 was upon it. 
 
 " Poor devil! " I thought. " What hunter has been 
 chasing you at this hour of the night? " Then I said 
 meditatively: "Why should we shoot deer now when 
 there's bigger game afoot? " 
 
 I could easily have put a bullet between the eyes of 
 the scared animal, but I had no desire to do so; my 
 feeling was sympathetic, instead. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Deer," I said; " don't be afraid of me. 
 I'm not going to hurt you." 
 
 The deer gazed at me a moment or two longer with 
 frightened eyes, and then skimming by was gone like a 
 ghost. 
 
 It fled northward in the path of the rabbits. 
 
 I noticed the fact and wondered. 
 
 "How long until day?" I asked the regular when 
 next we met. 
 
 " The four longest hours of the night," replied 
 Shaftoe. " Take it easy; you'll have a whole Sunday to 
 sleep and rest in." 
 
 I decided to practise the veteran's philosophy, and 
 walked more slowly, while my thoughts wandered 
 vaguely into worlds unknown. A gleam appeared in 
 
HO IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 the forest, it was only a firefly and was gone; a second 
 gleam, it was but the rotten wood which sometimes 
 glows like a coal in the southern wilderness. Time 
 passed and I saw far in the forest another light which 
 flashed a little longer than the rest. I called to Shaf- 
 toe, who watched it until it faded. 
 
 " A firefly, a glowworm, or something of that kind," 
 said the veteran, and walked on unconcerned. 
 
 But my mind remained unquiet. My imagination, 
 which I had kept in subjection for a little while, rose up, 
 more powerful than ever; I saw lights where lights 
 were not, and I feared that I did not see them where 
 they were. Once I was sure that I heard a sound like 
 the clank of a cannon wheel, and the tread of many 
 men marching, but I laughed at myself for such fancies, 
 believing that I was under the spell of the forest and 
 the wilderness, which takes a man by the throat and 
 turns him into a fanciful child. I had just heard Shaf- 
 toe say so; and the regular, out of his vast experience, 
 ought to know. 
 
 The wind was now in my face, still moaning, but 
 was as warm as June to the touch, and heavy with the 
 promise of sunshine and rich summer. I had always 
 loved the fields and the forest, and I liked now to think 
 of myself wading knee-deep through the green grass, 
 while on the horizon line the peach trees and the 
 apple trees in new bloom shone in cones of pink and 
 white. 
 
 " It's the vanguard of summer and it's getting into 
 my blood," I said to Shaftoe, when the veteran came 
 once more. 
 
 " Strikes me that way too," replied the regular; 
 "makes me feel as if I were only fifteen again. But 
 one can not trust this Southern spring; it's full of 
 treachery. Anyway, I'm going to take a long sleep 
 when I go off duty, and day is pretty near now, for 
 which I'm thankful." 
 
WITH THE VANGUARD m 
 
 He straightened himself up and walked springily 
 along, thinking, I was sure, of the rest and sleep that 
 were soon to be his. I was not so fresh, and my steps 
 dragged a little as I turned for the four hundredth time 
 and walked away. I looked toward the east, and, see- 
 ing a tinge of gray over the crest of a distant hill, re- 
 joiced at the sign that my night's work was about to 
 end. The gray turned to silver and the edge of the 
 silver to pink, but my eyes wandered back to the 
 forest, which I watched because it was in front of 
 me. The camp behind me was still quiet; the regular 
 breathing of many men coming like the murmur of 
 a river. 
 
 The dusk shredded away a little and the trunks of 
 the trees rising out of the mist stood in rows like col- 
 umns, but the thickets, which grew where the trees were 
 not, were still black and impenetrable. 
 
 I heard a noise which I would have sworn in the 
 day was the clank of metal, but in the misty dawn I 
 disbelieved my ears. I stopped, and when I walked on 
 the noise was repeated. I tried to pierce the thickets 
 with my eyes, and they were met by the flash of steel. I 
 laughed aloud. My eyes were growing as untrue as my 
 ears, and while one heard the unreal the other saw the 
 same. They were entering into a conspiracy against 
 me, for a sound as of a command given came from 
 the forest, and then once more that tread of many 
 feet. And there, too, was that flash of steel again! 
 If a conspiracy between eye and ear, it was well main- 
 tained! 
 
 I stopped, and grew cold from head to foot. Neither 
 sights nor sounds ceased; the unreal might be the real, 
 and fact may have come disguised as fancy! I was 
 about to call to Shaftoe, whose figure was approaching 
 in the filmy gray of the dawn, but suddenly a wild, ter- 
 rible shout from countless throats arose. 
 
 I knew it, the long-drawn, high-pitched cry, copied 
 
112 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 perhaps from the Indian war whoop, the fierce " rebel 
 yell." It swelled in tremendous volume, filling my 
 ears and all the air, and echoing far across the river 
 and hills. 
 
 The next instant an army of forty thousand men 
 rose up from the forests and thickets and threw itself 
 upon me. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE UNBIDDEN GUEST 
 
 It seemed to my dazzled eyes that I was to be over- 
 whelmed in the next breath, that I alone was the aim 
 of the entire Southern army, hurled at me thus like a 
 single huge cannon ball. I stood for a moment without 
 motion. The "rebel yell," poured from so many throats, 
 was still ringing in my ears and filling all the forest 
 with its menace. As far as I could see reached the flash 
 of steel, and a moving line of rifle muzzles and bayonet 
 points as thick as a hedge confronted me. Behind these 
 appeared the faces of the men in row on row, seeming 
 to rise above each other like a terrace, as the attacking 
 army rushed on. The crackle of rifles swelled to the 
 left and right, and the dawn sputtered with flame. The 
 battle had begun. 
 
 I fired my own weapon at the wall of faces that was 
 rushing down upon me, and sprang back, shouting the 
 alarm. I looked for Shaftoe with that instinctive feel- 
 ing of reliance which caused me to turn to him in such 
 emergencies, and the regular was there. 
 
 " Back upon the camp, Henry! " he shouted. 
 " They've caught our army over the coffee cups, and we 
 must give to the. first rush." 
 
 It was obvious, even to the untried, that nothing 
 else could be done if we would save ourselves from 
 being swept out of existence, and backward we sped like 
 corks before a wave. I was still in a sort of daze. This 
 
 113 
 
114 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 apparition of a great and hostile army rising up, as 
 if from the earth itself, struck me with such surprise 
 that I could not recover at once, especially with immi- 
 nent danger pressing so hard upon me, and the thunder 
 of so many feet in my ears. It was a time to try the 
 boldest. 
 
 A terrible tumult rose in the camp of our army, to 
 which the dawn of a Sunday had brought such a sudden 
 and unbidden guest; the officers shouted commands, 
 the men rushed to arms, and some began to fire scatter- 
 ing shots into the advancing waves of the assailing 
 force. It was a turmoil, a medley of fire, and steel, 
 and shouting men, and unheard orders, and rattling 
 rifles, and always sweeping down upon us the Southern- 
 ers; a wave crested with bayonets. "We stopped for a 
 moment in a little clump of bushes, while past us, 
 driven on from behind, surged the remnants of five 
 companies, sent out to reconnoitre at daybreak, and 
 first to feel the shock of the Southern charge. They 
 had been driven backward at once, and when they 
 would give warning of the danger, that danger came 
 with them. 
 
 The Southern line began to fire, rank after rank, 
 the rattle of the rifles rose to a fierce and unbroken 
 crash, and a leaden sleet beat upon the confused camp, 
 decimating the men who were trying to form for battle, 
 strewing the ground with dead and wounded, sweeping 
 down the tents, and adding to the confusion which at- 
 tends a surprise — and most of all, a surprise at day- 
 break, when the men are just rising from sleep and 
 the senses are dull. The yell of the Southerners swelled 
 and fell once and again, but over it now rose the crash 
 of the rifle fire and the wheet-wheet! of the bullets. 
 Nothing was more vivid in my ear than the noise made 
 by the passage of these bullets, which rushed by in such 
 a stream that the air seemed to be filled with them. 
 Then a deeper thunder joined, as the field artillery — the 
 
THE UNBIDDEN GUEST 115 
 
 twelve-pound Napoleons — began to fire, and the sweep 
 of their balls formed the bass chorus for the shriller 
 note of the bullets. 
 
 " Oh, for earthworks, intrenchments, and we'd hold 
 'em off yet! " groaned the regular. 
 
 " I don't mind a battle, but I don't like being rushed 
 into it before it's due," I gasped. 
 
 Shaftoe laughed. 
 
 " That reminds me that it's no time for either of 
 us to complain," he said. 
 
 Clouds of smoke rolling up in languid waves rose 
 over the forest, and gathered in a thick veil between the 
 earth and the skies beyond it, which were now suffused 
 with the morning sun. But beneath it there was an 
 ominous brightness; a brightness, too, made ruddy by 
 the incessant blaze of the rifles and heavy guns. The 
 stricken army struggled and writhed in its pain, and 
 bleeding already from many wounds, sought to gather 
 itself together and hit back at its enemy. It seemed 
 to us that the whole world was pouring upon us in 
 one avalanche seeking to blot us from the face of the 
 earth. We beheld our dead scattered through all the 
 woods before us. The sight afflicted us; many of our 
 men cursed their officers for allowing us to be surprised. 
 Some, untried, raw, were overcome by panic, and joined 
 the stream of wounded that poured back toward the 
 shelter of the river bank, telling strange tales of what 
 they had seen and suffered. But the vast majority, even 
 in those moments of terror when Nature said " run," re- 
 membered their duty and strove to do it in the face of 
 death and defeat. Companies formed, and as soon as 
 they formed were swept down by the flood of the South- 
 ern army and the battle knew them no more. Officers 
 dragged their men into line until they themselves were 
 slain by rifle and cannon balls; but whatever officers 
 and men did, however bravely they fought, the great 
 wave of fire and smoke bearing down upon us and pour- 
 
116 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 ing out death rolled on. It burst upon the camp, over- 
 throwing men and tents, sweeping everything before 
 it in a wild rout, a line of lead and steel that nothing 
 could withstand. Some of the fallen tents caught fire, 
 and the boughs of the trees, despite their spring fresh- 
 ness and the dampness of previous rains, sparkled into 
 flames, lighting up the dawn with a new and redder 
 light. Horses broke loose from their pickets and gal- 
 loped up and down in terror, some wounded, all neigh- 
 ing a wild, shrill neigh that had more of pain in it than 
 the cry of man. The thunder of the battle deepened, 
 and with it the confusion. 
 
 After the first shock of surprise, the resistance in 
 our army began to grow. The earliest groups of men 
 that formed were scattered, and the Southern troops 
 passed over the places where they had stood; but the 
 later bodies showed more cohesion, and, though swept 
 back, did not break; they began to unite with each 
 other by and by, and to form companies and regiments 
 and long battle lines, and to oppose with an angry front 
 the powerful army that had been launched at us like a 
 catapult. They seized every hillock as a post, and de- 
 fended the crossing of every gully, clinging to a second 
 position when they lost the first. 
 
 The Southern army rushed, a victor, through our 
 camp, and, knowing already what "it was to go unfed, 
 was amazed at the plenty it saw there. Soldiers who 
 were half starved, and thinking the victory sure, sud- 
 denly remembered their stomachs, and began to eat 
 the breakfast cooked by the Northern army, served 
 now to the unbidden guest, our foe. Boys, like our own, 
 they began to rejoice hugely in their triumph and their 
 captured food. Meanwhile the battle rolled on toward 
 the Tennessee. The main part of both armies was still 
 fighting, and the loss of the stragglers did not diminish 
 the torrents of metal which swept the field. 
 
 I began to recover my clearness of mind, and 
 
THE UNBIDDEN GUEST 117 
 
 grasped the facts that I saw, meanwhile keeping close to 
 Shaftoe, who, though a private, loomed suddenly in my 
 opinion one of the most important men in the field, cer- 
 tainly one of the wisest, and a figure to whom it would 
 be well to cling. 
 
 " What shall we do ? " I asked, shouting to make my 
 voice heard above the roar. "We had lost our own regi- 
 ment. 
 
 "We'll join Sherman, who is standing firm across 
 yonder, and after that we'll do whatever the rebels will 
 let us do," replied Shaftoe, in the same tone. 
 
 Sherman and his command, who still held the 
 ground upon which they stood, were some distance be- 
 hind the little church of Shiloh, and we ran toward his 
 solid body of troops, wishing to join that portion of the 
 army which was the firmest. But we were compelled 
 to make our way through the line of fire, and my won- 
 der that I had not been hit was great, since the shower 
 of bullets seemed to me to increase in thickness, and 
 their whistling rose to a sound that resembled the 
 scream of a hurricane. The air was full of falling 
 twigs and boughs clipped from the trees by this hail of 
 lead and steel, and once a tree, cut through at the 
 trunk by cannon balls, fell with a great crash across our 
 path. But we leaped over and ran on, coming to the 
 crossing of a gully which was defended by a squad of 
 men in blue. An officer was swearing at them with 
 energy and profusion; a cannon ball stopped his oaths 
 and his life at the same moment. The men hesitated, 
 but when the tallest among them said something which 
 I failed to hear, they settled back in their places and 
 turned their faces to the enemy. 
 
 "Don't you know those men? " shouted Shaftoe to 
 me. " That's the drunken squad, the lot of Ken- 
 tuckians whom you saw put into the guardhouse the 
 other morning for diminishing the visible supply of 
 whisky. The tall one who was talking is Sibley, and 
 
118 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 I should be surprised if they were not at least half 
 drunk now. It's a pity, too; there's some first-class 
 raw material there. The cloth is good, but it was 
 spoiled in the making. Down for your life! There 
 comes a volley." 
 
 He pulled me to my knees behind some rocks just 
 in time. I heard the bullets over our heads, and we lay 
 there awhile not daring to face the shower. We were 
 at the edge of a gully, and only a few feet below us 
 stood the drunken squad. We could hear every word 
 that was said. 
 
CHAPTEE XIV 
 
 i 
 
 THE DRUNKEN SQUAD'S LAST STAND 
 
 The disgraced Kentuckians, about twenty in num- 
 ber, were at the head of the gully. Sibley had taken 
 only three drinks that morning, the attack coming too 
 early for his arrangements, and his head was compara- 
 tively clear. He saw a dense mass of the enemy press- 
 ing up the ravine, which was wider at the far end, and 
 it must have reminded him of Buena Vista, where the 
 foe was five to one and the Americans yet won. 
 
 I knew those men, and I knew that a battle song 
 was singing in the ears of Sibley — the chant of genera- 
 tions. His forefathers had fought the Indians and the 
 English, almost without ceasing, and he, having fought 
 for his country in war and himself in peace, had no 
 mind to shun the fighting now, when it was pressed 
 upon him, and would not be denied. He cocked his 
 rifle and fired into the gray of the advancing Southern 
 regiment. Then some one pulled at his arm. It was 
 the boy Masters, who in the heat of a permanent admira- 
 tion imitated his virtues and his vices, particularly the 
 latter. 
 
 " They'll walk over us," said the boy, pointing to 
 the gray mass in front. " Our captain's killed, and 
 what shall we do? " 
 
 " Yes, Billy, he's killed; but he told us to hold this 
 gully, and we needn't disobey him because he's dead." 
 
 The boy made no reply, but pushing himself up by 
 
 119 
 
120 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 Sibley's side fired at the Southern force. The rest of 
 the twenty imitated his example. They were not a 
 pretty lot; there was Congdon, a tall, raw-boned, loose- 
 jointed mountaineer, who spoke in dialect and stole 
 his comrades' rations; and Purvis, of Maysville, whose 
 chief virtue was silence; and Walker, famed for laziness; 
 and Williams, of Louisville, who was not much older 
 than Masters; and Clymer, of Paducah, who was the 
 oldest of them all, and others of the same type, gaunt, 
 brown, and long, all united by the two great common 
 bonds — love of whisky and hatred of work. 
 
 " Come boys," said Sibley, " you can all shoot; now 
 show it ! " 
 
 Twenty rifles poured a deadly volley into the ad- 
 vancing mass, which staggered and fell back, leaving 
 a cluster of fallen, but recovering itself came on again. 
 The twenty meanwhile reloaded rapidly and continued 
 their own little battle, content with it and oblivious of 
 the wider one that raged around them. 
 
 Never before had the twenty shown so much skill 
 with the rifle, never before had they handled their long- 
 barrelled weapons with such speed, and never before 
 had they sent their bullets straighter to the mark. 
 Jets of flame leaped from each muzzle, and the stream 
 of lead sent into the advancing masses kept up an 
 unbroken song. Their faces grew red with the fever 
 of combat, and they drew quick breaths. The barrels 
 of their rifles, fired so often, burned at the touch. 
 
 The general conflict deepened in intensity and 
 tumult as the Northern army came more and more into 
 action. Sherman's division held fast to the ground 
 around the little church of Shiloh, sinking its feet 
 there, and refusing to yield to the torrent of bullets 
 and cannon balls that beat upon it and broke gaps in 
 its ranks, closed up immediately after by the living. 
 The thick smoke gathered against the tops of the trees, 
 through which the sun came only in pale rays, and 
 
THE DRUNKEN SQUAD'S LAST STAND 121 
 
 under which men fought with furious energy in the 
 half light. The thunder of the cannonade was unceas- 
 ing, though it rose and fell in volume; but the minor 
 note, the shrill and more spiteful crash of the small 
 arms, was as steady as the sweep of a prairie wind. 
 Save in front of Sherman it was a series of combats, 
 waged by regiment against regiment, company against 
 company, and man against man, a long, uncertain line 
 of battle, winding, intermingling, and without plan. 
 They met and fought in the dark and smoky woods, 
 over hills, down gullies, tangled in thickets and among 
 the trees, and the impartial cannon balls swept down 
 bushes, trees, and men alike. 
 
 Meanwhile Shaftoe and I clung to the shelter of 
 our rocks. I started to rise once, but he pulled me 
 down. 
 
 " Don't be a fool! " he said. " You would be killed 
 before you could draw three breaths. Save yourself. 
 It's the right thing to do. You will be needed." 
 
 I obeyed. 
 
 Sibley, who felt only the heat of battle, marked 
 the regiment that was advancing upon his comrades 
 and himself. 
 
 " Down upon your faces! " he cried; " they are 
 about to fire! " 
 
 All the twenty threw themselves flat, and at the 
 same moment the front line of the enemy burst into 
 flame. The crackle of the rifles was lost in the thunder 
 of the battle that rolled incessantly around them, but 
 Sibley and his comrades heard the whiz of the bullets 
 as they flew like a swarm of disappointed bees over 
 their heads. 
 
 " Now, up, boys! " he cried, " and let 'em have it! " 
 
 The battle fever was surging in his veins and heat- 
 ing his brain, and always the boy Masters, with a face 
 as red as Sibley's own, was fighting at his elbow. I 
 watched them both. 
 
122 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 The men sprang to their feet, all except one, who lay 
 crouched, with his eyes to the enemy. 
 
 " What's the matter with that drunken fool John- 
 son? Why don't he get up?" asked Sibley. 
 
 " He can't; he's got a bullet through his skull," re- 
 plied Congdon, the mountaineer, with commendable 
 calmness. 
 
 " It's just as well; his face is to the enemy," said 
 Sibley. Then he gave again the order to fire.* All 
 their rifles crashed at once. Marksmanship was one 
 among the small set of virtues owned by these men; the 
 front line of the attacking force reeled back before such 
 a well-aimed volley, and the dark objects lying in the 
 weeds before it showed that the bullets had sped true. 
 
 " Hurrah! " shouted Sibley; " that took the sand 
 out of their gizzards! " 
 
 A volley from the second Southern rank flew over 
 the head of the first and into the twenty. Five men 
 fell. Two rose again; one of the two was bleeding 
 from a bad wound in the shoulder and turned pale. 
 
 " Captain," he said to Sibley, applying to him the 
 term which was familiar in our State, and not always 
 a mark of rank, " I got it hot and hard in the shoulder 
 and it's time for me to hunt a hospital." 
 
 " Hospital the devil! " said Sibley. " Don't you see 
 the enemy coming? " 
 
 The man said nothing more, but began to reload his 
 rifle. The boy Masters fired, and shrieked with joy. 
 
 " I got one! I got one! " he cried. His face 
 writhed with delight. 
 
 Sibley patted him approvingly on the shoulder. 
 The fighting blood in the boy evidently found a re- 
 sponse in the kindred blood of the older man. 
 
 " You're going to make a soldier, Billy," he said. 
 
 Then Masters forgot there was such a thing as 
 danger. 
 
 " Maybe they'll turn back," said Clymer. 
 
THE DRUNKEN SQUAD'S LAST STAND 123 
 
 Sibley frowned at him. The speech was untimely 
 and inappropriate. 
 
 " Turn back? not from the gates of hell! They're 
 our own blood, and the hinges of their backbones are 
 not oiled! We mustn't forget one thing or we'll never 
 win this war, and it's that the Johnny Eebs are as 
 good as we are. I came mighty near being a Johnny 
 Eeb myself. There's my brother Abner, he's one. Ab- 
 ner and I could never get along together. When the 
 war came on I said to Abner, ' Which army are you 
 going to join?' 'The Southern, of course,' he said. 
 ' All right,' says I; ' then I'm going to join the North- 
 ern army,' and join it I did the very next day. Nothing 
 but brother Abner's stubbornness kept the South from 
 getting a mighty good soldier. Don't you fool your- 
 self, the Eebs will keep coming." 
 
 " Then it's time to take a drink," said Clymer. 
 
 He produced a flask from his pocket, three or four 
 others doing the same, and all drank from them, deeply, 
 unctuously, and as a tribute of respect to the valour of 
 the advancing foe. The blood flew to their brains and 
 their courage flamed up. They saw many enemies, but 
 their veins blazed with Homeric fire. They were only 
 a lot of loafers, worthless in peace, but courage was their 
 pocket piece, and they were ready to face armies. 
 
 "How the battle grows! Just listen to the shells 
 and the song they sing! " cried Sibley. 
 
 The combat curved on either side of them in a red 
 whirlwind. 
 
 Their immediate enemy halted a little as if choosing 
 between ways, and the men took breath. More artillery 
 rapidly came into action on either side, and now the 
 dominant note of the battle — the sibilant song of all 
 great battles — the screaming of the shells and shrapnel 
 was heard rising above everything, over the thunder of 
 the cannon as they were discharged, over the rattle of 
 the rifles, the shouts of the men, the cries of the 
 9 
 
124 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 wounded, the neighing of the horses, the clank of mov- 
 ing wheels, and the tread of the charging brigades, 
 drowning everything else, singing their terrible song, 
 filling the ears of the soldiers, and whistling through 
 the forest with all the rage and force of a storm. 
 
 The boy Masters was affected and quivered. His 
 face became pale. The flame of the cannon fell upon 
 it and showed its leaden hue. 
 
 " It's all right, Billy," said Sibley, protectingly. 
 " It's not a pretty song; it doesn't tell of cool water 
 and green grass, but I've known worse." 
 
 " They're getting ready to give us another volley," 
 said Purvis. " I think we'd better drop." 
 
 A piece of shrapnel, whistling with heat and speed, 
 struck him between the eyes and he fell without a word. 
 I was glad on Billy's account that he fell face down- 
 ward. 
 
 " He'd have been a good soldier; he's earned his six 
 feet of earth," said Sibley, as they rose after the volley. 
 But the twenty had been reduced to fifteen. Williams, 
 the Louisville man, was pouring out a stream of rich 
 and unctuous oaths. A bullet had nipped him on the 
 shoulder and the wound stung. 
 
 "Come, come, Williams!" said Sibley; "you're in 
 luck! A hundred thousand rebels after you and able to 
 give you only a flea-bite. If you curse so much for a 
 little thing like that, what would you say if you had a 
 leg or two shot off? " 
 
 A shell screaming in its flight passed over their 
 heads, and all bowed to it. 
 
 " We'll give the right of way every time to as much 
 iron as that," joyously exclaimed Sibley, in whose head 
 the blood and fever of battle was rising higher and still 
 higher. " What are you doing there, Congdon? " 
 
 " Sharpshooting." 
 
 The long, slim mountaineer was lying upon the 
 ground, his slender, flexible form seeming to accommo- 
 
THE DRUNKEN SQUAD'S LAST STAND 125 
 
 date itself to every rock and bump, and to coil around it 
 like a serpent. His eyes were glittering with ferocious 
 joy as he looked down the sights of his rifle and picked 
 his target. He was like an Indian triumphantly stalk- 
 ing his victim. 
 
 " By the Lord, it's bushwhacking! " cried Sibley. 
 " You mountaineers can't help it; you were born to 
 it. What else could you expect from a man from 
 Breathitt County, Kentucky? " 
 
 Sibley and his little force occupied a good position, 
 and with true military spirit they made the most of it, 
 inflicting a heavy loss upon the advancing enemy and 
 deranging his plans. Wherefore, they, the gully's de- 
 fenders, became important. It was a detached little 
 battle waged with an energy and fire of great pressure 
 to the square inch, and the Southerners paused merely 
 to consider the best plan of attack. This obstacle an- 
 noyed them, and they would sweep it out of the way. 
 The Kentuckians saw them stop, and the little band's 
 shout of triumph was heard for a moment amid the 
 sound of the shells — a human note that defied ri- 
 valry. Sibley had all sorts of courage, natural, Dutch, 
 and otherwise, fused this morning into a sparkling 
 tonic, and he sprang upon the highest rock. 
 
 "Come on!" he shouted to the enemy. "We are 
 here giving a dinner, and there are plates for you. 
 Why don't you come?" 
 
 Williams grasped him by the legs and pulled him 
 down at the crest of an oratorical flight, a dozen bullets 
 whistling the next instant where his head had been, 
 and lamenting in intelligible tones its disappearance. 
 They did not know its hardness. 
 
 "You'll get yourself killed! " shouted Williams. 
 
 " What of it? " replied Sibley. " There's supposed 
 to be a slight risk in war." 
 
 Then the survivors renewed the combat with fresh 
 energy and passion. They sheltered themselves as 
 
126 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 much as the gully would permit, creeping forward in 
 their zeal to meet the enemy, and always they sent their 
 bullets into his close ranks. 
 
 While they fought the battle spread, detached bat- 
 tles joining and forming into a great whole that blazed 
 and thundered and swayed back and forth. The line 
 of fire on either side of the Kentuckians came nearer. 
 Shells and shrapnel, not aimed at them nor fired by their 
 immediate foe, flew over their heads. The columns of 
 smoke rolled up like the waves of a flood, and thickened 
 and darkened. The blaze of the firing streamed through 
 it in countless flashes. The trees burned; millions of 
 sparks flashed in the air. 
 
 " It's growing warm," said the boy. 
 
 " Yes, Billy; and don't forget that it can grow 
 warmer," replied Sibley. 
 
 " They're coming again," said the boy. 
 
 " Yes, Billy, but we'll give 'em the same old wel- 
 come," replied Sibley. 
 
 Congdon, still hugging the ground in that' frightful 
 similitude of a snake, fired into the Southern ranks, and 
 cursed between his teeth because the smoke would not 
 let him see whether a man had fallen to his bullet. 
 Williams looked at the dense mass of the enemy and felt 
 that the odds were too great. 
 
 " Hadn't we better retreat? " he asked Sibley. 
 
 " Eetreat! No! Maybe the fate of the whole army 
 will depend upon our holding this place." 
 
 " Then I will not give an inch," said Williams. And 
 he did not; for a second later a bullet passed through his 
 heart and he held the ground upon which he had stood. 
 Two more men fell before the bullets, and a bursting 
 shell killed another. All around them the battle 
 whirled and thundered. 
 
 The boy shivered again. 
 
 " Take a drink of this, Billy, and we'll win immortal 
 honour and glory," said Sibley, patting him on the 
 
THE DRUNKEN SQUAD'S LAST STAND 127 
 
 shoulder with one hand and offering the flask with the 
 other. 
 
 The boy drank, and a bullet saved him the trouble 
 of returning the flask by dashing it to pieces in his 
 hand. 
 
 " There was nothing left in it; no matter," said Sib- 
 ley. " Steady now, boys, and we'll beat the Spartans at 
 the old Greek what-do-you-call-it place." 
 
 A shell passed so near that the rush of air knocked 
 him to his knees; he was up again in a moment, san- 
 guine and defiant, and cheered on his men as the at- 
 tack upon them grew fiercer. Congdon was killed as he 
 hugged his rock, and he continued to hug it in death. 
 A shell exploded among them and slew four men. They 
 were only seven now, and three of the seven were 
 wounded. But Sibley did not notice it. He looked 
 straight ahead. 
 
 "Give it to 'em, my bullies!" he cried. "We've 
 scared 'em already! Don't you see they are getting 
 ready to run? " 
 
 The flash of the rifles aimed at them was very 
 near, and coming nearer. The bullets sang to right 
 and left, and the shrapnel flew overhead. A shell 
 struck the earth close to them and covered Sibley 
 with dirt. He cursed the shell from a full and vivid 
 vocabulary. 
 
 " Clymer is killed," said the boy. 
 
 "Is he? That's not news on a day like this," re- 
 plied Sibley. 
 
 "We're only six," said the boy, and then he added: 
 " We're only five now, for there goes Morton. The 
 shrapnel did it." 
 
 " Hold the gully! " shouted Sibley. " If there's no- 
 body else, you and I will do it, Billy." 
 
 But the others did not flinch. The fire of battle 
 was coursing through their veins, and they saw red. 
 The chorus of the bullets and the shell had become a 
 
128 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 familiar tune. Their rifles replied with undiminished 
 ardour. 
 
 A piece of shrapnel struck the boy in the shoulder 
 and he began to tremble. 
 
 " Never mind, Billy/' said Sibley. " It's only a 
 scratch." 
 
 Billy went on with his firing. There was a duty to 
 be done and no time for trifles. But his eye and his 
 hand grew unsteady. His wound was worse than he or 
 Sibley would admit. The enemy, the hills, and the 
 flashing of the guns before him made only a red blur, 
 and an absent look came over his face as if his mind 
 wandered back to the sheen and long, gentle roll of the 
 blue grass, with the dusty gold of the sun floating over 
 it like a tawny veil. 
 
 "Fire at 'em now!" shouted Sibley, and the five 
 sent their bullets to the mark. An answering volley 
 came, and two of the Kentuckians fell. 
 
 " The company is now small, but very select — eh, 
 Thornton? " said Sibley to the third man. Sibley was 
 wounded in the neck and his eye was wild. 
 
 " It's time to go," said the boy, whose mind was 
 wandering further amid green fields and through lus- 
 trous sunshine. 
 
 " No, Billy, not yet; but I think the time for us all 
 to go is almost at hand." 
 
 The battle converged about them, hovering closer 
 and closer, giving forth continuously its ominous cry. 
 The screaming of the shells, flying in showers, rose to a 
 pitch unequalled before. It was a fierce, triumphant 
 note, like a storm shrieking through a ship's rigging. 
 But the boy did not hear it. He heard only the trickle 
 of cool water among green fields that he had known, 
 and the hum of the honeybees. I watched his face, and 
 I knew. 
 
 " How that artillery flashes! Its blaze blinds me," 
 said Sibley. The bullets flew in gusts around him. 
 
THE DRUNKEN SQUAD'S LAST STAND 129 
 
 " It's time to go," said the boy. " The corn is ripe 
 in the fields." 
 
 " Yes, Billy; but the battle's only begun." 
 
 " Thornton's killed." 
 
 " Then, Billy, only you and I are left. Close up, 
 and we'll win the biggest victory the world has ever 
 known." 
 
 Sibley's dingy blue uniform was stained dark red in 
 many places. His eyes saw through a mist. A thou- 
 sand little pulses were beating in the top of his head. 
 The bullets pattered on the stones and earth around the 
 two like a hailstorm. The boy was becoming weak and 
 his head swung to one side, oscillating like a top. 
 
 " See how the sun shines in old Kentucky! " he said. 
 
 " Yes, it shines, Billy. But the rebels are coming, 
 and they are so near I can see their eyes shining too. 
 Just hear the bullets whistle! " 
 
 " It's like music, isn't it? " 
 
 " The music of hell! Hold up your head, Billy! 
 What! — dead! Poor boy, he died like a hero! " 
 
 Sibley was wounded in a half dozen places, and 
 sank to his knees. He was unable to reload his rifle; 
 but the little pulses were still beating in the top of his 
 head, the red mist was yet there, and he continued to 
 shout defiance. Fresh volleys swept the field, and the 
 next moment no voice was heard in the gully save that 
 of the whistling bullets. 
 
 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE SONG OF THE SHELL 
 
 Thus we witnessed the drunken squad's last stand. 
 
 " At least, they died like brave men," said Shaftoe. 
 
 " Was it of any use ?"I asked. " They were mere- 
 ly a bubble in the flood." 
 
 " Who knows? " replied the regular. 
 
 We pressed on in our attempt to join Sherman, who 
 alone had stood firm before the first attack, and was 
 now receiving shock after shock from increasing num- 
 bers, determined to drive him back, as they had driven 
 back the others. Bullets swept the field before and 
 behind us, and over our heads flew the shells. I had 
 felt a great terror at first, but a revulsion came and soon 
 I began to swell with a foolish pride of indifference. 
 Shaftoe was on his knees, seeking the shelter of every 
 rock, and tree, and hillock that came in his way. I was 
 walking upright. The regular suddenly seized me by 
 the waist and dragged me down. 
 
 " I'm not a coward ! " I cried angrily. 
 
 " No, but you're a fool, and that's as bad or worse," 
 replied the regular, phlegmatically. 
 
 I made another effort to rise, but he held me back. 
 
 " Eaw volunteers like you," continued Shaftoe, in a 
 fatherly tone, " are always one of two things: either an 
 infernal coward or a regular Hector. Usually they are 
 both in the space of an hour; and one is as bad as an- 
 other. Now, if you are shot dead going across this field, 
 130 
 
THE SONG OF THE SHELL 131 
 
 of what use is it? You are sent here by your Govern- 
 ment to get killed to some purpose. This would be to 
 no purpose at all; and you would be a fraud upon your 
 country, taking her pay and pretending to be killed in 
 her service, when you give no service, and get yourself 
 killed merely to gratify a boiling hot pride purely per- 
 sonal to yourself. Keep down, and try to earn your 
 wages honestly." 
 
 The regular's face was impassive, but I concluded 
 to take his advice, and crawl, instead of walk. 
 
 The ghastly traces of the battle thickened as we 
 advanced. The ground was covered with the fallen, 
 most of them slain in isolated fighting; some in single 
 combat. A stream of wounded, each following the 
 other in Indian file, passed us on their way to the rear. 
 It was a blood-stained and halting line, but neither the 
 blood nor the weakness impressed me like their silence. 
 No man uttered a word. Not a groan was heard. Grim 
 and unspeaking, every one nursed his own wound, en- 
 during it without complaint and staggering on with the 
 strength that was left to him. It was a solemn proces- 
 sion that never ceased. 
 
 " They are becoming veterans/' said Shaftoe, with 
 deep sympathy, " and they are paying the price of 
 it." A minute later we were with Sherman, behind 
 the little church of Shiloh and at the heart of the 
 conflict. 
 
 Few of the Northern troops at this point had ever 
 been in battle before, but led by a born general, one 
 who never lost his presence of mind, and could take in a 
 battlefield at a glance, they set their feet in the earth, 
 and resolved not to give back, though the heap of dead 
 in their front ranks grew fast and the stream of wound- 
 ed in the rear thickened. The places of the dead and 
 the hurt were taken by others, the debris of broken 
 brigades, gathering instinctively around Sherman as 
 the chief core of resistance. 
 
132 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 The Southern army seemed to understand that it 
 must uproot Sherman if it would win fully, and in- 
 creased its strokes. Already victorious elsewhere, 
 heavy gun after heavy gun was brought forward, and 
 added to the unceasing shower of iron and lead that 
 beat upon our lines, seeking to annihilate us and com- 
 plete the victory. 
 
 " Now you can fight, Henry, and fight with all your 
 might! " shouted the regular in my ear. 
 
 The savage instinct, that loves fighting because it 
 represents supreme physical force, rose steadily in me. 
 I forgot that I was a civilized human being, and reload- 
 ing my rifle I fired again and again into the gray-coated 
 mass. The flame was in my blood. 
 
 Grant at Savannah, nine miles away, heard the roar- 
 ing of the guns and arrived upon the field at ten o'clock, 
 sending urgent messages to Nelson and Buell to hurry 
 on. Noon came and the sun shone over the centre of 
 the earth, taking no note of the battle, pouring out all 
 its rays of red and gold in honour of a fair, spring day. 
 Those rays did not pierce the canopy of smoke which 
 hung over the field of Shiloh; only a haze seeped 
 through, and we fought in the twilight of a great vault, 
 of which the earth was the floor and the floating smoke 
 the roof — a vault filled with the shouts of men, the 
 roar of guns, and the flash of the cannon and rifle 
 fire. The hostile lines were often hid from my sight 
 by the rolling clouds of smoke, which, caught by some 
 stray breeze, would lift presently, disclosing again 
 the thousands of hot faces, the bayonets, and the 
 cannon. 
 
 I began to feel pride in both combatants — the pride 
 of a race and its valour. People had talked of earlier 
 times when men were braver and more enduring than 
 now, built on a more heroic scale, but I had never read 
 of any battle in which they fought more fiercely and 
 with steadier courage and endurance than the one 
 
THE SONG OP THE SHELL 133 
 
 which now swelled around me, and of which I was a 
 part. Perhaps it was not a thing for pride, neverthe- 
 less I knew that all would feel it. 
 
 The roar of detached combats to the right and to the 
 left came to us, though subdued to a minor note by the 
 thunder of our own, which seemed to me to culminate 
 directly in our front. The clouds of smoke sank lower 
 and the stray winds drove them into the faces of one 
 and then the other; the heavy sickening odour of 
 mingled blood and gunpowder permeated the forest, 
 and the burning trees gave forth sparks in myriads. 
 Twisting columns and pyramids of smoke sometimes 
 hid all but the faces of our assailants, and at the mo- 
 ment they seemed to us to swing in the air. 
 
 The dominant note of the battle was still the song of 
 the shell — a fierce, triumphant cry, more like a shriek — 
 an insistent, continuous sound, shrill, piercing, rising 
 and falling perhaps, but never ceasing to drum upon 
 the ears of all the eighty thousand engaged in that 
 combat — a song that swept through the oak woods, not 
 without a certain rhythm and music. It was the deep- 
 est impression made upon the men who survived that 
 day and the next — ask them and they will tell you so — 
 the hissing of the shell and the shrapnel, the screaming 
 flight of the missile through the air, its bursting, and 
 then the short, fierce buzz of the fragments of steel or 
 iron, or the wheet-wheet of the leaden bullets from the 
 shrapnel. 
 
 It was a sound so full of ferocity and malignant 
 triumph that we who fought there can never forget it. 
 I often hear it echoing in my ears — even now, when the 
 rank grass and bushes have grown long ago over the 
 lost skeletons of the slain, and peace and silence reign 
 again in the Shiloh woods — as fierce and insistent as 
 ever, that old song of the shell that was sung when so 
 many good men slew each other. 
 
 The fire of the enemy sank without warning, the 
 
134 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 sudden decrease of sound producing the effect of silence, 
 though it was far from being such. 
 
 " They can not drive us back now! " I cried joy- 
 fully. " They have given up ! " 
 
 " Not so," said Shaftoe. " The most dangerous time 
 has come. Listen to the trumpets! " 
 
 Clear and full the voice of the Southern trumpets 
 rose above the softened note of the battle, resounding 
 and joyous, as if there had been nothing that day for 
 man save pleasure, calling the hunters to the chase. 
 
 " Can't you understand that? " asked Shaftoe. 
 " No man ever spoke plainer English. It says: ' Come 
 on, boys, come on; gather all your strength for one 
 big rush, and we'll drive the Yankees into the river! ' " 
 He added in a lower voice, " And maybe they'll do 
 it, too." 
 
 The face of the regular was anxious, but it showed 
 some pride, too. The raw levies — his boys, he had called 
 those in his own company — were acquiring discipline 
 and steadiness faster than he had ever hoped, and the 
 sun would set upon every one a veteran, if he lived. 
 
 The clouds of smoke lifted, the plumes of flank 
 sank, the notes of the trumpet died, and the long lines 
 of the Southern army swept forward again among the 
 trees and over the hillocks with their carpets of dead 
 and wounded, as if propelled by a single hand. The 
 front of our brigades burst into fire, the Southern bat- 
 teries replied, and once again the shells and shrapnel 
 filled the air. I saw the enemy coming nearer and 
 nearer, and in all the activity of the defence I never for- 
 got to watch their faces. I saw holes broken in their 
 ranks by shells, shrapnel, and grapeshot. Lines of men 
 were swept down by the hail of bullets that beat upon 
 them. They did not stop, nor did hesitation interrupt 
 their onward rush. I realized that this was the su- 
 preme effort which Shaftoe had said was coming; and 
 as the iron and lead fell upon the Southerners I won- 
 
THE SONG OF THE SHELL 135 
 
 dered how long they could stand it, feeling at the same 
 time a pride that they stood it so well. For were they 
 not of my own South? 
 
 " Those boys coming against us are veterans now! " 
 shouted Shaftoe in my ear. " If they cross that ravine 
 in front of us — well, we are theirs." 
 
 The Southern ranks, terribly thinned by the fire of 
 the cannon and rifles, were almost at the edge of the 
 ravine, but, borne on by physical and mental impetus, 
 none stopped save those who had fallen. 
 
 Our fire doubled in intensity. The front line of the 
 Southerners reached the edge of the ravine and melted 
 there before the shells and bullets; the second line 
 rushed into its place and then plunged into the ravine, 
 appearing the next instant on our side. 
 
 All became a confused and terrible blur, and pres- 
 ently I heard a cry of despair. Our whole line had 
 been pressed back and we were losing the battle. A 
 shout of triumph from the enemy rose and filled the 
 air, striking to our hearts. Then the Southerners came 
 again with a rush as fierce as the others, and once more 
 we were forced back toward the river, yielding the 
 ground foot by foot, though we left it red behind us. 
 
 The troops that yet lived, worn by long hours of 
 fighting — the regiments cut to ribbons — could not 
 stand the repeated shocks. The Southerners continued 
 to push us back slowly. One of our brigades faltered 
 and began to retreat more rapidly. The Southerners 
 threw themselves upon it at this, the critical moment, 
 when the minds of the men hovered between fighting 
 to the end and the folly of fighting longer. The 
 brigade, struck at such a time, was paralyzed. It ceased 
 to be an organized body, fell apart, divided into com- 
 panies, then the companies broke up, dissolved like 
 dew under the sun, and the brigade existed no longer, 
 just a huddled mass of fleeing men, pelted by steel 
 and lead, and urged on in their flight. Those of us 
 
136 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 who yet stood were cut off; but led by Sherman, we 
 seized a hill and clung to it, seeking to hold the head 
 of the bridge across the marshes of Snake Creek, over 
 which Wallace, who was nearest to us, must come to our 
 relief, if he came at all. 
 
 I felt like one shut up in a furnace, and I gazed 
 into the face of Shaftoe for comfort, finding none there. 
 A shell with a new note flew high over my head, and, 
 looking at its flight for a moment, I saw that it passed 
 on and fell among the enemy, a fresh salute to the 
 charging squares. It was followed by another and 
 then another. Our troops began to shout with new. 
 hope. We had been pushed so far back toward the 
 Tennessee that two of the Northern gunboats in the 
 river opened fire over our heads and into the enemy 
 — a water battery welcome beyond compare. It was 
 the first help that came to us in eight hours of fight- 
 ing, and we drew encouragement from it, feeling that 
 if we were succoured thus at the last moment we 
 might expect yet more. The trails of fire made by 
 the shells seemed beautiful to us, and our spirit in- 
 creased for a resistance still more stubborn. We dug 
 our feet deeper into the earth and clung to the hills 
 covering the bridge head. Nothing could drive us 
 back farther. Our numbers melted away, but not faster 
 than those of our assailants. We gave blow for blow. 
 
 The day was waning, and the night, tinged red by 
 the cannon blaze, was at hand. Many of the Southern 
 soldiers considered the battle gloriously and completely 
 won. They had taken thirty cannon, and thousands of 
 prisoners were in their hands. Eejoicing at the sight 
 of the plenty in our captured camp, so unlike their own 
 want, they scattered to pick up plunder, and, above all, 
 the superior Northern arms. The camp was luxury to 
 them, for it was full of provisions, and these Southern- 
 ers already knew what it was to march and fight on 
 empty stomachs and bare feet. They had made a great 
 
THE SONG OP THE SHELL 137 
 
 journey and fought a great battle, and they had not 
 eaten in forty-eight hours. They believed that the 
 time to take their reward had come, and they took 
 it, shouting to each other their joy and congratulations. 
 Discipline was relaxed and their army lost cohesion. 
 Johnston, their brave leader, conspicuous on horseback, 
 had been killed earlier in the day at the head of his 
 troops, and the other generals failed to grasp his plans 
 and make his victory secure. Sherman still held the 
 bridge head, and all the great qualities of our chief com- 
 mander, Grant, were coming out. Silent, unyielding, 
 he knew that he had lost one battle, but he determined 
 to win another. 
 
 The sun was going down upon this sanguinary com- 
 bat. A great globe of red and gold, it hung just above 
 the forest, in the west, throwing only a few rays through 
 the thick clouds of smoke that rolled over the battle- 
 field. The twilight deepened in the dim woods, but be- 
 fore the night could come the Southerners rushed upon 
 a new battery that had been formed at the river's bank, 
 determined that the long delayed completeness of their 
 triumph should yet be won. Gun after gun was dis- 
 charged point blank into their charging lines. The 
 man who had known how to form the battery knew also 
 how to use it. The blaze of the cannon was magnified 
 and intensified in the dark. It seemed to the Southern- 
 ers that they were rushing into the mouths of furnaces; 
 yet they came on, to be broken by the showers of pro- 
 jectiles, to stumble over their own fallen, to reform 
 their lines and to charge again. A wide stream of 
 shells from the gunboats in the river, curved over the 
 battery and plunged among them. They formed a 
 battery of their own, but it was shattered by the fire of 
 its heavier Northern antagonist. The cannoneers were 
 killed and the guns dismounted. Nevertheless, the in- 
 fantry still attacked. 
 
 A boy in the Northern battery waved his hat and 
 
138 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 pointed to the river. The men looked behind them for 
 the first time and a shout of triumph and joy arose. 
 The steamers were bringing fresh troops across the 
 Tennessee. Nelson's division had come up and would 
 soon be in the battle. These raw men, from Ohio and 
 Indiana chiefly, landing, were compelled to form among 
 a mob of fugitives and of wounded who had been able to 
 come off the field. They were faced immediately by one 
 of the most terrible aspects of war — crowds of fright- 
 ened men, many of them badly hurt, some who had been 
 gallant soldiers until panic overtook them, nearly all 
 believing that the end of the world was at hand; while 
 above them on the bank, in the twilight, the battle 
 thundered as it had thundered all that long day, and 
 over their heads the fire of the gunboats curved and 
 streamed. But they went up the bank and to the relief 
 of their comrades, pressed so hard and so long. They 
 were received there in a voiceless welcome, the depth of 
 which none can know save those who have fought all 
 day a losing fight, until, at the twelfth hour, help comes. 
 
 The Southerners made one last charge upon the bat- 
 tery, and, like the others, it was beaten back. Nothing 
 availed against those cannon mouths. The defenders 
 now outnumbered the assailants, who were worn to 
 the bone by their work. The night was at hand, 
 and all knew that a further attack upon the battery 
 meant a further loss of life and no result. The word 
 was given to retire, and the unbeaten Southern troops 
 fell back to the field that they had won, and from tbe 
 battery that they had not won, leaving us at last to rest. 
 
 The sun sank behind the trees, and its light went 
 out. All the firing ceased suddenly. Darkness swept 
 down over the field and enveloped the two armies, the 
 living and the dead. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE NIGHT BETWEEN 
 
 The most solemn night yet known by the New 
 World began. The killed were strewn far through the 
 dim forest, lying as they had fallen, untouched by 
 friendly or unfriendly hands; and, with the dead, be- 
 tween the lines of the two hostile armies which expected 
 to fight again on the morrow, lay ten thousand wounded. 
 
 The night was close, hot, and sticky, full of the damp 
 heat that gathers sometimes in the Mississippi Valley 
 and hangs like vapours over the earth, clogging the 
 throats of those who try to breathe. It rolled up 
 in wet coils from the south, and lay heavy in the 
 lungs of the men. No wind stirred the forest, the 
 branches of the trees hanging dead and motionless in 
 the air. Clouds gathered over all the skies, increasing 
 the heat of the night. Not a single star came out. 
 The forest, set on fire by the shells, burned slowly 
 here and there, but the flames were hidden or obscured 
 by the columns of smoke that still rose from the 
 thickets, and the sparks gave forth no cheerful twinkle. 
 The gunboats in the river fired a shell every ten minutes 
 toward the Southern army, and the heavy note echoed 
 like the slow tolling of a funeral bell. The fires of 
 the hostile armies rose within sight of one another, 
 but the rifles were silent. The men had no strength 
 left, and what would come they must guard for the 
 morrow. 
 
 10 139 
 
140 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 "When the last shot was fired, I leaned against a can- 
 non wheel and looked at the forest in which the South- 
 ern army lay. It had been ten or twelve hours since 
 that army sprang out of the woods and threw itself upon 
 us, but I felt that I had lived a second life in the brief 
 space. Some one dropped a hand upon my shoulder. 
 
 "Food! Henry, food!" said Shaftoe cheerfully. 
 " Now is the time to eat. In fact, it came some time 
 ago; but those impolite rebels insisted on taking supper 
 with us, and we had to put them out of the house." 
 
 " I don't want to eat. I want to sleep." 
 
 " Maybe you don't want to eat, but food will be good 
 for you, and the Government demands that you eat. 
 When you enlisted you entered into a contract that con- 
 tains only one provision, namely, that you do, at any 
 and all times, and under any and all circumstances, 
 whatever your officer, who is the representative of the 
 Government, no matter how great a fool he may be, 
 orders you to do. The Government now tells you to 
 eat, not because food will taste good to the hungry, but 
 because it will need your strength for the battle to- 
 morrow. I have spent thirty years learning this, and I 
 know. Come on, and don't be a fool." 
 
 I followed without another word, knowing that 
 Shaftoe was right. We went but a few steps. Soldiers 
 were lighting the supper fires on the hills overlooking 
 the river, the hills to which Sherman and some others 
 had clung so tightly, and which were all that was left to 
 us. The Southern army held the rest of the field, and 
 lay coiled before us. 
 
 The fires burned slowly, the flames rising straight 
 up and showing the utter deadness of the air. The 
 clouds grew thicker and settled lower, giving a ghostly 
 effect to the dim forest in which the flames quivered 
 like phantom lights. The air was a dull, sodden gray, 
 and the river showed a sombre yellow, winding in a 
 broad band among the hills and woods. I shivered, 
 

 THE NIGHT BETWEEN 141 
 
 though not with cold, and looked again at the Southern 
 camp fires. 
 
 " Why is there no fighting? " I asked. " We are 
 within gunshot of each other." 
 
 " Because it is not necessary/' replied Shaftoe. " It 
 is another of the Government stipulations that you do 
 not fight when it is not needed, as thereby you would 
 waste your strength and ammunition, and both are ex- 
 pensive — especially the latter. Those men over there 
 are doing us no harm, why should we shoot at them? " 
 
 Shaftoe had become a cook, turning himself with 
 ready skill to the new need. A rich and accessible 
 North always gave plenty of food to its armies, and the 
 stores were hurried up from the steamers and across 
 the river. The odour made me hungry and I ate. 
 
 The fires blazed up on either side of the river, cast- 
 ing long gleams of light over the dusky stream, and 
 faintly touching the still forests. The steamers and 
 tugs were bringing across the troops, and the air was 
 filled with their puffing and panting. Innumerable 
 columns of smoke added to the closeness of the sultry 
 night. 
 
 The lights on the Tennessee seemed to me, lying on 
 a hilltop among the trees, so many quivering stars. 
 Their glare was shaded and softened by the distance, 
 and they appeared, twinkled, and went out, and then 
 appeared again. The water near them gleamed in spots 
 of silver and gold as the flames fell, and sometimes 
 when the flash was brightest I saw the faces of the 
 men on the boats, pale, lips compressed, and always 
 looking anxiously toward the shore that had been the 
 battle shore. There was the same absence of talk that 
 had marked the passage of the first detachment, only 
 the clashing of arms, the puffing of the steamers, the 
 rattle of their machinery, and occasionally the voice of 
 an officer — the whole a picture of solemn majesty. 
 
 The presence of the river and its great winding 
 
142 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 column of water had no effect upon the closeness of 
 the night. The heat seemed to pile in clouds of vapour 
 upon the stream. The battle smoke was still hanging 
 over the forests, and wisps of it floated off toward the 
 skies. 
 
 Physical exhaustion and the terrible excitement and 
 strain of the day put me in an unreal mental state, in 
 which distorted and fantastic images danced before my 
 eyes. I stared at the forest, the yellow river with its 
 twinkling lights, and then at the pale faces of soldiers 
 appearing and reappearing. But all were phantoms. 
 The figures on the boats were no more than the ghosts 
 of men, the river took some strange new colour, and the 
 lights passing and repassing became so faint at times 
 that I could not tell whether I saw them or they were 
 mere fancy. I tried to count them, but they danced 
 about in the weirdest fashion; and losing myself in a 
 maze, I turned my eyes back to the forest in front. 
 The fires there were sinking. The Southern army, ex- 
 hausted by its tremendous march and equally tremen- 
 dous battle, was overpowered by lethargy. 
 
 I watched the Southern fires die, one by one, and 
 then listened, ear to the earth, for the unheard plaints 
 of the wounded. I could not take my mind from them. 
 I wondered that they did not cry out. I strained my 
 eyes into the darkness, but I could not see the fallen 
 men, only the last feeble lights of the Southern camp 
 fires and the torn and trampled forest. It looked as if 
 a succession of fierce storms had swept over it. In one 
 place an entire group of trees had been cut down by 
 cannon balls and lay in a tangled mass. Everywhere 
 boughs were scattered, and the thickets had been torn 
 alike by the sweep of shells and bullets and the passing 
 of men. Near me were the remains of a cannon, both 
 wheels shot off and the barrel split at its muzzle, look- 
 ing, with its empty mouth and torn body, like an em- 
 blem of death and decay. I did not know to which 
 
THE NIGHT BETWEEN 143 
 
 army the gun had belonged. The trees, set on fire by 
 the exploding shells, still burned languidly in patches, 
 emitting few sparks, and the smoke floated off to join 
 the canopy that had formed during the battle. 
 
 I could not sleep, yet the night became dimmer. 
 Everything was in wavy lines. The hum of the crossing 
 troops reached me. Now and then a word floated up to 
 my ears, but my senses while willing to be benumbed, 
 refused to be lulled. 
 
 " Why don't you sleep? " asked Shaftoe. 
 
 " I can not fight all day for the first time and then 
 sleep as if I were at home in my bed. You'll have to 
 wait until I form the habit," I replied. And then I 
 added, " Why don't you go to sleep yourself? " 
 
 Shaftoe did not reply, because his unconcern was 
 not as great as his pretence. His eyes were sad when 
 they strained into the dimness where the wounded lay. 
 My own closed by and bye, and then I heard shots. The 
 Southern army again sprang from the brushwood and 
 the battle raged as before through the forest to the roar 
 of artillery, the crash of eighty thousand rifles, the 
 shouts of charging men, and with all the real force and 
 fury of a great struggle. I opened my eyes and found 
 that I had fallen into an uneasy sleep and still more 
 troubled dream, repeating the history of the day. 
 
 " I heard the thunder of the charge again," I said, 
 with a mirthless laugh, to Shaftoe, who was sitting up 
 and wide-awake. 
 
 " You heard thunder, but it was the thunder of 
 God," replied the regular, with a sententiousness rare 
 in him. " Listen to it! " 
 
 The thunder in fact was grumbling in the south- 
 west, and I saw that while I slept the heavens had be- 
 come darker. Not a shred of blue showed. A flash 
 of lightning curved across the sky, the air stirred, 
 and the flames of the trees that yet burned quivered 
 before it. 
 
144 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " A storm is coming," I said. " A fresh horror." 
 
 " Not a horror at all," replied the regular. " Think 
 what a blessing the cool rain will be on the hot faces 
 of the wounded lying among all those trees and thickets. 
 Let it come." 
 
 A gust of wind swept over us. The close damp 
 clouds of heat were lifted, the coils of smoke and vapour 
 were driven away over the trees. The thunder cracked 
 directly overhead, a flash of lightning split the entire 
 sky, and the rain, driven on in torrents by the wind, 
 rushed upon us. The camp was drenched in a moment, 
 the earth ran water. The flames in the trees and the 
 smouldering camp fires were alike put out, and the em- 
 bers steaming in their place cast out smoke until the 
 sweep of the rain extinguished them too. The air was 
 filled with twigs and the fragments of boughs, picked 
 up by the gusts, but the wind soon passed on and left 
 only the rain, now pouring steadily out of one vast 
 cloud that covered all the sky. The lightning ceased, 
 only the thunder grumbled distinctly, and all other 
 sounds were subdued by the regular beat of the rain. 
 
 The battlefield then sank into unbroken darkness, 
 the Southern lines became invisible, but the pas- 
 sage of the Army of the Ohio over the river, boat by 
 boat, continued as steadily as ever. That was a matter 
 which could not halt for weather. The rain ceased by 
 and bye, the blue crept into the sky, the stars came out, 
 and I fell asleep again on the soaking earth. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE SECOND DAT 
 
 The trumpets were sounding the awakening call, 
 and I rose from the damp earth, finding it good to feel 
 myself a man again. The rays of the sun were flushing 
 the heavens, and the river, yellow and sombre at night, 
 glittered beneath the light now, in a vast sheet of silver. 
 Beads of rain still sparkled on the trees. 
 
 I looked toward the Southern lines, but instead of 
 the Southern camp fires, I saw only a great army in blue, 
 the sun flashing over rifle barrels, polished bayonets, 
 rows of cannon, and eager faces, the youth of the North- 
 west, and my own Kentucky, ready for a new battle. 
 I was dazzled for a moment, and cried out: 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " That," said the ever-ready Shaf toe, " is the Army 
 of the Ohio, more than thirty thousand strong, which, 
 luckily for us, now stands between our remains and the 
 Southern forces. It will open the battle as soon as you 
 drink your coffee. Hurry up, please; the Army of the 
 Ohio is waiting." 
 
 The regular was full of good humour, rejoicing at 
 the presence of the new force which had already moved 
 forward, occupying almost without resistance many of 
 the positions lost the day before, and I began to share 
 his high spirits and expectations. 
 
 A vast murmur arose as the untried army in front 
 formed for battle. Up rose the sun, and the heavy me- 
 
 145 
 
146 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 tallic clash that told of moving arms began. A band, 
 just landed from one of the boats and posted on the 
 bank, was playing, its martial note swelling through the 
 forest. 
 
 The men around me began to grow impatient. 
 They had forgotten their toil and wounds, and asked to 
 be led again to the charge. But there was a pause. 
 Each army seemed to await the attack of the other. 
 Perhaps they had suddenly remembered the slaughter 
 of the day before. Higher went the sun. All the east- 
 ern heavens were suffused with red and gold. The day 
 was advancing. The cannon boomed far to our right, 
 the report echoing with wonderful distinctness through 
 the forest, which had been strangely silent before, save 
 for the murmur of two great armies. The sound re- 
 peating itself rolled away among the hills, a clear and 
 threatening echo. A column of blue smoke arose. 
 
 The second battle had begun. 
 
 A shout, great in volume, went down our ranks, and 
 all the drummers began to beat their drums. Fifty 
 thousand men swung forward, and advancing over the 
 field that had been lost the day before, threw them- 
 selves upon the enemy who waited calmly. Already the 
 skirmishers, following the signal of the cannon shot, 
 had opened fire from the shelter of trees, and stumps, 
 and hillocks, creeping up, like Indians, each choosing 
 the man for his bullet. But the crackle of their rifles 
 was drowned by the heavy tread of the army and the 
 roar of the batteries which had opened with all the 
 great guns. 
 
 The precision of the advance, the regularity of the 
 brigades, the flashing of steel, and the vivid colours in 
 the brilliant morning sun filled me with admiration, 
 and, being in the rear now, where I could see, I looked 
 upon the coming battle as a great spectacle. I did not 
 think how a single day's fighting had hardened me and 
 driven the mere personal element, the feeling for suffer- 
 
THE SECOND DAY 147 
 
 ing, the anxiety for self, out of my mind, but all my at- 
 tention was on the magnificent panorama of conflict 
 spread out before my eyes, and its probable result. 
 
 The Southern army was motionless, standing in a 
 solid mass that showed no sign of retreat or yielding. 
 The firing increased, a blaze of light ran along the 
 entire front of our lines, the flight of the bullets and 
 shells rose to that steady whistle which was now such 
 a familiar sound in my ears, but the South was still 
 silent. 
 
 As I looked again with eager eyes, I suddenly saw 
 the Southern cannoneers bend over their guns, and the 
 front rank men raise their rifles to their shoulders. 
 Then the Southern army was hidden for a moment by 
 the flame, and the bullets sang many songs in our 
 ears. Their shells, too, met the Northern shells, and 
 the Southern squares by a movement that was almost 
 involuntary swung forward to meet us. The smoke in 
 a few moments enveloped the hills, the forests, and 
 the armies, only the flash of the firing and the steel 
 of the bayonets showing through it. I advanced, al- 
 most shoulder to shoulder with the man on my right 
 and the man on my left, feeling that the army was 
 a mighty whole, of which I was one of the minute 
 parts. 
 
 But our army stopped suddenly and quivered as if 
 it had received a great blow. I was incredulous for a 
 moment. I had not believed a check possible. Yet it 
 was a fact. The squares not only stopped; they reeled 
 back. Then they recovered the yard or two they had 
 lost, but stopped there again, staggering. 
 
 The army groaned, not so much in pain as in anger. 
 It had struck a rock when it was expected to move 
 steadily on, and the feeling was not good. It was now 
 our troops who were marching into the mouths of guns, 
 and the feeling was unpleasant. Sharpshooters swarmed 
 on our flanks and stung us with an unceasing fire that 
 
148 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 annoyed as much as the cannon and was almost as dead- 
 ly. Every tree, hillock, and stone became a fortress 
 against us. The enemy, whom we had expected to find 
 worn out and weak from his work and losses of the day 
 before, suddenly developed wonderful strength and 
 energy, and it became apparent to us that all the ground 
 we would take we must buy at its full price. 
 
 The triumphant shout — the long rebel yell, shrill 
 and piercing, swelling even above the tumult of the 
 combat — rose again in the Southern lines, and thus the 
 new battle swung to and fro, the North confident of 
 winning with its fresh troops, the South refusing to 
 yield. 
 
 Grant, as on the day before, crossed the field from 
 side to side, again and again, watching the battle lines 
 and the shifting fortunes of the conflict, hurrying fresh 
 troops to weak places and massing the artillery. He 
 saw us forced back by the furious and repeated attacks 
 of the South, and determining to break the centre of 
 their army, he directed three batteries to open on that 
 point. These great guns began their work from slight 
 elevations, and in a moment a concentric fire, tremen- 
 dous in volume, was poured upon the Southern centre. 
 The men were swept away in rows and groups, others 
 took their places, but the fire of the three batteries, 
 coming from three separate points, and all beating upon 
 the same spot, increased in volume, smashing companies 
 and regiments, a stream of metal that scooped out the 
 Southern centre as a plough throws up the earth. The 
 Southern general rushed new men to the threatened 
 centre, but they in turn were annihilated by the batter- 
 ies. Nothing could stand against the fire of those great 
 guns delivered with such swiftness and accuracy. They 
 swept a path clean of living men and the Southern force 
 was cut apart; the wings were there, but the centre was 
 gone, the backbone broken, and cohesion lost. Then 
 Grant lifted up our army again and hurled it at the 
 
THE SECOND DAY 149 
 
 enemy. The South yielded to the shock — only a little 
 — but it was forced back. 
 
 I shouted with the others when I felt that we were 
 going forward again, and the hot tide rose anew in my 
 veins. I was half blinded by the smoke which the 
 breath of the guns blew in clouds, but the sense of 
 feeling told me that the army was advancing. 
 
 Fortune, wanton in her fickleness, returned to the 
 side of the heavier battalions, and our advance, be- 
 gun when the Southern centre was broken, continued. 
 Yet the Southern men still fought with undimmed cour- 
 age, knowing that they were losers at last, but deter- 
 mined to lose like heroes. The fighting was often hand 
 to hand again, companies and regiments mingling in 
 the woods, but always now our line advanced and the 
 Southern line was borne back. 
 
CHAPTEE XVIII 
 
 A STRAY SHOT 
 
 The overwhelming Northern army pressed continu- 
 ally against the weakened Southern force, which, ex- 
 hausted by two days of fierce conflict, nevertheless 
 fought on for the sake of the pride and stubbornness 
 which form such important factors in bravery, and 
 which help to make wars. Our numerous brigades, ex- 
 tending in long lines, threatened to enwrap our oppo- 
 nent and strangle him, but the light troops and sharp- 
 shooters on the flanks of the Southern army still buzzed 
 and stung like bees and held back the heavy coils that 
 pressed incessantly and too closely. 
 
 It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, and the 
 battle was lost to the South — lost after it was once won. 
 Beauregard, the Southern general, at last commanded 
 the buglers to sound the retreat — a sad note to those 
 gallant men, though they had long known that it must 
 come. Losing but undismayed, its order preserved and 
 ready to fight again if attacked, the Southern army 
 passed off the field, disappearing in the forest from 
 which it had emerged so suddenly, and the battle of 
 Shiloh was over. As many had been killed or wounded 
 as at Austerlitz or Jena, with a percentage of loss far 
 greater, and the song of the shell had just begun. 
 
 Our army did not pursue. It, too, was sorely 
 wounded in the mighty struggle; and, having watched 
 its enemy retire, turned back upon the field, where 
 150 
 
A STRAY SHOT 151 
 
 nearly thirty thousand men had been killed or wounded. 
 There it began to rest, count its dead, and relieve the 
 wounded — and the last was the hardest task of all. 
 Scouts were sent out to search the woods and see 
 whether danger of a new attack existed. I was among 
 these; and renewing my supply of ammunition I entered 
 the forest, following the trail of the retreating South- 
 erners. I had not reached the extreme limits of the 
 battlefield before I saw gray figures hovering among 
 the tree trunks. I guessed them to be Southern skir- 
 mishers, covering the rear of their army, and going 
 closer for better information, I received a bullet through 
 my legs, and, falling to the ground, was unable to rise 
 again. 
 
 I felt no great pain when the bullet struck, and my 
 first emotion was surprise that I could not regain my 
 feet. Then the sharp ache of a broken bone began to 
 smite me, and when I sat up I found that the right leg 
 was the sufferer, but the bullet had gone on through the 
 flesh of the left, and I was losing blood rapidly. I 
 bound the wounds tightly with strips of my coat and 
 waited for some one to come and take me back to camp. 
 
 Nobody came and I shouted for help; there was no 
 response. The bandages stopped the flow of blood, but 
 I became weak because of that already lost. My sight 
 grew dim and for a little while the world wavered about 
 me. Then I recalled my strength and tried to crawl 
 over the ground, wishing to sit again by the camp fires 
 and hear the voices of my comrades. The pain from 
 my broken leg became so acute that I was forced to 
 stop, and I lay there in silence, waiting. I won- 
 dered why no one came. Then I noticed that I was in 
 a little hollow or depression, with thick woods on three 
 sides of me, and searchers for the wounded might pass 
 within a few yards without seeing the man who lay 
 there. 
 
 I heard carts moving about the field two or three 
 
152 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 times and shouted, hoping that they would hear me, but 
 they passed on, and then I knew that my voice had be- 
 come weak. I fell into a rage that I should be left 
 there to die alone, with thousands so near, and it seemed 
 to me the choicest and bitterest joke of fate that I 
 should pass safely through a great battle, lasting two 
 days, to fall after it was over by the chance bullet of 
 some skirmisher, and to die alone in the forest in sight 
 of the field that had witnessed so much heroism. 
 
 But little more than two hours of the afternoon had 
 been left when I fell, yet the day seemed to linger long. 
 The sun scorched me and I burned with thirst. The 
 night had terrors for a wounded man alone in the 
 woods, but I wished for its long, cool shadows across my 
 face. My mind grew more active, physical power being 
 taken from me, and I began to wander over wide 
 reaches, coloured always by the heat that had crept into 
 my veins. My own fate, shot down in such a manner 
 after passing safely through the battle, seemed ridicu- 
 lous and designed as a special humiliation. Millions of 
 other bullets had missed me; this alone, when the 
 chance was a million to one that it would miss me too, 
 had put me on my back in a hollow, where I might 
 meditate in the little time that was left to me on the 
 ease with which fate upsets human plans. 
 
 I heard from afar the clatter of the camp, the blend- 
 ing of the many noises which help to make up the life 
 of a great army, but they sank to a murmur as the sun 
 went down and the night came. 
 
 I did not feel the expected joy when I saw the ad- 
 vancing darkness. The heat of the day passed, and the 
 fever that was upon me loosened its grasp somewhat, but 
 the night chilled me and made me afraid. I was over- 
 powered by a deep sense of loneliness, and the nearness 
 of the camp increased this feeling. I longed for com- 
 panionship, even if it were only another wounded man, 
 some one to talk to, a voice to be heard. 
 
A STRAY SHOT 153 
 
 Looking in the direction of the camp I could see a 
 faint pink glow, and I thought of the men by the sup- 
 per fires, cheerful, telling each other of their escapes in 
 the battle and rejoicing. Then I felt another bitter 
 pang because I was an outcast, excluded from it all. I 
 had fought as well as they, but reward was denied to me. 
 
 The darkness covered all the earth except in the 
 direction of the camp, where the pink glow stood out 
 against the black, and the boughs above me became dark 
 gray and shadowy. Toward the middle of the field sev- 
 eral trees, fired by the cannon shots, were burning in 
 red cones — candles of the night I called them — and 
 presently fainter lights began to glimmer in many 
 places. They were the lanterns of those gathering up 
 the dead, and I rejoiced, believing now that they would 
 find me soon. I shouted again, but my voice brought 
 nobody. I might as well have been alone in the wilder- 
 ness. To all purposes I was. 
 
 I had felt the night before a deep sympathy for the 
 wounded lying upon the field, but it was not so personal 
 then as it became now. I could picture to my mind 
 the vast suffering of the twenty thousand wounded, be- 
 cause I was one of them, and I longed for the sound of 
 human voices and the touch of human hands. Alone 
 and in the darkness, all the glory of battle and joy of 
 strife faded from me. 
 
 The moon was out and threw silver bands and circles 
 on the trees and grass, but in the pale glimmer the 
 boughs above became more ghostly and seemed to wave 
 at me. The lights on the field began to diminish, and 
 soon I saw none. I fell through pure weakness into a 
 sort of stupor, and was aroused from it by the tread of 
 heavy feet. 
 
 " They are coming for me, at last! " were the un- 
 spoken words in my mind. 
 
 But the beat of feet was too rapid and heavy for 
 men. Dozens of great red eyes looked at me through 
 
154 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 the pale light, and behind the eyes I saw the dim out- 
 lines of gigantic forms. I believed myself at first to be 
 dreaming, but then I knew that I was not. I knew the 
 trees whose boughs bent over me, the curves of the 
 ground, and yonder was the same pink glow that told 
 where the camp lay. 
 
 I lifted myself upon my elbow and stared at the red 
 eyes. The figures grew clearer in the dark, and I saw a 
 troop of riderless cavalry horses, forty, fifty, perhaps 
 more, all with the saddles yet on them, and some with a 
 sabre slash or the track of a pistol ball on their flanks. 
 They stood before me in regular lines, heads erect, mus- 
 cles drawn, eyes flashing, as if their riders still rode 
 them, ready for the charge. It seemed to me that every 
 one was staring straight at me, and I remained upon 
 my elbow looking into the long line of eyes that threat- 
 ened me. I was in a chill of fear; they would gallop 
 over my body, and that would be the end, the worst 
 death of all. 
 
 I shouted, and the horses, wheeling about as if di- 
 rected by a leader, galloped away in ordered ranks, their 
 hoofbeats resounding on the earth until they died away 
 in a distant echo. 
 
 I sank back and was glad that this danger had 
 passed, but presently I heard the hoofbeats again, com- 
 ing from another part of the field and echoing in the* 
 regular tread of an advancing squadron. On came the 
 riderless horses, heads erect, eyes glittering through the 
 dark, and again I was in terror lest they gallop over 
 me. I fancied that I could feel their breath on my 
 face, but they turned a second time, when the hoofs 
 of the front line were within a few feet of me, and gal- 
 loped away, their forms again fading and their hoof- 
 beats dying. Perhaps now they would let me rest! 
 In a few minutes they came back, their steel-shod 
 hoofs cutting the soft earth, and great eyes staring at 
 the prostrate form of the man before them. I won- 
 
A STRAY SHOT 155 
 
 dered why they worried me so and kept me in such in- 
 cessant fear of death under their weight. Had I known 
 it, I was in no danger; however close they might come 
 to me, it would never be so close that the youngest 
 of them all would plant a hoof upon me. 
 
 They came back again and again, eyes red, flanks 
 heaving, and always stared at me as I lay there in the 
 hollow. My fear began to pass by and bye, and their 
 forms became dim. A veil floated down over my eyes 
 and I remembered no more. 
 
 11 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 WHEN MT EYES OPENED 
 
 When I opened my eyes again I was lying in a com- 
 fortable bed, and, except a mental languor, I felt as 
 well as usual. I sought to move, but a sharp pain from 
 my right leg shot upward through my body and bade me 
 keep quiet. Then I looked around and saw that I was 
 in my own room, the room that had been mine for more 
 than fifteen years. Every familiar object was in its 
 place, and there in the chair by the window was Madam 
 Arlington, my grandmother, quite unchanged, wearing 
 a dark gray dress, a white cap drawn tightly over her 
 gray curls. She was sitting with the side of her face 
 turned to me, and once more, as I had often done, I 
 admired the strength of her features, the courage and 
 resolution shown in every curve. 
 
 My first emotion, bewildered and vague though it 
 was, expressed devout gratitude and thankfulness. My 
 eyes had closed on the bloody wilderness of Shiloh, and 
 they opened here on this peaceful scene. 
 
 I must have made a slight movement, one that could 
 be heard, as my grandmother rose from her chair and 
 came to my bedside. Her eyes met mine and I saw the 
 joy in them, but otherwise she repressed all emotion. 
 In truth, Madam Arlington was never a demonstrative 
 woman. 
 
 " You are in your right mind again, Henry, and I 
 can give thanks/' she said. " You have talked of 
 156 
 
WHEN MY EYES OPENED 157 
 
 strange scenes and awful battlefields, but, please God, 
 you shall now rest." 
 
 " How did I come here, grandmother? " I asked, 
 and I was surprised to find how weak was my voice. 
 
 " It was William Penn. You owe your life to him. 
 After he took you that message he returned to follow 
 again behind the army. He wished to go, and I — a 
 foolish old woman I thought myself then — told him 
 that he might. He saw part of the great battle, and he 
 says that it was the most terrible scene in all the world 
 — he is right, I know. When they grew tired of killing 
 each other he went to your regiment and asked for you, 
 but you were not there. Then he hunted over the field 
 until he found you in a little hollow, and they say you 
 would have died if he had not come. A big soldier — 
 Steptoe, or something like that was his name — who 
 seemed to care very much for you, helped William Penn, 
 and he came away with you. He travelled slowly, but 
 he brought you in two days from Shiloh to your own 
 home." 
 
 I wished to ask questions, but Madam Arlington, 
 with that old, stern air that she had often worn when I 
 was a lad of ten or twelve, bade me be silent. Then she 
 brought me food which I ate with a good appetite, and 
 after that I was ordered to remain quiet and sleep if I 
 could, while she resumed her seat by the window. 
 
 I felt happy somehow. I think it was the contrast 
 between the scene on which my eyes closed and that on 
 which they awakened. My bed lay where I could see 
 the flowers on the lawn through an angle of the window, 
 and presently William Penn, in his shirt sleeves, a 
 small garden hoe on his shoulder, passed my line of 
 vision. The old hero! A great bar of sunlight enter- 
 ing the window lay across the floor. A fly hummed 
 peacefully against the curtain. Shiloh seemed far 
 away, vague and unreal, and this was like my boyhood. 
 
 I fell asleep presently and when I awoke again the 
 
158 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 sunlight was fading before the misty gray of twilight. 
 I heard the rustle of a skirt and a light step; when 
 I turned my head I saw no one. My grandmother came 
 back presently, carrying a lamp in her hand, but the 
 step that I had heard seemed to me more elastic than 
 that of any woman of sixty-five. 
 
 Madam Arlington must have read my look of in- 
 quiry, as she raised her finger prohibitively. Neverthe- 
 less, I asked: 
 
 " Was not some one here, grandmother? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly/' she replied, a gleam of humour ap- 
 pearing in her eyes. " You were here. I don't think 
 you could have left." 
 
 " But some one, neither you nor I," I insisted. 
 
 " Yes," replied my grandmother. " She asked me 
 not to tell and I promised. It was Elinor Maynard. 
 It is not the first time that she has been in this house 
 since you arrived. In fact she has been here nearly all 
 the time, and she came with you." 
 
 " Came with me! " I exclaimed in wonder. 
 
 " Yes, came with you. When William Penn found 
 you and started home with you he sent word for her. 
 Ah, that William Penn is a wiser man than you or 
 perhaps I ever thought he was. She met you on the 
 way: and if you owe your life to William Penn, you owe 
 it to her too. But I always knew that she was the best 
 girl in all this world. Now, not another word, you have 
 enough to think over, perhaps too much." 
 
 I could have smiled any other time at Madam 
 Arlington's calling Elinor the best girl in the world, 
 when years ago she had forbidden me to know the ter- 
 rible little Yankee, the representative of strange and 
 uncouth doctrines. Yet my good grandmother would 
 have denied all charges of inconsistency. 
 
 She left the room presently and I obeyed her order 
 to think over what I had heard. She had spoken truly 
 when she said that it was enough. My thoughts were 
 
WHEN MY EYES OPENED 159 
 
 more pleasant than ever, and I confess that they were 
 more of Elinor than of "William Penn or Madam 
 Arlington. 
 
 It was "William Penn who brought me my supper, 
 and when I told him how grateful I was for his saving 
 my life he shook his head again and again with great 
 emphasis. 
 
 " I was glad enough to get away from that dreadful 
 field/' he said. " I saw the battle, Henry, at a safe dis- 
 tance, I am thankful to say! and may the Lord save me 
 from another such sight. I hope that I shall never 
 become of such little use that they will think of making 
 a soldier of me." 
 
 I did not see Elinor for a day, but my grandmother 
 told me more of her the next morning. Her aunt, Mrs. 
 Maynard, forbade her visits to our house, but Elinor 
 came nevertheless. The strange prejudice of Mrs. May- 
 nard against me seemed to be growing. She had re- 
 solved that her niece should marry Colonel Varian. 
 She seemed to be completely under his spell, and he 
 fed her ambition too, because she thought that he 
 would be one of the greatest men in the new Southern 
 republic. She was furious when Elinor came to help 
 bring me back home, but she could not prevent it, and 
 only Elinor's courage and will enabled her to defy her 
 aunt's threats. All these things Madam Arlington told 
 me in a voice in which anger and indignation always 
 appeared, and I knew that Elinor had at least one war- 
 like friend. 
 
 It was in the afternoon that Elinor came to me, pale 
 and quiet. She gave me her hand very simply and did 
 not seek to withdraw it. 
 
 " Elinor," I said, " I know that you helped William 
 Penn to bring me here." 
 
 " Should I not have done so ? " she asked, the red 
 creeping into her cheeks. 
 
 " Would you have gone thus for Yarian? " 
 
160 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " You ask too many questions. Tell me of the 
 battle. We have had little true news of it." 
 
 Yet I believed now that she would not have gone 
 for Varian, that from the first she had feared and not 
 liked him. And I was happy in the thought. Then I 
 talked of Shiloh. I told of the surprise in the great 
 woods; the apparition of the Southern army springing 
 from the thickets; the long fight of the day when we 
 were steadily pushed backward; the drunken squad's 
 last stand; the passage of the second army over the river 
 in the night; the battle of the second day, and my own 
 misadventure. She listened to it all with a flushed 
 cheek, and when I described the drunken squad's last 
 stand, she said: 
 
 " At least they had courage and devotion, if nothing 
 else." 
 
 Madam Arlington entered at this moment and was 
 properly indignant. 
 
 " Too much talking," she said; " and talking is not 
 good for a wounded man." 
 
 Then she sent Elinor out of the room and bade me 
 go to sleep. Thus several days passed and my injuries 
 healed rapidly. They were attended by a good doctor, 
 the man who had piloted me through most of my youth- 
 ful ailments, and I was helped by a strong constitution 
 and the best of nursing. Elinor came to see me three 
 times, and I learned now what a help it is to a young 
 man in love to be wounded in battle. My grandmother 
 was constitutionally a woman of even temperament, but 
 I had not seen her so happy in years, and I soon 
 discovered the cause. She was conducting a furious 
 epistolary correspondence with Mrs. Maynard on the 
 subject of Elinor, who had been forbidden repeatedly to 
 come to our house, but who came nevertheless. As 
 Madam Arlington was having her way, she enjoyed the 
 controversy to the utmost. Yet I was remorseful. I 
 could not bear the thought that Elinor should be made 
 
WHEN MY EYES OPENED 161 
 
 unhappy at her home on my account, and once I ap- 
 proached the subject, but she warned me away. 
 
 " My aunt has intentions which are not mine," she 
 said. " I shall be compelled to disobey her in more 
 than one respect." 
 
 I could not say more; but I remained troubled 
 about her, although feeling a secret delight at her dis- 
 obedience. 
 
 The day after this I heard a heavy step at the door, 
 and a thickset man entered the room. It was Shaftoe. 
 
 " Still on your back when you ought to be chasing 
 armies! " he said, with unconcealed joy. " How do 
 you expect Grant to win battles when he hasn't got you 
 with him? " 
 
 He was redolent of strength and life in the open air, 
 and I listened eagerly to his budget of news. Grant 
 had been following the Southern army since Shiloh, he 
 said, and gathering reinforcements for other combats. 
 He really thought that Grant knew something about 
 commanding troops and was not a mere political gen- 
 eral. Affairs were going badly in the East, but they 
 were in our favour in the West. The one was a set-off to 
 the other, and nothing was sure except that it would be 
 a huge war. 
 
 " I got a short leave of absence," said Shaftoe; " and 
 as it isn't far up here, I've slipped across the country to 
 see you. I met two women before I came in here. 
 One was young, and she has the prettiest face that 
 I've ever seen. I remember her in Washington, but I 
 did not notice her so closely then. I'm thinking she's 
 the girl, Henry. The other was old — and I want to give 
 you a piece of advice right now, Henry — never argue 
 politics with a woman. She doesn't keep to the rules at 
 all, and proof that might convince the most reasonable 
 man in the world is nothing to her. The old lady saw 
 my blue uniform, and she didn't like it — flew into a 
 tantrum — said I was a robber and a murderer, coming 
 
162 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 down here to kill good Southerners and take away their 
 property. I said that my uniform was of the same col- 
 our that you wore, and that I was your particular 
 friend. Then she relented and let me come in, though 
 I'm not sure that she's not watching somewhere to see 
 that I don't kill you." 
 
 I laughed, and subsequently had the pleasure, when 
 I introduced Shaftoe to my grandmother, to see that 
 they got along well together. He was wise enough to 
 accede in silence to all her opinions, and to take his re- 
 bukes with a contrite spirit. I think that he would have 
 risen high in her good graces — she even had hope of 
 converting him — but he would stay only a few hours, 
 being compelled to leave on the afternoon of the same 
 day. 
 
 " However, I shall send a friend to represent me," 
 he said, with a twinkling eye. 
 
 " Who is it? " I asked with curiosity. 
 
 " The Eev. Elkanah Armstrong," he replied. " The 
 Eev. Elkanah became too zealous for the conversion 
 of the rebels in some of the recent skirmishing and 
 got a bullet in his left shoulder. It was not a serious 
 wound, but he will have to rest, and I recommended 
 this neighbourhood to him, thinking it would be pleas- 
 ant to you both. He is at the little hotel down at 
 the village, and, wound or no wound, he is ready to 
 preach to anybody who will listen." 
 
 Shaftoe left an hour later, and Mr. Armstrong came 
 the next day, his shoulder in a bandage, but as eager 
 and zealous as ever. I found him good company, and 
 through respect for his cloth my grandmother refrained 
 from criticising his position in the war. 
 
CHAPTEE XX 
 
 A BENEFICENT JAILER 
 
 I was almost able to walk again when Elinor en- 
 tered my room, showing excitement. 
 
 " Henry," she said, " if you could only leave 
 now! " 
 
 " I am doing very well. Why should I hurry? " 
 
 " The Southern troops have come." 
 
 Then she told me news at which I should not have 
 been surprised, owing to the unsettled character of our 
 State and the doubtful nature of all territory not direct- 
 ly occupied by either army. A considerable Southern 
 force coming from the southeast had passed in the rear 
 of the Northern army and invaded our region. 
 
 " And who do you think is its co mma nder? " asked 
 Elinor. 
 
 I could not guess. 
 
 " Colonel Varian," she replied, " and Aunt Ellen is 
 exultant. She says that the Northern army is soon to 
 be defeated, and that never again will it invade the 
 South." 
 
 A detachment of Southern troops arrived that night, 
 and its commander entered my room. 
 
 "What! Henry Kingsford here, and wounded, and 
 my prisoner! " exclaimed a mellow voice. " You have 
 only yourself to blame. Did I not warn you? Did I 
 not tell you in Washington that the fire and spirit of the 
 South would overcome all obstacles? You did fairly 
 
 163 
 
164 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 well at Shiloh, but that was a trifle, sir. We shall sweep 
 the Yankee chaff into the sea; we shall devour it like a 
 fire in dry grass." 
 
 The man who showed so much enthusiasm and 
 mixed his metaphors so finely was Major Titus Tyler, 
 ruddy, healthy, and evidently glad to see me, his pris- 
 oner though I was. 
 
 " Henry/' he repeated, " it fills my soul with delight 
 to meet you again. I heard that a Yankee was here, 
 but I did not know it was you, although I should have 
 guessed it, as this is the house of your grandmother — a 
 most noble specimen of the womanhood of the old 
 school. Ah, if she were only a few years younger — no, 
 if I were only a few years older — God bless my soul! I 
 do not mean to be ungallant — I might stand in a rela- 
 tionship to you that would give me a right to bring you 
 to your senses. The Lord never meant for you to be a 
 Yankee, Henry; that's the reason he gave you that 
 wound, and put }T>u here out of the reach of harm. It 
 was the only way to keep you from making a permanent 
 fool of yourself." 
 
 I did not wish to be a prisoner, but since I had be- 
 come one I was glad that my jailer was Major Titus 
 Tyler. He brought with him a breeze of good humour. 
 He delighted my grandmother with his ornate courtesy 
 and absolute confidence in the complete triumph of the 
 South. When I introduced him formally to Madam 
 Arlington he bent halfway to the floor, and kissing her 
 hand, said: 
 
 " Madam, I bow to a true representative of the glori- 
 ous old South which we both love and honour." 
 
 " Major," she replied, " I am only an old woman, but 
 I hope that I am a true patriot." 
 
 " Madam," he continued, " you cruelly abuse your- 
 self when you say ' old woman.' There are a few rare 
 beings who remain forever young. I trust that it is 
 needless for me to say more." . 
 
A BENEFICENT JAILER 165 
 
 He was full of gossip, and half of it was about 
 Varian, under whose command he was, and who, he said, 
 was proving himself to be a soldier of genius and a man 
 of power. If his advice had been followed the battle of 
 Shiloh would have resulted in a great Southern victory. 
 Even now he was organizing dashing cavalry raids, 
 which would cut off the Northern forces from all their 
 communications and drive them into a corner, where 
 their defeat would be a matter of course. His value in 
 the field was equalled only by his worth in the Cabinet, 
 and when the time was ripe he was sure to bring Eng- 
 land and France to the help of the South. All Europe 
 was for the South; and the two great warlike nations 
 there, the one with the naval force and the other with 
 the land force, were only waiting the word to interfere. 
 But the South felt some hesitation about accepting help, 
 as she did not wish to divide the honour of thrashing 
 the Yankees. De Courcelles, he said, was with Varian. 
 He had not been able to resist the temptation of win- 
 ning glory, and he enlisted, behaving like a hero at 
 Shiloh. Pembroke and Tourville were in the East with 
 Lee, but he had not heard from them in a long time. 
 Then he reverted to Shiloh, where he had fought under 
 Varian. 
 
 " It was a great battle, Henry," he said ; " and 
 we failed to win a victory only because our leader, 
 Albert Sidney Johnston, was killed. History will 
 say so." 
 
 I did not know what history, which has many voices, 
 would say, but I could not argue his pet point with the 
 major. 
 
 No prisoner ever had a more lenient captor than I. 
 It was my convenience and not his own that he seemed 
 to consult. And " Would I object to this? " and " Only 
 the necessity of war compels me to curtail your liberty, 
 Henry," and " You know that I think of you as a son 
 and not as an enemy." But he did not neglect his own 
 
166 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 comfort. Major Titus Tyler was a wise man, accus- 
 tomed to the best his world afforded, and all the luxu- 
 ries that the house contained were soon at his service. 
 They were offered, too, with a willing and generous 
 hand. He remained a prime favourite with my grand- 
 mother, who saw to it personally that he had the finest. 
 He described to her in glowing language the glories 
 of the far South. We in Kentucky lived more after 
 the Northern fashion, households seldom being luxuri- 
 ous; and the major told us how different was a home 
 on the great plantations in the Gulf States. 
 
 " And I tell you, my dear Madam Arlington," he 
 said, " that among civilized human beings only two 
 kinds of government have any degree of permanency — a 
 monarchy and an aristocratic republic. Day labourers 
 and workmen, and, in fact, all people who are absorbed 
 in daily business, can not develop a faculty for the 
 higher forms of government. It needs leisure, madam; 
 and none have leisure and at the same time a great stake 
 in the country save the wealthy landed gentry. The 
 North, with its shopkeepers and mechanics, must fall 
 to pieces." 
 
 He found a willing disciple in my grandmother, who 
 all her life had been a firm believer in the exclusive vir- 
 tues of a landed aristocracy; and I, having learned wis- 
 dom, kept silent. He also preached his gospel to Eli- 
 nor, who, I think, did not consider the subject the most 
 important of the universe. 
 
 " What a woman she is growing to be! " said Major 
 Tyler to me. " God bless my soul! but the South 
 of my youth could boast no finer. I don't know, I don't 
 know, perhaps I'm not too old yet, and the South will 
 soon end this " 
 
 I reminded him that he would commit bigamy if he 
 married both my grandmother and Elinor. 
 
 " Don't be jealous, Henry," he said, laughing with 
 great zest; " I'm no Mormon. In fact, I'm not a marry- 
 

 A BENEFICENT JAILER 167 
 
 ing man at all; but if I were, maybe I could show you 
 boys a trick or two." 
 
 And he threw back his shoulders, straightened his 
 cravat, and examined himself in the glass with evident 
 pleasure. 
 
 Everything went very smoothly with Major Titus 
 Tyler until the Eev. Elkanah Armstrong came to 
 see me again. Being a minister and theoretically a 
 noncombatant, Mr. Armstrong was entirely free from 
 danger of molestation, and he was also the kind of man 
 who would not hesitate to express his opinions without 
 regard to time or place. 
 
 " Sheer folly! sheer folly, sir! " he said to Major 
 Tyler. " You have set up a certain number of theories 
 that you want to believe, and you have tried so hard to 
 make yourself believe them that you have succeeded at 
 last. I tell you, sir, that not one of your doctrines, 
 however true it may have been in the beginning, will 
 serve as a dam against the flood of changes that time 
 brings." 
 
 Major Tyler was astounded at this rough reply, and 
 he confided to me later his belief that Mr. Armstrong 
 was not a gentleman. " The man is lacking in breed- 
 ing and also those instincts which indicate good blood," 
 he said, " and I refuse, sir, to argue important political 
 and social questions with one so far beneath me." Hav- 
 ing assumed this attitude, which gave him great con- 
 solation, he was able to tolerate the minister, and affairs 
 again assumed their tranquil progress under the roof of 
 Madam Arlington. The major's detachment consisted 
 of only six soldiers^who were quartered about the place, 
 my grandmother in her intense loyalty to the Southern 
 cause receiving them willingly. The major, although 
 he gave various grand reasons, did not know why he was 
 there. Varian, who was farther to the eastward, he 
 said, was preparing a heavy blow at the Northern army, 
 and he, Major Titus Tyler, was to have an important 
 
168 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 share in it. I suspected, however, that the personal 
 interests of Varian had something to do with the occu- 
 pation of my grandmother's house, but I remained 
 silent. 
 
 As I grew better Elinor's visits became fewer and 
 briefer. I had not seen her for a week, when, at last, I 
 was able to walk across the hall. The doctor came that 
 day and said it would be his final visit. 
 
 " In a little time you will be as well as ever," he 
 said, " and be able to run as fast as any other Yankee 
 from our troops." 
 
 The major added that he would allow me the liberty 
 of the house, but I must not attempt to go farther. 
 
 " If you should try to escape I shall be under the 
 dreadful necessity of ordering one of my men to shoot 
 you, Henry," he said; " and, God bless my soul, what 
 a catastrophe that would be! " 
 
 I looked from the hall door at the fresh greenness of 
 the earth and sunshine of the skies, and thought what 
 a misfortune it was to be shut a long time within 
 doors. As I turned away I met Elinor, and I seized 
 her hand eagerly. 
 
 "You have come once more!" I said. "I was 
 afraid that I would not see you again." 
 
 But she drew her hand away shyly, and replied: 
 
 " I wish to speak to Madam Arlington." 
 
 She ran to my grandmother's apartment, leaving me 
 there, and on the afternoon of the same day Varian 
 arrived. I was in my own room when he entered — a 
 splendid figure in a fine Southern uniform, unstained 
 by use, his sword at his side. 
 
 " Believe me when I say that I am glad to see you 
 again, Mr. Kingsford, and to see you well," he said, ex- 
 tending his hand, which I took. " I hope that my rep- 
 resentative, Major Tyler, has not made affairs difficult 
 for you here. It would be a rough jest, in truth, if a 
 man were straitened in his own house." 
 
A BENEFICENT JAILER 169 
 
 I assured him that I had received only kindness 
 from Major Tyler, who was an old friend of mine. 
 
 " I knew that he was such, and for that reason I sent 
 him here," said Varian. 
 
 He spoke then of the war and its progress, enlarging 
 upon the Southern successes in the East, and predicting 
 brilliant victories for his cause in the West; he called 
 my attention to his prophecies when we were together 
 in Washington, but I saw that his mind was not upon 
 those matters, that he used them merely as an approach 
 to something else. 
 
 " I shall speak to you of a delicate subject, Mr. 
 Kingsford," he said presently, " and I do it with the 
 more freedom because I believe that you have known 
 the lady since childhood and are a friend of the family." 
 
 " I doubt whether I am the right man to receive 
 your confidences," I replied, foreseeing well what he 
 would say. 
 
 " In brief, I am thinking of getting married despite 
 the war," he continued, seeming not to notice my words, 
 " and the lady is Miss Maynard, as you perhaps have 
 guessed. I am fortunate enough to be received with 
 great favour by her aunt and guardian, Mrs. Maynard, 
 and that, I believe, would be decisive in most countries. 
 Doubtless it will have its weight here, especially as I 
 am with hope that my addresses are not unwelcome 
 to Miss Maynard herself. It may be that after the war 
 I shall take her to Paris or London. She would adorn 
 the finest court in Europe." 
 
 He spoke with an appearance of great fervour, and 
 seemed to take no note of my countenance, as if he were 
 a young man confiding his hopes to his best friend. I 
 am glad that I was able to remain impassive, and I 
 took a sudden, resolution to match his own assurance. 
 
 " I am sorry that I can not wish you success, Colonel 
 Varian," I replied; " but I intend to marry Miss May- 
 nard myself, if I can." 
 
170 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " You are frank," he said, frowning. 
 
 " Not more so than you." 
 
 " Then you mean that it shall be a contest be- 
 tween us." 
 
 " You have long known that it is so." 
 
 He was silent a while, and then he added: 
 
 " If it is to be a contest, as it certainly will be, you 
 must admit that you are at a great disadvantage. You 
 are here the prisoner of your rival." 
 
 " It is true, but one does not have to live long to 
 know that Fortune has many faces, and she sometimes 
 turns one and then another to a man." 
 
 " I see that I shall have an enemy who is worth 
 conquering." 
 
 He said no more, and after paying his respects to 
 my grandmother, left for his headquarters. Madam 
 Arlington liked him. His manners, she said, indicated 
 that he was a great soldier. Major Tyler came to me 
 the next morning in much grief. 
 
 " I must leave you, Henry," he said, " and we were 
 getting along so peacefully too. You gave me no 
 trouble at all, and this is a campaign to my liking. But 
 I must go South on other service. A man named Blan- 
 chard is to succeed me in the command here, and I have 
 recommended you to him as a model prisoner." 
 
 The major left a few hours later, much to his regret 
 and ours. Madam Arlington bade him adieu with real 
 sorrow. 
 
 " If my hopes for the South have wavered at any 
 time you have restored them, Major Tyler," she said. 
 
 " I shall come again, madam," he replied; " and I 
 trust that it shall be with glory. I bore my part in the 
 Mexican war, and I hope to do as well in this greater 
 struggle." 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE TIME TO ACT 
 
 Blanchard arrived in the evening, and the easy 
 days at our house were over. He was a captain now, 
 and he bade me gruffly to keep to my room. " We want 
 no spies on our movements," he said. My grandmother 
 came to me a little later in a great state of indignation, 
 and said that he had taken the best room in the house, 
 bearing himself as if he were master. 
 
 " So he is, I'm afraid," I replied. " You see, grand- 
 mother, we have improved upon the old story. We get 
 King Stork where we had King Log, before we even 
 make a complaint." 
 
 Blanchard also increased the stringency of the 
 guard, acting as if I were a prisoner of great importance. 
 He roughly refused to answer questions, and when I 
 threatened to complain to higher officers of his inso- 
 lence, he replied with a grin, " Send your complaint to 
 Colonel Varian." I counselled my grandmother to use 
 forbearance, but she attacked Blanchard within my 
 hearing, telling him that his conduct was infamous, and 
 in striking contrast to that of his predecessor, that true 
 Southern gentleman, Major Titus Tyler. Blanchard 
 smiled, showing that he relished it. I felt like striking 
 the man, but such an act in my position would have 
 been madness. He stationed, on the second day, a 
 sentinel with a rifle at the door of my room and said 
 that I was never to go outside unless at his order. My 
 12 171 
 
172 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 grandmother was in a rage, but he replied only with his 
 provoking smile. 
 
 " Yon wish to be as troublesome as possible, Mr. 
 Blanehard," I said. 
 
 " Captain Blanehard, if you please." 
 
 " I repeat, Mr. Blanehard, that you are uselessly 
 troublesome/' 
 
 " If it pleases you to think so, you are welcome," 
 he replied. 
 
 " I suppose that all this is by the orders of Colonel 
 Varian," I continued. 
 
 " You can suppose whatever you wish," he re- 
 sponded in surly fashion. 
 
 I was able to keep my temper perfectly, and, looking 
 him squarely in the eyes, I asked: 
 
 " Mr. Blanehard, an assassin fired several shots at 
 me from ambush when I was here, before the battle of 
 Shiloh. What do you know about it? " 
 
 He flushed, and then replied quite composedly: 
 
 " The name of the man who fired them is Pal- 
 more. He is well and I've no doubt will thank you 
 for the inquiry about his health. He shall be here 
 to-morrow." 
 
 He was an old enemy, one of our county scamps, 
 whom some testimony of mine had once helped to 
 send to jail, and to whom the war with its destruction 
 of law brought opportunity. I saw" readily that he had 
 become the willing tool of Blanehard, eager to use his 
 chance to do me harm. He was a tall fellow, with 
 heavy shoulders, a bullet head, and a red, ugly face. 
 
 I found this man in the morning on watch at my 
 door in place of the sentinel who had been there the day 
 before. His expression was a mixture of hatred and 
 triumph. 
 
 " So, Mr. Palmore," I said, " you tried to shoot 
 me?" 
 
 " I did, but my shots were cursedly poor." 
 
THE TIME TO ACT 173 
 
 He seemed to feel no sense of shame for his guilt, 
 and I said nothing more to him. My imprisonment 
 soon grew fearfully irksome. I was allowed to go out- 
 side at intervals only, and then under armed guard. 
 Elinor did not come again, and the meagre news that we 
 could obtain of her was alarming. It was William Penn 
 who brought it. He said that she was restricted to the 
 house by Mrs. Maynard, and that Varian, who now bore 
 himself as master of the place, was often there. A girl 
 could not be constrained of her liberty in peace times, 
 but those were not peace times. 
 
 " The woman means to make her marry Colonel 
 Varian," said my grandmother, " and I am astonished 
 that Ellen Maynard has shown such good taste. Colo- 
 nel Varian is handsome, brilliant, and distinguished." 
 
 Yet my grandmother was devoted to my cause, and 
 nothing served me better with her than the opposition 
 of Mrs. Maynard. 
 
 " You shall have news of the girl," she said, " even 
 if William Penn has to get shot in finding it." 
 
 William Penn obtained the news and he did not get 
 shot. He brought me my meals regularly, and took 
 advantage of this to report to me two days later that he 
 had been to the Maynard house and had talked with a 
 servant. Elinor was not allowed to leave her room, her 
 aunt saying that it was for her own good. Varian and 
 not less than twenty soldiers were there, and he heard 
 among them that Colonel Varian was to marry Miss 
 Maynard very soon. 
 
 I could have struck my fist against the wall in my 
 anger and impotence. A girl could not be forced into a 
 marriage in a free country at this time, but she might 
 be compelled to choose it. There are many ways to 
 drive a girl against her will, as everybody knows. I 
 walked to the door and the scoundrel Palmore stood on 
 guard, rifle in hand. 
 
 " Don't try to come out, Mr. Kingsford," he said, 
 
174 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 reading the look on my face, " or I shall have to shoot 
 you." 
 
 " And you would be glad of the chance," I said. 
 
 His face was distorted into a hideous grin. 
 
 I went back slamming the door after me and gave 
 myself up to painful thoughts. Never, thought I, was 
 a man in a more unpleasant position. A prisoner at 
 such a time! 
 
 There was a knock upon my door an hour later, and 
 Varian entered, cool, polite, and smiling. The sight of 
 him and his confidence sent the blood in a hot torrent 
 through my veins, but I was silent, waiting for him 
 to speak first. 
 
 " I am sorry," he said, " that I have not been able 
 to come to see you sooner, Mr. Kingsford. We are 
 enemies since you chose to have it so, but I see no rea- 
 son why hostility should produce discourtesy." 
 
 " Not at all," I replied; u and as an evidence of it 
 I ask you how your suit is progressing? " 
 
 " Very well, indeed. I speak sincerely. You know 
 that the marriage of Miss Maynard and myself is to oc- 
 cur next week. Your servant, Mr. Johnson, was at Mrs. 
 Maynard's seeking information, and as I saw no reason 
 why he should not obtain it I gave orders that he have 
 facilities. As you see, I am thoroughly informed, Mr. 
 Kingsford." 
 
 " There is one question that I would like to ask 
 you," I said, " if I may be permitted." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Have you yet obtained the consent of Miss May- 
 nard to this marriage ? " 
 
 I saw a faint colour come into his face for the first 
 time, but in a moment he was impassive again. 
 
 " I think it is well to be frank," he replied, " and I 
 say to you that I have not; yet I do not doubt that 
 I shall. I warned you that this was an unequal con- 
 test, that all the advantages were on my side. I do 
 
THE TIME TO ACT 175 
 
 not know of any pursuit in which a close prisoner can 
 show great activity." 
 
 " I expected at least that you would fight openly/' I 
 replied. 
 
 " Have I not done so? " 
 
 " Not when your man Palmore attempted to assas- 
 sinate me before the battle of Shiloh." 
 
 "Mr. Kingsford, I have wished to speak to you of 
 that, but I waited for you to introduce the subject. I 
 had nothing to do with the affair. I did not know of it 
 until long since, and then by chance, from Blanchard. 
 It was Blanchard's fault, perhaps. The man is rough 
 in his ways, but he is attached to me. I was of some 
 service to him once on the other side, and perhaps he 
 has been indiscreet in his zeal to repay me. He met 
 this man, learned of his hostility to you, and — well, the 
 two misinterpreted my wishes. Even if I were such a 
 wretch, I do not need the help of assassins in any affairs 
 of mine." 
 
 He spoke proudly, and drew up his figure as if he 
 would defy criticism. I believed that he was speaking 
 the truth, but I asked: 
 
 " Why do you keep Palmore in your service, and, 
 above all, why do you have him on watch at my door? " 
 
 He hesitated a little and then replied: 
 
 " You still wish perfect frankness from me, and I 
 own that my motives are a little mixed. Perhaps I can 
 put it this way: he would not dare to murder you here, 
 but as you are his pet enemy he is a most excellent 
 guard over you. I have no legal right to interfere with 
 him because of his attempt upon your life. He is doing 
 his duty at present as a soldier, and we need ask no 
 more. I tell you in confidence that I detest him as 
 much as you can. Is my explanation satisfactory? " 
 
 " It will serve," I replied. " But, since I should be 
 equally frank, I say that I would not do as you are 
 doing." 
 
176 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " Put it down to the difference in men," he said, 
 
 , " and in such a case who is to decide which is right? I 
 
 am sorry, as I have told you before, that we are forced 
 
 to be rivals and enemies, Mr. Kingsford. You have 
 
 qualities that are to be admired." 
 
 I thanked him, and he added that the rigours of my 
 imprisonment would be relaxed. Moreover, I should 
 be treated with courtesy by all his men. Just before 
 he left he returned to the subject of Elinor. 
 
 " I assure you, Mr. Kingsford," he said, " that Miss 
 Maynard will be my wife within a week, and she shall 
 be a happy wife. I am sorry, I repeat, that we are 
 rivals in this particular, but it is a commonplace saying 
 now that women shall ever divide men. When I first 
 saw her in Washington I determined that she should 
 become mine, and usually I have my way. I have 
 known many women, but none before who has touched 
 me so deeply, perhaps none who has touched me at all. 
 Is it not true that those who love slowly love deepest? " 
 
 I had much to think of when he departed. Again I 
 was furious at my fate because I was a prisoner when I 
 needed most to be free, and Varian, with his smiling 
 and confident manner, appeared the most formidable of 
 all enemies. In truth, Elinor was in his power, and 
 perhaps she would not long regard him as one to be 
 feared. His confidence in himself might not be mis- 
 placed, and it is the bold who win- the hearts of women. 
 Varian certainly had an abundant share of boldness, 
 and one who would oppose him must bring the same 
 qualities into use. I conceived in that moment a dar- 
 ing plan, too daring it appeared after a little reflection, 
 but I believed that it was an inspiration and I clung 
 to it. I began immediately to arrange in my mind 
 the details. Yet I was forced to delay action owing to 
 the lack of opportunities, and I burned with angry im- 
 patience. 
 
 Madam Arlington took dinner with me the next day, 
 
THE TIME TO ACT 177 
 
 much pleased with Varian's order that I should be 
 treated with more consideration. I, too, felt the bene- 
 fits of this relaxation, as I could now go about the house 
 almost as I pleased, and Palmore's leering face was not 
 visible so often. But the news that my grandmother 
 brought me was far from cheering. 
 
 " The marriage of Elinor and Varian is sure to occur 
 next week," she said. " William Penn hears that Eli- 
 nor is yielding." 
 
 " I do not believe it! I do not believe that Elinor is 
 so weak! " I exclaimed. 
 
 " Henry," she replied calmly, " you know nothing 
 at all about women." 
 
 Although I remained silent I was alarmed to the 
 utmost, and I grew more impatient than ever to attempt 
 my plan. Yet I could not believe, upon reflection, that 
 Elinor would consent to this marriage. No words of 
 love had passed between us, but she had ridden once in 
 the dark to save my life. When I was wounded and 
 delirious she had been the tenderest of nurses at my 
 bedside. She had spoken of Varian with fear, and I 
 did not believe that the eyes which looked with such 
 truth into mine could become false. Some other 
 woman might change, but not the Elinor Maynard 
 whom I knew. 
 
 William Penn came to me the next day. 
 
 " I could not get any news of Miss Elinor," he said, 
 in great grief, " except that she is still locked up in Mrs. 
 Maynard's house. They said they didn't want me hang- 
 ing about there any more, and if I came again I'd be 
 arrested and sent off to a prison in the South, and you 
 know, Henry, there is no better Southern man than 
 I am." 
 
 I consoled William Penn with the assurance that 
 they would not seize a loyal Southerner like himself, 
 and then I confided to him my plan, which depended 
 in great part upon his assistance. 
 
178 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 "I would not dare, Henry!" he cried. "You 
 know I'm not a fighting man, and I think your scheme 
 is wild. It's bound to fail, anyhow." 
 
 " It will succeed if you stand by me, William Penn, 
 and I shall rely upon you," I replied with confidence. 
 
 He protested no more and left much dejected. As 
 I looked through my window presently I saw him riding 
 away and I knew that I did not trust him in vain. Yet 
 I became nervous and excited. Everything depended 
 upon so many happy chances that I was afraid of a weak 
 link in the chain. The minutes doubled and tripled in 
 length. Noon was long in coming and I had no 
 appetite for dinner; but I forced myself to eat, know- 
 ing that I would need all my strength. The afternoon 
 dragged even more heavily. I looked through the 
 window and saw only sunshine and peafte. Two of the 
 soldiers were on the front lawn lounging in the shade 
 of the beech trees. The sun grew warmer. It was one 
 of those long, hot summer afternoons in the South. 
 The flies droned against the window panes, and one 
 of the soldiers under the beech trees fell asleep. It 
 was a day that invited rest, and I was glad. Few could 
 be suspicious and alert under such an ardent sun and 
 in such a peaceful world. My grandmother walked 
 presently across the lawn, a straight, reliant figure. 
 The forest formed a black line at the edge of the hori- 
 zon, and a dim haze of heat hung between. 
 
 I began to feel some of the languor of the day de- 
 spite my nervous excitement, but I did not leave the 
 window, and an hour before sunset William Penn ap- 
 peared, riding clown the road that led to the village. 
 He raised his hand twice, thus making the signal agreed 
 between us, and I knew that he had been successful. It 
 was a good beginning, and my heart leaped up with en- 
 couragement. I walked to the door of my room, and I 
 did not know whether to be glad or sorry when I found 
 that the man on guard was Palmore. 
 
THE TIME TO ACT 179 
 
 " So you are to watch over me this evening? " I 
 said. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, with some return of his old in- 
 solent manner. " I am to see that the bird keeps in its 
 cage." 
 
 " Mr. Palmore," I said, "I am not able to understand 
 the importance which seems to be assigned to me. Why 
 should such a guard be kept over an ordinary pris- 
 oner? " 
 
 " You will have to talk to Colonel Varian about 
 that," he replied. 
 
 I returned to my window and watched with infinite 
 gladness the coming of the night. I looked toward the 
 west, and just as the sun was about to sink behind a hill 
 William Penn appeared, his figure showing black and 
 sharp against its crimson glow. He again raised his 
 hand twice, giving the signal once more, and I knew 
 that the second step in our plan had been taken. 
 
 My grandmother brought me my supper with her 
 own hands. I was glad of it, because I meditated a long 
 journey, and if I took it I was not likely to see her again 
 for many days. She was strangely silent, and seemed 
 to be more depressed than usual, she, as I have said, 
 being a woman of such vigorous temperament that sad- 
 ness could not endure long in her mind. I would have 
 told her of my intentions, but when she had been pres- 
 ent only a few minutes Blanchard himself came in and 
 began to talk to me. Thereupon Madam Arlington, 
 who disliked him extremely, walked out without a word. 
 
 " I don't think that we shall keep you here much 
 longer, Mr. Kingsford," said Blanchard, with an appear- 
 ance of joviality. "We'll send you South to join the 
 other Yankee prisoners as soon as we get a chance. 
 Colonel Varian would attend to it himself, but he's so 
 busy getting ready for his marriage — and isn't she 
 handsome too ! — that he'll have more agreeable duties to 
 attend to, and I'm afraid I must take you myself." 
 
180 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 I was tempted to deliver a blow with all my might 
 in the centre of his smirking face, but I refrained and 
 instead drank the last of my coffee. 
 
 " Let Colonel Varian attend to his affairs as he 
 thinks best/' I replied, with an assumption of indif- 
 ference. 
 
 "Oh, he will! Don't you fear! " 
 
 He saw that he could not provoke me into any pas- 
 sionate outburst, and presently left me alone in the 
 room. I went anew to the window which had served 
 me so well and saw to my great delight that the night 
 would be dark. Two sentinels paced back and forth 
 on the lawn, and I knew that a third, Palmore, was in 
 the hall at my door. Varian, certainly, was taking 
 good care of his prisoner, and I wondered what his su- 
 periors would say when they learned that he was using 
 the soldiers of the Confederacy in his personal cause. 
 
 I waited an hour longer, and again I noticed with 
 pleasure the increasing darkness. Then I hurriedly 
 took a sheet from my bed, twisted it into a rope, and 
 softly opened the window. Neither of the sentinels on 
 the lawn turned to see, and I was thankful now that I 
 had seemed listless in my prison, making no effort to 
 escape, and, so far as my immediate guards could note, 
 willing to remain a prisoner there in my own home, 
 where I could find the comforts of life. Then I pressed 
 hard upon the leg which had been broken. It gave 
 back no twinge, and I knew that it was as strong as 
 ever. 
 
 The two sentinels met on their beats and exchanged 
 gossip. Then they went on, one lighting a pipe and 
 smoking contentedly as he walked. I pulled the bed 
 across the floor to the window, and then paused in fear 
 lest the soft sliding noise should draw the attention of 
 Palmore. But he 'had not noticed, and tying my 
 clumsy rope to the leg of the bed I swung myself out 
 of the window, taking all the chances of a shot from 
 
THE TIME TO ACT 181 
 
 either or both of the sentinels, should they see me. 
 Never before did I feel such gratitude for a dark night. 
 My room was on the second floor, and when I slid down 
 to the end of the sheet I was within three or four feet 
 of the ground. I hung there for a few moments, a 
 black figure against the black wall; but I knew that the 
 sheet showed in a strip of white above my head. I saw 
 the two sentinels dimly as they walked to and fro, one 
 of them smoking. A spark in his pipe blazed up and 
 went out. He stumbled on a root, uttered a curse, and 
 went on. I thought what a splendid target I would 
 make if they saw me there against the wall; but they 
 did not see me and I dropped to the ground. The soft 
 turf felt pleasant under my feet, and the air of free- 
 dom was like the breath of hope. It filled me with 
 courage. 
 
 The house cast a protecting shadow which increased 
 the darkness, and I lingered there a little as I selected 
 my line of escape. The eyes of the soldiers had grown 
 accustomed to the night and I knew that my risk was 
 great. I crept in the shadow of the house to the corner, 
 and there I paused when I heard the sentinel who was 
 smoking swear again. His pipe had gone out and he 
 stopped to relight it. The other man joined him and 
 they talked for a few moments. I waited, expecting 
 them to go on, when I would continue my flight. The 
 fence of the garden was only about fifteen feet away. I 
 would make a silent dash for it, and then escape under 
 its protection. 
 
 The two sentinels lingered, and presently one of 
 them looked up at my window. He beheld the white 
 sheet hanging down and knew instantly that his pris- 
 oner was escaping. He uttered a shout and ran toward 
 the house. Had I retained complete presence of mind 
 I would have remained where I was, my figure blotted 
 out against the blackness of the wall, but, obeying the 
 first impulse, I dashed across the lawn and sprang over 
 
182 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 the garden fence, fleeing for my life for the second time 
 from the home of my childhood. The other sentinel 
 saw me first and fired at me with his rifle. The bullet 
 whizzed over my shoulder, and as my feet touched the 
 ground on the far side of the fence a second came from 
 a different direction. My flight had brought me within 
 sight of the sentinels on the far side of the house, 
 and they, too, opened fire. 
 
 My grandmother's extreme fondness for pease had 
 always been a joke with me, but now I thanked God for 
 it. More than a dozen rows of pea vines, trained on 
 sticks almost to the height of a man's head, ran the full 
 length of the garden, and I dashed down one of the 
 aisles, completely hidden for the time from my pursuers 
 and those disturbing rifle shots. It is dangerous enough 
 to be under fire in battle, but to be the sole target of a 
 half dozen men, good marksmen too, seeking your life, 
 and hunting you as they would a fox, is far more trying. 
 
 I dropped down momentarily between the pea rows, 
 hoping to profit by the confusion that my disappearance 
 would cause among my enemies, and as I stooped there 
 I saw lights appearing in the house and heard much 
 shouting. But the voices were those of the soldiers 
 only. I neither saw nor heard anything of my grand- 
 mother, and I was much surprised, knowing how vig- 
 orous she would be on such an occasion. 
 
 There was a sound of tremendous swearing, and both 
 Blanchard and Palmore dashed from the house. I 
 peeped through the pea vines and saw the soldiers who 
 had fired the last shots running about like hounds that 
 had lost the scent, mystified by my sudden disappear- 
 ance. I ran, still stooping between the rows, until I 
 reached the far end of the garden, and then paused 
 again. Before me was another open space about twenty 
 feet across, beyond that a fence again, and the forest 
 about a hundred yards farther. 
 
 " Which way did he go? " I heard Blanchard shout. 
 
THE TIME TO ACT 183 
 
 " Into the garden and then we lost sight of him," 
 a sentinel replied. 
 
 " He's' among these pea vines! " cried Blan chard. 
 " Now, Palmore, is your chance ! " 
 
 I knew the sinister meaning of his hint, and Pal- 
 more comprehended it too, as he sprang over the fence 
 the next instant, and then crashed among the vines. I 
 was wholly unarmed, and he douhtless knew it or he 
 would not have come so fast. I saw him, pistol in hand, 
 rushing down between the rows, and I ran for the fence. 
 I crossed the brief open space before I was seen, but as 
 I put my hand upon the fence and cleared it at one 
 leap three or four bullets whistled around me. Then I 
 ran for my life toward the woods. Halfway across I 
 glanced back and saw that Palmore was resting his 
 pistol upon the fence and drawing a dead aim upon me. 
 It was an easy shot for a Kentuckian, but even as I 
 looked a rifle was fired from the wood, a sudden look of 
 vague wonder appeared on Palmore's face, and he sank 
 without a cry to the ground. 
 
 I paused no longer, but with a heart full of thank- 
 fulness ran to the shelter of the trees. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE PEIZE OF DAEING 
 
 " Did I kill him? Henry, did I kill him? " cried 
 William Penn, as he met me in the shadow of the woods. 
 " And to think that a timid man, such as I am, a man 
 opposed to all violence, should shoot a fellow-creature! 
 Shall I ever get forgiveness?" 
 
 " Was it a crime, William Penn, to save my life from 
 that scoundrel ? " I asked, as we ran deeper into the 
 forest. I saw that he was trembling violently, but 
 he still held the smoking rifle, and certainly there 
 had been no trembling of his hand when he pulled its 
 trigger. 
 
 I had little fear now. It requires almost super- 
 human skill to follow fugitives on a dark night through 
 a deep forest, and William Penn's rifle' shot was likely to 
 make our enemies fear that they would run into an am- 
 bush. My surmise was right, as in five minutes all 
 noise of pursuit died, and slackening our pace we 
 walked side by side among the trees. 
 
 "How can I ever thank you, William Penn?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " By never getting me into such another scrape," he 
 replied. 
 
 " William Penn," I said, " if I call upon you to 
 risk your life for me again you know that you will do 
 it. If there were more cowards like you it would be a 
 braver world." 
 184 
 
THE PRIZE OF DARING 185 
 
 He muttered something about the reckless heart and 
 tongue of youth, and a wish not to have my grand- 
 mother's feelings hurt. Then he relapsed into silence, 
 and we walked lightly through the wood until we came 
 to the glade in which the horses were hitched. 
 
 " Wait a minute," he said. 
 
 He thrust his hand into some brush, drawing forth 
 a pair of fine pistols and a plentiful supply of am- 
 munition. 
 
 " Take them, Henry," he said, " you will need them, 
 and at the same time you will rid me of them. Why 
 were such dreadful things ever made ? " 
 
 " William Penn," I exclaimed with warmth, " did 
 ever a man have a friend like you? " 
 
 " I'm certain I never did," he rejoined, with a faint 
 humorous inflection. " My friends get me into trouble, 
 never out of it." 
 
 " I shall repay you some day," I said. 
 
 But I knew that he did not want repayment. 
 
 I was exultant over my escape, and since it had 
 turned out happily I was not sorry now that they had 
 seen me. The greater the confusion among my enemies 
 the better it was for my plans. . 
 
 " What time do you think it is, William Penn? " 
 
 " About ten o'clock." 
 
 " Then wait for me here; I shall return by two in 
 the morning." 
 
 He looked at the dark and silent woods and shivered. 
 
 " Do I have to stay alone? " he asked. 
 
 I laughed, and left him. I stopped in the shadow of 
 a great tree before I had gone far, and looked back. He 
 was sitting on a stump, reloading his rifle. 
 
 My joy increased as I walked briskly through the 
 forest. Success was the finest of comrades, and I was 
 free again; free, too, to attempt whatever I wished. 
 " Surely," I thought, " the good fortune which has at- 
 tended me so far can not fail! " 
 
186 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 Less than an hour brought me within sight of the 
 house of Mrs. Maynard, standing, like my grandmoth- 
 er's, not far from the forest. Now my heart began to 
 beat with a heightened emotion. I thought of Elinor 
 persecuted and imprisoned, and the knowledge that I 
 was about to risk my life to reach her sent the blood 
 leaping through my veins. I never doubted that she 
 loved me. She would not have saved my life, she would 
 not have come to me when wounded, she would not now 
 suffer oppression for my sake, if she did not care more 
 for me than for any other man. 
 
 Two windows of the Maynard house were lighted. 
 One of the lights marked Mrs. Maynard's room, and the 
 other came from a chamber that had been set apart for 
 guests in the old days. I was sure that Varian was 
 there, rejoicing in his imagined security and triumph. 
 . I felt anger and then a fierce exultation, for I believed 
 that he would yet be defeated. 
 
 Elinor's room was at the northeast corner of the 
 building, and all that quarter was dark, but I did not 
 wish it to be otherwise. I crept to the edge of the wood, 
 and then followed a fence until I was within thirty 
 yards of the house, when I stopped and looked for the 
 sentinel, whom I knew Varian would not neglect to post. 
 I saw him presently walking in front of the house, and, 
 though I watched ten minutes, I saw no other. No hos- 
 tile troops were within fifty miles, and a single sentinel 
 was enough for even a prudent commander. 
 
 The man turned presently and walked toward the 
 far end of the lawn, and then, stepping lightly, I ran to 
 the house. When he came back I was standing behind 
 a pillar of the piazza. Our Southern homes are always 
 built with piazzas or porches, in which we sit in the 
 warm weather, and now I was finding Mrs. Maynard's 
 most convenient. I was thankful, too, that I knew this 
 house so well. I waited there until the man turned 
 and went back again on his beat, and then, standing 
 
THE PRIZE OP DARING 187 
 
 upon the banisters, I seized the low edge of the piazza 
 roof and drew myself up. 
 
 This roof was almost flat, and the windows of the 
 second floor opened upon it. Burglars were unknown 
 with us, and I smiled to myself to think that I was the 
 first who had ever come to the Maynard house. The 
 lighted window of the guest chamber was at one end of 
 the porch and my destination at the other; but, drawn 
 by curiosity, I turned aside for a moment to the window 
 in which the light shone. I knelt on the roof, and 
 looked into the room. 
 
 Varian, in full military dress, was sitting at a table, 
 writing. He raised his head presently, and I dropped 
 mine below the edge of the window, but he was not 
 looking in my direction, and again I watched him. 
 Whatever he wrote, it was pleasing to him, because he 
 smiled, and when he smiled he looked like a man whom 
 one would wish to have as his friend. I wondered anew 
 at his character, and I wondered, too, if I misjudged 
 him. 
 
 The sentinel on the lawn coughed, and I pressed my- 
 self close to the wall, but he was too far away to see me, 
 and for the greater part of his beat I was completely 
 hidden by the projections of the house. I had little 
 fear of him, especially as he seemed to be far from alert. 
 Moreover, I did not believe that Blanchard would hurry 
 to the Maynard home with the alarm of my escape. 
 He would at least make the pretence of a search for me 
 before facing the wrath of his master. 
 
 Varian resumed his writing, bending his head over 
 the paper again, and, leaving him, I passed along the 
 roof to the other end, stopping before the window that I 
 knew was Elinor's. I did not forget then to be thank- 
 ful once more for our Southern style of building houses. 
 
 I paused here, and realized for the first time the full 
 gravity of my attempt. More depended upon her now 
 than upon me, and would she be willing to go with me? 
 13 
 
188 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 But, having come so far, it would be foolish to turn 
 back. I tapped upon the window shutter three times 
 quickly, and then, after a pause, a fourth time. When 
 we played together as boy and girl we used to have sig- 
 nals for calling each other after the fashion of children, 
 and this was one. I waited, and I thought I heard a 
 movement within the room, but it was followed by sev- 
 eral minutes of silence, and I grew anxious. I caught a 
 glimpse of the sentinel, and he appeared to be unsus- 
 picious. His eyes were not turned once in my direc- 
 tion. I feared the vigilance of Varian more than that 
 of any other, but the bar of light from his window still 
 fell upon the piazza roof. 
 
 I repeated the signal, and in a few moments the 
 slight noise as of some one moving was resumed in the 
 room. The sash was raised, and the voice of Elinor, 
 trembling, but nevertheless brave and confident, whis- 
 pered between the slats of the shutter: 
 
 " Is it you, Henry? " 
 
 I did not know until then, until I heard the joyful 
 tone of her voice welcoming me, how much I loved her. 
 I felt, even in that moment of danger, a deep glow of 
 happiness. 
 
 " Yes, Elinor," I said; " I have come for you." 
 
 " I believed that you would," she said. " I have 
 been sitting here every night waiting for you." 
 
 She opened the shutter softly, and for the first time 
 since she had become a woman I kissed her. I put my 
 arms around her, and she gave a little sigh of relief. I- 
 felt then that I was strong enough to protect her against 
 all men. 
 
 " I have come for you," I repeated. 
 
 " To go where? " 
 
 " I do not know; but to be my wife." 
 
 " Then T do not care where we go." 
 
 I kissed her again, and warm lips returned the 
 kiss. 
 
THE PRIZE OP DARING 189 
 
 " We must go now," I said. 
 
 " I am ready," she replied. 
 
 I lifted her through the window. Then she stood 
 upon the roof of the piazza. Her face was pale, but 
 her eyes glowed with resolute fire as she stood beside 
 me, slender and straight. She saw the beam of light on 
 the far end of the piazza roof. 
 
 " It comes from the room of Variant" I said. " He 
 is writing there." 
 
 " They could never have forced me to marry him," 
 she said. 
 
 " I know they could not," I replied with confidence. 
 
 The sentinel, turning on his beat, walked back and 
 came into view. 
 
 " Lean against the wall, sweetheart, until he passes," 
 I said. 
 
 She pressed herself against the wall, but my arm was 
 still around her waist. I could feel her trembling, and 
 we waited there in the darkness until the sentinel 
 went by. 
 
 "Neither of us should ever forget to be thankful 
 that this night is dark," I whispered. 
 
 She made no answer, but leaned trustfully against 
 me. 
 
 Then, holding her hand and steadying her, I led 
 her to the edge of the piazza roof. 
 
 " Sit there a moment," I said, and I dropped lightly 
 to the ground. Then I looked up at her, and she looked 
 down at me. 
 
 " Come! It is the last step," I said, holding out my 
 arms. 
 
 " Then should I not hesitate before taking it? " she 
 asked, a faint smile flickering over her face. 
 
 " Are you afraid? " I asked. 
 
 " Do you promise to love and protect me all your 
 life? " 
 
 " With all my heart and strength." 
 
190 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " Then stand fast; I am coming." 
 
 She sprang down, and I caught her in my arms. 
 
 " Ah, you robber! " she cried. I had taken toll be- 
 fore I put her on the ground. 
 
 " You are to be my wife in an hour," I replied, and 
 I kissed her again. 
 
 Thus I stole my sweetheart from the house of her 
 persecutors, and thus she left all the world to follow me. 
 So, too, did I forget the great war and all else, to take 
 her with me. It was love. 
 
 The sentinel was about to pass again, and I drew her 
 behind the pillar of the piazza. The night was so still 
 that we heard the soft crush of the man's footsteps on 
 the turf. 
 
 " Are you afraid? " I asked. 
 
 " I am with you," she replied. 
 
 The sentinel passed again, unsuspicious as ever, and, 
 two bent figures, we stole across the lawn and behind 
 the fence, and then into the depths of the forest. I 
 looked back only once as we ran, and I saw the light 
 still shining from Varian's window. 
 
 " I have beaten you with all your power and all your 
 smooth intrigues," I said exultingly, but not aloud. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE WIND AMONG THE TEEES 
 
 We stopped a moment or two in the forest that Eli- 
 nor might rest. 
 
 " My poor aunt! " she said. 
 
 " She will forgive us in time." 
 
 She did not reply, but she looked at me, her face 
 pale and lovely, and then it was suffused with a blush 
 as she said: 
 
 " Which way do we go now, Henry? Remember 
 that I follow you." 
 
 " You do not follow; you go with me," I said. " A 
 good friend of us both is waiting near, and it is well for 
 us to hasten." 
 
 Then I told her of the alarm at my escape, and the 
 shots that had been fired at me. 
 
 " Henry! they might have killed you! " she said, 
 and I felt her hands upon my arm. Then I was not 
 sorry that they had fired upon me. 
 
 It took us nearly two hours to walk through the 
 forest to the glade where William Penn was waiting 
 with the horses, and it is not a time that I can ever for- 
 get. I had triumphed over all dangers and obstacles, 
 and the woman I loved and whom I had so nearly lost, 
 walked beside me, her warm young hand in mine. The 
 night was dark, but the forest was not lonely and we 
 were not afraid. 
 
 " What is that? " she asked. 
 
 191 
 
192 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 We stopped, and she stood a little closer to me. 
 
 " It is only the hooting of an owl/' 
 
 "And that?" 
 
 " The whirring wings of a bird flying over our 
 heads." 
 
 We walked on, and again she stopped. 
 
 " It is only the rising wind among the leaves," I 
 said. 
 
 " I am not afraid while you are with me," she re- 
 peated. 
 
 The night grew darker as we advanced. We kept 
 to the thickest of the forest, and looking up I saw that 
 the light of the moon was fading, obscured by drifting 
 clouds. 
 
 " You told me that some one was waiting for us? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " Yes," I replied; " it is William Penn, that most 
 faithful of souls." 
 
 I had said that we ought to hasten, and she had 
 agreed with me, but we did not go so fast. The night 
 was dark and the way rough, and Elinor needed help 
 and protection. 
 
 " A gully! " I said. " Beware, or you will stumble 
 into it," and my arm went around her to hold her back. 
 
 " Be careful," I continued a minute later, " or you 
 will be torn on those bushes," and I drew her nearer to 
 me that she might escape the danger. 
 
 " Do you think that they will follow us, Henry? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly they will try to do so when they dis- 
 cover that you are missing," I replied. 
 
 She shivered, and I said, " Fear not, sweetheart, I 
 would die for you." 
 
 "What noise is that?" she exclaimed, "is it not 
 Varian and his men pursuing us? " 
 
 " Listen, and keep close to me," I said, and with 
 my arm yet around her waist I drew her into the 
 darkest shadows. 
 
THE WIND AMONG THE TREES 193 
 
 " If it is they, we will stand here while they pass," I 
 said. 
 
 But I knew from the first that it was only the wind 
 among the trees. 
 
 " It was nothing, or rather fancy tricking us," I said 
 presently. " I think that now we can go on again." 
 
 We walked ten minutes in silence. Her hand trem- 
 bled now and then in mine, but her face, though pale, 
 expressed dauntless courage. I could see that it was so, 
 with eyes grown accustomed to the darkness, and then 
 — her face was not far away. 
 
 A tremor shook her hand, and she stopped. " Do 
 you not hear a noise, Henry? " she asked. " Perhaps 
 it is they." 
 
 " Yes, I hear it," I said, bending my head that I 
 might listen better, " and we will stop a little while lest 
 we walk into their arms." 
 
 " Traitor, you are trying to forestall them." 
 
 " But listen, Elinor, the noise is continued and 
 steady." 
 
 " As of armed men searching everywhere." 
 
 " It may be armed men searching the whole forest." 
 
 " Henry, I am afraid! " 
 
 " Let me support you." 
 
 We listened a few minutes, and then I said in a 
 tone of great relief: 
 
 " It is only the little waterfall. You remember 
 where the brook runs over the rocks." 
 
 " Of course; now I know that sound could be made 
 only by the steady rush of water." 
 
 But I had known it from the first. 
 
 We reached the brook and paused a moment on 
 its brink. It flowed in a baby torrent, a sheet of 
 silver over the pebbles, a riotous little stream, as happy 
 in its solitude as we; three feet wide, six inches deep, 
 and as confident as Niagara. 
 
 " Oh, I shall get wet if I cross! " said Elinor. 
 
194 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " You need run no such risk/' I replied, and lifting 
 her in my arms I carried her over the stream. I had no 
 regret save that it was not wider. 
 
 " Who asked you to do that? " said Elinor. 
 
 " I did not need to be asked." 
 
 " You take advantage of every chance." 
 
 " If I had not I would not have won you." 
 
 She made no reply, and we continued our journey. 
 
 "Isn't William Penn near now?" she asked pres- 
 ently. 
 
 " I hope not." 
 
 " Why? " 
 
 " Because, if he were, the pleasantest journey that I 
 have ever undertaken would be too near its end." 
 
 " But I thought you said we were to be married 
 then?" 
 
 " So we are, but ought I not to have a little time 
 for courtship? You know it has been too short." 
 
 She was silent again, and we walked slowly on in the 
 darkness. The clouds increased, and I found it neces- 
 sary to help Elinor more. But we were approaching the 
 glade in which William Penn waited with the horses. 
 
 " Are you sure that he will be there? " she asked. 
 
 " As sure as I am that we shall arrive." 
 
 We beheld in another five minutes the rift in the 
 trees that marked the glade. 
 
 " Yonder is the place," I said with a sigh. 
 
 We saw, as we approached, William Penn sitting on 
 the stump and holding the three horses by the bridles, 
 which he had gathered in one hand, while the rifle was 
 clasped in the other. He sprang to his feet when he 
 heard our approaching footsteps, and the rifle flew to 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " It is only we, William Penn," I said; " you need 
 not fire." 
 
 " And who are ' we '? " he demanded in a loud and 
 threatening voice. 
 
THE WIND AMONG THE TREES 195 
 
 "Behold us! " I said, as we stepped into the faint 
 moonlight of the little glade. 
 
 " I thought you would never come" he grumbled, 
 letting the stock of his rifle fall to the ground; but he 
 added, with an amazing touch of gallantry for him, 
 " Miss Elinor, we need no moonlight since you have 
 come." 
 
 " What a compliment, William Penn! " she said; 
 " and I wish you to know how much I appreciate it." 
 
 But I felt that we should linger no longer, and, 
 mounting the horses, we rode with speed to the village. 
 I had triumphed in the great object, but I knew that 
 Varian would pursue us unrelentingly. If drawn else- 
 where by military duties, he could detach Blanchard 
 and a band of his personal followers and send them after 
 us. I appreciated the dangers that yet lay before us, 
 but I believed that we could triumph over them all as 
 we had triumphed over those past. 
 
 Elinor became silent and shy. She even rode nearer 
 to William Penn than to me, and the old man yearned 
 over her like a father. 
 
 " How good of you, William Penn," she said, after a 
 while, " to help us so much, and at such great risks! " 
 
 " The young are always foolish," said William Penn; 
 " but we old people love them, and work for them any- 
 how. Perhaps it's because they are such blind duck- 
 lings that we feel sorry for them." 
 
 Then he turned in his saddle and shook his fist 
 at me. 
 
 " You scamp," he said, " I've been nearly dead with 
 fright for the last twenty hours. I'm a man of peace, 
 and if ever I lift a hand again to help anybody while 
 this war is going on may I be condemned for all eter- 
 nity as a fool! " 
 
 But we rode steadily on, we three, and William Penn 
 was not the least bold amona; us. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 " WHITHEK THOU GOEST, I WILL GO " 
 
 The village of Silver Bow is three miles from my 
 grandmother's house, and four miles from Mrs. May- 
 nard's, the three forming a triangle. A majority of its 
 small number of inhabitants were zealous supporters of 
 secession and the Southern cause, but at the same time 
 they were the friends of my grandmother and myself, 
 and I had little fear that any of them would detain us. 
 So, when we saw the houses, long after midnight, it was 
 with no feeling of apprehension. 
 
 " They are waiting yonder," said William Penn, 
 pointing to the single building in which a light shone. 
 
 " That is where we are to be married," I said to Eli- 
 nor, " and in a half hour it will be done." 
 
 I saw her, even in the dusk, smile, and blush, and 
 tremble. 
 
 The house was that of a widow, Mrs. Hunter, a great 
 friend of my grandmother's, and a fearless woman like 
 Madam Arlington. She was indebted to us, moreover, 
 in many ways, and I did not believe that she would fail 
 to help us at a time when we needed help most. Nor 
 did she. 
 
 We dismounted, William Penn took the horses, and 
 I knocked on the door. The Eev. Elkanah Armstrong 
 opened it, his lean, strong face showing like a cameo 
 against the light. 
 
 "You have come at last, thank God!" he said; 
 196 
 
"WHITHER THOU GOEST, I WILL GO" 197 
 
 <e and you have brought her with you. I have had many 
 fears for you both." 
 
 We entered, and, closing the door, he bent down 
 from his great height and kissed Elinor on the fore- 
 head. 
 
 " You are about to take a great step, daughter," he 
 said, " and to take it under unusual circumstances; but, 
 with so many dangers threatening you, I think that it 
 is wisest." 
 
 I looked for Mrs. Hunter, in order that I might give 
 Elinor to her a little while, but it was my grandmother 
 who came instead. She went at once to Elinor, not no- 
 ticing me, and took her in her arms and told her how 
 much she loved her. There seemed to be a strange pity 
 in my grandmother's voice, and I saw tears in her eyes. 
 Then she turned to me, and said: 
 
 " Did you think, Henry, that you could be married 
 without my knowing it, or even without my being 
 present? " 
 
 " Grandmother," I said, " I was afraid, if I told you, 
 that you might forbid it, or that it might bring trouble 
 upon you. It was a desperate venture." 
 
 " I knew that," she replied; " but William Penn, 
 who has the greatest faith in me, told me, and I have 
 been waiting here many, many hours to give you both 
 my blessing." 
 
 I was glad that she came since it had turned out so 
 well, and I told her how much joy it was to me that she 
 could be present at my wedding. 
 
 " I know it," she replied; " I was chiding you only 
 because I love you." 
 
 She showed sentiment so rarely that I looked up in 
 surprise, and she kissed me on the forehead as of old. 
 
 " I have never realized until to-night, on the eve of 
 your wedding, what a man you have become, Henry," 
 she said. 
 
 Then she took Elinor away, and William Penn came 
 
198 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 in. He proudly showed the marriage license, issued by 
 the county clerk, another friend of ours, and endorsed 
 by himself as my best man, and voucher for my good 
 conduct and ability to support a wife, according to our 
 law. 
 
 " And I signed all that under oath," he said, shaking 
 his head ruefully. " How shall I ever get forgive- 
 ness for it? " 
 
 " You won't need any, "William Penn," I said, but he 
 continued to shake his head. 
 
 It was a full hour before Madam Arlington and 
 Mrs. Hunter returned with my bride, and then she 
 stood before me smiling, and blushing, and trembling 
 again, and looking at me with appealing eyes. 
 
 " It is my own/' said my grandmother proudly; " I 
 was married in it to your grandfather before he went 
 to the battle of New Orleans. Did you think that Eli- 
 nor should be cheated of her bridal robe? and, Henry, 
 isn't she beautiful ? " 
 
 It was a dress of lustrous white satin, with a flow- 
 ered hem, and puffed sleeves trimmed with several rows 
 of filmy lace. There was a pink rose in her hair, and 
 a chain of pearls encircled the whitest neck in the 
 world. She blushed again when her eyes met the ad- 
 miring look of mine, and I answered a fervent affirma- 
 tive to my grandmother's question. 
 
 " I have saved it all these years," said Madam Ar- 
 lington; " but I did not know that I was keeping it for 
 the most beautiful bride that ever pleased these old 
 eyes." 
 
 My grandmother, with all her sternness, was a 
 soft-hearted woman. Nodding her head toward Elinor, 
 she said: 
 
 " You are forgetting something, Henry." 
 
 So there, before them all, I kissed my bride. Then 
 we were married, the Eev. Elkanah Armstrong conduct- 
 ing the service; my grandmother, Mrs. Hunter, and 
 
"WHITHER THOU GOEST, I WILL GO" 199 
 
 William Perm being the witnesses. It was a solemn 
 scene, the hour, the strangeness of the situation, and 
 the earnest voice of the minister adding to its impres- 
 siveness. When it was over he bent down like a father 
 and kissed Elinor on the cheek, saying: 
 
 " My daughter, this is the greatest event in the life 
 of any one, above all in the life of a woman, and I 
 wish you the happiness that I know you deserve." 
 
 " And now," said my grandmother to me, " you 
 must go. The rage of a jealous and disappointed man 
 is pursuing you, and your life is not safe." 
 
 " And you, grandmother? " I asked. 
 
 "Have you ever known a time, grandson, when I 
 could not take care of myself? " she replied with great 
 pride; " and you know, too, that everybody within 
 twenty miles of this place is my friend. Do you think 
 that they would let any harm happen to me? " 
 
 She spoke the truth, and my mind was easy upon 
 that point. Varian himself could not allow her to be 
 annoyed. 
 
 William Penn came suddenly into the room. I had 
 not noticed until then that he had slipped out directly 
 after my marriage. 
 
 " You must go, and go now, Henry," he cried, " or 
 you'll spend your honeymoon under a double guard. 
 They haven't missed Miss Elinor yet, at least the news 
 hasn't come here, but soldiers are already in the town 
 hunting for you." 
 
 I turned to tell Elinor good-bye, but she, too, had 
 gone quietly from the room. Well, I would say fare- 
 well after I had made my preparations. They were 
 brief: a little food in a knapsack, a fresh supply of am- 
 munition from William Penn, and some directions about 
 the road from the same unfailing source. 
 
 "And now," I said, " I wish to tell Elinor good-bye." 
 
 She reappeared, as if my words had summoned her. 
 The bridal dress was replaced by another of dark cloth, 
 
200 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 and a riding cloak was over her arm. Her eyes met 
 mine, and she smiled and then blushed at my look of 
 surprise. 
 
 " Did you think that you could run away from me 
 so soon? " she said. " I am going with you." 
 
 "But, Elinor " 
 
 " A wife should cleave to her husband through 
 troubles and dangers." 
 
 I wished to take her with me but I was afraid. Then 
 my grandmother, ever a woman of decision and clear 
 mind, spoke up. 
 
 " She is right," she said. " They will pursue and 
 slay you if they can, and then Elinor is more completely 
 in their hands than before. If you escape, you must 
 escape together." 
 
 The two women bade each other a long farewell, and 
 I saw tears in my grandmother's eyes as I had seen them 
 there when I first came to her. 
 
 " Remember, grandson," she said, " that you now 
 have in your keeping two lives that are dear to me." 
 
 " We shall both come back to you safe and happy," I 
 said. 
 
 We mounted the horses, now well rested, and turned 
 their faces toward the east. But I was troubled about 
 William Penn. 
 
 " William Penn," I said, " if you think it unsafe for 
 you here you might go with us." 
 
 " Never fear," he replied. " Nobody knows my 
 part, and what would I do away from the place where 
 I've lived all my life? " 
 
 A dozen people, most of whom knew us, had gath- 
 ered by the roadside and were watching us with curios- 
 ity, but none offered either advice or interference. 
 
 We said another good-bye, this time the last, and 
 then we rode toward the northeast, and into the 
 darkness. 
 
CHAPTEE XXV 
 
 THE FLIGHT ACEOSS THE HILLS 
 
 We did not speak for some time. The moon came 
 out and cast a faint, silvery glow. Elinor's face was 
 pale, but her eyes were bright and brave. 
 
 " Are you afraid? " I asked. 
 
 " No," she replied with a little laugh. " Have you 
 not promised to guard me ? " 
 
 The course that I chose was simple. I intended 
 first that we should reach a town about forty miles to 
 the eastward, and after a rest there we would continue 
 in the same way. The eastern part of our State is a 
 mass of mountains, wild and lonely at all times, but 
 far more so in 1862 than now, and the greater part of 
 the scanty population was devoted to the Union cause. 
 Travelling among them — and it would not require long 
 to reach the wilderness — we would be safe. I intended, 
 after crossing the mountains, to take my wife to her 
 uncle, Paul Warner, in Washington, and then I would 
 offer myself for service in the Eastern army. I could 
 not do less, since, having volunteered, I now belonged to 
 the Government. The plan seemed easy and safe were 
 it not for the anger and tenacity of Varian, who I be- 
 lieved would not scruple to use for his private purposes 
 the forces intrusted to his care by the South. I told 
 Elinor briefly that I would take her to Washington, and 
 asked if she approved. 
 
 201 
 
202 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " I think it best," she said. 
 
 Then we rode on in silence again. It was a warm 
 summer night. The threatening clouds were gone and 
 only little patches of harmless white floated in the sky. 
 It was peace once more, and my flight from my grand- 
 mother's house and my escape from the bullets seemed 
 far away. The road led among the hills and through 
 the forests. The branches of the trees, ghostly in the 
 dusky light, waved at us, but they made no threat. 
 The houses were far between. A dog barked at us 
 once, but we rode on unheeding. 
 
 " It is like an elopement," I said. 
 
 " It is one, is it not? " replied Elinor, with a happy 
 little laugh. 
 
 " And you never cared for Varian? " I asked. 
 
 " No," she said. " He attracted me at first with 
 his splendour, but when he drew nearer I feared him. 
 When he sought to marry me whether I would or not, I 
 hated him." 
 
 We relapsed into silence again, and after a while I 
 saw a slender bar of gray light on the eastern edge of 
 the world. « 
 
 " The day is coming," I said; " but the night has 
 not been unhappy, Elinor." 
 
 The smile and the blush pursued each other over her 
 face again, and then she answered: 
 
 " But think of your responsibilities, Henry." 
 
 " My chief responsibility now," I said, " is to get 
 something for you to eat." 
 
 I had food in the knapsack, but intending, too, that 
 she should rest and sleep, I looked eagerly for a farm- 
 house. The full day was flooding the earth, and the 
 hills swam in the rosy light. I saw presently a thin 
 column of blue smoke outlined against the clear sky, 
 and we rode toward it. 
 
 " We shall rest there," I said to Elinor. 
 
 " Do you think it safe? " she asked. 
 
THE PLIGHT ACROSS THE HILLS 203 
 
 " We have come at least thirty miles, and we can not 
 afford to break down our horses." 
 
 She said nothing more, but gave me a glance of im- 
 plicit trust. Now, in the morning light, she looked 
 tired, although she held herself as bravely as ever, and 
 I knew that rest was needed. 
 
 It was but a plain farmhouse, and they were plain 
 people who met us when I shouted at the door, a middle- 
 aged man and his middle-aged wife, who looked at us 
 with intense curiosity but asked no questions, a for- 
 bearance for which I was grateful. 
 
 " We have ridden all night," I said, " and the lady 
 is faint. Will you give her food and rest? " 
 
 It was the woman who answered, and she did not 
 speak in words, but she took Elinor in her arms and 
 half carried her into the house. Then they gave us 
 such as they had, and after that the woman took Elinor 
 away. 
 
 " She must sleep," she said when she returned alone. 
 * Do you ride far? " 
 
 " Yes," I replied, « and for life." 
 
 The woman made no reply at the moment, resuming 
 her household work. But she turned to me presently 
 as I sat by the window, and said : 
 
 " I do not know who you are, nor she, and these 
 are bad times, but tell me that you are doing no wrong." 
 
 " We were married last night," I replied, " and I 
 ani taking my wife to her own uncle. Those who 
 threaten us have no claim." 
 
 She said no more, but went into Elinor's room and 
 came back presently with word that she was sleeping. 
 " Poor child! " she said, " what a bridal morning! " 
 
 I went out to help the farmer look after the horses, 
 which needed rest as badly as we, and to watch for pur- 
 suit. The man was like his wife, sparing in words but 
 good of deed. 
 
 " These are fine horses," he said. 
 14 
 
204 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " Yes," I replied, with grateful recollections of Wil- 
 liam Penn, " they were chosen by one who knew." 
 Then I asked him the distance to the town at which I 
 intended to make our first stop, and he answered that it 
 was twenty miles. 
 
 " But the road is rough," he said. " The hills get 
 steeper the farther you go." 
 
 I did not answer. I was looking back in the direc- 
 tion from which we had ridden, seeking traces of pur- 
 suing horsemen. 
 
 " It's twenty miles by the straight road," resumed 
 the man; " but there is a path a few miles longer, which 
 one who does not want to be overtaken might follow, 
 even if he got there a little later." 
 
 I thanked him for his friendly hint, and offered him 
 money — I had with me a plentiful supply of both gold 
 and bank notes — but he would take nothing, nor would 
 his wife. " We do this for the girl's pretty face," she 
 said. 
 
 Then Elinor came forth, glowing with restored 
 health and strength, and we rode on, the kindly couple 
 watching us until we passed out of sight. 
 
 " It is a good world after all, is it not? " said Elinor 
 with a happy smile; " and there are good people in it, 
 are there not, Henry? " 
 
 " Yes," I replied, " when one comes to them with a 
 face like yours." 
 
 " For shame, sir, to make such an absurd compli- 
 ment to your own wife! " 
 
 We followed the path as the man had described it to 
 me, and it led among the lonely and higher hills. We 
 passed few houses, and they were only cabins set in the 
 little coves. The summer was fading, and the edges of 
 the leaves had begun to turn dry and curl up. The air 
 was pure and crisp with the early breath of autumn, 
 and we heard the light wind singing among the leaves. 
 We saw the white and dusty road once or twice below us, 
 
THE PLIGHT ACROSS THE HILLS 205 
 
 curving around the base of hills, but unyielding to 
 temptation we remained in the higher and more diffi- 
 cult path. 
 
 We were two hours on the way, when Elinor put her 
 hand upon my arm and pointed to the valley below us. 
 
 " Blanchard and his men," she said. 
 
 I was devoutly thankful now for the farmer's ad- 
 vice, and also for the trees that sheltered our path. 
 Blanchard and about twenty troopers were riding on the 
 road parallel with us. We saw them distinctly through 
 the leaves. 
 
 " They obtained the direction from some one in the 
 village," I said, as I stopped the horses, " and they 
 think to overtake us. We shall let them pass." 
 
 We watched them until the road made another curve 
 around a hill, and the last we saw was the flash of steel 
 from a soldier's rifle barrel. We had escaped them 
 easily; but since they would ride to Hungerford, the 
 town to which we had intended to go, the pursuit had 
 become a grave matter. Varian was not with the troop- 
 ers, but I had recognised Blanchard at their head, and I 
 knew that he was not a man who would abandon the 
 pursuit quickly. 
 
 "What shall we do?" asked Elinor, thinking the 
 same thought. 
 
 " We must turn toward the South," I answered, and 
 I named another town which I believed that we could 
 reach before night. She uttered no word of fear or 
 complaint, and we rode on the new course, arriving at 
 our destination a little earlier than I had expected. I 
 gave Elinor again into the charge of a hospitable farm- 
 er's wife, and we continued early the next morning to- 
 ward "the east, finding ourselves now on the first slopes 
 of the mountains and in country which could be truly 
 called doubtful ground, ridden over by the armed parti- 
 sans of both North and South; by bands that claimed to 
 belong to either, according to their convenience, and 
 
206 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 w ho robbed according to their pleasure. Yet we saw no 
 enemy, and I began to believe that we had eluded 
 Blanchard, although I knew that even in such a thinly- 
 settled region news travels fast and we could not hope 
 to pass unnoticed. 
 
 It turned warmer again, and the country was 
 strangely lonely. Below us lay a little valley, but it was 
 still and dead; the heat hung over it in a fine yellow 
 haze; there was no ripple of a breeze in the grass. A 
 shallow brook crept bravely over its brown sands. Far 
 up the valley was a house, but it seemed desolate. 
 We began to feel as if we were exiles. Great armies 
 were marching; the fate of a nation was impend- 
 ing, and only we two rode between earth and sky. 
 Whatever was happening was happening without us, 
 and yet we were content. 
 
 We rode into the valley and across it, not meeting 
 any human being nor hearing the sound of one. It 
 was just the same drowsy summer afternoon, with the 
 waves of heat rolling up from the south, and the rays of 
 the western sun striking with dazzling brightness on 
 hill and level. 
 
 We crossed the valley and again were in the rolling 
 country, but gazing beyond into another and farther 
 valley on the way we could see neither soldier nor civil- 
 ian; only the hills and the forests. When I looked 
 back I noticed that the brightness of the sun was 
 dimmed in the east; a faint gray mist was creeping 
 through the golden glow, and the trees on the crest of 
 the hills were blurred; the day was closing, and now I 
 saw no farmhouse to shelter Elinor. I produced cold 
 food, and then dismounting, that our tired horses 
 might rest, we ate our little supper and watched the 
 night come in the east. 
 
 The forest, at the horizon's edge, grew misty and 
 indistinct, then faded, a golden glow hung over the tree- 
 tops for a few moments and fled, the hills sank away, 
 
THE FLIGHT ACROSS THE HILLS 207 
 
 and the valley became invisible; all the east was gone, 
 and the twilight passed on over the circle of the heavens 
 into the mist, where the sun yet lingered, a shield of 
 red fire. The long rays of intense light fell like lances 
 across hill, valley, and plain, shone there a while and 
 then were gone; the sun slid down behind the highest 
 hill, a cloud of red and gold, the colours rising above 
 each like terraces, marking for a little where it had 
 sunk, then the luminous cloud yielded to the shadows, 
 and the world was clothed in darkness. 
 
 We expected coolness to come with the night, but 
 the air swam in a heavy, damp heat, that relaxed the 
 muscles and dimmed the brightness of the mind. In 
 this prison of thick, vaporous air, energy seemed to be 
 going, and we felt a sense of depression. 
 
 The heat increased; the clouds were rolling like 
 waves across the sky. From the southwest behind the 
 hills came a hum, and I knew that a storm would soon 
 be upon us. I took the army coat of rubber which the 
 provident William Penn had tied to my saddle, and 
 wrapped it around Elinor. 
 
 The hum in the southwest turned to a mutter, then 
 grew to a roar, the lightning flamed in flash after 
 flash across the sky like the swift strokes of a gigantic 
 sword-blade, the thunder boomed in long, rolling 
 crashes, and then rushing and roaring the rain came, 
 sweeping in blinding sheets through the forests, and 
 over the hills and valleys, and flowing in little rivers of 
 mud and water in every path and road. 
 
 The dry earth for a time received the rain into 
 itself and was glad; the cracks and seams, made by the 
 heat, filled up; the thirsty grass, refreshed, raised its 
 head, the dry foliage lost its brown, and blossomed anew 
 in freshest green. The hot earth steamed at first with 
 the vapours that rose, but presently the air began to 
 turn cool, and the whole earth soaked in the steady 
 pour. 
 
208 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 We stopped under the thick boughs of a tree and 
 sought protection from the rain, but I soon saw that 
 the effort was useless; it beat through the leaves and 
 upon us, and, knowing nothing else to do, we rode slowly. 
 on hoping that it would soon cease, its mission to cool 
 and moisten the thirsty earth finished. But it did not 
 cease; the clouds still rolled across the sky, and no light 
 showed there save when the lightning flamed through; 
 the thunder crashed in irregular volleys, and the rain 
 swept on, sheet after sheet, in unceasing repetition. 
 
 It was a summer storm of lightning, thunder, and 
 rain, a peculiar product of our American weather, but 
 none the less violent and uncomfortable because of its 
 peculiarity. The wants of the thirsty earth had been 
 satisfied long since, but it pounded on, the water sweep- 
 ing in torrents down the hillsides, and the wind whist- 
 ling and moaning among the trees. 
 
 In the darkness, which was deep save when lit up by 
 the lightning, we wandered from the road and could not 
 find it again. We had trusted to our horses, but their 
 spirit was gone, and lowering their heads they waited 
 for us to guide. The wet bushes and the slender boughs 
 of the trees swished across our faces and tore our 
 clothes. Our horses' feet sank deep in the soft earth, 
 and they stumbled with our weight; we let the reins go, 
 leaving it to their instinct to wander to the safest path. 
 The lightning which blazed so often in our faces only 
 dazzled us, not showing the way, and the moment the 
 flash was gone the darkness settled around us again, 
 thick, close, and impervious; the thunder crashed, and 
 then the echo rolled far among the hills like the rumble 
 of marching artillery; the boughs cracked before the 
 wind and fell, and in the darkness we heard the sweep 
 of new torrents, and the thud of the soft earth falling 
 from the hillsides into the valley below. But we strug- 
 gled on, and Elinor, turning a cheerful face to me, 
 smiled, and said we must expect some hardships. 
 
THE FLIGHT ACROSS THE HILLS 209 
 
 The lightning stopped by-and-bye, dying away in a 
 few faint jets; the thunder rumbled among the hills for 
 the last time and was gone; the wind no longer moaned 
 and shrieked, and the snapping of the boughs, which 
 had sounded like volleys of pistol shots, ceased, but the 
 rain poured down in a steady, even flow, as if it would 
 end only with the night. I was glad that the lightning 
 had gone, but this monotonous and unbroken beat of 
 the water was sombre and promised no rest. 
 
 We rode on for hours, hearing nothing but the 
 steady drumming of the rain, the occasional sticky sigh 
 of the yielding earth as it slid away from the hill and 
 fell into the valley below. The thick vapours began to 
 rise again from the steaming earth, but the clouds 
 parted after awhile, and a pale glimmer of sky appeared, 
 though the rain did not cease. The night light was too 
 faint to disclose the way, and merely imparted a ghostly 
 quality to the dripping forest and blur of hills that 
 showed through; the boughs reached out long arms try- 
 ing to hold us back, and here and there they were 
 crossed in such queer shapes that the black lines made 
 gigantic faces. 
 
 I do not know how long a time had passed when we 
 heard the regular beat of horses' feet; at first it seemed 
 to be ahead of us, then on one side, then on the other; 
 but at last I decided that it was behind us, and ap- 
 proaching. Our horses had drifted into some kind of 
 path, and we turned them back into the woods, not 
 knowing who rode behind, nor, in truth, whether it was 
 our fancy playing us some strange trick. 
 
 The muffled thud of footsteps in soft earth grew 
 louder, and a ghostly legion rode by, a hundred or more 
 in single file, in the faded gray of the Southern army, 
 their caps drawn low and little streams of water running 
 down their faces, their heads bent over, every man 
 silent, and riding as if he were without life and tied to 
 his horse; the horses themselves drooped heavy heads, 
 
210 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 and the reins hung on their saddle-horns. All was 
 sombre and silent; no gleam of metal or colour lighted 
 up the procession, and thus it passed silently by; out of 
 the mists and vapours it came, and into the mists and 
 vapours it went. 
 
 Day dawned, and the brisk sunshine soon made us 
 dry and warm, and after a little more of the cold food 
 and water, and a stop to rest our weary horses, we re- 
 sumed our journey. 
 
 I was glad to note by the sun that we still rode to 
 the northeast, and thus had kept the true direction. We 
 would go on. We must meet some one soon who could 
 tell us where we were, and as I formed the resolution we 
 saw from the hill upon which we stood a troop of 
 mounted men appear in the valley below. 
 
 They were far off, but the dazzling light shone full 
 upon the horsemen, and my heart leaped within me 
 when I recognised the blue uniforms of the North, the 
 welcome colour for which I had been straining my eyes 
 so long. Surely we could find shelter in the Northern 
 lines. They rode in a long column, heads erect, their 
 faces to the wind and the north, not like the drooping 
 and sombre procession that we had seen the night be- 
 fore. 
 
 The notes of a trumpet, mellow, inspiring, and clear, 
 came up from the valley and echoed through the woods 
 and hills, where it died in a soft and liquid note. The 
 horsemen stopped and formed in a line across the mead- 
 ow. We wondered what this meant, but looking up the 
 valley, we saw another troop of horsemen emerge from 
 a wood, and they were in gray, not in blue. Our own 
 progress would have to await the issue of a battle. 
 
 The valley lay before us like a board, and the men 
 moved upon it in perfect unison, their figures decreased 
 a little by the distance, but their features almost visible 
 in the faultless sunlight. Again the trumpet notes, 
 mellow, cheerful, and echoing, came up to us, but this 
 
THE FLIGHT ACROSS THE HILLS 211 
 
 time it was the Southern trumpet that sounded. The 
 two lines of horsemen moved toward each other. 
 
 We dismounted, and while I held the bridles of both 
 horses we walked to the edge of the hill, intent upon the 
 battle that was about to unroll before us. Elinor's lips 
 parted, her face pale and her eyes shining. 
 
 The speed of the approaching lines increased from a 
 walk to a canter; little jets of flame burst from each, 
 and the rattle of carbine and pistol shots came to our 
 waiting ears. It was a sputtering fire, now rising, now 
 falling, then dying away, but beginning again in a 
 moment. Little clouds of white smoke rose, but were 
 soon left behind by the swift riders. Some horses, sad- 
 dles empty, still kept their places, and galloped shoulder 
 to shoulder with 'their comrades. It was a fine specta- 
 cle seen from afar, full of life, spirit, and movement, 
 and the wounds were hid. 
 
 The strip of green between the approaching lines 
 narrowed rapidly; they seemed about to melt into one. 
 The pistol fire died like an echo, and was succeeded by 
 silence. We were too far away for the tread of the 
 horses to reach us, but this silence lasted only a mo- 
 ment. Two lines of sabres glittered in the air, and then 
 the opposing horsemen hurled themselves upon each 
 other. We heard the crash and the shouts, and saw the 
 sabres as they rose and fell. 
 
 There was for a moment a confused and mingled 
 mass of men and horses, and we hung over it breathless, 
 until out of the tumult and turmoil one line of riders 
 emerged in the semblance of order, leaving the other 
 only a huddle. The men in blue still rode, and the men 
 in gray were down. 
 
 The line of blue horsemen turned back, and the 
 sabres rose again. The gray must choose between 
 death and surrender. 
 
 But the notes of another trumpet came from the 
 woods, and another body of horsemen, compact and 
 
212 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 numerous, galloped toward the field of conflict. These, 
 too, were in gray, and they outnumbered the little 
 Northern band fivefold. 
 
 A shout of triumph burst from the second battalion 
 in gray, and reached us as we stood upon our hill. The 
 cavalry in blue stopped, fired a few scattering shots, and 
 galloped down the valley, disappearing. The others 
 did not pursue, but gathered around their defeated com- 
 rades, took up the dead, and then passed out of the 
 valley at the other end, Southerners and Northerners 
 disappearing in different directions. Thus died my 
 hope of sheltering Elinor behind the Northern sabres. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 AT LAST CHANCE 
 
 " I am glad that we were no nearer," said Elinor, and 
 I knew that she was thinking not of herself, but of the 
 men who were lying out there in the valley, and who 
 would smile no more. War is a terrible thing for 
 woman to look upon. 
 
 We reached a village at noon, where we found rest 
 and food for ourselves and the horses. Many questions, 
 natural to the dwellers in lonely places, were asked 
 us here, but I told a part of the truth, saying that my 
 wife and I were going to the East, and wished to pass 
 as far away from the path of the war as possible. They 
 advised us to beware of the roving bands of partisans 
 who were committing many atrocities, and we con- 
 tinued on our way, soon arriving in the region that was 
 distinctly mountainous. Here autumn was advancing 
 on the uplands. The leaves were beginning to burn 
 with vivid reds, and yellows, and browns, and the air 
 was strong like wine. 
 
 Elinor, who had been grave and quiet during the 
 early part of our journey, now became a sprite. Never 
 had I seen her when the play of her fancy was more 
 brilliant. I was the subject of many a jest, but never 
 an unfeeling one. I think it was youth and happiness 
 in her veins, her escape from the life and dangers that 
 she dreaded, and the quiet world through which we now 
 rode. The roses, which had paled a little in her cheeks 
 
 213 
 
214 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 under the stress of danger and hardship, bloomed afresh 
 and in more vivid colours. Never have I seen a finer 
 spirit and a greater courage. She would not anticipate 
 disaster, but expected only good fortune. She talked 
 of those whom we had left behind, and those whom we 
 expected to find in the East. She laughed at William 
 Penn, and in the same breath thanked him. She spoke 
 gently of my grandmother, and of her aunt, too, who 
 she was sure would forgive her. She wondered where 
 Major Titus Tyler was, and if we would see in the East 
 Pembroke, and Tourville, and Mason, and all the others 
 we had known. 
 
 I knew that my loyalty was due to the army, but I 
 did not wish the happiest journey of my life to end 
 soon, and so we made no haste for a while. There is 
 but one true honeymoon in every man's or woman's life, 
 and nothing can replace it. A country of thirty mil- 
 lions could not miss one humble soldier, and my con- 
 science was at ease while I looked upon the woman who 
 rode beside me, and felt that even in war life may be 
 sweet. 
 
 The autumnal colours deepened. The mountains 
 glowed with their varying colours, and a fine haze 
 like that of Indian summer clothed the ridges. We 
 saw far away the smoke of forest fires, and now and 
 then the crack of a rifle shot came to our ears, but it was 
 only a hunter, and we saw and heard no enemy. The 
 war now seemed to us a vague and distant quarrel in 
 which we were not concerned, and yet if we had sought 
 more closely through the valleys and coves through 
 which we were passing we could have found its trail. 
 Both sides had drawn troops from among the lank 
 mountain boys, but the North had been the greater 
 gainer by far. They fired at each other sometimes 
 from the mountain ambushes, but no one disturbed us. 
 
 We had been nearly two weeks on the way, riding 
 through beautiful weather, and were deep in the moun- 
 
AT LAST CHANCE 215 
 
 tains, when we reached a tiny hamlet called Last Chance. 
 There were not more than twenty houses in the place, 
 and they were all of logs, but it was a picturesque little 
 village, lying in an angle of a narrow valley with a clear 
 mountain torrent rushing at its feet. I decided that 
 we should rest here a day before crossing the highest 
 and loneliest peaks, and, as usual, it was easy enough 
 to find a place for Elinor. Her face and manner were 
 an unfailing passport to the favour of the mountain 
 wives, and an hour after we arrived she was comfortably 
 installed in the best room in the best house in the place, 
 while I found quarters fifty yards away, with the only 
 shopkeeper in Last Chance. I sat in his queer little 
 store, while Elinor was sleeping, and saw the mountain 
 men, some still in the coonskin cap and buckskins of 
 the pioneers, come in and bargain with their furs for 
 what they thought they needed most, and that seemed 
 to be powder and bullets. 
 
 I took my supper with Elinor and then walked back 
 in the dark toward my own room. When I was half- 
 way between I heard a clatter of hoofs, the gallop of 
 cavalry, and in a moment thirty or forty men rode down 
 the trail into the village. It was clear moonlight, and 
 the leader raised a shout when he saw me. I knew him. 
 It was Blanchard, who, I had thought, must have quit 
 the pursuit long since. 
 
 My pulses seemed to stop beating for a moment, and 
 I claim that it was not fear for myself. I can say truly 
 that my first thought was of Elinor. As I hesitated a 
 moment, uncertain what to do, Blanchard fired at me 
 with his pistol, the bullet whizzing near my face. I 
 drew my own weapon and sent a return shot, but missed 
 Blanchard, and instead struck the man just behind him, 
 who fell from his horse. Then the bullets began to 
 patter around me, and, seeing the futility of flight or 
 further resistance, I held up my hands as a sign that I 
 surrendered. 
 
216 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " It was a long chase, but we brought down the game 
 at last/' said Blanchard as they bound my arms; " and 
 I'll wager that the girl can't be far away." 
 
 His face for almost the first time since I knew him 
 showed expression. His satisfaction was undisguised. 
 
 "She's near, isn't she, hey, Mr. Kingsford?" he 
 said; " or were you getting ready to run off with some 
 other girl? I fear that gay fellows like you are fickle." 
 
 " My arms are bound, Mr. Blanchard," I replied, 
 " and so it is safe for you to say whatever you please." 
 
 He said nothing more, but then I heard the quick 
 step of light feet, the flutter of a dress, and Elinor's 
 arms were about my neck. 
 
 " Yes, Elinor," I said, " it is Blanchard, and they 
 have taken us. It was my carelessness, but I thought 
 that they had turned back long ago." 
 
 " What right have you to bind him? " asked Elinor, 
 turning indignantly upon Blanchard. " He is a pris- 
 oner of war." 
 
 " He is too slippery, Miss Maynard," replied Blanch- 
 ard; " and he is especially wanted." 
 
 " They can not harm you; they can only take you 
 back," said Elinor bravely, and then she said to Blanch- 
 ard, with a flash of warlike fire in her eyes, " I shall not 
 permit you to harm him; he is my husband." 
 
 "How can you prove that?" asked Blanchard, his 
 face distorting into an ugly grin. 
 
 I struggled to break the cords that bound my arms, 
 but they held fast. Oh, for only five minutes of free- 
 dom! I saw now why he called her Miss Maynard, and 
 yet the motive seemed too base. Elinor flushed a deep 
 crimson, and then became white. But she turned her 
 back upon Blanchard with an expression of scorn. 
 
 " I wish you not to speak to me again," she said. 
 
 " As you please," he replied coolly; " but meantime 
 we'll guard you too, my lady, as you are wanted as well 
 as he." 
 
AT LAST CHANCE 217 
 
 The villagers gathered, but they could not have 
 rescued us from a troop of cavalry even had they felt 
 disposed to do so. Their looks showed sympathy. 
 Blanchard noticed it, and he said: 
 
 " He is a deserter, and, besides, he stole a young girl 
 from her home." 
 
 " Both are lies," I said. " I was a prisoner, but I 
 escaped, and the lady is my wife." 
 
 I saw that they believed me, and I felt a pleasure in 
 it. I wished to be justified even in the minds of those 
 humble mountain people who had never seen me before, 
 and who probably would never see me again. 
 
 Blanchard proceeded with the authority of a dicta- 
 tor, and was as unscrupulous. He told Elinor that she 
 could return to her room, but a guard would be placed 
 around the house. She kissed me on the forehead, after 
 the fashion of my grandmother, and said: 
 
 " You shall escape yet, Henry, and wherever you go 
 I will go with you." 
 
 Blanchard sneered, but said nothing. I, too, was re- 
 turned to my room, but my arms remained bound, and a 
 sentinel, rifle in hand, stood inside the door. 
 
 " I shall not take any chances with you, my pretty 
 fellow," said Blanchard. " I warned the colonel, back 
 there at Silver Bow, that you might escape, but he was 
 too confident. The greatest men even have their weak 
 moments." 
 
 Blanchard's language and accent were good, and I 
 looked at him with curiosity, wondering why he should 
 be willing to do Varian's ugly work for him. But his 
 face was inscrutable, and in a moment he left me alone 
 with the sentinel. 
 
 A tallow candle burned on a table, and I sat down on 
 the edge of the bed, my bound arms paining me some- 
 what. I was not sleepy, and tried to engage the sentinel 
 in conversation, but he refused to answer. Time then 
 passed with the greatest monotony and slowness, but in 
 
218 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 an hour Blanchard came back and said that he wished 
 to talk with me. 
 
 " I decline to say a word, no matter what the sub- 
 ject," I replied, " unless you unbind me. I can't escape 
 anyhow, guarded as I am." 
 
 " I think that's true," he replied, " and while I am 
 here I have no fear that you will try it." 
 
 He ordered my arms unbound, and told the sentinel 
 to stand outside the door, but to be ready with his 
 weapon if he were called. Then he sat down by the 
 table in the only chair that the room contained, while 
 I remained sitting on the edge of the bed. The light of 
 the candle nickered over his face, and I noticed how 
 heavy, strong, and unscrupulous it was. 
 
 " Mr. Kingsford," said Blanchard, " I am not going 
 to take you and Miss Maynard back to Kentucky." 
 
 " Mrs. Kingsford, if you please," I replied, " or I 
 refuse to listen to another word." 
 
 " Very well, then," he replied, " Mrs. Kingsford 
 let it be, for the sake of courtesy. Nobody shall say that 
 I lack manners. You would not think, would you, to 
 find such pride in a rough man like me? And I repeat 
 that I am not going to take Mr. and Mrs. Kingsford 
 back to Kentucky." 
 
 " Why not? " I asked with interest. 
 
 " Because Colonel Varian, my friend and employer, 
 has preceded you to the East. This escape of yours, 
 and your kidnapping the young lady for whom he in- 
 tended the high honour of being his wife, upset all his 
 plans. It was altogether likely that your flight would 
 take you to the eastward, and he learned, too, from 
 good evidence, that it had done so. Then he used his 
 influence, which you and I know to be powerful, to have 
 himself transferred to a command in the East, in order 
 that he might have the pleasure of meeting you and the 
 young lady when you arrived there. Don't you feel flat- 
 tered because your own movements compel so many 
 
AT LAST CHANCE 219 
 
 others to go in the same direction? Meanwhile I took 
 a select body of troopers and followed on your trail 
 through the mountains, which was not a hard thing to 
 do, as I heard of you several times before I succeeded in 
 catching you in this little town so aptly named Last 
 Chance, for here you saw your last chance go. Colonel 
 Varian wanted to do this work himself, but it was not 
 wise for him to come, and, besides, he knew that he had 
 a competent and faithful lieutenant, Covin Blanch- 
 ard, Esquire, at your service " 
 
 " All this may be interesting," I said, " but you 
 have now told the tale." 
 
 " These are merely preliminaries," he resumed; 
 " but I have a message for you from Colonel Varian. 
 You know that he is a man accustomed to having his 
 own way, and he had his heart set upon this girl. I re- 
 peat that even the greatest men have their weaknesses. 
 He was in a terrible rage when he heard that you had es- 
 caped; but that was nothing to his fury when he found 
 that you had stolen his bride and taken her with you. 
 The thunder rolled and the lightning flashed, and some 
 of us were afraid that we were going to get struck by a 
 thunderbolt. Even I, Covin Blanchard, who claim to 
 fear nobody, had a pretty bad half hour, and I redeem 
 my credit only by the recapture of you and Miss May — 
 Mrs. Kingsford, I mean." 
 
 It was my impulse again to strike him, as his intent 
 was too obvious, but I restrained myself, and he re- 
 sumed: 
 
 " Colonel Varian is not a man to be discouraged, and 
 he at once set about the pursuit of you two, still de- 
 termined that the young lady should be his, and not 
 yours. Mrs. Arlington and that confounded minister 
 said that you and the girl were married, but those hasty 
 ceremonies are sometimes imperfect, and Colonel Va- 
 rian would not let such a trifle stand in his way. Keep 
 your anger! I am merely giving you the view that the 
 15 
 
220 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 colonel takes of it, and I have to do it to make you 
 understand the situation. His orders to me were to 
 bring you and the girl to him in Virginia, and under no 
 circumstances to permit your escape again. My men 
 were to shoot you at your first attempt, and any little 
 movement, you know, may look like an attempt." 
 
 Both accent and words were full of sinister mean- 
 ing, and I understood thoroughly. 
 
 " Now it's superfluous for me to say, Mr. Kingsford, 
 that you are in the way," he resumed. " You are very 
 much in the way. Colonel Varian was disposed to like 
 you, and so am I even now. You are a brave man and 
 full of resources. You escaped and stole away with the 
 girl very cleverly. Neither of us denies that, and Colo- 
 nel Varian is disposed to favour you so long as you don't 
 oppose him. Now, I want to make you a proposition in 
 his behalf. I don't say that it comes from him. I 
 merely foresee his wishes. I am under heavy obliga- 
 tions to him, and sometimes I serve him in ways of 
 which perhaps he doesn't approve. There is a differ- 
 ence between us: he is scrupulous, and I am not, and on 
 that account we make a strong team. It was I who in- 
 cited Palmore to shoot at you — I make no secret of it 
 now, why 'should I ? — but what a wretched blunderer he 
 was! We are well rid of him. But, in brief, what I 
 want to say to you is this: Give up your claim on the 
 girl, let Varian have her, and when you make an attempt 
 at escape at some convenient place in a day or two, my 
 men will fire wildly; their bullets will go over your 
 head, and our hurry in reaching Virginia will forbid 
 further pursuit of you." 
 
 I felt the hot blood rising again in my veins, and my 
 brain was touched with fire. 
 
 " But the lady is my wife," I said, with an appear- 
 ance of calmness. 
 
 " That useless ceremony again," he continued impa- 
 tiently. " Whatever it amounts to, it can be undone 
 
AT LAST CHANCE 221 
 
 without trouble. As I said, it does not defeat Varian. 
 Be reasonable — you need to be so. Even if she were 
 your wife, as you say, she can easily become your widow, 
 and then you will be much worse off than you are now, 
 while she will be no better. Don't you see how com- 
 pletely both of you are in our power? Why not give her 
 up, when you can only gain by it? Besides, if you let 
 Yarian have her you can say that you were first " 
 
 I struck him in the face with all my might, and he 
 fell bleeding to the floor. 
 
 " Eepeat such words," I said, " and I shall strangle 
 you, even if your sentinel out there shoots me the next 
 moment! " 
 
 " You should be thankful that I have not called him 
 already," he replied, giving me a look of deep malice 
 as he struggled to his feet. " I prefer, however, to do 
 my work in the right manner. I have better command 
 of myself than you have over yourself. I see that you 
 are not a man of sense, as I had supposed. I was mak- 
 ing you a fair proposition that might have saved your 
 life, and you replied with violence. Good night." 
 
 But he did not go immediately. He wiped the blood 
 off his face, and then recalled the sentinel, who rebound 
 my arms at the gun-muzzle. 
 
 " Now you watch here, Walker, until your relief 
 comes," said Blanchard; " and if the prisoner tries to 
 escape, shoot him at once. Don't forget this." 
 
 I knew from the sentinel's face that he would not 
 forget it. Blanchard went out quietly, and I was left 
 to unhappy thoughts. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 PRISONERS OF VARIAN 
 
 We resumed the eastward journey the next morn- 
 ing, but under conditions so different. Our happy ride 
 was over. I sat upon the same horse, but I was bound to 
 him, and a trooper was on either side of me, almost 
 shoulder to shoulder. Elinor rode just ahead. They 
 treated her with the utmost respect; in truth I had not 
 feared otherwise, but Blanchard refused to listen to 
 her request that I be unbound. 
 
 " Perhaps, as you claim, lady, he can not escape," he 
 replied; " but he did so once, and he may try it again. 
 He'll have to stand it the best he can." 
 
 But she showed in this crisis the nobility and cour- 
 age of her nature. She did not droop or entreat. She 
 was brave and cheerful, and whenever they permitted 
 she rode near me, speaking of the time when we would 
 be free again and happy together. Had I been disposed 
 to be downcast, my very pride would not have per- 
 mitted me to be sustained only by the strength of the 
 one who would have been called the weaker of the two. 
 
 " You are only a prisoner, Henry," she said, " and 
 they have no right to treat you so. The Southern 
 authorities would not permit it if they knew of it, and 
 when we reach the East I shall tell them, if I have to 
 go to General Lee himself, who is the most humane of 
 men." 
 
 I had little in my treatment to complain of save 
 222 
 
PRISONERS OF VARIAN 223 
 
 the binding of my arms and the inconvenience that it 
 caused. They gave me a fair share of their fare, and at 
 night I had as good shelter as the others. Nor was 
 there any diminution in the respect that they paid Eli- 
 nor. I hoped sometimes for a rescue, but the chances 
 decreased fast as we began to descend the eastern slopes 
 of the mountains and enter the lowlands. Villagers 
 and farmers came to look at us now and then as we 
 passed, but they said nothing. Blanchard met no force 
 sufficient to cope with his, although almost the whole of 
 the region through which we rode was hostile to the 
 South. We were fired at once from a mountain ridge 
 by some of those pleasant gentlemen known as bush- 
 whackers, but none of the bullets touched us, and they 
 did not dare to come nearer. Elinor showed no fear 
 when the rifles cracked and the bullets whizzed about 
 our ears, and Blanchard spoke his admiration. 
 
 " Both Colonel Varian and you show good taste," he 
 said. 
 
 I did not reply. 
 
 We descended into the Valley of Virginia, a region 
 devoted to the Southern cause, and now occupied, at 
 least in the portion we entered, by Southern troops. 
 Blanchard came to me on the second day after we 
 reached the low country, and said: 
 
 " We shall overtake Colonel Varian to-morrow, and 
 I shall give the lady and you to him. Both of you, 
 doubtless, will be glad to part with me, but not more so 
 than I am to part with you. I do not care for com- 
 missions of this kind, because I have been afraid that 
 you would escape again." 
 
 I bowed assent, but I was surprised and disappointed 
 to hear that Varian was so near. I had believed that 
 we would be taken to Bichmond, where I was confident 
 that I could secure at once the release of Elinor, and my 
 own too, or, at least, a recognition of my status as a 
 mere prisoner of war. The Southern leaders would 
 
224 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 not tolerate for a moment such treatment as we were 
 now receiving. But I should have known better, know- 
 ing Varian's boldness so well. Nevertheless I did not 
 permit my face to show my feelings to Blanchard. 
 
 " I should like to speak to my wife," I said. 
 
 He considered a moment, but at last consented, 
 and then Elinor was at my side. I told her that we 
 were approaching the camp of Varian, and would not 
 go to Eichmond as we had hoped. It was likely that 
 we should be separated there, and the future would 
 not be pleasant for either of us, at least for a while; 
 many things not true would be said to her, but she 
 need fear nobody. 
 
 " I shall never forget, Henry," she said, " that I am 
 your wife." 
 
 She looked into my eyes with so much courage and 
 truth that my fears for her diminished. Neither her 
 aunt, nor Varian, nor circumstances could quench her 
 spirit. I felt a deep sense of pride because I held 
 the love of such a woman, and I wondered how I had 
 ever won it. 
 
 She feared only for me, not for herself, and I swore 
 under my breath that I would rescue her yet from the 
 hands into which she had fallen. 
 
 "We reached Varian's camp the next day. He and 
 some of his officers were occupying a large double brick 
 house on a hill, and the tents of the men stood on the 
 lawn. The detachment seemed to number about five 
 hundred, all cavalry. As we approached, Elinor said, 
 " Good-bye for a time." 
 
 Then she went away, and I saw a woman come for- 
 ward to meet her. It was her aunt, and, however hos- 
 tile and revengeful Mrs. Maynard might be, I was glad 
 that she was there, since Elinor would not now be the 
 only woman in the camp. 
 
 " I am sorry, Mr. Kingsford," said Blanchard, " that 
 we can't give you quarters in the house, but this is 
 
PRISONERS OF VARIAN 225 
 
 not a hotel, and you will have to put up with the 
 barn." 
 
 They imprisoned me in a small room that had been 
 used in better times for the storage of shelled corn. 
 The place was comfortable enough in autumn weather, 
 and I had no complaints to make. I had been there 
 several hours, given up to lonely thought, when the 
 sentinel at the door presented arms and admitted 
 Varian. 
 
 He was dressed as a brigadier general in the South- 
 ern service; his uniform was of the richest and freshest 
 texture, and a magnificent gold-hilted sword hung by 
 his side. This weapon, as he afterward told me himself, 
 was presented to him by the ladies of Nashville and 
 Clarksville for heroic conduct in the presence of over- 
 whelming numbers of the enemy. His manner was 
 dignified, and not expressive of triumph. 
 
 " Your quarters here are not luxurious, Mr. Kings- 
 ford, but we give you the best that we have," he said. 
 
 '" Has a man a right to ask more? " I replied. 
 
 " You are perhaps surprised to see me in Virginia 
 before you," he resumed; " but as I came by a more 
 direct route, and in great haste, I have been here sev- 
 eral days awaiting you and the woman for whom we are 
 rivals. I never doubted Blanchard's success in finding 
 and recapturing you. I have in him a most loyal and 
 able friend. He has told me of a proposition that he 
 made to you, and the reply that you made to him. He 
 is a man of blunt speech, and perhaps has not that 
 delicacy of mind which we think natural to a gentle- 
 man. He went further than I would have had him go. 
 Yet I regret to tell you, Mr. Kingsford, that your posi- 
 tion is an exceedingly doubtful one, and we scarcely 
 know what to do with you." 
 
 "Why so?" I asked. 
 
 " You escaped from us, and instead of returning to 
 your army you stole a young woman from her nearest 
 
226 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 relative and natural guardian, and ran away with her 
 into the mountains. If we returned you to your own 
 forces would not they treat you as a deserter? " 
 
 I laughed, amused that he should seek to frighten 
 me with such a story. 
 
 " Mr. Varian," I said — I did not yet call him gen- 
 eral, although I saw by his uniform that he had been 
 promoted to that rank — " I do not fear any such result 
 as the one at which you seem to hint, and why should 
 you fear for me ? " 
 
 " Then we will dismiss that phase of the question," 
 he said; " but as you, a soldier, were taken in civilian's 
 attire, it might be held that you are a spy, if I chose to 
 press the charge against you; and then your kidnap- 
 ping of Miss Maynard can not be passed over even in a 
 time of war." 
 
 " You should know," I replied, " that Miss Maynard 
 was not kidnapped. She came with me of her own 
 will." 
 
 His eyes flashed with anger and the blood surged to 
 his face. I had touched him in a tender spot, and for a 
 moment he showed it, but he recovered himself quickly, 
 and again was cool and unimpassioned. 
 
 " It is not well to boast of one's triumphs with a 
 lady," he said. 
 
 " Ask my wife if she did not come willingly," I re- 
 plied. 
 
 " Listen to me, Mr. Kingsford," he continued. 
 " There is a rivalry between us which must have a de- 
 cisive issue. We have long known it; we knew it in 
 Washington before the war, although it was then vague, 
 but it is now acute. You have been triumphant so far 
 with Miss Maynard. It is an old truth that no one can 
 ever account for a lady's choice. I do not say that as 
 any criticism of you, but rather in defense of myself — 
 but I think that fortune is changing. The cards are 
 now in my hands, and to be frank with you, Mr. Kings- 
 
PRISONERS OP VARIAN 227 
 
 ford, I shall use them. I have been accustomed to my 
 own way all my life; it is now a habit with me, and the 
 strongest motive in a man's life is the love of a woman. 
 I mean that she shall yet he my wife. I had planned a 
 great career for her by my side, and in order to win 
 her, to be frank again, I am ready to compromise with 
 my conscience, if it is necessary. I tell you that she 
 shall yet be mine." 
 
 He spoke with the quiet resolution of a strong man, 
 sure of success. But I was not afraid. I, too, was 
 confident. 
 
 " You forget the greatest obstacle," I said. 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " The will of the lady. You forget that I have her 
 love. As you say, no one can account for the choice of 
 a woman, but I have it, and you can never win it from 
 me, whether I be alive or dead." 
 
 The threatening flash, quick as lightning, appeared 
 again in his eyes, and his face reddened to the brow. 
 
 " Let me remind you again, Mr. Kingsf ord," he said, 
 " that it is not wise to boast of your triumph with a 
 lady; but since you speak in such plain terms, so will I. 
 If I can not win her with her consent, I shall win her 
 without it, whether you be alive or dead." 
 
 I felt the full measure of his threat against both 
 Elinor and myself. 
 
 " I am glad to see you as you are, Mr. Yarian," I 
 said, " and to find of what material you are really made 
 beneath your false covering." 
 
 " I do not differ from other men," he replied, " al- 
 though I may be less of a hypocrite than most of us. 
 What is it that our sex has not done for the love of a 
 woman? Have not the greatest in history thrown away 
 all else for the smile of a round-cheeked girl? I think 
 that Adam himself ate of the apple merely to please 
 Eve, and not because he wanted it. Shall I hold my- 
 self superior to other men, and can you claim that you 
 
228 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 possess an exclusive virtue in this respect? Women are 
 fickle, and a week from now you who feel so confident 
 may be planning as bad deeds as I." 
 
 He ceased abruptly and left the room, and during 
 the next two days I saw only the guards and those who 
 brought me food. But on the third day a fresh breeze 
 blew into the room and brought with it Major Titus 
 Tyler. He greeted me with effusiveness and evident 
 
 joy- 
 
 " Henry Kingsf ord, and a prisoner again ! " he ex- 
 claimed. " It seems to me that when the invincible 
 Southern army has nothing else to do it occupies itself 
 with letting you escape and recapturing you. Henry, 
 my son, have you heard how gloriously things are going 
 here in the east? Why didn't you show common sense 
 and join our side? Didn't you know that we would 
 win? Didn't I take the trouble to tell you so in Wash- 
 ington, just before the war began? You know how we 
 beat McClellan in the Seven Days, drove him back with 
 unparalleled slaughter. Stonewall Jackson, the great- 
 est division commander that ever honoured the earth by 
 riding over it, has now surpassed Napoleon's Italian 
 campaigns. Pope and the Army of the Potomac have 
 been caught between Lee and Jackson at Manassas, and 
 ground to pieces. We are magnificent, invincible, and 
 in three months I shall be mixing mint juleps for my 
 friends on the steps of the Capitol in Washington." 
 
 I had heard of this bad news, but the Manassas de- 
 feat was new to me. Occupied as I was with the for- 
 tunes of Elinor and myself, it nevertheless filled me 
 with the gloomiest thoughts of my country. Our gen- 
 erals, at least in the east, where it was most important, 
 seemed unable to cope with those of the South; our fine 
 armies were sacrificed when bravery availed nothing, 
 and the cause of the Union was declining. My feelings 
 must have been reflected in my face as the major 
 clapped his hands on my shoulders, and cried: 
 
PRISONERS OP VARIAN 229 
 
 " Don't take it to heart so much, Henry; it had to 
 be! Did you think that anybody could conquer the 
 South?" 
 
 I asked him if he had seen Elinor, and he replied 
 that he was talking to her not an hour since; indeed, he 
 had seen her often in the last two days. Then he 
 burst out with a flowery tribute to her. 
 
 " One of the noblest girls that I ever saw, Henry," 
 he said. " Did I say a girl? I meant a magnificent 
 woman. By God, sir! a prisoner though you be, I think 
 that you are to be envied. They brought her in as 
 much a captive as you yourself are, and gave her into 
 the care of her aunt. The old lady began with re- 
 proaches and stern looks; she was afraid that her niece 
 had ruined herself forever; she had not believed it 
 possible that a member of the Maynard family could 
 have been guilty of such conduct; but the girl, blazing 
 with wrath, stopped her right there. She said that 
 she married you, and she was proud to be your wife; she 
 had done nothing to be ashamed of, nothing that she 
 Avould have undone, and that it was useless either to 
 reproach or threaten her. If her aunt objected to her 
 hasty marriage with you, Mrs. Maynard herself was 
 chiefly to blame, because she tried to force her into a 
 marriage with Varian. They say that she was magnifi- 
 cent in her anger, Henry, and would not allow a word 
 against you. I repeat that you are a lucky fellow, pris- 
 oner that you are, but how it will all end I don't know." 
 
 My heart swelled with pride and gratitude, and, pris- 
 oner though I was, I agreed with Major Tyler that I was 
 a lucky man. 
 
 " Tell me about Varian," I said. 
 
 " He is as high and haughty as ever," replied the 
 major; " but silent and stern. It was a heavy blow 
 that Elinor struck him. Oh, I know that he was wild 
 with love of her, and is yet; but he is a great soldier; 
 neither you nor anybody else can deny it. He has just 
 
230 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 been made a brigader general for distinguished and 
 valuable services in the field, and besides that, you know 
 the influence that he has abroad, and we want friends 
 in Europe. He is my commander and your enemy, 
 Henry; he could not be anything else, with that girl 
 dividing you/' 
 
 The major said that he could have only a half hour 
 with me, but he talked all the time. How long they 
 would stay at the present camp he did not know. Vari- 
 ants was partially an independent command, and the 
 confidence in him was so great that he could do as he 
 chose within wide limits. Then the major passed from 
 the particular to the general, speaking again with en- 
 thusiasm of the Southern successes in the East. He 
 was sincere in his beliefs, and his confidence in the com- 
 plete triumph of his cause was apparent. I did not dis- 
 pute the point with him, knowing the vanity of such 
 attempts, and when he went away I missed him sorely. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 ONE WOMAN'S WAY 
 
 A week passed and I could learn nothing of Vari- 
 an's intentions, although Major Tyler came to see me 
 often, and the guards, who were friendly enough, talked 
 freely. Blanchard was my immediate jailer, but he said 
 little, merely asking me once if I had any complaint to 
 make of bad treatment. Varian did not come again, 
 nor did Elinor. The major told me that she had asked 
 the privilege more than once, but it was refused. Her 
 aunt was with her constantly and kept watch on all her 
 movements. 
 
 A dark and rainy day came at last. I seemed to be 
 unnoticed, and through the hole in the logs which 
 served as the window of my apartment I saw much 
 bustle in the camp. Major Tyler visited me in the 
 course of the afternoon and chattered after his usual 
 lively and inconsequential fashion. He had been talk- 
 ing to Varian that morning, he said,, and the general 
 spoke of moving the camp in a few days to a fortified 
 and stronger place. 
 
 " Do you know," said the major, " he told me that 
 he would be glad to make the change, and one of his 
 reasons was his ability to keep a better guard there 
 over you, as he is much afraid that you may escape from 
 this place. He must think that you are a spy, Henry, 
 and that they can get valuable information out of you 
 in Richmond when they take you there, or he wouldn't 
 
 231 
 
232 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 be so anxious to hold you. As for myself, I'd be glad 
 to see you get away." 
 
 I thanked the major for his good wishes, and pres- 
 ently he left me. I was confirmed again, by his words, 
 in my purpose to escape at all hazards, and I saw that 
 the attempt must not be delayed. I might not secure 
 an opportunity elsewhere. 
 
 I was left alone throughout the remainder of the 
 afternoon. A guard brought my supper about dusk, 
 and when I had eaten it I looked again through the hole 
 between the logs. The wind was blowing, a fine rain 
 was falling, and the night was dark. All the conditions 
 were favourable, and I was thrilled by a feeling of ex- 
 ultation. I promised myself that if I escaped from 
 Varian now — and I was sure that I would — I should 
 take care not to fall into his hands again. 
 
 I waited one hour, two, three, and more, until all 
 the noises died in the camp, and then I tried the lock. 
 The key had been turned, but it was an ordinary plate 
 lock, screwed on the inside of the door, and I was confi- 
 dent that a single kick of my boot delivered with all 
 my might would knock it from its fastenings. But I 
 preferred to wait at least an hour longer in order to 
 make sure that all but the sentinels would be asleep, 
 and I went back to my stool, where I sat waiting for 
 the hour to pass. 
 
 And now a wonderful thing happened, which I must 
 tell in the language of the chief actor, since no words of 
 mine can describe the depths of a woman's devotion, 
 nor her willingness to make any sacrifice for those 
 whom she loves. I knew little of its import while 
 this scene was passing, and suspected nothing of its 
 nature. The truth is told in an old letter written 
 to my grandmother, and sent by her to me, which 
 now, yellow and worn by many readings rather than 
 by time, lies before me. I read it again for the thou- 
 sandth time: 
 
ONE WOMAN'S WAY 233, 
 
 " Dearest Grandmother: You insist that I tell 
 you the whole story of that terrible night, and, since you 
 know a part, it is best now that you learn all. I had 
 thought to keep it concealed forever, but I would 
 rather you knew the truth than some wild distortion of 
 it. Why I did it I do not know, but I think it was 
 the result of a wild impulse and my fear for him. In- 
 deed, after the idea came to me I did not have a chance 
 to think. The time left was so short that I was in a 
 fever. And then, dearest grandmother, you know that 
 he was my husband, and I loved him with all my heart 
 and soul, and I believe that if you had been in my 
 place you would have done as I did. 
 
 " It was Major Tyler who told me of their foul and 
 wicked plan. It was this old friend who did us a serv- 
 ice that we can never repay. You know how he liked 
 Henry, and still likes him, although they were on oppo- 
 site sides in that terrible war. Varian and Blanchard 
 misjudged him — it was Providence that made them 
 commit the mistake — and about nightfall Blanchard 
 said something before him that revealed to him all their 
 plan and all their wickedness; he was far more acute 
 than they thought, and he resolved that such a crime 
 should not be done, if he could help it. He dared not 
 ask leave to see Henry again, but as soon as he could 
 get away from them he came to me. He wanted me to 
 go at once to Varian and beg for Henry's life, and I 
 promised that I would go, although I did not intend to 
 say what the good major wished me to say, as I knew 
 how vain and idle such words would be. 
 
 " I found Varian in the parlour of the house which 
 he had made his office, writing despatches, and I told 
 him that I desired to see Henry. He was my husband, 
 I said, and I wished to talk with him alone for a little 
 while. I asked it not as a privilege, but as my right; 
 and I said that if I were treated with such continued 
 cruelty I would appeal to President Davis himself. I 
 
234 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 was not acting then, for as I spoke I thrilled with indig- 
 nation against Varian and all his allies. 
 
 " He looked at me with one of the strangest looks 
 that ever I saw on a man's face. ' When do you wish 
 to see Mr. Kingsford,' he asked; ' to-morrow?' 'No/ 
 I replied, ' to-night; now! ' ' Very well,' he said, ' you 
 can see him, since you insist upon it, and alone; but I 
 fear that circumstances will make it the last time.' 
 I shivered; I understood his meaning, though he knew 
 it not, but his words and the hidden threat in them 
 only urged me on. You know, dearest grandmother, 
 that with women, when we do a thing it is not so much 
 a question of bravery, as men understand the word 
 bravery, as it is of nervous excitement. And I knew 
 of no other way. 
 
 " General Varian went with me to the door, and 
 asked me if I would not have an escort and a light to the 
 barn where Henry was imprisoned, as it was dark and 
 raining. There was a strange tone in his voice, an ac- 
 cent as of sympathy or pity — was it for Henry, or for 
 me? — but'I said No; I was not city bred, and I did not 
 mind a little rain, nor did I fear the darkness. I was 
 not in a mood, I added, for any company save that 
 of my husband, whom I had not seen in many days. He 
 bowed his assent — his manner was most gentle; I am 
 not able, grandmother, to read the motives of men, 
 they seem so strange to me — and then I walked toward 
 the barn. I saw him still standing in the doorway, 
 the lantern that he had offered me held motionless in 
 his hand, and his eyes following me. But I shuddered 
 to see him watching me so, and I was glad when the 
 path led around the shrubbery on the lawn and hid 
 me from him. 
 
 " The wind was blowing, and I could hear it moan- 
 ing among the hills like a human voice; it dashed the 
 rain in my face, but the cool, wet touch strengthened 
 me, without taking from me any of the fever in my 
 
ONE WOMAN'S WAY 235 
 
 veins that carried me on. I can forget no event of 
 that terrible night. It was very dark; the barn itself 
 was only a shapeless black mass in the darkness, but, 
 knowing what they had prepared, my imagination gave 
 me new eyes. I was sure that I saw Blanchard himself 
 standing behind a rosebush, with his rifle in his hands. 
 Henry had struck him down once for good cause, and 
 Blanchard, who, I think, disliked everybody, unless 
 Varian was an exception, hated most of all the man 
 who gave him the blow. 
 
 " I was stopped near the barn by a sentinel with a 
 lantern, but I showed him the order from Varian, and 
 he went with me to the door, which he unlocked him- 
 self. While I was standing there, waiting to enter, I 
 became weak from excitement and nervousness, but it 
 was only momentary. I said to myself again that there 
 was nothing else to do. I knew that Henry would at- 
 tempt to escape that night, and the good major, prompt- 
 ed by Varian, and not dreaming in his innocence that 
 he was used for such a purpose, had suggested it, and 
 the night itself invited it. The lock on the door could 
 be. broken easily, and Henry would take flight by the 
 way that seemed most obvious, the way that they wished 
 him to take, across the unoccupied space east of the 
 barn and toward the hills, which on that side were less 
 than half a mile away. You may ask me why I would 
 not tell Henry to stay, and not to make the attempt, but 
 I knew that after such a failure they would not spare 
 him. I could save him only for the moment by such 
 advice, and I clung to the way that I had chosen. You 
 who are a woman yourself know how tenacious of our 
 purpose we can be, weak as we seem. 
 
 " The guard opened the door, and after he shut it 
 behind me when I entered I heard his retreating foot- 
 steps on the turf. There was a dim candle burning on 
 the table, and Henry was sitting on a stool in the corner. 
 He sprang up with a cry of surprise and delight, and 
 16 
 
236 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 the next moment I was clasped in his arms. How we 
 women like to have some one stronger than ourselves to 
 love and protect us! 
 
 " He asked me many questions: how I had been able 
 to visit him, what was the news in the camp, what were 
 my own plans, and I answered them all in the best way 
 that I could. I know that my manner was excited and 
 nervous, but he did not seem to notice it. Then he 
 told me that he intended to escape that night; that he 
 had tried the lock on the door, and he could break it; 
 he was confident of escaping through the camp in the 
 darkness and the rain, and while it was not likely 
 that he could reach Northern territory, he was willing 
 to surrender to some other Southern force, where he 
 would not be the victim of a private revenge. He would 
 secure an exchange, and then send for me; he knew 
 that I would keep a brave heart, he said, and he would 
 claim his wife, if he had to come to Eichmond itself 
 to get me. 
 
 " He asked me, too, if the sentinels outside seemed 
 to be vigilant; and when I replied No, he said he would 
 break from the barn within a half hour of my de- 
 parture. Did I not think the opportunity was good? 
 and I replied faintly, Yes. He said that he had already 
 chosen his course; it was easy to do so, as it lay straight 
 before him; he would run for the hills, which he could 
 reach in a few minutes, and once there he would have 
 no fear of recapture by Varian's men. 
 
 " ' You must not go that way/ I said, and I said it 
 with such eagerness that he looked at me in surprise. 
 ' It is the most dangerous road/ I continued with ex- 
 cited emphasis. ' Some Northern skirmishers were 
 seen on those hills to-day; they are supposed to be 
 there even now, and Varian's men are watching espe- 
 cially on that side for them.' He seemed to be both 
 pleased and convinced, and he replied: ' It is good news 
 that you tell me; if those sharpshooters would only 
 
ONE WOMAN'S WAY 237 
 
 make an attack now, it would be much easier for me 
 to escape while the firing is going on.' And that put a 
 thought in my head. ' Oh, yes/ I said, ' it may occur 
 at any moment, and if you hear it, break open the door 
 and run. Be sure to go to the west, even if you have 
 to dash among the soldiers' tents to follow that course. 
 Now, I am only a woman, Henry, and not a military 
 genius, but I know I am right, and promise me 
 that you will do as I .ask you.' I smiled at him, al- 
 though I knew it was but the shadow of a smile. He 
 put his arms around me and kissed me again, and said 
 he would do just as I asked, and that I was the wisest 
 and truest woman in the world. Then he took my 
 hands in his, and looking into my eyes, said: i I do 
 not know how I ever won you, but I have won you, 
 and that is enough.' Then I said that I must go. ' I 
 want a promise, too,' he said, ' and it is that you 
 keep inside the brick walls if there should be any 
 firing.' I replied that I would do so, a promise for 
 which I do not need to ask any forgiveness, and then 
 I walked toward the door. But he stopped me and 
 kissed me again. I was trembling all over, but he did 
 not know why. 
 
 " ' For the last time,' he said. 
 
 " ' For the last time,' I repeated, but with another 
 meaning. 
 
 " ' You are protected against the rain? ' he asked. 
 
 " ' Yes,' I replied, ' see my coat! one could take me 
 for a soldier.' 
 
 " I had wrapped a great army overcoat of rubber 
 around me, and I drew the cape of it over my head after 
 the fashion of a cavalryman in rainy weather. ' Could 
 I not pass for a soldier? ' I asked, walking across the 
 room with quite a military swagger. 
 
 " ' Yes, if you were not so handsome,' he said — I 
 merely give his own words; then he kissed me once 
 more. 
 
238 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " ' This is really for the last time/ he said. 
 
 " ' This is really for the last time/ I repeated. 
 
 " I was upborne now by a great exaltation. The 
 time for doubts had passed and the supreme moment 
 was at hand. i Don't forget/ I repeated, ' that if you 
 hear the shots of the skirmishers the time for your 
 flight has come.' He replied that he was not in the 
 slightest danger of forgetting such an important sound, 
 and then I knocked on the door. The guard opened it, 
 and when I stepped out, quickly closed it again 
 behind me. He raised his lantern, looked at me, and 
 then, laughing slightly, said: 
 
 " ' If you had been a little larger I would have taken 
 you for a trooper. As it was, I had to look at you close, 
 lady. I've heard tales about men slipping out of prison 
 in their wives' clothes and the guards all the time 
 thinking they were women.' 
 
 " ' But you see that I am not Mr. Kingsf ord, do 
 you not?' I asked, echoing his laugh with one of 
 my own. 
 
 " He offered to escort me back to the house, but I 
 asked him if he would not let me carry the lantern. 
 He demurred, but I insisted, giving various reasons at 
 length, and flattering him too — you know that the 
 American soldier is conquered easily only by a woman. 
 When I appealed to his gallantry he handed me the 
 lantern. I wanted to achieve time with all this talk, in 
 order that Henry might think me back in the house be- 
 fore anything happened. 
 
 " We walked a few steps side by side, approach- 
 ing the point where we would come into the view 
 of the others, and then raising the lantern I dashed 
 it into his face with all my might. I am not a weak 
 woman, you know, and it was a cruel blow to one who 
 had treated me kindly, but I was thinking of Henry 
 just then. He uttered a loud, terrible cry, and fell 
 stunned to the earth. I threw away the fragments 
 
ONE WOMAN'S WAY 239 
 
 of the lantern and instantly ran across the open space 
 on the eastern side of the house and toward the 
 hills, drawing my rubber coat closely around me as 
 I ran. 
 
 "I fear that I could never have the spirit and 
 courage to be a soldier, even if I were a man, and I am 
 truly thankful that I am not one. My feverish nervous- 
 ness and excitement became in those awful moments 
 sheer terror, and I think that I must have run as a 
 woman never ran before. Some one fired at me from 
 the shelter of a bush before I had taken a dozen steps. 
 I think that it was Blanchard himself, eager as he 
 would be for the first shot. The bullet passed by my 
 face. I felt the rush of the wind and heard the awful 
 whistling sound that it made, and in my fright I scarce- 
 ly felt the earth beneath my feet as I ran. More shots 
 were fired — I do not know how many, but they seemed 
 innumerable to me — and the bullets whistled all around 
 me. I wondered why I was not wounded or killed, but 
 I did not feel any* bullet strike me. Then I remem- 
 bered that soldiers were often shot mortally in battle 
 and were unconscious of it at the moment, and I ran 
 with all the strength that I could summon in order 
 that I might carry out the plan which I had under- 
 taken. 
 
 " They continued to fire at me, and they raised, too, 
 a shout that the prisoner was escaping. I saw many 
 lights flashing, the lights of lanterns, and of exploding 
 gunpowder. I knew that Henry was a man of decision 
 and undaunted courage, and I believed him now to be 
 out of the barn and escaping in the other direction, 
 while all the soldiers ran after me, sure that I was the 
 prisoner. The belief gave me courage and hope, nor 
 did I feel any weakness coming from a wound. I was 
 sure now that I had not been hit, and then suddenly the 
 love of life flamed up in me. I do not know why all of 
 them missed me. Perhaps it was the haste, the con- 
 
240 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 fusion, and a darkness that exceeded the calculations of 
 Blanchard and Varian. 
 
 " I was more than half-way to the hills, and I felt 
 that I had passed the worst of that fearful gantlet. 
 The hills were before me, a black and indistinct but 
 welcome mass, and oh, how I longed to reach them! 
 Henry himself would find me there and rescue me. 
 They could have overtaken me if it had been daylight, 
 but they became confused in the darkness, they mistook 
 each other for me, and ceased to fire much, for fear of 
 shooting their comrades. 
 
 " I ran into some bushes, and now I believed that I 
 had escaped. They could scarcely find me in the woods 
 and hills on such a dark night; but I had underrated 
 the cunning of Blanchard and Varian. Upon some 
 pretext or other they had placed two men in the bushes 
 at the foot of the hill to shoot down Henry should he 
 escape the rest; and when they heard me running, and 
 the cries of the others that a prisoner was escaping, one 
 of these men rose up before me. • 
 
 " He lifted his rifle and aimed directly at my head. 
 I saw his finger on the trigger, and I stopped quite 
 still, unable to move from terror. I should have been 
 killed then, grandmother, but at the last moment I re- 
 membered. It was an American soldier before me, and 
 suddenly I threw the rubber coat off my head, and stood 
 there gazing at him. He was not ten feet from me, 
 and as he was looking along the barrel of his rifle into 
 my face he knew me for what I was, a woman. He 
 uttered a cry of surprise and instantly dropped the bar- 
 rel of his gun. 'Was I about to kill a woman!' he 
 exclaimed in a tone of horror. I sprang aside and ran 
 on among the bushes. I did not hear him follow- 
 ing me. 
 
 " I reached the hills quickly now, but I continued 
 to run as fast as I could, and soon I heard nothing 
 save the sound of my own footsteps. But I went on, 
 
ONE WOMAN'S WAY 241 
 
 for how long I know not, nor in what direction, but 
 at last I heard a noise as of some one approaching. I 
 was weak and staggering now, and I turned aside 
 to escape. I ran almost against a man, and looking 
 up, I saw with a joy I can never describe that it was 
 Henry. Then I fell in his arms in a faint. 
 
 " Elinoe." 
 
CHAPTEK XXIX 
 
 WITH FKIENDLY FOES 
 
 "When I heard the shots fired at Elinor, as she has 
 told in her letter to Madam Arlington, although I never 
 dreamed that she was the target, putting herself in the 
 place intended for me that my life might be saved, I 
 knew that the time for me to escape, if I would escape 
 at all, had come. I had not expected the skirmishers 
 so soon, but it was opportune, and I believed Elinor 
 to be safe in the brick house. 
 
 I kicked the lock so hard that it flew from its fasten- 
 ings and to the other side of the room. Then I ran out 
 and I saw the flash of the firing toward the hills where 
 Elinor had told me the Northern skirmishers lay. I 
 heard, too, the crack of the rifles and shots of men. It 
 was quite a lively skirmish, I said to myself, and the hot- 
 ter the better for me. Varian's men would be too well 
 occupied to pursue a single escaping prisoner. 
 
 I ran toward the west, dodging here and there 
 among the tents, and in five minutes I was out of sight 
 and hearing, having made my escape with an ease that 
 astonished me. 
 
 I waited in the woods about an hour, and hearing 
 and seeing nothing, I made a wide curve to the east- 
 ward, intending to find the Northern skirmishers if I 
 could and join them; but I searched the woods, natu- 
 rally without discovering any trace of men who did not 
 exist. It was while I was seeking thus that I heard a 
 242 
 
WITH FRIENDLY FOES 243 
 
 light footste]). I stepped behind a tree, and was soon 
 able to tell by the sound that only a single person 
 was approaching. I waited, hoping it to be one of the 
 sharpshooters for whom I was looking, and my amaze- 
 ment was unbounded when I saw that it was Elinor. I 
 ran forward to meet her, and she fell fainting in my 
 arms, as she has told. 
 
 She soon revived, though for a long time she was 
 weak and trembling. I shall not attempt to describe 
 this reunion under such strange circumstances, nor 
 what we said to each other, since there are words too 
 sacred to be related to others, but I was surprised at 
 the state bordering upon hysteria into which she seemed 
 to have fallen. It was not thus that I had known 
 Elinor; she had been always of the bravest; her spirit 
 was akin to that of Madam Arlington, and usually she 
 was firmest when the most danger threatened; but now 
 she trembled, and clung to me as a frightened child 
 clings to its father. 
 
 " I know it is very foolish and weak of me, Henry," 
 she said; " but I was at the door of the house when the 
 skirmishers began to fire, and it suddenly occurred to 
 me then to escape too. Oh, you do not know how that 
 man Yarian frightens me! " 
 
 " It was a most happy thought," I said, " now that 
 we have met, and I shall take care that neither of us 
 falls into Varian's power again." 
 
 We walked slowly through the woods, she supported 
 upon my arm until her strength came back presently. 
 Then we talked a little about our future course. I still 
 believed in the existence of the Northern skirmishers, 
 Elinor not having told me better, but as I saw no sign 
 of them I concluded that they had made a hasty flight 
 from dangerous territory. I had no hope now of escap- 
 ing to the Northern lines, as we were well within the 
 region held by the South, and I wished to find some 
 Southern officer, independent of Varian's command, to 
 
244 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 whom I could surrender Elinor and myself. Elinor 
 agreed with me that this plan was best, and, keeping it 
 in mind, we walked on until daylight. The rain ceased, 
 fortunately, before dawn, and when the sunlight came 
 at last our clothing soon dried. I found a farmhouse, 
 and knocking boldly at the door, requested food for 
 a lady and myself. I was prepared for the surprise 
 of its inmates, and explained at once that I was an es- 
 caped prisoner wishing to surrender to a Confederate 
 commander. Then I asked if they could refer me to 
 any Southern posts in the vicinity. 
 
 They received us with courtesy. We experienced in 
 all our wanderings only sympathy and consideration 
 from the country people whom we met, no matter what 
 their position in regard to the war. A number of Con- 
 federate posts were in the neighbourhood, they told us, 
 when we had eaten the food that they set before us. 
 General Varian with a considerable detachment was 
 eight or ten miles farther back; if we turned southward 
 we would find, about ten miles distant, a second force 
 under Colonel Burton; but if we continued straight 
 ahead we would overtake a small body of Virginians 
 under Captain Pembroke. 
 
 " Who ?" I asked with eagerness. 
 
 " Captain Charles Pembroke," was the reply. 
 
 " Then we shall surrender to him," I said, and the 
 look of relief on Elinor's face was answered, I know, by 
 a similar look on mine. Pembroke was a native of the 
 Valley of Virginia, and it was the best of fortune that 
 he should be stationed so near his home. When we 
 were ready to start, the farmer approached with a horse 
 saddled and bridled. 
 
 " The lady looks faint and ill," he said, " and she 
 shall ride. This is my wife's horse and saddle, and they 
 are at her service." 
 
 I could not decline the offer, as Elinor, even after 
 the rest and food, was scarcely strong enough to walk, 
 
WITH FRIENDLY FOES 245 
 
 and I had, moreover, fear of pursuit. So I accepted it 
 with thanks, meaning to see that he secured his horse 
 again. 
 
 " You said straight to the eastward, did you not? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " I'll guide you," he replied, and he walked on 
 before. I knew Elinor's face was again the potent 
 charm to secure us help when we needed it most. We 
 reached Pembroke's post in an hour and a half, merely 
 a village of tents in an open field, and the sentinels, in 
 accordance with my request, notified their captain at 
 once that a man and woman wished to surrender to him. 
 Pembroke came out of his tent, the same smart, trim 
 youngster that I had known in Washington, but now 
 much browner, and I do not think I can ever forget the 
 look of intense surprise upon his face when he saw us. 
 I was inclined to laugh at his perplexity, despite our 
 precarious position. 
 
 " Is it really you, Miss Maynard? " he asked. 
 
 " No, it is not Miss Maynard, but Mrs. Henry Kings- 
 ford, if you please," she replied brightly. " Permit me 
 to introduce to you my husband, an old acquaintance of 
 yours." 
 
 He stared at us in increasing surprise and per- 
 plexity. Then he laughed. 
 
 " It's as you say, of course, Mrs. Kingsford," he re- 
 plied; " but you two certainly have the most original 
 style of wedding trip that I've ever known." 
 
 Poor old Pembroke! I knew what he concealed 
 under that laugh and jest. I added quickly that we 
 surrendered to him, and our fate was in his hands. 
 
 " Then you are my guests for the present," he said. 
 " Chance does not often send me such welcome friends, 
 and I shall make the most of the opportunity. I shall 
 abandon my tent at once to Mrs. Kingsford. As I am 
 commander, I took the best, of course." 
 
 I told him that Elinor would most appreciate just 
 
246 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 now, the companionship of her own sex, and was there 
 any woman present? 
 
 " Only one/' he replied, and he called in a loud 
 voice, " Mary Ann! " " Mary Ann is the cook," he said. 
 Mary Ann, a gigantic coloured woman, appeared, and 
 with one cry of " Bless my soul, honey! " she took 
 Elinor in her arms and carried her into the tent. I 
 had no further fears for my wife, and I went with Pem- 
 broke. He led the way to another tent, where I fresh- 
 ened myself a little, and made some improvements in 
 my toilet. Pembroke with great delicacy refrained 
 from asking any questions, although I saw that he was 
 burning with curiosity. 
 
 The morning was brisk, cool white frost appearing 
 on the hillsides. The camp fires invited, and I said, 
 indicating the nearest, " Shall we sit there? " 
 
 " Yes," he replied. " It is built of rails from my 
 father's farm, and we are entitled at least to a part of 
 its warmth." 
 
 He ordered camp stools, and then I related our 
 whole story, as I knew it — for Elinor's part was yet 
 hidden from me — omitting nothing, and telling him 
 why I was so anxious that we escape from Varian's 
 hands. He listened with the deepest interest and at- 
 tention. 
 
 " I think you were wise in coming to see me," he 
 said, when I concluded. " Varian is evidently wild 
 over the loss of Elinor. Perhaps there are some who 
 can understand his feelings. I have to hold you, of 
 course, as a prisoner of war, but I shall despatch you at 
 once to Eichmond, where you can secure a speedy ex- 
 change, and where, at any rate, you will be out of 
 Varian's power. I can send Elinor at the same time to 
 my mother and sister in Richmond. The women folks 
 of our family could not remain in this war-trodden 
 region, and they have gone there to stay until better 
 times come, as come they must." 
 
WITH FRIENDLY FOES 247 
 
 There was a sad smile on his handsome face. I 
 said again to myself, " Poor Pembroke! " and I trusted 
 that he would recover in time from his own secret blow, 
 although he had been from the first without hope. I 
 knew, too, that I would never find a truer or more 
 gallant friend, and already my faith in him had proved 
 the fine metal of which he was made. 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 WITHIN OLD LIBBY'S WALLS 
 
 Pembeoke sent us at once under escort to Rich- 
 mond, and we arrived in the Southern capital, then 
 flushed with great successes and greater hopes. The 
 battle of Antietam, as bloody as Shiloh, and fought not 
 long before our arrival, had proved a temporary check 
 for the South, but the people of Richmond were dis- 
 posed to make light of it. " McClellan's army out- 
 numbered Lee's two or three to one/' they would say, 
 " and even then it was a draw. The North can never 
 conquer us, though it borrows men from all the world." 
 
 We made the last stages of our journey to Richmond 
 by rail, and it was twilight when we passed through 
 the fortifications that surrounded the capital of the 
 Confederacy. I looked with eager interest at this little 
 city, to win which we had shed so much blood already — 
 and in vain — but, being a prisoner and not a tourist, I 
 saw little of it. I saw, however, two sweet-faced wom- 
 en, one middle-aged and the other young, come forward 
 to meet Elinor, and I knew by the resemblance that 
 they were the mother and sister of Pembroke. Elinor 
 was permitted to say good-bye to me, and then I was 
 taken to Libby Prison, where I found a numerous and 
 goodly company. Yet I went with a willing mind, feel- 
 ing at ease about Elinor, and rejoicing in my soul over 
 the double defeat of Varian. I was in the prison a 
 week without word from anybody, but at the end of 
 248 
 
WITHIN OLD LIBBY'S WALLS 249 
 
 that time Mary Pembroke came with a message that 
 Elinor was well and happy, and sent her dearest love, 
 and bade me be of good cheer, as I had powerful friends 
 who would see that I came to no harm. 
 
 " She could not get permission to enter the prison," 
 said Miss Pembroke, " but I was allowed to come in her 
 place because of the services of my family to the cause. 
 Charles himself will be here next week, and we shall try 
 to get you exchanged." 
 
 Miss Pembroke was a handsome, fair girl of twenty, 
 bearing a marked resemblance to her brother. I dis- 
 covered, too, in our quarter of an hour together, that 
 she was of a romantic temperament, and Elinor's story 
 appealed to her most strongly. My wife was installed 
 already in the hearts of her mother and herself, and 
 they intended to keep her in their home until the 
 Southern armies entered Washington and dictated a 
 peace. 
 
 " For you know we are going to do it," said Miss 
 Pembroke, defiantly. 
 
 " If it was always the spirit of the Southern women 
 that led the way you would," I replied. 
 
 This was not wholly a compliment or a jest, as 
 everybody knows it was the Southern women who were 
 the last to give up, and the men themselves were long 
 enough about it. In truth, I do not know that many of 
 the former have given up yet. 
 
 " Elinor herself hopes soon for permission to see 
 you," said Miss Pembroke. " We live in Grace Street, 
 not far from the White House of the Confederacy, and 
 President Davis dined with us two days ago. Elinor 
 did not wish to be present, but mother said she must, 
 and she yielded. I loaned her one of my dresses, and it 
 shows how self-sacrificing I am, Mr. Kingsford, as she 
 so outshone me that I felt quite subdued and small. I 
 don't think that Mr. Davis caught her name when she 
 was introduced, as he said by and bye, ' I shall not let 
 
250 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 it be known that we have such beauty in Kichmond, as 
 it may tempt some gallant young officers from the front, 
 although I know that nothing else can/ 
 
 " ' You may tell any one who feels inclined to 
 come/ replied Elinor, pertly, ' that I have a husband at 
 least six feet tall.' ' A husband/ said Mr. Davis, in 
 great surprise; 'and pray where is he, madam?' ' In 
 Libby Prison/ she replied. ' He is a Northern soldier.' 
 Mr. Davis hum-hummed a half dozen times, and then 
 he said, ' That's bad '; but his face brightened, and 
 he added: ' No, it's good; you can convert him into a 
 true Southerner; I should think, madam, you have only 
 to ask '; and then he looked his admiration so plainly 
 that Elinor blushed, but she was not angry, for I would 
 have you to know that she is a woman just like 
 the rest of us. They did not talk any more about you, 
 Mr. Kingsford, but mother says that the most influ- 
 ential friend that you have is your own wife." 
 
 It was another week before I heard from any of my 
 old friends, although I was making new ones within the 
 walls of old Libby, Northern soldiers imprisoned there 
 like myself. Then a guard told me that three Southern 
 officers wished to see me, and I was taken forward under 
 escort to meet them. They were Pembroke, De Cour- 
 celles, and Tourville, and it was a joyous meeting. De 
 Courcelles, in his French effusiveness, almost embraced 
 me, and then he called my attention to his fine Con- 
 federate uniform. 
 
 " I could not resist," he said. " I did not come to 
 this country to fight. Sacre nom de guerre, non! It 
 was none of my business. I was to be a diplomat. A 
 wise man never meddles in the affairs of a land other 
 than his own, but I saw this uniform, I put it on, it 
 fitted so boautifully, I looked so well in it that I became 
 full of warlike ardour, my veins burned with fire; I saw 
 myself leading the charging squadrons, un grand Napo- 
 leon. I hastened to the Confederate authorities. ' You 
 
WITHIN OLD LIBBY'S WALLS 251 
 
 have a chance to get one great soldier; take me quick, 
 before I join the Northern army/ I said, and they took 
 me quick. So behold me the faithful and devoted sol- 
 dier of the Southern States of America, whose quarrel 
 is no business of mine." 
 
 " And a good soldier he has made," said Pem- 
 broke. " He has been promoted twice for gallantry 
 in action." 
 
 " It was the splendid uniform, not I! " cried De 
 Courcelles. " Sacre nom de guerre, non ! " 
 
 Tourville's greeting was as warm as ever, but he was 
 much more quiet than in the old days before the war. 
 I looked at him with curiosity to see the reason of this 
 great change, and Pembroke's eyes followed mine. He 
 laughed and then said: 
 
 " It's true, it's the same old Tourville, but he's 
 changed. A lot of that hot South Carolina blood was 
 let out of him on the field of Seven Pines, where an 
 inconsiderate bullet passed through his shoulder. — Isn't 
 it so, Tourville? " 
 
 " It's true, of course," replied Tourville, and he 
 smiled. " We are not going to give you fellows, Kings- 
 ford, your beating as soon as you deserve, but we are 
 going to do it nevertheless." 
 
 " Thanks for the present," I said, " but after we 
 shall have been properly punished and the Confederacy 
 duly formed, what is going to happen to it should 
 South Carolina become dissatisfied with her condi- 
 tion? " 
 
 " Do you know, Henry," exclaimed Pembroke, 
 " that there is an old Virginia colonel up here, who says, 
 ' By God, sah, South Carolina brought on the war, and 
 Virginia has to fight it! ' " 
 
 " It is untrue, like all other epigrams! " exclaimed 
 Tourville, defensively. 
 
 " Come outside," said Pembroke; " I have some- 
 thing of importance to tell you, something that con- 
 17 
 
252 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 cerns you very nearly. De Courcelles and Tourville 
 also know it and they can come with us." 
 
 His face hecame grave, and I followed him into the 
 yard. We sat down there on a little mound of earth, 
 and other prisoners who were taking the air looked 
 curiously at us, but refrained from speaking or coming 
 too near. 
 
 " Varian is in Kichmond," said Pembroke. 
 
 " I do not see how that is bad news for me," I re- 
 plied. " The man's character must become known to 
 the Confederate authorities, and they will not tolerate 
 such conduct as his." 
 
 "But you do not understand the situation," con- 
 tinued Pembroke. " Varian tells a story altogether 
 unlike yours. Don't flush that way — I never said that 
 I believed him. I've known you too long, Henry, to 
 think that you would lie. I merely give his tale as he 
 tells it. He says you were his prisoner, and that he 
 treated you with the utmost kindness, allowing you to 
 remain in your house. He gave you your parole and 
 you foully broke it. You slipped away, and then you 
 cozened and kidnapped a young girl to whom he was 
 betrothed, going with her through some sort of a cere- 
 mony and then attempting to escape to the Northern 
 lines, but fortunately he recaptured you both. His 
 lieutenant, Blanchard, swears that everything Varian 
 tells is the truth." 
 
 " They lie! They lie in every word! " I broke out 
 indignantly. 
 
 " So they do," continued Pembroke; " but he has 
 brought Mrs. Maynard with him from the West, and she 
 too supports Varian in all or most that he says. Oh, 
 she is furious against you! And you must bear in 
 mind, Henry, that Varian is one of our most brilliant 
 leaders. They say that he can become a Jeb Stuart or 
 even a Stonewall Jackson if he has the opportunity. 
 He has rendered us services of the greatest value, and as 
 
WITHIN OLD LIBBY'S WALLS 253 
 
 we are expecting more and greater from him, how can 
 the authorities punish him, especially when he pleads 
 not guilty? Think — think, Henry, how little the 
 word of a mere prisoner, an enemy to us, will weigh 
 against the assertion of one of our most brilliant and 
 influential generals, even in the minds of men most 
 honourable and fair-minded." 
 
 " And he makes no secret of his love for the beauti- 
 ful young Madam Kingsford! " exclaimed De Cour- 
 celles. " That creates him sympathy and friends, and, 
 mon Dieu, you are a most troublesome fellow, Monsieur 
 Kingsford. Half the young men left in Eichmond are 
 already wishing that somebody would make your lovely 
 wife your widow. But you have friends too. There 
 is a faction that applauds you because you were bold 
 enough to steal away the girl who loved you. Your 
 very presumption, Mr. Kingsford, has made you ad- 
 mirers, as one of whom I beg to present myself." 
 
 " He speaks the truth," said Pembroke. " Your 
 fame is made and you did not know it. Everybody is 
 talking about you, and the young fellows have hung 
 around our door to get a sight of Elinor, who they hear 
 is the most beautiful woman in the world. The news- 
 papers have taken up the affair, and naturally they 
 have divided. The Whig supports you warmly, but 
 the Examiner insists that Varian has been wronged 
 foully, and that you ought to be shot. Varian himself 
 is most active. He has seen President Davis, and he is 
 to have an interview with General Lee, who will be here 
 in a few days. He wants the courts to annul this mar- 
 riage, and he is going to bring all possible pressure to 
 bear upon them." 
 
 " The courts can do nothing without Elinor," I said 
 with scorn. 
 
 " That is true, but Mrs. Maynard makes a demand 
 for Elinor, who is a minor, and we shall be compelled 
 to give her up, as her aunt is her legal guardian." 
 
254 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " They can not break Elinor's will even then," I said 
 confidently. 
 
 " No/' replied Pembroke, " but something may hap- 
 pen to you, and after that could a young girl resist such 
 pressure always? But I trust, Henry, you will not for- 
 get that you have friends outside these walls who will 
 work for you according to their power." 
 
 They left us, and, despite my faith in Elinor, I had 
 gloomy days — more for her than for myself. Her love 
 for me was proving her misfortune, but I would not 
 dream of giving it up. 
 
 Time passed. My friends came to see me occasion- 
 ally, but Elinor never. They told me that she was with 
 her aunt, and could visit as she chose in the city, but 
 permission to enter the prison and see me was denied 
 her. It was Varian's influence, they had no doubt. 
 Then these loyal friends too disappeared, and there 
 came rumours to us in the prison of some great move- 
 ment. Although it was winter, the armies of the North 
 were advancing, and a battle was impending. Then 
 came another rumour — one that filled our prison with 
 sad faces. The North had failed again. Burnside had 
 hurled his army against Lee, who stood on the hills of 
 Fredericksburg, and our forces had been cut to pieces. 
 Fifteen thousand of our brave men had fallen — to no 
 purpose. 
 
 " Is it always to be this way? " groaned one of my 
 fellow-prisoners, a captain. " Do our generals think 
 that we have too many men, and try to get them killed 
 off?" 
 
 I could give him no comfort, and when Pembroke 
 came back the story that he told me did not relieve our 
 gloom. 
 
 " It was a headlong charge against an impregnable 
 position," he said. " Your troops were as brave as 
 mortal men could be, and they attacked not once or 
 twice but a half-dozen times or more. But it was not 
 
WITHIN OLD LIBBY'S WALLS 255 
 
 in human flesh and blood to stand so much, and they 
 had to retreat at last." 
 
 It was a bitter cold morning when he told me this, 
 and I had been allowed to walk in a court a little for 
 fresh air. I shivered, both from the effects of the cold 
 and the tale that he had to tell. 
 
 " The city is exultant," he says; " but God knows 
 I can not rejoice over the killing and wounding of so 
 many of our brethren." 
 
 It was a dark, lowering day, full of mists and va- 
 pours. The cold winds blew down from the hills and 
 moaned around the brick walls of the old tobacco ware- 
 house that had become Libby Prison. I looked at the 
 gloomy building and forbidding skies and longed for 
 freedom. 
 
 " What of Elinor? " I asked at last. But she had 
 been in my mind all the time. 
 
 " She is still with her aunt in the house that Mrs. 
 Maynard has taken in Grace Street near ours," said 
 Pembroke. " My mother and sisters go to see her there, 
 and she has had her share in the winter gaieties of Eich- 
 mond; not that she enjoys them — I can not say so 
 much, but it was best for her to do so, at least to make 
 the appearance. She has been present at a dinner and 
 a reception at the President's house, and she may go 
 wherever she chooses, save here." 
 
 I felt a pang of pain and jealousy. Elinor in the 
 midst of winter gaieties, while I, her husband, was 
 lying in prison, but I dismissed it in a moment as an 
 unworthy thought against the truest woman in the 
 world. It was right for her to hold up her head and 
 defy all our enemies. 
 
 One of the guards, a rough but kind-hearted North 
 Carolinian, called on me the next day and told me that 
 I was to see a lady who was waiting in a room next to 
 the commandant's office. 
 
 " A purty one too, she is," he said in his mountain 
 
256 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 dialect; " an' now march along, will you, Mr. Kings- 
 ford, 'cause I've got orders ter watch yer and shoot yer 
 if yer try ter break out, which I hope, fer yer own sake 
 and mine too, yer won't try ter do." 
 
 I promised him that I would not provoke a shot, and 
 went on ahead in the way that he indicated, feeling sure 
 that the lady was Miss Pembroke, and hoping to hear 
 from her news that her brother would never think to 
 bring. Women are much better news-bearers than men 
 on these occasions. 
 
 " In thar," said my guard. " Thar's nobody else in 
 thar but her, and nobody else ain't goin' ter hear what 
 yer say; but recollec' that ef yer try ter break out, I'm 
 here at the door with a gun." 
 
 I pushed open the door and entered. It was dark 
 in the little room, and a lady wrapped in a heavy fur 
 cloak sat in a chair, waiting. I did not need to see her 
 face; the mere outline of that figure was enough. I 
 knew that it was Elinor. " Elinor! " I cried, and the 
 next moment she was in my arms. 
 
 " Yes, it is I, Henry," she said, " and I have come to 
 see you at last. Had you thought me faithless? " 
 
 I called punishment upon my own head for that 
 single moment of doubt. There was nothing but truth 
 in her eyes and voice, nor could ever be. 
 
 " How did you secure leave to come here ? " I asked, 
 as we sat down side by side. 
 
 She smiled and then laughed — a low laugh, but yet 
 a laugh. 
 
 " It was a woman who did it," she said. " Even I 
 myself. It was at President Davis's reception to his 
 victorious generals three nights ago — behold how I have 
 fallen into the Southern habit of calling him ' Presi- 
 dent ' — and I walked with him a little in the halls when 
 the others were dancing. I think he likes me, Henry, 
 and — and I sought especially to please him that even- 
 ing. I said I thought the Confederacy would triumph. 
 
WITHIN OLD LIBBY'S WALLS 257 
 
 Won't I get forgiveness for saying that, Henry? And I 
 indicated rather than spoke of the wisdom with which 
 it was governed — all men are only mortal, Henry, and 
 we women learn these weak points; we must if we mean 
 to continue our rule. I could have led you more 
 easily; he was difficult — oh, so difficult! — and I all the 
 time thinking of you here in this gloomy prison. And 
 then I began to talk of you. I said to him that if he 
 were locked up in a prison and his wife were here in the 
 city, going wherever she chose, except where her hus- 
 band was, would he not feel that he was treated badly? 
 ' But, my dear young madam,' he protested, ' you have 
 been deceived. You have married this man under a 
 misapprehension as to his character. General Varian, 
 one of our most brilliant and deserving leaders says 
 that Mr. Kingsford broke his parole. We ought to 
 have him shot, and perhaps it is for your sake that I 
 do not have it done. I know you love him, and that 
 is why you believe what he says; but it is a fatal truth 
 that a woman both good and brilliant may love a bad 
 or even foolish man. There is your aunt, who has had 
 both experience and judgment, who, although knowing 
 nothing about the question of the parole, is as bitter 
 as General Varian against this young man.' 
 
 " But I would not let him talk me down, Henry. I 
 insisted that a woman's instinct was true; that you 
 would not do anything dishonourable, and that General 
 Varian said these things of you because he hated you. 
 ' It might be so,' he replied under his breath — so very 
 low, but I heard him — and when he said it he gave me a 
 queer look. Then he laughed and added: ' well, I shall 
 let you see this man. It can do no harm, perhaps, al- 
 though I am sure that it will do no good either.' But he 
 wrote the order that very evening — I would not let him 
 wait — although he made it good for to-day only; and 
 now I have come, Henry." 
 
 I asked her then about her life in Eichmond. 
 
258 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " I have many friends/' she said. " Nobody could 
 be kinder to me than the Pembrokes, and Mary is the 
 dearest girl in the world. De Courcelles thinks so too, 
 and swears that he has been devoted all his life to the 
 cause of the South, even before he ever saw America, 
 and he is a zealous defender of the Southern cause, 
 most zealous of all when Mary is present. And I have 
 other friends too. It is why I have accepted the hospi- 
 tality of all these kind people in Eichmond, and have 
 gone with them to their entertainments. I was selfish 
 in it perhaps, but I was selfish for you, for us. I wished 
 to secure the aid of those powerful enough to defeat the 
 plans of General Varian against us, and I believe that 
 I have, Henry." 
 
 I kissed her hands, saying that never did man have 
 such a wife as mine. She blushed with pleasure, and I 
 say, moreover, that what I said I meant. The short 
 time allotted to us passed all too soon, but even after she 
 was gone the light of her presence seemed to illuminate 
 for me the gloomy prison. 
 
CHAPTEE XXXI 
 
 BEFORE THE GENEEALS 
 
 I hoped that Elinor would come again soon, but 
 time passed and she did not, nor did I hear from her; 
 neither did any message come from Pembroke, Tour- 
 ville, or De Courcelles, and I supposed that they had 
 been called away from Eichmond by the stress of mili- 
 tary duty, a wholly likely guess. Elinor, I presumed, 
 was not able to obtain leave to visit me a second time, 
 and I resigned myself as best I could to an absence of 
 all news from those for whom I cared most. I had 
 heard nothing, of course, from my grandmother, but I 
 believed that she and William Penn were safe. The 
 centre of the war in the West seemed to have shifted 
 from the neighbourhood of her house and to the south- 
 ward. I was wondering who would prove our future 
 leaders to victory, when my North Carolina guard told 
 me in his rough but friendly way that I had visitors 
 again. Two men were waiting this time to see me in 
 the same little office next to that of the commandant. 
 Pembroke and De Courcelles, I thought likely, as I was 
 escorted to the room, but I had never seen before the 
 two who awaited me there. They did not rise as I 
 entered, but the elder motioned me quickly and with 
 authority to a chair evidently placed for me. 
 
 I took the seat and met their stern, inquiring gaze 
 with confidence. I have said that I never saw them 
 before, but I knew them nevertheless. I was fully 
 aware that I was in the presence of Lee and Jackson, 
 
 259 
 
260 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 the two great military figures of the Confederacy. We 
 had heard so much about them in the prison — they had 
 been described to us so often — that I could not be mis- 
 taken. My gaze, therefore, was as curious as theirs. 
 General Lee sat nearest to me, a large man of impres- 
 sive appearance, with a great dome of a head and open 
 features. He was dressed with the most exact neatness, 
 in his general's uniform of Confederate gray, with a 
 splendid sword at his side. He was the embodiment of 
 dignity, and seemed to be in all respects a man who 
 knew the world and its manners. Involuntarily I made 
 a contrast between him and Lincoln, and yet I think 
 there was something alike in their characters, although 
 one preferred his State to his country, a view with 
 which I can not agree. 
 
 Stonewall Jackson was more like Lincoln in figure 
 and general appearance, barring the Northern Presi- 
 dent's great height. He looked bent and awkward as 
 he sat in the chair. An old gray cloak was wrapped 
 about the upper part of his body, and came almost to 
 his chin. His military boots were splashed with mud. 
 His face was almost hidden by a thick, black, and 
 ragged beard, and the flap of his hat, which he did 
 not take off; but a pair of eyes as fiery as a coal glit- 
 tered through the black tangle and let no movement or 
 expression of mine escape them. Such was " Fool 
 Tom " Jackson, the eccentric professor in peace, the 
 great Stonewall Jackson of the civil war. 
 
 " Mr. Kingsf ord," said General Lee, speaking in 
 slow and precise tones, "there is a strange tale of 
 you which has penetrated every house in Eichmond, 
 which has even reached our army at the front, and has 
 been a cause of gossip around our camp fires. It con- 
 nects you with a young lady and one of my most valiant 
 and trusted officers." 
 
 I saw that his cool gray eyes were watching me in- 
 tently, and I did not flinch from his gaze. 
 
BEFORE THE GENERALS 261 
 
 " I can imagine what it is," I said, as he paused, 
 seeming to wait for a reply. " The young lady is Eli- 
 nor Kingsford, my wife, and the man is Philip Augus- 
 tus Varian, a general in your service." 
 
 " Quite correct," he said. " It is understood that 
 you charged General Varian with attempting your life, 
 or indirectly inciting attempts upon it, for private rea- 
 sons. General Varian, on the contrary, denies this, say- 
 ing too that you broke your parole, and stole a young 
 lady away from her guardian." 
 
 " Perhaps we had better drop the charge of steal- 
 ing the young lady," suddenly said General Jackson, 
 speaking for the first time. " If you were of his age 
 and were in love with her, you might have stolen her 
 too." 
 
 I was surprised and delighted at this unexpected 
 support from such a quarter, but General Jackson said 
 no more. A faint smile appeared on General Lee's 
 face, and the look that he bent upon me softened a 
 little. 
 
 " General Jackson is right," he said. " That sin, if 
 it be a sin at all, is one of the sins of youth, and we can 
 scarcely punish it in a country like ours, where it is 
 happening many thousand times every year. But the 
 matter of your parole is much more serious. You are 
 aware that we can not deny the word of such a man as 
 General Varian, and you have not a single witness to 
 support your claim." 
 
 " No, but I speak the truth," I said boldly. 
 
 " There are those in the city who believe in you," he 
 continued, " and more who would support you if they 
 could for your wife's sake. It makes the strangest case 
 that I have ever known, and because of its peculiar 
 features we have come here at the President's own re- 
 quest to see you and speak with you. Will you tell us 
 this entire story? " 
 
 I related all the facts, so far as I knew them, from 
 
262 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 the beginning to the end, keeping Elinor as much in the 
 background as I could, as I did not wish to discuss my 
 wife with anybody. They listened with the most ab- 
 sorbed attention, an interest that seemed to me extraor- 
 dinary on the part of two great generals, weighted with 
 the cares of a mighty civil war. However straight my 
 story, and however great the interest that Elinor might 
 have excited in Richmond, our fate bore little relation 
 to the work of these two men. Yet they missed no de- 
 tail; instead, they often asked me to tell over again 
 parts of my narrative, and always those parts were about 
 Varian. I did not dream then of what was in their 
 minds, nor did I have any intimation of it until long 
 afterward. 
 
 " Yours is a tale which we would not have believed," 
 said Stonewall Jackson, speaking for the second time, 
 " but there is a witness." 
 
 " A witness! " I exclaimed. 
 
 He nodded his head. 
 
 " My wife? " I asked. 
 
 " No," said General Lee, " not your wife. It would 
 be held generally that she is not an impartial witness. 
 We speak of another — a man, a Southern soldier. Do 
 you know Major Titus Tyler, of Mississippi? " 
 
 I felt a sudden sense of shame. I had scarcely 
 thought of the good major since last I saw him, but I 
 quickly answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " A good man and a brave one," said General Lee; 
 " but not of great judgment, and overf ond of talking. 
 Still, all say that he is truthful. He was severely 
 wounded in a skirmish in the Valley of Virginia a day 
 or two after your escape from General Varian, and has 
 just been invalided to Eichmond. And he tells a tale, 
 Mr. Kingsford, with which you are connected — a tale 
 that is far more extraordinary than yours, one that we 
 are compelled to investigate." 
 
 " May I ask what it is? " I said, in growing wonder. 
 
BEFORE THE GENERALS 263 
 
 " Not now," he replied, " although you will know 
 beyond a doubt some day. But in view of the testi- 
 mony of Major Tyler we have decided to keep you here 
 and not exchange you, at least not for the present, and 
 you need not concern yourself about the matter of the 
 parole. As for the young lady, we have decided, with 
 the full concurrence of the President, to take her from 
 her aunt and place her with Mrs. Pembroke and her 
 daughter. We would not have a right to do it if we 
 were opposed, but there will be no opposition. You 
 must be content with this." 
 
 " I am more than content," I said with deep grati- 
 tude. Yet I felt mystified, as if Elinor's fortunes and 
 mine had become entangled with others. But I was 
 grateful enough to accept with thanks this unknown 
 factor in our behalf. Elinor with her aunt was more or 
 less in the power of Varian, and her removal to the 
 house of the Pembrokes was a triumph. 
 
 The two generals then bade me a courteous good day 
 and left. I was destined to see both once again, but 
 under far different circumstances. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 ON A NARROW STAGE 
 
 And now Christmas was approaching. A gloomy 
 Christmas it was for those who loved the Union, smart- 
 ing under the great defeat at Fredericksburg, and 
 gloomiest Christmas of all it was for us, locked in a 
 prison under triple guards, and suffering from the 
 deadly monotony of such a life — a life shut off from all 
 the world and its interests. I can not now think of a 
 man in prison, even though he be a criminal, without a 
 thrill of pity. I know what it is to be held by four 
 walls. 
 
 But the holiday feeling, even in those gloomy times, 
 penetrated the barriers of brick and stone, passed the 
 numerous sentinels with their loaded guns, and reached 
 the poor prisoners who waited so longingly for the 
 news of great victories that never came. We felt it 
 in our bones, and for days past the most active among 
 us had been arranging for a celebration, an evening 
 of Christmas theatricals, an event the rumours of 
 which had gone already outside the prison, and ex- 
 cited the wonder of the people of Richmond. The 
 preparations were far advanced even when the two gen- 
 erals paid me their visit, and I was to take a part. 
 
 Our guards were kind to us then, and it was with 
 
 no great difficulty that we obtained permission from 
 
 the Confederate authorities to display our dramatic 
 
 talents. People had not grown so hard as they became 
 
 264 
 
ON A NARROW STAGE 265 
 
 in the later years of the war, and we found plenty of 
 sympathy. It was said, too, that Richmond itself, owing 
 to the increasing curiosity in the city concerning our 
 venture, would send as many spectators as the mili- 
 tary authorities would allow. 
 
 Our ambition grew with this news, and we decided 
 to give our entertainment in a manner that was right 
 and fitting. The majority of us had a little money, 
 and I received the appointment to solicit funds for 
 programmes, succeeding well in the task. , The authori- 
 ties permitted us to hire the work from one of the news- 
 paper offices outside, and in due time the programmes 
 came. I have one of them yet, and even now, as I 
 write these lines, I stop a little to take it out of the 
 drawer and look at it, and smile at the memory of 
 the men — boys rather — who worked with such eager 
 zest to prepare that Christmas festival. Nor is there 
 much sadness in the recollection. Nearly all of 
 them are living yet, the majority scarcely in middle 
 age. A few, exchanged or escaped, fell on later battle- 
 fields. 
 
 It was a long and varied entertainment that our pro- 
 grammes announced, and perhaps it would not be called 
 intellectual drama now, but it was the best that we 
 could do with our slender resources, and you will admit, 
 perhaps, that our art lacked freedom of development. 
 The printer did well by us, giving us the worth of our 
 money, finishing the programmes in handsome style, 
 and putting around each a border, but with grim hu- 
 mour making this border a chain. We appreciated the 
 jest and made no objection. Our evening was to begin 
 with a minstrel performance consisting of more than 
 twenty songs, dances, and instrumental selections, clos- 
 ing with a short piece called The Rival Claimants. 
 Then we were to give, after an intermission, a comedy 
 entitled The Countryman in Town, which would be 
 our severest dramatic effort, and the evening would 
 
266 IN CIECLING CAMPS 
 
 close with a grand masquerade ball, in which all the 
 members of the company were to take part. 
 
 We worked with the most extraordinary zest. We 
 had nothing else to do, and it was a happy idea, a relief 
 from the deadly monotony of our lives. We bought a 
 violin, a bass-viol, a banjo, and a flute: it was not diffi- 
 cult to find men who could play them after a fashion, 
 and thus we provided for an orchestra. The " cook 
 room," a great apartment on the first floor, convenient 
 because of its size, was to be the scene of our festivities, 
 and we sent word, through the guards, to the people in 
 the city that the audience were expected to bring their 
 seats with them. We could provide none. 
 
 I dwell upon these details, both for their own sake 
 and because of what followed, making that the most 
 memorable Christmas night in my life. 
 
 I was not hoping for any message from Elinor, not 
 expecting that fortune would be so kind; but, two days 
 before Christmas, Mary Pembroke, blond and happy — 
 I suspected that she had a letter from De Courcelles — 
 saw me in the prison, and told me that Elinor would 
 be there on Christmas night, coming with her and her 
 mother. 
 
 Christmas night arrived, bringing its early winter 
 darkness, and the old warehouse was filled with the 
 noise and confusion of untried actors and stage man- 
 agers. The curtain was to rise at seven o'clock, and it 
 was promised to us that " lights out " would not sound 
 until twelve o'clock instead of nine, the usual hour. 
 We had built a stage of old boxes at one end of the 
 room, and an expanse of red calico hanging from a 
 string was our curtain. 
 
 Three tallow candles served as footlights, and be- 
 hold, the theatre was complete! All the actors were 
 gathered in the rear of the stage, behind another cur- 
 tain, making ready for their parts, and every one of us 
 was as eager as a beginner on the real stage. The senti- 
 
ON A NARROW STAGE 267 
 
 nels, feeling secure of us, and moved by curiosity, as 
 their lives, like ours, were full of deadly dulness, 
 watched the curtain with interest, and relaxed some- 
 what the severity of their discipline. 
 
 I dwell again upon details that you, who go where 
 you please and see what you please, may know to what 
 straits we were reduced within the walls of a military 
 prison, and how we struggled even there to maintain 
 our interest in the affairs of men. 
 
 " Shall we have a good house to-night, do you think, 
 eh, Kingsford?" asked George Warren, a young lieu- 
 tenant from Massachusetts, who was cast for a tambou- 
 rine dance, and whose good spirits were unfailing. 
 
 " We can plead that our opportunities are limited," 
 I replied. 
 
 Ours was a cheerful company. The Christmas feel- 
 ing had come undoubtedly; our work aroused gaiety in 
 us all, and now and then we lifted the curtain to cast 
 jests at the guards, who received them with good hu- 
 mour, and paid them back as best they could in like 
 fashion. The orchestra was testing its instruments, 
 and the notes of the flute mingled with the tanging 
 of the violin strings. A farm lad named Sullivan, from 
 Wisconsin, was to play the violin, and almost uncon- 
 sciously his bow slid into the air of Home, Sweet 
 Home. " If you don't stop that, Sullivan," exclaimed 
 Warren suddenly, " I'll take your fiddle away from 
 you and break it over your own head! Play anything 
 else but that! " " I guess you're right," said Sulli- 
 van, submissively, and he gave a few notes of Yankee 
 Doodle. 
 
 " They're coming! The audience is coming," said 
 Harris, an eager boy of not more than seventeen, and 
 we peeped through the curtain to see the first arrivals. 
 It was a party of three Confederate officers, three civil- 
 ians, and four ladies, bringing with them some empty 
 nail kegs, which were to serve as orchestra chairs, and 
 18 
 
268 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 two lanterns. They took their seats quietly and waited 
 with great curiosity for the raising of the curtain. 
 
 The audience now came rapidly, and I watched their 
 entrance as much as my duties would allow, waiting all 
 the while for those whom I, wished most to see. 1 saw 
 them at last — Elinor, Mrs. Pembroke, Miss Pembroke, 
 and Tourville. Tourville carried his left arm in a 
 sling, and I inferred that he had received another and 
 a recent wound, thus accounting for his absence from 
 the front. Elinor was paler than when I had last seen 
 her, and she too watched the curtain with eyes which 
 were full of deep expectation. I would have given 
 her a sign, some word or gesture of greeting, but I 
 could not. 
 
 Our curiosity was not inferior to that of the audi- 
 ence, and we appreciated too the friendly interest that 
 was shown in us. Confederate officers were numerous 
 in the crowd, but civilians constituted the majority. 
 The lights of the lanterns and the tallow candles flick- 
 ered over them and only half dispelled the dark in the 
 great, gloomy room. I think it is rare that a line of 
 armed guards divide the players on the stage from the 
 spectators, though it might be wise; however, it was a 
 trifle that we did not mind, and the curtain was ready 
 to rise. Elinor and her friends were sitting very near 
 the stage, but they did not see me until the evening 
 was half over, my part not calling for my appearance 
 until then. 
 
 We began with a minstrel show, a form of theatrical 
 entertainment most popular at that time, and our men 
 played the tambourine, the bones, and the banjo with 
 much enthusiasm and what skill they had, pleasing the 
 audience mightily and drawing continued applause. 
 Thus the friendly relations between actors and people 
 increased, and the guards became more lax; in truth, 
 there was little reason at all for their vigilance, as 
 around us were the walls of the prison; beyond them 
 
ON A NARROW STAGE 269 
 
 lay the hostile city, and beyond that the country as 
 hostile. There was much laughter, but I saw what 
 looked to me like tears in Elinor's eyes. She beheld 
 only the pathetic side of our little show. 
 
 We rose in ambition after the minstrel perform- 
 ance. Those of us who had voices sang passages from 
 Ernani and Norma, and we even gave the serenade 
 from Lucia di Lammermoor. But it was in the little 
 one-act play, the Eival Claimants, that I appeared just 
 for a minute, and only to speak a dozen words or so, as 
 my histrionic abilities are not large, and I took a part 
 solely because I was needed. Elinor's eyes met mine 
 for a moment, and she smiled. But the smile was 
 pathetic, as her look throughout the evening had been. 
 
 The performance was passing smoothly; the ap- 
 plause increased; we were on the friendliest terms with 
 our audience, and we reached the culmination of our 
 genius, the short comedy The Countryman in Town. 
 This, too, was passing to the music of applause and con- 
 scious success, when I saw one of the flickering candles 
 in the front row of the spectators blaze up suddenly. A 
 woman had leaned over too far, and the light, fluffy 
 sleeve of her dress caught fire from the candle. An 
 officer sitting next to her instantly put out the blaze 
 with his military cloak before any harm was done, but 
 not too soon to stop a panic. The ladies nearest to 
 the scene of the accident cried out in fear, the men 
 rushed forward to help, and in ten seconds the room was 
 in confusion; some of the more timid fled toward the 
 door, the guards forgot their duties in their eagerness 
 to help put out the fire, and the officers were shouting 
 in unbelieving ears that nothing was wrong. 
 
 I was standing at the very edge of the stage when 
 this accident, so trifling in itself, so great in its conse- 
 quences to me, occurred, and I saw as if in a flash of 
 light the opportunity created so suddenly. I sprang 
 from the stage and darted among the crowd, too con- 
 
270 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 fused now to pay any attention to me — all save one. A 
 light hand was on my arm, and a glowing face was near 
 mine. 
 
 " By the wall, where it is dark, Henry! " she ex- 
 claimed; " and they will not notice you." 
 
 I ran by the west wall, where the lights were fewest, 
 and toward the door. It was so simple that I was 
 amazed at my own fortune. The exultant hope of 
 liberty gave me presence of mind. I snatched from a 
 chair the cap and cloak of an officer, and rushed 
 through the doorway and down a hall. A sentinel 
 met me. 
 
 " In there at once! " I cried, " and help them put 
 out the fire, or our own people will be burned to 
 death! " Thus spreading the alarm among the guards, 
 I fled past them all and through the door and gates, and 
 presently I was outside the prison and in the cold free 
 air of Christmas night, scarcely realizing how it was 
 done. 
 
 I had not the slightest fear for Elinor. The tumult 
 was subsiding even before I left the room, and she was 
 in no danger whatever. I heard long afterward that 
 the play was resumed with entire equanimity in fifteen 
 minutes, and that I was not missed either by the guards 
 or those behind the curtain — my part was finisned — 
 until the play was over, the audience was gone, " Lights 
 out! " were sounded, and Christmas morning had be- 
 gun. But I have heard too that one Confederate officer 
 swore profoundly when he found that he had to go to 
 his quarters in the wintry air without his cap and cloak. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 IN THE WILDEENESS 
 
 I stopped in the street, bewildered a moment by my 
 freedom, but I retained presence of mind to set the cap 
 in a jaunty and careless way on the side of my head, and 
 to let the cloak hang in rakish fashion from my shoul- 
 ders. Then I walked along for all the world like a 
 young officer returning from a Christmas eve call upon 
 his sweetheart. I was out of the prison, but not out 
 of Richmond, yet I was confident that I could escape. 
 I believed that it was about half past ten o'clock, and I 
 knew that it was cold. A citizen, a substantial man of 
 middle age, looking like a merchant, stopped me and 
 asked me if anything was happening at the prison, as 
 he had just heard a rumour of trouble there. I told 
 him the exact truth about the accident, and thanking 
 me, he went on. My cap and cloak were Southern, my 
 accent Southern, and he never suspected. 
 
 I passed Capitol Square before I chose a course, 
 and then I turned my steps toward the James. I had 
 been in Richmond only once before in my life, coming 
 there as a military prisoner, and my recollections were 
 vague in some respects, but I believed that I could 
 reach the river without interruption. My belief was 
 justified, and soon I stood upon the banks of the James, 
 a silent torrent, but as cold as ice. I had conceived a 
 hazy idea of swimming to the Manchester shore, from 
 which point I could escape more easily through the 
 
 271 
 
272 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 fortifications, but one look at the river showed me how 
 foolish was the hope. My muscles would be paralyzed 
 by the icy current and I would drown helplessly. My 
 heart sank. I had breathed the breath of freedom a 
 half hour, and it intoxicated me. My mind was filled 
 already with dreams of an escape to Washington, the 
 rescue of Elinor, and an end to all our troubles. 
 
 I wandered by the shore a long time, hiding when I 
 heard or saw any one coming, and vainly seeking to 
 devise some plan of further flight. When I grew cold I 
 crept once into an empty and abandoned tobacco hogs- 
 head lying on the ground. The warmth was so grateful 
 that I lay there some time, and while within its shelter 
 I heard clocks strike the hour of twelve, and the bells in 
 the spire of a church ring in Christmas morning. The 
 sound was wonderfully clear and distinct in the frosty 
 air, and peace seemed to hang over the city for which 
 the hosts of the North and South were fighting. But 
 the holiday glow had left me. I felt lonely and discour- 
 aged, and I was tempted to wish myself back in Libby 
 with my comrades, where I might at least hear friendly 
 voices and see sympathetic faces. But this feeling was 
 short. Triumphs were not won in such a spirit, and 
 coming out of the hogshead, I began anew to plan. I 
 was aware, too, that if I did anything I must do it 
 soon, as I might be missed at any moment, and even 
 before then some vigilant soldier might demand why 
 I lounged along the shores of the James at such an 
 hour. 
 
 The city was still quiet. I heard scarcely a sound. 
 The stars winked in the clear cold heavens, and lights 
 shone here and there from a window. I came presently 
 to a little group of cabins, apparently of the kind inhab- 
 ited by coloured people, and I heard the sound of an axe. 
 An old negro was cutting wood in the rear of a hut, 
 and I watched him a little while, letting the new 
 idea that was born in my mind grow there. I would 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS 273 
 
 risk everything on a single chance, and if I lost I could 
 say that I would have lost anyhow, as there was nothing 
 else to do. 
 
 " Uncle," I said to the old man, " can you show me 
 how to escape from Eichmond? " 
 
 He raised his axe defensively, startled by my voice, 
 as he had neither seen nor heard my approach. When 
 his apprehension disappeared he looked at me in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "You, a Confedrit officer, ask me that question!" 
 he said. 
 
 " I am not a Confederate officer," I replied. " I am 
 a Northern soldier just escaped from Libby Prison." 
 
 Then I awaited in doubt his answer. It is a strange 
 truth, and perhaps not so strange, that many of the col- 
 oured people whom we were fighting to free regarded 
 the Northern soldiers as ogres, and remained through- 
 out the war loyal to their Southern masters. 
 
 " See! " I said, opening my cloak and showing the 
 faded and dingy blue of a Northern uniform. 
 
 " Come into the house, marster," he said, and led 
 the way through the kitchen door into his cabin. He 
 lighted a candle, set it on the table, and motioned me to 
 a seat in the single chair that the kitchen could boast. 
 Then he went into the only other room that the house 
 had, and came forth presently with his wife, a woman of 
 some fifty-five or sixty years, much larger and evidently 
 of much more decided character than her lord and mas- 
 ter. Then, standing there in the middle of the little 
 kitchen, they held a conference upon my fate, while I 
 sat meekly in the chair awaiting the verdict. The 
 woman at length spoke up. 
 
 " We can't get you out o' Eichmond to-night," she 
 said. " It'll have to be done by the river when we do it, 
 but the night's too bright. If my old man tried to pad- 
 dle away with you he'd be seen shore." 
 
 " Then you can do nothing for me? " I asked. 
 
274 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " We ain't said that yet," she replied. " Jest you 
 hide here in our room till the chance comes, and we'll 
 get you out o' Eichmond." 
 
 No one ever had more loyal and devoted friends than 
 that humble old coloured couple who never saw me 
 until that night, and who hid me without hope of re- 
 ward. I remained more than three weeks in their little 
 cabin, slipping out now and then at night, and awaiting 
 a favourable chance to escape by the river. They even 
 served me in other ways, as I asked the woman to go to 
 the house of the Pembrokes in Grace Street, call for 
 Mrs. Elinor Kingsford, and tell her how I fared. That 
 was after I had been with them ten days, and the woman 
 returned, her eyes shining in her black face. 
 
 " Did you see her? " I asked eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, marster," she replied, " an' I'm mighty glad 
 now fur the sake of that chile that we've tried to help 
 you." 
 
 "What did she say?" I asked, with increasing 
 eagerness. 
 
 " She cried a little, and said she was so glad you'd 
 found friends, an' she hoped you'd git out o' Eichmon' 
 soon. She said she'd come to see you, but she dassen't." 
 
 " That must not be! You must not permit it! " I 
 said. " She would be watched, and it might make 
 trouble for her." 
 
 " I ain't no fool," said the woman gravely. " I 
 wouldn't tell her whar I live, 'cause I was afraid she'd 
 come anyhow. Don't you believe them white ladies 
 when they say they dassen't go to see their husbands, 
 an' I spects the coloured ones are about the same." 
 
 The old man brought me a report, a few days after 
 the new year, that a great battle had been fought in 
 the West, on the last day of the old year, near Stone 
 Eiver, Tennessee, as bloody, as desperate, and as inde- 
 cisive as Shiloh. There was little comfort in this news 
 to a lover of a united country. The North must do 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS 275 
 
 more than fight drawn battles to hold the Union to- 
 gether. 
 
 The dark night came at last. The man had secured 
 a skiff, and he said that he would steal up the river 
 with me, landing me in the woods, where a friend of his, 
 another black man, would meet me. 
 
 " Take care o' yourself, marster, for the sake of that 
 purty gal in Eichmon' that loves you," said the woman 
 at parting. 
 
 I promised, and I spoke of a hope to reward her 
 some day, but she would hear of nothing, and went 
 back into the house with a caution to her husband to be 
 careful. She was a true soul in a humble station, risk- 
 ing much for what she believed was right, and without 
 a thought of pay. 
 
 The night was pitchy dark, otherwise we would not 
 have made the venture, and we ran the gantlet safely. 
 We passed a gunboat once, her lights burning on the 
 deck, but our skiff slid by in the darkness like a phan- 
 tom, and no one saw us. We heard, too, the rattle of 
 arms on shore and saw the lights of forts, but we passed 
 them all unchallenged, and before morning my guide, 
 protector, and friend landed me in the woods, where 
 another coloured man, old and gnarled like himself, met 
 us. He called the second man Thomas, his own name 
 was Ephraim, and I never knew the last name of 
 either. Thomas was a woodcutter, almost a hermit, liv- 
 ing alone in the tangle of forest and undergrowth far 
 to the northeast of Eichmond. He was to take charge 
 of me, delivered like a bale of goods by his friend 
 Ephraim, and pass me through the Confederate lines 
 as soon as the opportunity came. They used to send 
 slaves North by the underground route, and now, the 
 case being reversed, I seemed to be passing that way. 
 There was a certain humour and no humiliation in the 
 thought. 
 
 " Good-bye, Ephraim," I said; " no man has truer 
 
276 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 friends than Malinda " — Malinda was his wife — " and 
 you have been to me." 
 
 I still had gold, which I carried in an inside pocket 
 of my waistcoat, and I thrust half of it in his hand; I 
 wished to keep the other half for Thomas. He sought 
 to give it back, but I held my hands behind me, and 
 asked Thomas to lead the way through the forest. I 
 looked back once, and saw him stow the gold in his 
 pocket, and then get into his boat. It was but small 
 repayment that I could make him. 
 
 Thomas and I walked briskly until sunrise. He 
 was a little, bent old negro, but wonderfully sturdy and 
 enduring. He had a broad, honest face, and I never 
 felt the slightest doubt of his trustworthiness. The 
 long, swift walk through the forest, the little black man 
 flitting on before like a ghost, filled me with a sense of 
 exhilaration. The cold air invited exercise, and the 
 blood, grown sluggish by long inactivity, began to flow 
 again in a vigorous torrent through my veins. 
 
 The house of Thomas, a log hut standing in a tiny 
 clearing, was even smaller than Ephraim's, but it was 
 destined to be my home much longer than I had antici- 
 pated. The line of the Confederate posts stretched be- 
 tween Washington and me, so Thomas told me, and the 
 Southern troops were exercising the greatest vigilance 
 and caution. The winter season even did not permit 
 relaxation, as the battle of Fredericksburg, fought in 
 December, showed that cold weather guaranteed no im- 
 munity from a campaign. I might be captured or I 
 might not if I made the attempt, but in any event the 
 risk was great, and I chose not to make the trial at 
 present. I had been a captive too often to return to 
 Libby with a good grace, and I stayed with the old 
 man, biding my time. The days passed and the oppor- 
 tunity did not come; the Southern lines converged 
 more closely around us, and that lone little hut in the 
 woods seemed to have become a focus of great military 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS 277 
 
 movements. Thomas told me that the forest was full 
 of the Southern cavalry, and he cautioned me to stay 
 close in the house. 
 
 It was nearly February when I arrived there, and I 
 saw some of the winter storms sweep through the woods. 
 A deep snow fell once, and I heard the boughs crack- 
 ing like pistol shots under its weight. The Southern 
 cavalry would not ride so freely in such weather, but it 
 was an equal obstacle to me, it being almost impossible 
 to go on ioot through it to Washington or the Northern 
 army, and Thomas said that the attempt would be mad- 
 ness. So I lingered, and when the snow passed away 
 the Southern troops came again, often passing through 
 the clearing in which stood the hut. They entered it 
 once to warm their cold hands by the fire, but I was 
 lying then in the little loft just under the roof, extended 
 full length on the rafters, and they never dreamed of 
 my presence. I heard their talk distinctly through the 
 numerous cracks between the planks, and I gathered 
 from it that they expected another advance of the 
 Northern army as soon as the spring began and the 
 roads dried sufficiently for the passage of the artillery. 
 I heard them mention Varian's name once. It seemed 
 that he was in command of a considerable body of cav- 
 alry in the neighbourhood, and he was expected to keep 
 in touch with the Northern horse and watch every hos- 
 tile movement. They spoke highly of his skill and vigi- 
 lance, and the knowledge of his proximity showed me 
 how great had been my need of caution. I saw now the 
 full reason of Thomas's advice to wait. 
 
 The winter passed thus, and I was still at the hut 
 in the woods. I tried twice to escape through the 
 Southern lines, but on each occasion was forced to turn 
 back for fear of recapture. Thomas went into Eich- 
 mond and, following my instructions, was able, with the 
 aid of Ephraim, to bring back a message from Elinor. 
 She was yet with the Pembrokes, being accepted now as 
 
278 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 almost one of the family, and she would remain there 
 until she received a message from me to come. 
 
 Old Virginia grew green and then bloomed under 
 the touch of spring, and I was devoured by impatience. 
 To be held there so long, almost in sight of my goal, was 
 the utmost trial, and I grew sore in spirit. A third at- 
 tempt proved futile like the others, but, waiting a week 
 longer, I prepared myself for a fourth, resolved not to 
 turn back, no matter what befell me. Every motive 
 now induced my departure, as it was evident, from the 
 reports brought by Thomas, that some great military 
 movement was impending. The Northern army was 
 advancing and a battle would be fought. I could not 
 lie there in the forest at such a time, to be taken any 
 day by scouting troopers like a rabbit in a snare. I 
 was filled, too, with the desire for action, and I did not 
 wish to be pursued always by others. I was tired of 
 being a prisoner or a fugitive. 
 
 Thomas gave me a little knapsack filled with food, 
 and I made him take the last of the gold, except a few 
 pieces that I must use on the way to Washington. He 
 was like Ephraim, and did not wish to accept it, but I 
 compelled him. I think it was his plan to go at once 
 to Eichmond and buy a pair of fine new axes, tools that 
 would delight the soul of this honest black wood- 
 cutter. 
 
 I knew the general direction of Washington and I 
 laid my course by the sun, starting at sunrise of a 
 beautiful spring morning, and walking steadily. I kept 
 to the woods and fields, avoiding the roads, which I was 
 sure would be trodden by the Southern forces. I saw 
 their cavalry three times, and once a troop of horse 
 which I believed to be ours, although they were too far 
 away for me to reach by signal, and were soon gone at a 
 speed that forbade any hope of my joining them. But 
 I was strong and eager, and I walked many miles that 
 day, adopting the Indian pace — the long, swinging gait 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS 279 
 
 that gives the greatest speed with the least fatigue — and 
 when night came I was far on the journey toward 
 Washington. The country was unknown to me, but I 
 still travelled by the sun and had no fear that I was 
 going in the wrong direction. My journey so far was a 
 success. Nowhere had I found the way barred. The 
 Confederate lines seemed to have been shifted farther 
 toward the northeast, and I believed it to be a result 
 of the preparations for the impending battle. I 
 stopped just after dark in a clump of woods to eat some 
 of the cold food that Thomas had put in the knapsack, 
 and to rest a while. It was a fine, clear night, myriads 
 of stars twinkling in a sky of silky blue, and the warm 
 air was laden with the fresh odours of spring. 
 
 It was not a beautiful country into which I had 
 come: a wilderness of bleak, red hills, half clad in a 
 scrubby second growth of forest; many gullies washed 
 here and there by the rains, and now and then an " old 
 field " grown up with sassafras bushes. I passed over 
 an ancient and abandoned iron furnace, but inhabitants 
 there seemed to be none. 
 
 I was in the sombre shades of the Wilderness, that 
 gloomy region of Virginia whose sanguinary recollec- 
 tions even now appal the Americans who fought there, 
 an area of land that bore more dead men's bones than 
 any other of modern times. But I had no thought then 
 of what the future was to bring. I ate the bacon and 
 corn bread, sitting on a fallen log in the dense thicket 
 and invisible to any one twenty feet away. I wished to 
 take a good rest and travel all the remainder of the 
 night, as darkness was my best protection, and I hoped 
 that the morning would see me in the Northern army or 
 at least beyond the Southern lines. While I was sitting 
 there I heard faint and far the note of a trumpet — Ta- 
 ra-ra-ta-ra-ra! It was repeated and grew louder, and 
 then was answered from the left by another trumpet. 
 Cavalry again I was sure, and they were converging upon 
 
280 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 me, although unconscious of it. But I felt no alarm. 
 I was hidden in the thicket as securely as a rabbit in its 
 burrow, and no horse would enter such a covert. I 
 stood up among the bushes and saw a line of cavalry 
 passing along a woodland path, showing but a little 
 while against the clear sky and then disappearing. The 
 sound of the trumpets became fainter and died. 
 
 I resumed my flight about nine o'clock, having 
 marked well the direction, and pressed forward with all 
 diligence. It was about an hour later when I stopped, 
 startled by a low muttering sound like the far swell of 
 the sea, that seemed to come up from the eastern hori- 
 zon. It was a distant cannon shot that betokened the 
 gathering of armies, and, although I knew it not, it was 
 the rumbling thunder of Chancellors ville. I was lis- 
 tening to the opening notes of the great battle. 
 
 I passed on, and to the eastward I heard another 
 cannon shot, and then another, and then another. Dim 
 red flashes appeared on the misty horizon, and once I 
 heard the sound of galloping hoofs. I began now to feel 
 an interest that was more than personal. Here were 
 movements of importance, and my flight had taken me 
 among them. There was danger in it, and yet it gave 
 me opportunity, too. Armies gathering for battle would 
 not notice one straggler as he stole through the wilder- 
 ness. 
 
 The sounds in the east grew to a low but steady 
 rumble. I shifted to the westward, that I might pass 
 around this cannonade, but my change of course 
 brought to my ears the thuDder of guns in the west too. 
 I was between two fires, and, deciding that it was best 
 for me to go straight ahead, I pushed on, still keeping 
 to the densest of the thickets, the voice of the guns 
 steadily growing louder. Troops began to pass me, and 
 all were of the South. They came so near once that I 
 lay down in the bushes behind a log, and I could under- 
 stand the words they spoke as they passed by. They 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS 281 
 
 began to sing presently, many hundreds of hoarse voices 
 joining in a chant that was low, rolling, and majestic, 
 and this was the song: 
 
 " We see him now! the old slouched hat 
 
 Cocked o'er his eye askew ; 
 The shrewd, dry smile, the speech so pat, 
 
 So calm, so blunt, so true. 
 The ' Blue Light Elder ' knows o'er well, 
 Says he : ' That's Banks, he's fond of shell ; 
 Lord save his soul ! we'll give him — ' well, 
 
 That's Stonewall Jackson's way. 
 
 " Ah, maiden! wait and watch and yearn 
 
 For news of Stonewall's band ; 
 Ah, widows! read with tears that burn 
 
 The ring upon thy hand ; 
 Ah, wife ! sew on, pray on, hope on ; 
 Thy life shall not be all forlorn ; 
 The foe had better ne'er been born 
 
 Than get in Stonewall Jackson's way! " 
 
 They passed on, and the song still rang in my ears 
 like an echo. 
 
 I lay hidden all the time in the scrub while an entire 
 brigade passed, but as soon as they were out of sight I 
 arose and hastened on with doubled speed, not wishing 
 to be caught within the ring of battle. 
 
 I saw troops again moving along a road, and I 
 curved back into the thickets, coming presently to the 
 brow of a low hill, where I lay down among the bushes. 
 The sound of voices, as if in earnest conversation, 
 reached me there, and, crawling to the edge of the hill 
 where I still lay hidden in the thickets, I looked down 
 the slope. 
 
 Two men were sitting on empty cracker boxes, talk- 
 ing, and looking occasionally at a paper which I sup- 
 posed bore a map. The faces of both showed intense 
 interest and preoccupation. A sentinel, gun on shoul- 
 der, paced back and forth near them, and three or four 
 
282 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 sticks of wood thrown together gave out a fire like a 
 little torch. 
 
 I knew those men — one large, imposing, but dressed 
 so neatly; the other smaller, shabby, his face covered 
 with an unkempt black beard. They were the two who 
 had asked me questions in the prison. I was looking at 
 Stonewall Jackson as he planned with Lee his last great 
 battle. 
 
 I watched them a little while, full of curiosity, and 
 then I stole away, conscious that my place was not 
 there, and eager to reach the army to which I belonged. 
 I travelled all night, and good fortune went on before 
 me as a guide. I heard continually and on every side of 
 me the low thunder of distant guns, and beheld now 
 and then the flashes on the horizon, but no one saw me 
 as I passed through the Confederate lines. 
 
 It was nearly morning when I came to a little brook, 
 and kneeling, drank eagerly. I washed my face then in 
 the cool water, and seeking the nearest thicket, lay down 
 half under a fallen log, where one to see me must first 
 step on me. The distant music of the cannon was still 
 in my ears as I, worn out, fell asleep. It was the same 
 music of the guns that lulled me to deeper slumbers, 
 and when I awoke at midday, the brilliant sun pene- 
 trating even the bushes that covered me, the thunder 
 of the cannon was still sounding in my ears. 
 
 I ate the last of the food, listening with all my ears 
 and looking with all my eyes. The east was in a red 
 flame, and I knew that the steady roaring was made by 
 many great guns. But, refreshed and strengthened, I 
 passed it by and fled toward Washington. I met on the 
 way, however, some of our broken battalions, learning 
 from them of our great defeat and Stonewall Jackson's 
 death. I reached the capital the day after I heard 
 this news, and enlisted anew as a soldier in the Union 
 cause, being assigned to service, contrary to my wish, 
 however, in the Washington garrison. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 A MAN OF HEAET 
 
 I had been gone from "Washington only a year and a 
 half, but I found great changes at the capital. There 
 was an increase in warlike appearance; it was the 
 centre of a circle of bayonets; line after line of in- 
 trenchments curved away, and I noticed that most of 
 them faced the south; thousands of troops occupied 
 these, and their tents were more numerous than the 
 houses of the inhabitants. It was soldiers, soldiers 
 everywhere, and the rule of the republic had become 
 the rule of the sword. 
 
 Washington was no longer a capital, but it was half 
 camp, half hospital, and huge in either aspect; a hun- 
 dred and fifty forts encircled it, and fifteen hundred 
 cannon stood sentinel, facing every point from which 
 a foe could come; within the rim of cannon rose the 
 hospitals, and these hospitals, always more to-day than 
 they were yesterday, never went unfilled; the battle- 
 fields of Virginia, so prolific in cannon balls, saw to 
 that, and the current of the wounded flowed northward 
 in an unbroken stream. 
 
 Although I knew that I had no right to expect 
 anything else — for how could the war work other- 
 wise? — this aspect of the capital gave me a shock. I 
 had shared in the Jeffersonian dream of a republic 
 always at peace, and I still believed it a beautiful 
 dream. 
 
 19 283 
 
284 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 Another change in the capital was the disappear- 
 ance of all things Southern save its sunshine. The tall, 
 thin, smooth-shaven men, in black clothes, coat-tails 
 very long, and wide-brimmed soft black hats, who fre- 
 quented the hotels and public buildings, and loved to 
 talk politics and government in flowing and soft speech, 
 were gone, and the liquid Southern accent so pleasing 
 to me was seldom heard. 
 
 I chafed at my assignment to garrison duty at Wash- 
 ington, wishing to join the Army of the Potomac, and 
 also to secure Elinor's transfer from the capital of the 
 South to the capital of the North, setting my right as 
 her husband against Mrs. Maynard's right as her aunt. 
 But I could not escape the Washington service, and 
 making the best of it, I went at the first opportunity to 
 see Elinor's uncle, Paul Warner, her uncle by marriage, 
 not blood, and therefore with less claim upon her than 
 Mrs. Maynard. 
 
 The great double brick house in which Paul Warner 
 lived showed even more numerous signs of splendour 
 and opulence than it boasted at the opening of the 
 war. The way of an army contractor who knew the 
 ways of men was not paved with roses, but with some- 
 thing very much more substantial and welcome — name- 
 ly, gold dollars; and no one was shrewder in his own 
 business than Paul Warner. There were tales in the 
 army of shoes with pasteboard soles and uniforms that 
 fell to pieces in the winter rains, and I doubted not that 
 Paul Warner could tell some of their secrets; but he was 
 Elinor's uncle nevertheless. He was proud of her and 
 he loved her in his way. He would care for her if I 
 could bring her to Washington. 
 
 He looked at me in surprise when he entered the 
 parlour where I was sitting. 
 
 " I heard a report somewhere that you had been 
 killed in the West," he said. 
 
 " But you see that it is not true," I replied. 
 
A MAN OF HEART 285 
 
 " I am glad/' he said, and I believe that he spoke 
 the truth. Moreover, he shook hands with me heartily. 
 
 " Mr. Warner," I said, " I am happy to tell you that 
 since I last saw you I have become your kinsman." 
 
 " My kinsman? " 
 
 " Yes, your nephew." 
 
 His heavy face stirred with a look of the deepest 
 interest, and then I told him all our long and strange 
 story. 
 
 " I did not choose you as my nephew," he said when 
 I finished. " Men seldom choose their relations, 
 whether by blood or marriage, or they might do worse; 
 but since it is done I must accept you, and Elinor is a 
 good girl. Her choice of you is at least in your favour, 
 and she must come to Washington, if a way can be 
 found. But it is an affair for me to conduct. I have 
 more influence than you." 
 
 I was willing enough that he should act, but I did 
 not intend to relax my own exertions meanwhile. I 
 was not able, however, to get a message through the 
 lines to Eichmond, nor was he, so far as I could hear. 
 But I had the great pleasure, however, of receiving a let- 
 ter from my grandmother. I had written to her imme- 
 diately upon my arrival in Washington, telling her the 
 whole history of Elinor and myself, or at least as much 
 as I knew of it, since our flight on the night of our 
 marriage. 
 
 " I feel that all things will come out right with you 
 both," said Madam Arlington in conclusion, " but I fear 
 for you, Henry, in that wicked city, among all those 
 Yankees who will certainly suffer the continued defeats 
 that they deserve. It is best that Elinor remain in 
 Eichmond amid such inspiring surroundings until the 
 war is over, when you can claim her. Perhaps your ac- 
 tion in this war will not then be held against you, and 
 your Southern relatives and friends may be influential 
 
286 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 enough to convince all that you were misguided and 
 not wicked. Never fear that Elinor will not be able 
 to take care of herself in Richmond. Women are not 
 so weak and defenceless as men think they are — which 
 belief flatters man's pride in his own strength — although 
 they like to feel that they have protectors within call. 
 
 " Our affairs here, by God's will, progress favour- 
 ably. We have not been annoyed since your departure, 
 either by regular troops or guerrillas. The spring rains 
 were abundant and the crops promise well. I see no 
 change in William Penn; I tell him that he is growing 
 older, but he replies that it is not important. Remem- 
 ber, Henry, in all your campaigning to keep your head 
 cool and your feet warm. 
 
 " Your loving grandmother, 
 
 " Caroline Arlington." 
 
 A day or two after the receipt of this letter I met 
 Mason, just come out of hospital from a wound re- 
 ceived at Chancellorsville. He gave me news of Shaf- 
 toe, who he said had secured a transfer to the Army 
 of the Potomac shortly after Shiloh. The veteran, 
 so Mason told me, was sure that the great theatre 
 of the war was to be in the East, and because of that 
 he wished to come. I was walking along Pennsyl- 
 vania Avenue only three days after this when a heavy 
 hand fell upon my shoulder, and a loud voice said in 
 my ear: 
 
 " As many lives as a cat and swaggering through the 
 town as if you owned it! Is there anything so big as 
 the pride of youth? " 
 
 It was Shaftoe, the same trim soldier as of old, 
 gladness showing in his eyes. I shook hands with him 
 with the greatest joy, and when we began to exchange 
 stories I found that he too had been on garrison duty 
 in Washington for a longer period than I. He had 
 fought at Chancellorsville, but had been sent to the 
 
A MAN OF HEART 287 
 
 capital with his brigade immediately after the defeat, 
 when it was feared that the Army of Northern Virginia 
 might move on the city. 
 
 " And you see I was here when you came/' he said 
 with twinkling eyes. " It was strange that I did not 
 hear of your arrival and the mighty re-enforcement it 
 made for our armies; but so it was." 
 
 I felt as usual the tonic cheerfulness of his presence. 
 There was something in this man, his quiet confidence, 
 his unfailing optimism — or shall I rather call it a de- 
 termination to make the best of everything? — that ren- 
 dered discouragement impossible among those whom he 
 honoured with his friendship; I use the word " hon- 
 oured " purposely. I told him the entire story of my 
 marriage, our flight and recapture, and my. escape from 
 Libby Prison. He was thoughtful, and for a little while 
 made no comment. Then he said: 
 
 " I do not think that you have heard the last of 
 Varian. He is one of the best soldiers on American soil 
 to-day. He has every quality that a cavalry com- 
 mander ought to have. He's been giving us every sort 
 of trouble, but all the same I'm glad he's on their side 
 and not ours. There's a particular kind of man that 
 thinks the world was made for him to squeeze like 
 an orange. If he's beat just once he gets mad at 
 everybody, friends and enemies alike. Now, this Gen- 
 eral Yarian has lost what he wanted most, and the claws 
 will begin to show." 
 
 Shaftoe gave me more good advice, and I was confi- 
 dent both of his judgment and his friendship. I man- 
 aged to procure an exchange into the company to which 
 he belonged, but both of us were held a further period 
 on garrison duty. 
 
 While I was waiting I was made a lieutenant, and 
 Shaftoe became a sergeant under me. It seemed a jest 
 to me that this man, who knew twenty times as much 
 about war as I, should be under my command; but he 
 
288 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 was kind enough to say that I was as good as the average 
 lieutenant. 
 
 I was informed shortly after that I was to keep the 
 last night watch over a deserter who was to be hanged 
 the next day. It was a duty that had none of the flush 
 and glory of war, and though I would have chosen any- 
 thing else in preference, I knew too much to protest. 
 
 The quarters of the condemned man were on a 
 skirt of the city, where the fringe of houses became 
 thin and the tents of the camp rose in lines in the dark- 
 ness like white ghosts. The deserter had been placed 
 in a tent alone, and, stationing my guard at the entrance 
 and around it, I walked back and forth, often looking 
 from the hillside upon the city which lay almost at my 
 feet, in all its armour, like a mailed knight of old. 
 
 It was a warm spring night like that other warm 
 spring night at Shiloh, now more than a year gone, 
 when the Southern army rose out of the darkness like 
 an apparition, and naturally my mind went back to the 
 battle. It seemed to me that the object for which my 
 comrades and I had fought was even more distant now 
 than then. Paraphrasing an old saying, I said to myself 
 that much blood had flowed under the bridge since 
 Shiloh, but its flowing had been to no purpose, so far 
 as I could see. 
 
 The city was unrolled like a picture at my feet; the 
 gleam of white in the darkness came from the marble of 
 the Capitol and the cloth walls of tents; a light shining 
 through the foliage marked the White House, and the 
 sombre shapes, almost as dark as the darkness, told 
 where stood the other buildings of the Government. 
 Some built-up street showed dimly, but everywhere, 
 in the city and around it, dominating all things, burned 
 the fires of the army. A vast circle of little flames 
 sprang from forts, hospitals, and camp fires, and their 
 light rising high formed a luminous cloud which floated 
 over the capital and inclosed it in a rosy mist. But I 
 
A MAN OF HEART 289 
 
 knew that beneath that mist was the unseen flash 
 of many bayonets, now furnishing the chief light for 
 the peaceful capital of Jefferson. 
 
 The night was silent, yet not strangely so; the noisy 
 period of the war, the time for loud talking and the 
 rattling of unused arms, had passed, and men fought, 
 suffered, and waited, without tumult. I heard distinct- 
 ly my own footsteps as I walked up and down, and pres- 
 ently another's, faint and far away, but approaching. 
 The figure of a man showed dimly through the darkness, 
 and then advanced more clearly into outline. It was 
 the clergyman, come to pay the last visit of consolation 
 to the condemned — tall, old, and kindly. I passed him 
 into the tent and waited without. 
 
 The old man remained an hour inside, and when he 
 came out stopped a moment with me. 
 
 " A solemn duty for you," he said. 
 
 " I could have wished anything else." 
 
 " More folly than guilt," continued the clergyman, 
 pointing to the tent. 
 
 I thought it very likely, but the military law in 
 such cases was stern and of age-long use. It was ap- 
 proved by none more than by soldiers, and I merely 
 nodded. 
 
 " Only a boy," said the clergyman. 
 
 " But a boy who is old enough to fight must know 
 the laws of war," I replied. 
 
 The clergyman was silent for a few moments, and 
 then he said: 
 
 " Seems to have been a case of homesickness." 
 
 " There have been too many such. Examples must 
 be made." 
 
 He did not reply, and, sighing once, walked away 
 in the darkness. 
 
 I resumed my walk, but my mind returned pres- 
 ently to the words of the clergyman and the sympathy 
 of his manner. Examples were needed, undoubtedly; 
 
290 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 but if the deserter was only a boy, and homesickness 
 had been the cause of his fall, his fate was hard. Yet 
 the laxity toward such offences had been already too 
 great. I felt much pity for the boy, but I knew that 
 I could not alter his sentence. 
 
 " Is the man asleep ? " I asked presently of one of 
 the soldiers who stood at the tent flap. 
 
 " He must be; he has not stirred in an hour." 
 
 A candle was burning in the tent and its dim light 
 fell on the ground without, but the figure of the de- 
 serter inside was not revealed. I listened a little while, 
 and not hearing him move, walked on. But I came 
 back presently and entered the tent. The deserter was 
 on my mind. 
 
 The candle rested on an empty box, but its light 
 was so feeble that I stood for a few moments, until my 
 eyes grew strong enough for the dusk. 
 
 The deserter was sitting on another box, his head 
 sunk between his shoulders, his chin fallen low, his 
 whole form crushed, and his face hopeless; nothing 
 moved except his fingers, which opened and shut auto- 
 matically against the palms of his hands. He seemed to 
 me a sitting figure of blank and wordless despair He 
 was not more than eighteen years old. 
 
 The boy moved slightly and turned his vacant gaze 
 upon me. He stared at the intruder, not as if I were a 
 man, but as he would have stared at a stone wall, and 
 with as little interest. He neither spoke nor made 
 further movement. 
 
 He was an ordinary farm lad; nothing bad in his 
 face, but one who knew that he was going to die, and, 
 knowing it, was dying in advance — a boy who had in- 
 vited death by thoughtlessness. 
 
 Pity rose up in my soul. The lad's silence, his 
 submission, his fearful gaze, as if he expected to see 
 Death approaching him in corporeal and visible form, a 
 genuine old man with the scythe, impressed me with 
 
A MAN OF HEART 291 
 
 the terrors of an execution in such a ease and the piti- 
 less demands of war. Here was a boy who was neither 
 a thief nor a coward; who, with comrades to right and 
 left, and the battle flame before, would be as brave as 
 any; who was as good as other boys; who loved his 
 father and mother, and whose fault had been merely 
 homesickness, certainly not in itself a crime, and often 
 at other times esteemed a merit and the mark of a true 
 heart. He was to be made a sacrifice for a huge 
 machine, but how was he ever to be paid back? The 
 thought troubled me, and while trying to find a solution 
 I stared unconsciously into the prisoner's eyes, which 
 were looking at me so vacantly. 
 
 Then I remembered myself, and, fearing that my 
 presence there was an insult to the boy's dumb fear, I 
 went outside, glad to feel the cool night air on my face 
 again. 
 
 The night advanced, and many of the lights died, 
 but enough still burned to stud the city as if with stars. 
 It was just midnight, when I heard an approaching 
 footstep again, and a tall, ungainly man, walking awk- 
 wardly, came to the tent. 
 
 " I wish to talk to the deserter," he said. 
 
 I was about to demand his authority, but, seeing his 
 face and melancholy eyes, took him into the tent with- 
 out a word, and withdrew. 
 
 I waited a long time, hearing occasionally the low 
 murmur of voices inside, but never a loud tone. 
 Though more of the lights in tent and hospital had 
 vanished, the night was not dark. The rosy mist of the 
 fires below, thin but luminous, still floated over the 
 city; the river, a long sinuous band of burnished silver, 
 coiled among the hills; and stone and marble walls shed 
 a white light. 
 
 " Walk a little with me, lieutenant. I wish to speak 
 with you." 
 
 The tall man had come out of the tent, and I saluted 
 
292 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 with deep respect. Instructing my men to keep a good 
 watch, I walked away with my visitor in the indicated 
 path. 
 
 " You will return him to his regiment in the morn- 
 ing, and tell him that a double obligation to be a good 
 and true soldier now rests upon him," said the tall man, 
 pointing over his shoulder toward the tent in which the 
 deserter sat. 
 
 " But the execution! " I exclaimed in surprise. 
 
 " There will be no execution." 
 
 " But he is a deserter; it is the law of war and a 
 necessity." 
 
 " He is a deserter, and it is the law of war, but it is 
 not a necessity; no such execution shall occur while 
 I am President. I will pardon every offender. Look! " 
 
 He pointed to the city that lay below and the wide 
 sweep of lights gleaming from hospital and tent. 
 
 " Can not we kill enough men on the battlefield? " 
 he continued, the deep, melancholy eyes lighting up. 
 " The hospitals there are full of the wounded; the dead 
 are taken out every day, and the tents are crowded with 
 men getting ready to furnish more dead and wounded. 
 It is my business to make war by wholesale, and I shall 
 not turn aside from it to kill a few poor lads of our own 
 army in Washington." 
 
 Then we were silent for a little while, and I watched 
 the face of that strange man which seemed to have in 
 it some of the prophetic light possessed by the seers and 
 fearless preachers of the Western woods. Then the 
 eyes began to twinkle, and another phase of his char- 
 acter appeared. 
 
 " You are a Kentuckian? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I thought so. One can not mistake that ac- 
 cent, the haughty snubbing of the poor little letter 
 ' r/ and the general air of a speaking acquaintance 
 with God." 
 
A MAN OP HEART 293 
 
 " In Kentucky we are as good as anybody, and that 
 accounts for our manner." 
 
 "I do not criticise it; how could I? I am a Ken- 
 tuckian by birth and family stock, and so is Davis, who 
 is now at the head of those down there." 
 
 He waved his hands toward the South. 
 
 " The Kentuckian is always a problem to me," he 
 continued, " and none the less so because I am one my- 
 self; sometimes I think he is not an American at all, but 
 just a Kentuckian, which perhaps includes the Ameri- 
 can character, but also gives something above and be- 
 yond. I do not know whether to consider his State a 
 projection of the North into the South, or a projection 
 of the South into the North; whether to rank the Ken- 
 tuckians as Southerners turned Northerners, or North- 
 erners turned Southerners, or perhaps a compromise, or 
 a mixture, containing much of one and a little of the 
 other, or much of the other and a little of the one." 
 
 He stopped and looked inquiringly at me. 
 
 " We are what we are," I said with pride. 
 
 The President laughed. 
 
 " So are most other people," he continued; " be- 
 sides, your claim is not wholly original, though it sounds 
 well enough. Another Kentuckian whom I heard make 
 the claim in almost the same language had never walked 
 on a carpet in his life. He lived in a log hut, and he 
 could not read, but he was just as sincere as you, and 
 perhaps as much justified. When he knocks at the 
 heavenly gates and St. Peter asks him what good he has 
 done, he will not mention anything, but say, ' I am 
 from Kentucky/ and push right in." 
 
 " It ought to count," I said. 
 
 The President laughed again. 
 
 . " You thought you were jesting then," he said, " but 
 
 you were not. Do you know why that man was proud 
 
 of being a Kentuckian? Do you know why all Ken- 
 
 tuckians are? It is not because Kentucky is the most 
 
294 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 beautiful and most fertile State in the Union — for it 
 is neither; not because it has the most glorious history 
 — for it has not; not because it is the most advanced 
 and enlightened of the States — for it is not, and you 
 know it as well as I. Then why? " 
 
 " ' Lives there a man with soul so dead/ " I quoted. 
 
 " It is that in part only, but when you get through 
 with man's pride in his literature, his art, his good laws, 
 his industry, and his justice to other people and him- 
 self, you find down at the bottom the solid bed-rock 
 upon which all rests — his pride in his fighting ability. 
 I do not say that it ought to be so, but it is so. I knew 
 an old revivalist preacher out in Illinois, a genuinely 
 good man, and the only man I ever met who could really 
 forgive his enemies; but if you were to intimate to him 
 that an American army could not whip an equal army 
 of any other nation, you would have him to fight; yet 
 he truly described himself as a humble follower of 
 Christ. That is the temper of you Kentuckians; you 
 are alwa} r s fighting, and in your hearts you are proud of 
 it. You are afraid that when you get to heaven no 
 fighting will be allowed there, and you are trying to get 
 enough of it here." 
 
 " Look at our history," I said in defence. " We had 
 to fight from necessity and not from choice. Was not 
 Kentucky the Dark and Bloody Ground? Even before 
 the white men came we had to fight the Indians for 
 twenty years; then we fought all the way from Canada 
 to the Gulf of Mexico in the second war with Great 
 Britain, and then in more Indian wars in the North- 
 west. The fighting man got to be considered the most 
 valuable person among us, and the feeling has been 
 handed on. Besides, we have it in our blood, by fair 
 inheritance: we are mostly descended from the Scotch, 
 and I have never read of anybody who fought more and 
 with more enjoyment than the Scotch. How could we 
 escape the fighting feeling? We are not neglecting our 
 
A MAN OF HEART 295 
 
 part in this war, either. Eighty thousand of us in the 
 Northern army, forty thousand in the Southern; and 
 there are only a little more than a million people in the 
 State — men, women, and children, counting the blacks 
 — who don't take part." 
 
 " You have said several things with pride, but that 
 last sentence with more pride than any other. You 
 would rather be thought a fool or a villain than a 
 coward." 
 
 The President ceased to jest and was silent, the mel- 
 ancholy look habitual with him deepening. I took ad- 
 vantage of the opportunity to ask him for active service, 
 and he replied with some significance that he thought 
 the chance would come soon; then he bade me a father- 
 ly good night, and walked away in the darkness. 
 
 I watched his figure until it disappeared, and I 
 thought that this strange man was truly alone in the 
 darkness in more senses than one. He seemed to have 
 scarcely a friend just now. All cried out against him, 
 because the war was not going well. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE HEEALDS OF LEE 
 
 I sought again, but as before without success, to 
 obtain news of Elinor, and Paul Warner told me that 
 he too had failed repeatedly. I prepared for another 
 effort to secure a transfer, but all such attempts were 
 set at naught suddenly by a great piece of news. 
 
 The Army of Northern Virginia was advancing, and 
 the forces of Lee were invading the North. The South, 
 instead of fighting on the defensive, instead of seeking 
 to protect her own borders, was striking straight at the 
 heart of the North, and striking with all the might 
 of a strong arm. The invaded had become the in- 
 vader. The march of Lee would cut the East from the 
 West, and he would threaten in turn the great cities 
 of Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York. The peril 
 was sudden and great, and whatever Grant might do in 
 the West would be of no avail if Lee won. That was 
 the palpable and terrible issue which the North must 
 face. 
 
 Both fact and rumour were the heralds of Lee. The 
 Army of Northern Virginia that he led seemed invin- 
 cible. It stood in the record of its victories with the 
 armies of Frederick the Great and Napoleon. A leader 
 of genius, surrounded by brilliant lieutenants, led brave, 
 skilful, and enduring men — men who had grown up in 
 the open air, tall, big-boned, broad-chested men, whom 
 no hardship could kill or even disable. They were 
 296 
 
THE HERALDS OF LEE 297 
 
 Southerners only because their States lay farther south 
 than those of the North, not real Southerners like the 
 Spaniards or Italians, but men who were accustomed to 
 a long and severe winter, and all the extremes of heat 
 and cold. 
 
 Sure and terrible evidences of Lee's advance had 
 come already. The army of Milroy, in the Valley of 
 Virginia, was attacked suddenly by an overwhelming 
 Southern division and cut to pieces, annihilated at a 
 blow; the few fugitives who escaped from the field 
 spread the alarm throughout the North, even to Phila- 
 delphia and New York. No man could doubt, in the 
 face of such evidence. 
 
 Cavalry fighting between the Army of Northern 
 Virginia and the Army of the Potomac had been going 
 on for some time, and the clash of sabres came over the 
 hills, but none knew Lee's precise intentions. There 
 were many points at which he could strike, but neither 
 our generals nor our Government at Washington could 
 guess his choice, and they must wait in suspense. The 
 cavalry combats continued, and then it became known 
 suddenly that Lee had slipped away from Hooker, that 
 the Army of Northern Virginia, larger and better 
 equipped than ever before in its history, and more able 
 to deliver a decisive blow, was marching straight into 
 the North, with the Army of the Potomac behind it, 
 and no barrier in front. Rumour and fact together gave 
 the numbers of Lee's army: rumour said that he led 
 one hundred and fifty thousand men; fact put it at 
 eighty thousand, veterans all. 
 
 Fact, too, brought to Washington a singular and 
 striking incident, in which many people saw a deep sig- 
 nificance, at a time when the mind naturally turned to 
 omens and forecasts. Before beginning the northward 
 march, the gray and silent commander of the Southern 
 army had yielded to the request of his brilliant cavalry 
 leader, Stuart, to review his command. The spectacle 
 
298 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 was held in a wide plain in Virginia, and Lee and his 
 staff sat on their horses under the shade of an oak tree, 
 while the ten thousand horsemen, born to the saddle 
 and incomparable riders long before the war began, 
 led by Stuart himself, galloped before him, wheeling, 
 charging, retreating, and executing all the movements 
 of battle. Nor were the noise and flash of real war 
 absent, for cannon thundered, rifles rattled, and the 
 blaze and smoke of burned gunpowder ran over the 
 plain. Through this smoke and blaze, and to the song 
 of the guns, galloped the ten thousand wild horsemen. 
 
 Men saw in this mimic battle a surplus of energy, an 
 overflow of enthusiasm and spirits, which would now be 
 turned in full flood upon the North. 
 
 It was an age of telegraphs, and knowledge was 
 quick. All saw that the crisis of the republic had come. 
 It was said at first that Washington itself was about to 
 be attacked, but this fear soon passed. The capital was 
 safe within its ring of one hundred and fifty forts and 
 fifteen hundred guns. Thirty-six thousand good troops 
 stood behind these works, and fifteen thousand more 
 were within call. No army in existence could force 
 such ramparts, so defended. 
 
 I saw that my private affairs were likely to suffer at 
 such a time, but a soldier must turn his whole mind to 
 his duty, and with Shaftoe I sought again for active 
 service. We were accepted promptly, and were sent 
 northwestward with some Pennsylvania cavalry to look 
 for the Army of Northern Virginia. 
 
 As we rode, the whole nation was in an agony of 
 apprehension. The Army of Northern Virginia, that 
 terrible sword wielded by the hand of the terrible 
 swordsman Lee, had suddenly reproduced itself in many 
 places. It was no longer one army, but three, four, 
 five. It had cut to pieces the Union forces in the 
 Valley of Virginia; it was marching through the defiles 
 of the mountains; it had been seen in Maryland; it was 
 
THE HERALDS OF LEE 299 
 
 already among the hills of Pennsylvania; public report 
 put it everywhere, and could give it a definite place 
 nowhere. Then the question became, " Where, in fact, 
 is the Army of Northern Virginia? " The report that 
 Lee was advancing, but now definite and confirmed 
 again and again, and was about to strike his greatest 
 blow, was carried instantly to all the myriad points 
 reached by the electric wire, and from these were passed 
 on by word of mouth to every farmhouse, however re- 
 mote; the wires clicked it off in New York and Boston 
 and St. Louis and Chicago; the smaller cities heard it a 
 minute afterward, and the next day they were talking of 
 it in the towns and villages; and a week later couriers 
 were carrying it over the great plains and into the val- 
 leys of the Eocky Mountains. 
 
 But none yet knew where Lee would strike. He 
 was steadily marching northward, drawing in his long 
 lines and concentrating his army; now he was in Mary- 
 land, passing over the old field of Antietam, and Ewell, 
 with his vanguard, had been seen among the Penn- 
 sylvania towns. The Southern army trod for the first 
 time the soil of a free State. 
 
 The Army of the Potomac knew its enemy, and, 
 beaten army though it had been so often, moved on 
 again to the conflict, courage unshaken and hope flam- 
 ing anew, detaching three corps to cover Washington, 
 and marching with the other seven on a line almost 
 parallel with its foe. The two armies were now passing 
 down the sides of a triangle, with some point as yet un- 
 known to be their place of meeting. The Northern 
 army crossed the Potomac on bridges of boats and 
 marched on, now but forty miles from its Southern ene- 
 my, watchful, its scouts everywhere, and preparing itself 
 daily for the struggle that it knew must be. The time 
 was the close of June and rainy, heavy storms coming 
 now and then and deluging the earth. The roads were 
 deep in mud, warm vapours hung over the land, and the 
 20 
 
300 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 air was close and sultry. The vegetation, thriving under 
 the rain, was thick and heavy, and the earth put on its 
 deepest green. But through storms and over green grass 
 alike the two foes marched, watching, silent, defiant, two 
 hundred thousand men expecting battle, and eager for 
 it; now one, now the other disappearing from the knowl- 
 edge of those who followed so eagerly their movements. 
 Swarms of cavalry and skirmishers hung upon the 
 flanks of each, meeting in frequent combats, always 
 fierce, and sometimes rising in numbers to the dignity 
 of important battles. The cavalry of the North held its 
 own for the first time with the lifelong riders of the 
 South, and the tales of these sanguinary struggles, as 
 the wires clicked them off, prepared the minds of men 
 for the final test by the two armies that marched on and 
 seemed not to regard the incessant side play of the wild 
 horsemen who clung on their skirts like a fringe. 
 
 But I was not thinking so much of the waiting 
 nation, as I galloped northward with my new com- 
 mander, as I was of Elinor in Bichmond, and those 
 whose life touched mine. The memory of a woman's 
 face, and that long, happy ride over the mountains, 
 were oftenest with me. One can rarely sink one's own 
 personal hopes and fears into those of the nation. 
 
 We were approaching Pennsylvania, and soon we 
 entered this State of a comfortable population. I no- 
 ticed with deep interest the signs of thrift and wealth: 
 the rich soil, the solid houses, the huge barns, the fat 
 cattle; a country hitherto sheltered, men going on with 
 their work as if there were no war, everything so dif- 
 ferent from the battle-worn and battle-torn South, 
 nearly every square mile of which had already felt the 
 tramp of armies. I appreciated more than ever the dif- 
 ference in resources and the gigantic character of the 
 task that the South, with so little thought of its magni- 
 tude, had set herself. 
 
 The alarm of the people increased as we rode farther 
 
THE HERALDS OF LEE 301 
 
 north. Beyond a doubt the Southern troops were in 
 Pennsylvania, for now we met men who had seen them, 
 who told of their squadrons, their passage through this 
 or that town, how they crossed rivers and mountains, 
 and had yet found nothing to oppose them. We rode 
 at last into Harrisburg, the capital of the State, where 
 we found excitement and confusion supreme, and, look- 
 ing at the opposite shore of the river, I saw there horse- 
 men, whose easy swing and graceful seat betokened the 
 cavalry of the South. 
 
 "It's Ewell's command," said Shaftoe. "We'll 
 have an argument with 'em — but later, not here." 
 
 Ewell's men contented themselves with a look at 
 Harrisburg, and then turned back to the south to join 
 the main army under Lee, apparently content to return 
 and take the city at their leisure. 
 
 The command to which we belonged also turned 
 southward. 
 
 " I take it that we're scouts and skirmishers on a 
 large scale," said the regular. 
 
 " It suits me well enough," I replied. 
 
 " Me too," said Shaftoe. 
 
 We entered the next day a country of deep, rich soil, 
 broken by steep, high, and rocky ridges, and great 
 masses of rock that looked like ruined castles or fan- 
 tastic pyramids; at the foot of these stone upheavals 
 flowed small, swift streams of clear water, and in the 
 valleys were wheat fields turning golden under the sun. 
 The natural fortresses and the rich fields below formed 
 a striking contrast, the fertility and sternness of Nature 
 showing side by side. But it was a neat and thrifty 
 land of brick houses and stone fences and prosperous 
 farmer people, all built on the square and solid plan. 
 
 The day was more pleasant than usual; the rain was 
 not falling and the ground was drying up; a west wind 
 blew the vapours away, and the soldiers felt brisk and 
 strong. We rode to the summit of one of the lower 
 
302 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 ridges, and I saw a fine little town outspread below — a 
 town of red-brick houses, with a dome or a cupola shin- 
 ing here and there in the sun, and wheat fields on its 
 outskirts. Great, gaunt crags of gray stone rose up 
 more than two hundred feet from some of the hills 
 about, and a stream near by flowed between steep banks, 
 in places almost as high; in the side of one hill frowned 
 a huge gash like a lion's mouth. 
 
 " What town is that? " I asked of the man by my 
 side, a Pennsylvanian. 
 
 " Gettysburg." 
 
 " Gettysburg! I never heard of it." 
 
 It lay below us, asleep in the sunshine, without a 
 history, and content. 
 
 But I gazed little at this unknown town of Gettys- 
 burg, which looked to me like so many of its fellows in 
 Pennsylvania, and not worthy of special attention at 
 this time. No feature of it was impressed upon me, 
 and it was not in my thoughts that I would ever see it 
 again. A few minutes later our commander turned 
 once more to the south, mid-morning not yet having 
 come. But our long ride and scout ended an hour 
 afterward, when we met an advance guard of more than 
 four thousand Northern troops, under Buford, march- 
 ing toward Gettysburg. 
 
 " They'll take us with them," said Shaftoe, with 
 sure instinct or judgment. 
 
 And so they did; the little command was merged at 
 once into the larger, and we returned on our own trail 
 toward the forgotten little town that we had left an 
 hour ago. 
 
 " I'm thinking that we may have a skirmish if we 
 march far enough — that is, if the Johnny Eebs will wait 
 for us," said Shaftoe reflectively, and then he added, 
 " They've a habit of waiting for us when they're 
 wanted." 
 
 The sun shone in splendour, gilding stony crags 
 
THE HERALDS OP LEE 303 
 
 ■and dark oak forests, and falling like golden gauze 
 across the green of meadow and foliage; the last vapour 
 disappeared, the dews of recent rains dried up, and the 
 grass nodded to the gentle west wind. My spirits were 
 high; the old Kentucky blood in my veins was singing; 
 I liked this swift campaigning, the ride over hill and 
 through forest, with the air rushing past. We would 
 reach Gettysburg before noon, rest and eat there, and 
 then we would ride on in search of the main body of the 
 Army of Northern Virginia, with a great battle to fol- 
 low, somewhere within a week or two. 
 
 The advance was without talk. I noted this fact. I 
 noted, too, how different in manner the soldiers were 
 from those who had marched to Shiloh; these men had 
 become veterans, making few complaints, enduring their 
 hardships in silence because they knew that war was 
 not a parade; a rugged, big-boned, brown-faced, lean- 
 bodied division of four thousand or more, the counter- 
 part of many other divisions that now marched and 
 fought for North and South, dusty and bedraggled, but 
 wonderfully bold and skilful at their trade. 
 
 Shaftoe caught my eye as it ran over the brigade of 
 silent men, and he understood. 
 
 " Yes, Henry," he said, " they are soldiers now. 
 There ought to be some pretty work when the Army of 
 the Potomac and the Army of Northern Virginia meet." 
 
 I was sure that the death roll would be large 
 enough. 
 
 The sun beat down on the toiling brigade, and the 
 air grew close and heavy once more, but no murmur 
 arose. I heard only the clank of arms, the straining of 
 gear, the beat of horses' hoofs, and the breathing of four 
 thousand men. The road was deep in mud and hard 
 for travel. Yet there was no murmur. 
 
 We were approaching Gettysburg again, and through 
 the clefts between the hills we saw the spires and cupo- 
 las of the town shining in the sun. Shaftoe, on my 
 
304 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 right, was examining the ground with a practised eye; 
 the veteran's gaze passed over the rugged slopes of 
 Little Eound Top, Cemetery Hill and Seminary Ridge; 
 followed the steep and lofty banks of Rock Creek; all a 
 little wilderness of hill and valley, of gray-stone for- 
 tresses built by Nature, darkened here and there with 
 patches of knotty oaks, while farther on the gold of the 
 wheat fields refreshed the eye. Yet it looked peaceful 
 then; the sombre hills, upon which the shadows lay de- 
 spite the risen sun, the oak groves hanging like black 
 patches on the slopes, and the town beyond glittering 
 redly in the brilliant day. There was majesty in those 
 silent hills, the creek flowing silently in its deep ravine, 
 and the quiet old town enjoying another day in its mo- 
 notonous and unknown existence. 
 
 A scout on horseback galloped up, a trumpet blew, 
 arms rattled, and our four thousand formed in closer 
 rank. Some one else was approaching the town, com- 
 ing from the other side, and seeking its hospitality, 
 though not likely to be so welcome. It was a body of 
 Southern troops, scouting or foraging, and one of those 
 chance meetings of cavalry now so frequent seemed 
 about to occur. 
 
 I was sorry; it disturbed the morning of a beautiful 
 day, and I wished to continue the search for the Army 
 of Northern Virginia. 
 
 The sound of two or three distant rifle shots came 
 vaguely, and then an officer announced that there would 
 be no fight, the Southerners, who were inferior in force, 
 having retired. We resumed our march and entered 
 Gettysburg. 
 
 The townspeople, a solid, strong race, received us 
 with joy, having been somewhat surprised at the ap- 
 proach of rival guests from opposite sides, but dis- 
 posed to give due credit for courtesy to the Southerners 
 who had reached their suburbs in a search for shoes, so 
 it was now said, which would indicate that these same 
 
THE HERALDS OF LEE 305 
 
 men were expecting long marches. There was nothing 
 picturesque in their projected invasion of Gettysburg; 
 it was merely a commercial affair; the shoes were to he 
 paid for, and that, no doubt, would have been the 
 end of it, had not chance brought Buford and his men 
 before the bargain could be begun — an historical in- 
 terruption. 
 
 But these people of Gettysburg were intensely loyal 
 to the Union and glad to see their own, whom they made 
 welcome by both word and deed, offering to us what the 
 town afforded. There the division lingered, much to 
 my surprise, as I could see no reason why so much time 
 should be passed in such an unimportant town, when 
 the weather was good for marching, and the Army of 
 Northern Virginia was to be found. 
 
 We ate dinner, waited through all the afternoon, 
 asking no questions, but waiting. The shadows came 
 in the west and the sun went down, dyeing the sombre 
 hills and crags a deep red as it went, and then leaving 
 them in darkness. The pickets were set around the 
 town and along all the roads that centred there. Scout- 
 ing parties were sent out to watch the retreating South- 
 erners, for one could never tell what those amazing 
 gentlemen might do. A strong detachment was posted 
 in the country north of the town, another to the west, 
 and those of the division not actually on duty were free 
 to seek their rest. Nearly all were untroubled, save the 
 uneasy general, whose uneasiness was wisdom. 
 
 But the people of the town stayed up late that night; 
 it had not been a habit with them to entertain armies. 
 Moreover, their guests would probably depart the next 
 day, and therefore should be treated well during their 
 brief stay, as if welcome — as they truly were. It was 
 the small part in the war that Gettysburg owed, and she 
 would discharge the debt, throwing in as much as she 
 could for good count and interest. 
 
 That same night the garrulous wires were clicking. 
 
306 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 Two armies were lost, and the man who could find them 
 would be great among his fellows. Lee was near a little 
 Pennsylvania town called Gettysburg, and the Army of 
 the Potomac, under Meade, who had suddenly replaced 
 Hooker, after the Northern fashion of changing gener- 
 als at a critical moment, was scattered somewhere to the 
 south and east of that town. But these were merely 
 vague statements. People wanted more exact infor- 
 mation. There was a great hunting up and examina- 
 tion of old maps, from New York and Philadelphia to 
 villages in Maine and Minnesota, and as the seekers 
 traced roads with forefingers, some inquired about this 
 little town of Gettysburg, of which they had heard for 
 the first time. Still it attracted only trifling interest, 
 and the few who noticed it merely put it down as one 
 of those quiet places which achieve a twelve hours' fame 
 as a way station of an army, and then are forgotten. 
 
 These maps, which could tell them nothing, were 
 shut up in disgust long before the night was over, and 
 though the wires still clicked volubly, carrying ques- 
 tions and unsatisfactory answers, the wiser concluded 
 that it was time to go to bed and wait for another day's 
 reports of skirmishes and cavalry combats, indecisive 
 and signifying nothing, hoping that some time or other 
 definite news would come out of this cloudland. 
 
 Shaftoe and I were not on duty, and soldierly wis- 
 dom told us that the proper thing to do after a long 
 day's work was to sleep the sleep of the tired; but 
 neither of us felt like closing his eyes. I found fault 
 with my wakefulness, but it was in the air and I could 
 not help it. The night was close and hot, and we 
 wandered through the little city, watching the lights 
 that burned in nearly every window. The solid, sober 
 population, still appreciating the visit, kept awake to 
 see its guests. 
 
 Camp fires shone redly on three sides of the town, 
 but the hills were unlighted. I looked up at the som- 
 
THE HERALDS OP LEE 307 
 
 bre ridges, the masses of craggy gray stone, and the 
 dwarfed and gnarled oak groves. The moonlight fell 
 upon them presently and traced fantastic shapes over 
 rock and tree, earth and stream. The likeness of the 
 hills to ancient castles grew stronger, and a moonbeam 
 across some streak of reddish stone shone like a light at 
 a window. 
 
 " This is the North," I said. 
 
 " Yes, Henry," replied Shaftoe, " and it's a long way 
 from here to Shiloh. The war swings over a wide cir- 
 cuit." 
 
 We entered presently a little hotel, in which several 
 men of the town were deciding the location and fate 
 of the battle that was to be, gravely assisting their delib- 
 erations with smoke and something to drink. We sat 
 down at one side and took no part in the talk, listening 
 with the amusement and vast superiority that soldiers 
 feel in the presence of civilians who discuss soldierly 
 matters. One civilian, for the honour of the army, 
 offered the two soldiers beer, a liquid which I had sel- 
 dom tasted, thinking it bitter and bad. But I drank a 
 little to show that there was good feeling, and then I 
 leaned back with my head against the wall. 
 
 " I tell you the battle will be fought there at Harris- 
 burg," said a fat citizen, smiting the capital with a 
 long forefinger. 
 
 « Why? " 
 
 " It's the capital of the State, and of course the 
 rebels will try to take it — moral effect, you know. We 
 defend, and there is a battle." 
 
 "Nonsense! Why should the rebels waste them- 
 selves on a little place like Harrisburg? Lee is too 
 smart for that; Philadelphia is his size. The big battle 
 will be fought there, sure." 
 
 The military campaign across the old map became 
 spirited and soon rose to the dignity of pins. A big, 
 black-headed pin represented Lee and another Meade, 
 
308 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 but wherever they were stuck there they abode but 
 little, moving on to new places and performing strange 
 evolutions not described in the technical books. Each 
 had his opinion as to the place of battle, all selecting a 
 spot, and all different, but never a one chose Gettysburg. 
 Failing to agree, they appealed at last to us for a deci- 
 sion, but we said we did not know, and rising, walked 
 out again into the air. 
 
 " It is time for us to go home," said some of the 
 men following us. 
 
 I vaguely heard them making plans for to-morrow's 
 work when the soldiers were gone; one on a stone 
 fence, another on a barn, and a third on something else. 
 
 " How quiet it is to-night! " I said at length. 
 
 " Yes," replied Shaftoe; " sleepy town, sleepy night. 
 Everybody is going to sleep that can, and those that 
 can't, wish they could. As we can, it's not worth while 
 to waste more time awake." 
 
 I looked up once more at the hills now turning to 
 silver in the moonlight, and then went away with Shaf- 
 toe to our quarters, where I slept well. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 THE PRICE OF SHOES 
 
 I arose early the next morning and saw the dawn 
 of a close, heavy day, the hot, sticky air oppressing 
 lungs and brain alike. Broad, dark clouds hung over 
 the long line of South Mountain, which shut out the 
 western horizon like a wall. Scattered rays of the ris- 
 ing sun shot through the mists and vapours, and fell 
 in beams of light across the town of Gettysburg and 
 the sombre hills beyond. The walls of the houses 
 shed damp heat. 
 
 " Only three days to the Fourth of July," I said to 
 Shaftoe. . 
 
 " Yes, Henry," he replied; " and I wonder how 
 many more Fourths of July this country will have? " 
 
 I glanced quickly at him, but Shaftoe changed in a 
 moment to his customary cheerful manner. 
 
 " To breakfast! " said he in light tones. " There is 
 one thing that you must learn to do in war: always get 
 your meals — regular if you can, irregular if you must. 
 The same rule holds in peace, so I guess it will stand 
 acknowledged by all men good and true." 
 
 The sun swung slowly up, its rays fighting a way 
 through the resisting clouds which still lent a dark gray 
 tinge to the sky. They hung over South Mountain in 
 close columns, and beneath them the line of the ridge 
 looked sharp and threatening. 
 
 309 
 
310 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 The minuteness of preparations begun the day be- 
 fore, and carried on through the night, was continued, 
 the officers permitting no stop or slackening. More 
 cavalry were dismounted and posted along the slopes 
 of the creek called Willoughby Eun, some in ambush, 
 Shaftoe and I among them. Others were placed fifty 
 yards behind us in an unfinished railroad cut, and 
 behind these artillery. The four thousand two hun- 
 dred men of Buford's command were falling into the 
 places assigned to them by this able and far-seeing 
 leader, who was executing plans thought out the night 
 before, the soldiers themselves knowing nothing, but 
 going to their work with the silent obedience that the 
 war had taught them. 
 
 " I didn't think the Southerners would return," I 
 said; " those here yesterday were too few to fight us." 
 
 " Maybe one of the rebels has gone back for his 
 brother," replied Shaftoe. 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " I guess he wants a pair of shoes," said some one, 
 referring to the reported cause of the first Southern 
 visit to Gettysburg. 
 
 " Then we'll try to fit him," said another, with a 
 laugh. 
 
 " It takes a mighty good shoemaker to give the 
 rebel an exact fit," said Shaftoe, shaking his head. 
 
 These men — old soldiers they were now, veterans of 
 thirty battles and a hundred skirmishes, though few 
 were out of their twenties, and some had not yet reached 
 them — were calm and cheerful, not seeking to settle the 
 future before its time. They knew perfectly well that 
 they might not live more than a few hours longer, 
 though the fact was not present to their minds, long 
 knowledge having made it stale, but if they had con- 
 sidered the question it would not have troubled them; 
 it was not important. 
 
 " Look at that flash," said Shaftoe, pointing to the 
 
THE PRICE OF SHOES 311 
 
 northwest and far out on the Cashtown road, one of 
 the many roads that met or crossed at Gettysburg. 
 
 " What seest thou, Sister Anna? " I asked. 
 
 " Something much more dangerous than Blue- 
 beard," said Shaftoe; " that little flash came from a 
 brilliant sunbeam striking on a bayonet. The bayonet 
 belongs to one of a body of marching men, and those 
 marching men are the Southern troops coming to hold a 
 debate with us." 
 
 " We can agree on a topic," I said. 
 
 " But we can't tell who'll have the better argu- 
 ments," replied Shaftoe. 
 
 The flash of steel reappeared, but closer to Gettys- 
 burg, and then another, and then a sheaf like the sun- 
 light breaking on distant waves. The flashes doubled 
 and redoubled, passing from bayonet tip to tip, and the 
 men and horses came from the gray wall of the horizon; 
 they advanced and their figures grew more distinct; 
 other lines of men stepped out of the gray wall and fol- 
 lowed their leaders with regular tread. 
 
 " A heavy column — much heavier than ours," said 
 Shaftoe. 
 
 It seemed that the rebel had in truth gone back for 
 his brother, and that he was one of a large family. 
 
 Some of the cavalrymen breathed hard; the horses 
 pulled at their reins; the close, vaporous air infolded 
 us; all talk ceased, and we heard the distant tread of 
 the Southern troops blending with the faint rumble of 
 their artillery. A rifle cracked, and a little puff of 
 smoke, tinted blue in the cloudy air, rose among some 
 trees beside the road. 
 
 "A skirmisher! Snaky devils!" said Shaftoe. 
 " Listen; there goes one of ours, too! " 
 
 An answering rifle shot came from another wood, 
 and up went the second puff of smoke. The echo sped 
 among the hills. 
 
 " Don't you wish that you could follow all the bul- 
 
312 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 lets fired in a big battle, and tell just what each one 
 did? " asked a boy of Shaftoe. 
 
 " Nonsense! Why do you ask such fool questions? 
 I'd rather not know; I don't even want to know about 
 my own/' replied the veteran. " Listen at those skir- 
 mishers! There they go again! " 
 
 A third and a fourth, and then a dozen rifle shots 
 followed, sounding like the popping of firecrackers, and 
 with nothing to do of my own, I listened for the sounds 
 and looked for the little spurts of flame among the trees 
 or undergrowth, trying, too, to guess where the next 
 would appear. 
 
 I watched with interest the play of flame and smoke 
 from the rifle shots, the little stream of red and the puff 
 of white alternating in such picturesque fashion; the 
 crackling of the rifle shots, now increasing fast, was not 
 unpleasant, being rather musical at the distance, and 
 the forms of the skirmishers appeared momentarily, 
 flitting from tree to tree and rock to rock in search of 
 cover as they advanced, and as active as if made of 
 rubber. 
 
 The skirmishers hung in clouds on either flank of 
 the advancing column, and in front, covering it on 
 three sides, displaying a pernicious activity, running 
 and creeping among the undergrowth and inequalities 
 of the earth, their brown, fierce faces showing at times, 
 and then gone again like ghosts, their rifles cracking so 
 often that the reports became an incessant tattoo, while 
 the little leaden messengers whistled as they sped 
 through the air on their mission. The great column 
 which they protected, and around which they skir- 
 mished with such vigour and activity, advanced steadily 
 and without shouting. I saw it clearly now, a solid 
 body of many thousand men, with formidable artillery, 
 and I looked anxiously at the smaller force that held the 
 Northern lines and awaited the attack. Still, there was 
 no note of battle save the incessant flitting and firing 
 
THE PRICE OF SHOES 313 
 
 of the skirmishers, who in their activity seemed to be 
 made of flexible steel, and as heartless. But from the 
 main body, advancing in such steady fashion, came no 
 cannon or rifle shot. 
 
 The clouds cleared away somewhat; the vapours 
 were sucked up by the sun, and the blue grew in the 
 sky; the smoke of the skirmishers gathered in little 
 white clouds or drifted off in patches toward the 
 horizon. 
 
 I was struck by the difference between this day and 
 Shiloh, where the Southern army sprang suddenly out 
 of the woods and darkness, as if summoned up by a 
 magician's hand, and the battle had begun in the flash 
 of a moment, while here it was a deliberate approach in 
 the open day, with most of the waiting combatants look- 
 ing on, as if at a spectacle; nor was this difference in 
 manner greater than the difference between the soldiers 
 of Shiloh and Gettysburg — the raw, untrained, and 
 ignorant armies that fought with such courage and en- 
 durance on the banks of the Tennessee, and these grim 
 veterans who took their ease and waited until the battle 
 should surge to their feet and draw them into it. 
 
 " Those sharpshooters are hot little fellows to-day," 
 said Shaftoe in a judicial tone; " see how they skip and 
 jump! A sharpshooter is the only man who gets any 
 real fun out of a battle. He's a hunter after his game, 
 and the smoke of his own gun goes up his nose until it 
 makes him mad for blood. There's a special hell for 
 sharpshooters, you know." 
 
 The fire of the skirmishers increased; they pressed 
 forward in swarms, the rapid flash of their rifles made 
 a line of flame, and the smoke drifted back over the 
 heads of the creeping marksmen. The massive Con- 
 federate column came nearer and nearer, and the drift 
 of idle talk floating in the last minute or two up and 
 down the line of dismounted horsemen with which 
 Shaftoe and I stood, ceased, the men clutching their 
 
314 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 carbines more tightly and drawing deep breaths, as if 
 they would fill their chests for a supreme effort. We 
 were hidden from the approaching enemy by the nature 
 of the ground, and I saw that it would rest with us to 
 open the real battle, an honour and a danger which we 
 took calmly as became veterans. 
 
 Our ambushed cavalry, good marksmen, poured a 
 volley at convenient range into the advancing gray 
 Southern mass, choosing the buttons on their breasts as 
 targets, and firing so close together that there was but 
 one crash. 
 
 " Now for work! " exclaimed Shaftoe, reloading his 
 carbine with a swift and practised hand. 
 
 The answering report came from the Southern line, 
 descending the slopes of Willoughby Eun, and some of 
 our cavalrymen would ride no more; then our carbines 
 were emptied a second time, and in a moment we were 
 in a battle whose two lines of fire steadily swung nearer 
 and nearer, while the men with thinning ranks and 
 sweating hands, clasping hot gun-barrels, reloaded 
 swiftly and discharged with deadly aim. But the 
 Southern line came on, the faces of the men showing 
 through the drifting smoke, and the flame of their 
 volleys going before. 
 
 " What are they doing behind us? Why don't they 
 help?" cried Shaftoe. 
 
 " They are helping. Don't you hear? " I answered. 
 
 The mounted horsemen in our rear were firing over 
 our heads into the Southern column, and behind them 
 all the great guns of the battery had begun to speak in 
 tones most welcome to those who stood in the first rank 
 and felt the pressure of the foe. 
 
 The Southern lines were rising and falling like 
 irregular waves on the slopes of Willoughby Eun, but 
 did not flinch before the fire of the veteran troops who 
 faced them. The combat became murderous to the 
 last degree, and the crash of the rifles and the roar of 
 
THE PRICE OP SHOES 315 
 
 the guns were unbroken. The Southerners had the ad- 
 vantage of numbers, we of position and the defensive. 
 Buford, our general, watching from a lofty position, 
 saw more long columns of men approaching on the 
 roads from the northwest, and though it was too far to 
 discern either uniform or flag, he knew that these could 
 be only the brigades of the enemy, fresh troops coming 
 to the help of their comrades. Our men refused to give 
 ground, although our ranks were torn by the fire of the 
 artillery and carbines; and the constant closing up of 
 the squares after the passage of bullets and cannon balls 
 through human flesh and bones, like the shutting up of 
 an accordion as the air goes out of it, was fast reducing 
 our army from a fair-sized to a small one. 
 
 But help was coming for us too. An officer in the 
 belfry of the seminary beheld a column of dust in the 
 southeast; the heads of men presently emerged from 
 the cloud, and Buford himself climbed into the belfry 
 to see who might come from that friendly quarter. It 
 was Reynolds with his division, and now, by right of 
 seniority, he became commander of the field. 
 
 We still held the ground, though at a cost we were 
 not yet able to count, our foes giving no time for enu- 
 merations, and we were too tired to cheer the fresh 
 troops which now came in sight, pressed on by messen- 
 gers from Reynolds to hurry. 
 
 " Help at last! " I cried. 
 
 "Yes, help at last!" said Shaftoe, "but it only 
 means a bigger battle! Look how the enemy gather! 
 Flies never flew to a lump of sugar faster than they are 
 coming! " 
 
 The lines of Southern troops issuing from the west- 
 ern horizon seemed endless. The battle but deepened; 
 it was reaching out, widening its circle, extending long 
 arms and bringing new regiments and brigades within 
 its grasp. 
 
 Reynolds was leading a column on the Cashtown 
 21 
 
316 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 road to cut off the enemy when he saw disaster befall 
 our centre and the triumphant Southern troops seize a 
 wood at the end of the slope, from the shelter of which 
 they poured deadly volleys. Always quick to see and 
 equally quick to execute, this general, who had but ten 
 minutes more to live, prepared to make those minutes of 
 the utmost service to his country. Placing himself at 
 the head of a command which had won and deserved the 
 name of the Iron Brigade, he led it against the wood, 
 the men breaking into a run and rushing on with their 
 general. A bullet struck the brave Eeynolds in the 
 centre of the forehead and he died without a word, 
 but the Iron Brigade, preserving the fire and dash that 
 had given to it its name, swept into the wood and fell on 
 the Southern troops there, annihilating them. 
 
 Three hours from the beginning of the battle For- 
 tune, which was never more fickle than on that day, 
 changed again and chose us as the object of her ardent 
 but temporary worship. Doubleday, a new Northern 
 general, and by right of seniority the third to take 
 command of the whole field, arrived with fresh troops 
 and regained lost ground. Heth, the Confederate 
 leader, hurried forward his men not yet in the battle. 
 
 The character of Gettysburg as a magnet, the ob- 
 scure little place developing so suddenly its hidden 
 power, grew upon it with the day. Noon came, many 
 thousand men had marched into it, and many thousand 
 more were converging upon a town of which the major- 
 ity had never heard before, brought there without in- 
 tent, and by the original desire of the Southern troops 
 to obtain some shoes — the modern world's greatest 
 battle built upon the basis of a pair of cheap shoes! 
 
 " They've made the fighting as fast as a man can 
 stand it," I said, when the combat shifted away from 
 us for the moment. 
 
 " Yes," replied Shaftoe, " and while we've been busy 
 here the battle's been growing without us. Look! " 
 
THE PRICE OF SHOES 317 
 
 He swept his hand in a circle, and everywhere it 
 pointed to fire and smoke, and from every point came 
 the crash of the combat — the long, steady roll of rifles 
 and artillery, a deep and blended note. 
 
 " We are enveloped by the enemy! " I exclaimed. 
 
 " And our friends also," added Shaf toe. " Let 'em 
 fight. Our time will come again soon enough. But 
 for the present I'm going to dine." 
 
 "Dine! What on? " 
 
 " Not on cannon balls, my gay cocksparrow. I'll 
 take a chew of tobacco. Tobacco chewing has been 
 called a filthy habit, and I believe it meets with the dis- 
 approval of foreign travellers, who write books about 
 our country and don't know their own; but as it gives 
 me mental, physical, and moral sustenance — all good 
 things in their way — I'll indulge, while you, who don't 
 chew, will have to comfort yourself with air, of which 
 there is a bountiful supply and no charge." 
 
 Having delivered this long speech, he bit a piece of 
 tobacco from a huge twist that he produced from his 
 pocket and chewed in great contentment, meanwhile 
 looking philosophically over the field. 
 
 " Battle is going against us," he said presently. 
 
 " Why, I thought that we were winning," I ex- 
 claimed in great surprise. 
 
 " I wouldn't have said it was going against us if you 
 had been a new soldier, but you are an old one now, 
 and the difference between an old and a new one is that 
 an old one can stand truth, when it's bad, and a new 
 one can't, always. Look how the rebels charge! See 
 what a spring they have! and see how our men pant! 
 They'll be shoving us back soon. If the South seceded 
 like a woman, she certainly fights like a man; besides, 
 I think their men are arriving faster than ours. Can't 
 you see them coming upon those roads out of the west 
 and northwest? " 
 
 " There is such a thick cloud of fire and smoke that 
 
318 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 I can see through it but dimly; yet I can catch now and 
 then the flash of bayonets and a glimpse of marching 
 columns." 
 
 " Yes, they come and never stop coming," said Shaf- 
 toe, more to himself than to me. "Carbines now! 
 Here's our own corner of the battle booming up again." 
 
 The combat which had sunk at only one or two 
 points, and for but a few moments, embraced us all 
 once more. The Southerners advanced, in force im- 
 posing and with a determination yet more imposing, 
 the fire of their own Southern sun shining in their eyes. 
 Heth had gathered his broken brigades and cemented 
 them together with new men; the battle, so strange in 
 its beginning and so remarkable in its steady growth 
 of volume and intensity, was about to assume another 
 and greater phase. 
 
 As the Southern troops advanced, both sides opened 
 with all the guns, great and small, that they could bring 
 to bear, and the combat swelled afresh. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 THE BUCKTAILS GKOW ANGRY 
 
 The renewed attack of the Southern army was 
 made with greatest violence on our right wing, where 
 stood a brigade of remarkable men, Pennsylvanians, 
 who proudly called themselves the " Bucktails "; that 
 was their martial device, an emblem of honour, and the 
 name meant as much to them as any banner or inscrip- 
 tion ever carried by a body of troops with a standing 
 of centuries, and a commensurate pride in their ancient 
 honour. The brigade had never existed before these 
 men were born, but they had been fighting all their lives 
 — not in war, but in a calling with almost equal hard- 
 ships and dangers. They were a regiment of giants, 
 lumbermen from the wild hill and mountain regions of 
 Pennsylvania, tall, far beyond the average of men, huge 
 of chest and limb, with faces seamed by heat and cold, 
 rain and sleet, hawk eyes, great knotted fingers, the 
 strength of a bull and the digestion of a bear, born in 
 the wilderness and living there by choice, sleeping 
 oftener under the sky than a roof — men who would 
 stand for a day to their armpits in icy water, guiding 
 ten-ton logs down a rocky channel, and joke about the 
 incessant risk of being crushed to death. It was men 
 like these who could go into war as a relief from the 
 hard duties of their daily calling, and such were the 
 Bucktails. 
 
 It was behind these that a few remnants of the dis- 
 
 319 
 
320 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 mounted cavalry, Shaftoe and I among them, who had 
 been defending the railroad cut, took refuge, and sought 
 a little breathing spell before entering the battle anew. 
 
 When the Southern wave gathered itself again and 
 came on, its crest a ribbon of steel and fire, the Buck- 
 tails rose from the ground where they had been taking a 
 moment's rest and regarded the enemy with calm and 
 impartial contemplation; they had eaten like giants, 
 and they stood up rows of giants, expanding their 
 chests, stretching their muscles, rejoicing in their 
 strength, and unafraid. 
 
 The Bucktails were in a good humour, an exceeding- 
 ly good humour. They had been camping and marching 
 so long that they had begun to think army life fit only 
 for men of common calibre, men who had plenty of pa- 
 tience and were willing to pass day after day without 
 any event of interest — that is, men who were fond of a 
 quiet life; but it did not suit them; they had expected 
 danger in coming to war, and when it made a wide cir- 
 cuit around them they growled among themselves and 
 said that the whole thing was a sham; it was too dull. 
 What had they enlisted for but to fight? and if they 
 could not fight, they might as well go back to their lum- 
 bering among the mountains, where life at least had its 
 variety, and was seasoned with the fine spice of risk. 
 
 But now, danger after so many shabby evasions was 
 a present and threatening fact; all these sights and 
 sounds had familiarity in them, and, moreover, they 
 meant something. The roar of the cannon was like the 
 thunder of ten thousand logs leaping down the cataract 
 of a swollen mountain stream; the smell of the battle 
 smoke tickled their nostrils like the ashes of one of 
 their own mountain forests burning in summer, when 
 the dead heat has been hovering for days, and every tree 
 is as dry as a coal; thus they found a double joy: the 
 smell and sound of home, and the break in the mo- 
 notony of recent life. So the Bucktails were happy, 
 
THE BUCKTAILS GROW ANGRY 321 
 
 and, seeing the battle roll nearer and yet nearer to 
 them, its front a wall of bayonets and rifles and cannon 
 muzzles, each grasped his own rifle, much as the lumber- 
 man seizes the handle of his axe in both hands when 
 preparing for a blow, and stood, feet planted like stout 
 saplings in the earth, and waiting. 
 
 The Bucktails smiled; the smile was not one of mal- 
 ice nor derision, merely a smile of content. They had 
 no hatred of the foe, and they did not undervalue him, 
 they never made such a mistake as that; on the con- 
 trary, they had the highest respect for him, and that was 
 why they smiled. Here was an enemy entirely worthy 
 of themselves, the Bucktails, sons of the forests and 
 mountains, and they would be lowered in no way by 
 meeting him; anger had no place whatever among 
 their feelings at this moment, and they stood like 
 gentlemen, unexcited and unafraid. 
 
 Their commander gave the order to fire. The rifles 
 seemed to leap to their shoulders and the flames to 
 spurt from the muzzles at the same moment. Then 
 nothing was heard among them for a while but the 
 clicking of the gunlocks, the crackle of the volleys, the 
 stifled cry of a man hard hit, the deep breathing of the 
 brigade, and once or twice the quick, snapping order of 
 an officer. The front of the Bucktails was a sheet of 
 fire, and the bullets sang merrily through it and the 
 smoke beyond. By and by they waited a little for the 
 smoke to lift. 
 
 There is a jester or a joker, a man of many words, in 
 every regiment or company, and the Bucktails rejoiced 
 in theirs; he was a youngster of six and a half feet, one 
 of the largest of them all, and his name was McCon- 
 nell, half Irishman half Scotchman by descent, and all 
 American by birth, feeling, and fact. Standing upon a 
 rock, where his six and a half feet became seven and a 
 half feet of rawboned and picturesque humanity, he 
 exercised his gift of irresponsible speech and invited the 
 
322 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 rebels, in a voice like mountain thunder, to come on 
 and discuss a current topic of importance. But his 
 tones were friendly, like those of one knight to an- 
 other. 
 
 " We are waiting, gentlemen," he said. " We have 
 heard of Fredericksburg, and Manassas, and Chancel- 
 lorsville, but we are here; you see that we do not run 
 away. We are ever anxious to meet you, and hospitable 
 though you may be, we shall be equally so! Come on, 
 gentlemen, we beg you, we pray you, we are tired of 
 waiting, we rejoice at the sight of such fine men." 
 
 McConnell's Irish descent was evident sometimes. 
 
 His brother Bucktails looked upon him and smiled 
 an indulgent smile. McConnell was a privileged char- 
 acter, and if he wished to use words that were big and 
 long there was none to oppose him. 
 
 The invitation was accepted; the approach of the 
 Southern line did not cease, and its front blazed with 
 flame; the bullets and shells flew in showers. 
 
 The Bucktails smiled again, and it was still the 
 gentle, forgiving smile of extreme good nature. The 
 battle was acquiring a pleasant warmth; they foresaw a 
 period of healthful and important activity. 
 
 " Now that seems real," shouted McConnell to the 
 enemy from his rocky perch. " You are all wool, and a 
 yard wide, gentlemen to the bone, and you mean busi- 
 ness. That's what we like to see, but we beg to inform 
 you that the Bucktails are still waiting." 
 
 His tone became one of exaggerated politeness, and 
 had in it a strain of anxiety; he feared that they would 
 not persist in their advance, that they would not come 
 fast enough, that they did not place sufficient reliance 
 on the Bucktails, that they would disappoint the gentle- 
 men who were waiting with such eagerness to keep an 
 important engagement with them. He implored, he 
 begged his Southern friends not to disappoint the Buck- 
 tails, and he described the grief of his comrades if they 
 
THE BUCKTAILS GROW ANGRY 323 
 
 were compelled to go back to their mountain homes 
 among the logging camps without such an interesting 
 meeting. 
 
 The smile of the Bucktails deepened and remained. 
 McConnell was a credit to his regiment, and they would 
 not interfere with his flow of speech; the beautiful 
 words were linked so beautifully together; they too felt 
 the exuberance of life and the joy of strong men about 
 to use their strength. 
 
 Wishing to encourage the rebels and show that their 
 reception would be as warm as the promise, the Buck- 
 tails began to fire anew. Their carbines cooled a little, 
 the smoke floated away, and the whole target was 
 disclosed. They excelled themselves, firing more swift- 
 ly than before in their good humour and zeal. The 
 stream of their bullets increased in volume, and they 
 stood in a broad and continuous blaze of light made by 
 the flash of their rifles. 
 
 The battle flared along a wide semicircular line and 
 its thunder deepened; the sounds blended, the shouting 
 of the men, the rumble of the cannon wheels, the voice 
 of the cannon itself, and the penetrating crash of the 
 rifles, all confused, intermingling, forming a roar that 
 had a range of many notes, each threatening. Dense 
 columns of smoke arose, shot through with the brown 
 of trampled earth. 
 
 The smile of the Bucktails became expansive. They 
 continued to fire into the solid gray mass that came 
 toward them; presently they paused again, and, looking 
 eagerly to see what they had done, were pleased when 
 they noted the new lanes in the Southern line, the 
 cumbering of the earth with the fallen, and the hesita- 
 tions of their foes. They were sharpshooters who had 
 killed deer and bear, and it pleased them to think that 
 even amid so much smoke and dust they could still look 
 down the sights straight and draw the bead true. 
 
 " Gentlemen, gentlemen! " cried McConnell, in ap- 
 
324 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 pealing tones, " why do you delay? Don't you see that 
 we, the Bucktails, are waiting? Virginians, Kentuck- 
 ians, Tennesseeans, Texans, whoever you are, I wouldn't 
 have expected this of you! Soldiers with your caps full 
 of victories, are you going to leave the Bucktails, who 
 want your company? " 
 
 The Southerners had no notion of disappointing 
 their foes; they were merely reforming their front line, 
 shattered by the rifle fire, and they advanced again with 
 steady step, heads up, eyes bright, ranks even. 
 
 The hearts of the Bucktails were full. " We have 
 come to stay, and here we stay," they said to each other. 
 They noted carefully the ground they stood upon, in 
 "order that they might not be pushed back from it and 
 not know it. They fired another volley, and again saw 
 with pleasure its effect. The bullets and the shrapnel 
 were whistling over their heads, but they had heard 
 storms on the mountains make a louder noise. Sudden- 
 ly the leaden sleet of the rifle balls sank lower, and the 
 Bucktails were in its path; it went on through the regi- 
 ment like a knife through cheese, and the muster roll 
 of the Bucktails was shorter. But the Bucktails only 
 smiled their habitual smile; they had expected to pay a 
 price; they had been paying a price all their lives; log- 
 ging and the winter storms always insisted on taking 
 toll, and the loggers had no right to grumble. The dead 
 lay where they fell, the badly wounded struggled to the 
 rear, and the living did the work they were there to do. 
 
 MeConnell shouted his defiance; he admitted that 
 the Southerners had done well with the last volley, but 
 he bade them take notice that the Bucktails were 
 still waiting; they had purchased in fee simple the land 
 upon which they stood, and would defend their right 
 against all who came. 
 
 The Bucktails smiled and jested with each other. 
 Nothing had occurred to disturb their good humour; 
 the foe was behaving in an admirable manner, he was 
 
THE BUCKTAILS GROW ANGRY 325 
 
 disappointing no expectation of theirs, and they would 
 disappoint none of his. They reloaded and fired their 
 rifles with all the rapidity of skilled hands, sending the 
 bullets home in a shower that swept level with the 
 ground, and not higher than a man's head above it. 
 
 The blood leaped in McConnell's veins and his heart 
 pumped it in a great flood to his head; he was breathing 
 the fumes of battle. 
 
 " Don't you hear the song of the bullets? " he cried. 
 " Listen how it calls to you and soothes you! It's like 
 the buzz of the wind among the trees on the mountain 
 top; it's like the song of a river flowing down a gorge; 
 it's like the whistle of the axe as it bites into the tough 
 wood! I love to hear it. It's music in the air, and 
 makes my muscles strong." 
 
 McConnell was battle-drunk. Moreover, he was feel- 
 ing the Homeric inflation, tinctured but not qualified 
 by a Celtic infusion. All the Bucktails showed the 
 enthusiasm of their bard. Knowing danger all their 
 lives, they took no extra thought of it now merely 
 because it came in a new form. They shouted their 
 defiances again in the old Homeric fashion, bade the 
 enemy come on, and boasted that they would hold the 
 ground upon which they stood until a region that is 
 warmer than this froze over! Their spirits were effer- 
 vescent, overflowing. The shells and the bullets flew 
 over their heads and around them, but did not strike 
 them. Some special fortune designed for the Bucktails 
 seemed to protect them, and therefore, as the battle 
 deepened and rolled up toward their line in circular 
 waves, the smile of the Bucktails deepened too, and 
 spread in circular waves across their faces. 
 
 Meanwhile the ardour of the Bucktails grew. They 
 had not lost an inch of ground; instead, they pressed 
 forward to meet the enemy, and their ranks were steady 
 and even, flexible like good steel, but as tough. The 
 crash of their firing paused only when their rifles grew 
 
326 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 too hot, or for the battle smoke to lift, and always the 
 same smile of content was upon their faces. 
 
 The flow of McConnell's eloquence was unchecked, 
 and came in an expanding stream. He made a run on 
 his vocabulary; he used all the long and polite words 
 that he knew, and his manner, always courtly, grew 
 courtlier and more courtly. Then he turned to gibes 
 and jeers, and ridiculed the Southern marksmanship. 
 He told the enemy how his bullets and shells were flying 
 wide, and bade-him fire lower. 
 
 There was a nasty scream, a long, flying hiss, and a 
 shell aimed with deadly skill burst upon the Bucktails 
 where they stood thickest. The regiment quivered for 
 a few moments like a man who has received a staggering 
 blow. Then the wounded were carried away, and those 
 to whom the combat was nothing now were left alone. 
 But the Bucktails still smiled; this was only an incident 
 of battle, and it was remarkable that it had not hap- 
 pened before. The smile became as hearty as ever 
 when their heavy return fire caused the enemy to stag- 
 ger and then stop, and McConnell burst into a shout of 
 triumph and defiance, almost unheard now, for the 
 thunder of the battle was roaring in their ears, and the 
 incessant " Wheet-wheet " of the bullets was like the 
 shriek of a storm. 
 
 The faces of the Bucktails were red, the hot blood at 
 last showing through the brown skin; their eyes were 
 flashing with determination and pleasure, and their 
 teeth were shut hard. The clouds of smoke which had 
 risen in front when they fired their last volley floated up 
 a little and disclosed again the faces of their enemy as 
 red and determined as their own. Then the sleet of 
 rifle balls which had been whistling over their heads 
 bent lower, like a flight of wild ducks, suddenly sweep- 
 ing downward, and began to cut a way through the 
 Bucktails. 
 
 The range of the Bucktails had been found at last, 
 
THE BUCKTAILS GROW ANGRY 32? 
 
 and the cruel sleet beat continuously upon them, rid- 
 dling their lines, filling their squares full of holes like a 
 pepper box, and giving them no rest. McConnell felt 
 his blood leap as the fire lashed them through and 
 through. His brain was hot and his eloquence rose to 
 its highest. The Bucktails still smiled as this flight 
 of steel and lead cut through them, and they responded 
 to it with a mountain storm of their own. Yet they 
 could hear around them the pat-pat of bullets striking 
 home, a sound like that of pebbles dropping lightly on 
 the grass, and the low cry of men — not much more than 
 a sigh — as they fell. But they encouraged each other; 
 stood with shoulders touching, and offered a bulwark of 
 broad breasts that did not flinch. They refused to 
 yield. They had bought the ground in fee simple, they 
 repeated, and they would hold it. 
 
 The attack decreased in violence presently. The 
 battle lines of the enemy seemed to shift to other points, 
 and the Bucktails ceased for a time to be a centre of 
 attention. The clouds of drifting smoke lifted again, 
 the sunlight reached them, and they saw the cruel rents 
 and seams that had been made in their lines, where the 
 shell and the shrapnel and the bullets had passed. The 
 Bucktails had held their ground, but they had been 
 forced to sow their dead freely upon it to prove that it 
 was theirs. 
 
 But McConnell — valiant, sanguine, irrepressible — 
 lifted up his voice and shouted defiance as of old, the 
 Homeric fire still burning in his veins, and the battle 
 smile appeared again upon the faces of the Bucktails. 
 
 " They are beaten! " cried McConnell. " They are 
 afraid to attack us again! " 
 
 But the column of the Southerners which had 
 parted for a moment in front of them swung back to- 
 gether with a click like a ball going into its socket, and 
 there again were the faces of their enemies showing 
 through the smoke, and coming on. A stream of fire 
 
328 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 was directed upon the Bucktails, and their first rank 
 crumpled up in the heat. But the second took the 
 place of the first, and, fighting, stood there amid the 
 shells and bullets, McConnell, the self-chosen trumpet- 
 er, shouting to his comrades and encouraging them 
 with the cry that at last they were seeing a real battle. 
 But the Bucktails had no thought of yielding. They 
 intended to die to the last man first, and with an inces- 
 sant closing up of their shattered ranks, and a swift re- 
 turn of the hostile fire, they stood firm until the tem- 
 pest sank again, and the enemy was forced to fall back 
 before the iron front of the lumbermen. 
 
 Then the Bucktails made an accounting of them- 
 selves and undertook to see how many lived and how 
 many had died. They looked over the ranks and the 
 little heaps of slain, and at those who still stood, an 
 almost equal division. Then they looked at the faces of 
 each other and noticed the change. 
 
 The Bucktails had ceased to smile! 
 
 "Courage, boys!" sbouted McConnell. "It seems 
 that the enemy is in earnest. I believe that he actually 
 means it to-day! " 
 
 " If he isn't in earnest, he shouldn't make such a 
 good imitation," growled a captain of the Bucktails. 
 
 The enemy was in earnest — great, deadly earnest. 
 The Bucktails could no longer doubt it. Because he 
 had paused once more was no indication that he meant 
 to quit. He would return again and again, and many 
 times. He would give the Bucktails no rest; he would 
 not only equal the demands of politeness, he would ex- 
 ceed them. The smile reappeared upon the faces of the 
 Bucktails, but it was fitful. Moreover, it was faint as 
 well as fitful. Yet the Bucktails rose to the need and 
 presented the same front of steel to the enemy, who 
 were forming anew before them, with a solemn drum 
 somewhere beating the charge. 
 
 The Bucktails, in the earlier phases of the combat, 
 
THE BUCKTAILS GROW ANGRY 329 
 
 had taken note of the whole battle which swirled over a 
 long semicircle, but by a slow process their attention 
 was concentrated upon their part of it; they were mo- 
 nopolized by their own combat. The foe was too active 
 and dangerous to permit anything else, and now they 
 admitted it. 
 
 The fire of artillery reached them, as they awaited 
 the new charge, and burned them. They quivered 
 under it and twisted about, but could make no adequate 
 reply. They did not like this. It seemed to them con- 
 trary to the rules of the game, and was an unfair advan- 
 tage. They were cut up by great guns, while their own 
 covering artillery was directed upon some other point 
 of the Southern line. 
 
 The last smile, faint and nickering, left the faces of 
 the Bucktails; their complexions grew redder, and red 
 streaks appeared in their eyes. They began to swear, 
 not mild, liquid oaths that break harmlessly like sum- 
 mer raindrops, but deep, rasping, uncut, many-cornered 
 oaths, that were flung red hot from the throat, and 
 burned like acid. 
 
 The Bucktails were growing angry! 
 
 And there is something fearful in the anger of a 
 brigade of mountain men all of whom are six feet high, 
 and many much more; men of the open air and swelling 
 muscle who had been good comrades with danger all 
 their lives. McConnell was the angriest of them all. 
 His eyes were inflamed and the cords of his neck stood 
 out. But he lost the power of speech — his surprise and 
 wrath choked him. The rich flow of his eloquence no 
 longer mingled with the shriek of the battle. Yet the 
 Bucktails were prepared to make their greatest effort. 
 
 The Southern line was hurled upon them again, 
 crested with bayonets and preceded with showers of 
 bullets. But the Bucktails planted their feet in the 
 ground, and, standing amid their dead and the blaze of 
 their own rapid volleys, received the full weight of the 
 
330 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 charge which broke against their breasts. The smell 
 of sweat and blood, of clothing and flesh, burned by the 
 flash of gunpowder, filled the air. The smoke and the 
 flame and the shouting mingled in one red whirl, and 
 the reek of battle inclosed them all. 
 
 Then the pillar of fire and smoke separated, and the 
 combatants fell apart. The charge, like its predeces- 
 sors, had shivered itself to pieces on the iron wall of the 
 Bucktails. 
 
 But the Bucktails were not exultant. There was 
 not a smiling eye in all their ranks. They looked again 
 over their brigade, and to many minds came the simile 
 of one of their own mountain forests swept by a hurri- 
 cane. McConnell, now a dumb bard, was unhurt, but, 
 as he stood amid the wreck around him, a single tear 
 ran down his brown face. It gave way to anger when 
 he turned his eyes toward the enemy, and saw that ene- 
 my, fierce and indomitable, his forces massing again, 
 rushing forward to a new attack. 
 
 Angry, defiant, battle-torn, and with no semblance 
 of a smile, the Bucktails gathered themselves afresh 
 for the defensive, while the battle wheeled and thun- 
 dered around them. 
 
CHAPTEE XXXVIII 
 
 battle's shift and change 
 
 Nothing was more peculiar than the chances and 
 changes of this strange and furious battle, brought on 
 without intent, but, once begun, fought with a fierceness 
 unparalleled, often hand to hand, and fortune shifting 
 from one side to the other with a fickleness and rapidity 
 that dazed the combatants, but did not take from them 
 their courage or fighting power. There was, too, a 
 remarkable succession of commanders, particularly on 
 the Northern side, as throughout the day new divisions, 
 called by messengers or the sound of the guns, were con- 
 tinually hurrying to the field, and bringing with them 
 generals of higher and still higher rank. Doubleday 
 had been superseded a half hour before noon by How- 
 ard, who, looking from the roof of one of the houses, 
 saw all the roads out of the west and northwest covered 
 with Southern troops marching to the field of battle; 
 but, raising his eyes to the east and northeast, he could 
 see no more Northern soldiers, and, feeling that Gettys- 
 burg must be held, no matter what happened, he sent 
 urgent messengers, some for more troops, and one to 
 Meade himself, telling him that the great day had come. 
 
 The forces on the Southern side were steadily in- 
 creasing, and fortune was certainly hovering over their 
 bayonet points. But the North suffered her terrible 
 losses and did not yield. The Bucktails and their com- 
 panion regiments saw their numbers melt away under 
 22 331 
 
332 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 the fire of the cannon and the rifles, their ranks become 
 thin and broken, but they knotted them up again like a 
 broken whiplash, and still presented a continuous line. 
 
 Shaftoe and I stood among the troops, still unhurt, 
 but mere brown masks of men, covered with dust, in 
 which the rills of perspiration had ploughed little gul- 
 lies, our features distorted with the long strain and 
 fever of battle, our throats and lips dry and burning. 
 We had lost our horses long since in the shift and 
 change of the battle. We had lost touch, too, with our 
 officers, and our only plan now was to stand where the 
 fight was thickest. 
 
 We noticed the momentary lull that usually precedes 
 a heavy attack. Shaftoe instantly let the stock of his 
 carbine fall to earth and drew deep breaths. Then he 
 took a chew of tobacco. 
 
 " It's the best that I can do now," he said, " but I'd 
 give my chance of promotion for a good dinner." 
 
 I was looking at the field which was strewn as far as 
 I could see with the fallen. Shaftoe was looking to- 
 ward the hills behind Gettysburg. 
 
 " I wish we were there," he said. " It's a better 
 place to fight than this. Since we've got to lick the 
 Southerners back into the Union, and make 'em happy 
 after we've done it, it's well to take all the advantages 
 we can while we're doing it." 
 
 " We may be in that position sooner than we wish," 
 I said. " The Southern army seems to have made up 
 its mind to drive us there, and farther." 
 
 " There's one thing I'd rather see coming than a 
 good dinner," said Shaftoe. 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " A million of our men — yes, at least a million 
 good fresh Northern soldiers, with ten thousand pieces 
 of the heaviest artillery; then I'd feel safe. Boy, 
 never despise the value of numbers on your side. Al- 
 ways have 'em if you can. The best general isn't always 
 
BATTLE'S SHIFT AND CHANGE 333 
 
 the one that fights the bravest, but the one that gets 
 there first with the biggest army and the heaviest guns. 
 I've read about old Napoleon, and he always did it. 
 That's why he won. If I was a general, expected by a 
 confident country to win everything, I'd have it put in 
 my contract, first thing, that I was to have ten times 
 as many men and ten times as many cannon as the 
 fellow I was to whip. Then let the sneaking hound 
 come on! " 
 
 I looked with admiration at this man who could 
 speak so calmly at such a moment. Then I saw a move- 
 ment in the Southern lines. Heavy masses of infantry 
 were gathering on the slopes, batteries were moved for- 
 ward, and suddenly they opened fire from many great 
 guns upon our lines. Beneath this shower of iron, and 
 protected by it, the Southern troops advanced. 
 
 " They are coming! " I exclaimed. 
 
 " I sha'n't disturb myself over their coming until 
 they have come," said Shaftoe. 
 
 The solid mass of the Southern army heaved for- 
 ward, moving over the ground as if it were a single 
 body. The smoke from the artillery behind hung over 
 it like a veil, but between the veil and the earth the 
 faces of the men stood out sharp and clear. 
 
 The Northern artillery answered the Southern, but 
 was inferior and was gradually beaten down by the op- 
 posing shot and shell. The cannoneers were killed be- 
 side their guns, and the guns themselves were crushed 
 by the weight of so much iron hurled unceasingly upon 
 them. 
 
 " We shall have our hardest nut to crack now," 
 said Shaftoe. " It's luck that we've got stone walls 
 and fences and railway cuts and roads here to help us." 
 
 I saw well enough that it was a moment of hazard to 
 the army. The dense columns of the enemy, their evi- 
 dent determination, their powerful supporting artillery, 
 the deadly accuracy of their fire, were sufficient proof to 
 
334 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 a soldier of any experience that the defence must now be 
 of the most desperate kind. Our front ranks had be- 
 gun already to fire their rifles, volley after volley, send- 
 ing the bullets straight into the oncoming mass. But 
 it did not stop the Southern advance. They fired their 
 own volleys, too, as they approached, until they were 
 so near that their artillery ceased for a moment lest its 
 shells should strike friends as well as enemies. Then 
 the invading mass heaved up with a mighty effort and 
 hurled itself bodily upon us. 
 
 I felt the bank of smoke and fire swell out and en- 
 velop me. I saw the points of many bayonets and a 
 wave of faces sweeping down upon me, while the crash 
 of cannon and rifles and the voices of shouting men 
 filled my ears. The front ranks of the defenders were 
 crushed and driven back in fragments, and then I found 
 myself with Shaftoe and others behind the shelter of a 
 stone wall firing bullets, as fast as human hand could 
 crowd them into carbines, into the wall of fire and 
 smoke in front of us. 
 
 It was no longer an ordered battle, precise, arranged 
 by mathematics, and directed by skilful generals, but a 
 melee, a hurly-burly, a wild, confused conflict, in which 
 each man fought for himself, and the passions were let 
 loose to show of what the human race can be capable in 
 its wildest moments of battle fever. It seemed to me 
 that we had all gone mad together. 
 
 The Southern generals were watching the smoke 
 bank in which we were fighting, eager to see it move 
 forward, past the walls and fences, and then envelop the 
 rear lines of the Northern army, but it hovered at the 
 same spot over the slopes. The Southern line broke in 
 vain upon the stone and wooden barriers, but there was 
 no lack of courage and of sacrifice. Officers and men 
 rushed forward together, and offered their breasts to 
 the bullets and cannon balls, but the slopes could not 
 be carried. The smoke bank thinned gradually; the 
 
BATTLE'S SHIFT AND CHANGE 335 
 
 spurts of flame decreased, and the black figures, like so 
 much tracery which had struggled in the cloud, resolved 
 themselves into human figures. Then the smoke bank 
 split entirely apart, like a cheese cut down the centre by 
 a knife, and the Southern lines fell back, leaving us 
 gasping and panting, but still holding the slope, while 
 between lay the price that both had paid. 
 
 The attack had failed. 
 
 The Southern generals beheld the repulse, but, un- 
 dismayed, turned at once to new movements. They 
 were about to advance now in concert and with all their 
 strength. The Southern trumpets which had been 
 heard first west of the town, then northwest, and then 
 north, now sounded from the northeast too. The in- 
 vading force enveloped Gettysburg in a great semi- 
 circle, a gray coil, which was to compress and crush 
 everything within its folds. Ewell, the Southern gen- 
 eral, looked down from a ridge, and saw three Southern 
 brigades approaching from the east side of Eock Creek, 
 the stream whose banks were so high in places that it 
 seemed to form a natural barrier, and he rejoiced, know- 
 ing that another fold of the Southern coil was now clos- 
 ing in on Gettysburg. 
 
 Some of these new troops, coming while the chances 
 of the battle still fluctuated, were from the farthest 
 South, and among them were the Georgians, tall, big- 
 boned men, but fair like nearly all the Americans, now 
 a thousand miles from home, full of courage and proud 
 of their march into the enemy's country. The signal 
 was given to these Georgians to cross the creek and fall 
 upon our flank, and they obeyed. Before them lay the 
 creek with its fringe of willow trees, and beyond was a 
 field of wheat, shining like gold in the sun. Our bat- 
 teries opened upon them with many guns, but the 
 Georgians reached the rows of willows, and in a moment 
 their gray uniforms blended with the greenish gray of 
 the trees. Then tbey passed through the fringe and 
 
336 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 plunged clown the slopes of the creek, their caps linger- 
 ing in sight for a last moment like long rows of heads 
 without bodies. Then they were gone, but our artillery 
 poured a curving fire into the creek bed. The line of 
 caps reappeared on the nearer shore and after them the 
 bodies of the Georgians, still advancing with the long 
 Southern stride that eats up the ground, the lines in 
 even array, unbroken by the willows, the rocky gorge, 
 the ascent, or the shells that burst among them. They 
 raised their bayonets for a charge, and the sunlight 
 flashed from them in fire. In front waved the banner 
 with a single star. 
 
 I saw this advance, and I noticed the rapid play of 
 colour, the yellow of the wheat like beaten gold, the 
 steel of the bayonets like dark silver, the gray of the 
 uniforms shading off into a weather-stained brown, and 
 the faces of the men growing eager as they approached 
 their enemy. On came the Georgians through the 
 wheat; the yellow straws twisted about them, some- 
 times wound around their bayonets, and tried to hold 
 them back, but they paid no heed to such slender resist- 
 ance, and, firing a volley, rushed with the bayonet upon 
 our flank. 
 
 Our line crumpled up before their blow, and their 
 watchful general, beholding the result and knowing the 
 value of successive strokes, hurled fresh masses upon us. 
 Once more the combat became hand to hand, and, 
 spreading like a flame, raged along the entire front; but 
 their general, not content with one blow, or two, struck 
 three and four and more, picking up regiments with his 
 hand, as it were, and throwing them straight at the vital 
 point. Fortune, so fickle, made a decision, for the day 
 at least, and she chose the South. The issue could no 
 longer be doubtful. 
 
 There are few things more terrible than the rout of 
 an army. The success of one is the defeat of the other; 
 the glory of this is the ruin of that, and men are an 
 
BATTLES SHIFT AND CHANGE 337 
 
 unreckoned trifle. Our command was divided, order 
 and cohesion were lost, cannon were overturned, men 
 knew not what to do. The Southern general continued 
 to drive forward his wedge, and our column, decimated 
 by the cannon and rifles, racked through and through 
 by many hours of hard fighting, split like a rotten log. 
 But it had done as much as human flesh and bones could 
 stand. 
 
 Then the rout began, the wild pell-mell of men who 
 know that they can not fight any longer, and obey the 
 human impulse, the animal instinct, to save themselves. 
 "We were all swept back together; at some points our 
 resistance had been successful at first, but when the 
 main part of the line was crushed these detached de- 
 fenders were involved in the general wreck, and back all 
 were driven, the gallant Bucktails, everybody, a torrent 
 of fugitives, beaten by bullets and cannon balls, and 
 conscious that we had fought so long and so well, only 
 to lose. I looked up at the smoky sun, and it marked 
 mid-afternoon. 
 
 " Isn't there time to save the battle yet? " I asked 
 of Shaftoe. 
 
 " There'll be no saving for us unless we can rally 
 on those hills yonder," replied the veteran, pointing to 
 the slopes of Cemetery Eidge, now gilded by the western 
 sun. " Bobby Lee, if he's back there, is not the man to 
 let a beaten Yankee army retreat in carriages." 
 
 The rout grew wilder; the people of Gettysburg, 
 who had awaited with such trembling hopes through all 
 those anxious hours, saw it coming, and they knew that 
 once again the Army of Northern Virginia had won, as 
 it seemed destined always to win. The Southern line 
 extended and pressed everything toward a common cen- 
 tre, Gettysburg. It swept over the hills and hollows 
 and past the fences and stone walls, over the wreck of 
 regiments and batteries, past the slopes for whose pos- 
 session they had fought so long, and as this line ap- 
 
338 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 proached Gettysburg, its semicircle contracted, and the 
 line thickened and compressed our beaten army, con- 
 centrating its fire upon it, and dealing it blows inces- 
 sant, and steadily growing heavier. Twenty batteries 
 delivered their shot into the mass of retreating men, and 
 the watchers in Gettysburg deemed us all lost. 
 
 The flight went on; our beaten brigades lost men 
 at every step; only the core of our force, the body of the 
 strongest in the centre, could hold together; beyond 
 this the regiments were shattered, and the wreck was 
 swept up like driftwood before a flood. Then our 
 crushed army fled through Gettysburg, leaving a great 
 slice of itself there in the enemy's hands, toward the 
 hills beyond. 
 
 The sun was yet high above the distant mountains; 
 there was still time before nightfall to take or save an 
 army, and we of the North, or rather the fraction of us 
 still able to fight, now witnessed another change of 
 leadership for which that day was so remarkable: Han- 
 cock arrived, and by right of rank superseded Howard. 
 Like his predecessors, his efforts were to save; the bat- 
 tle of that day was lost, no one could deny it; but there 
 would be a to-morrow, and one might fight again. 
 
 We reached the slopes of Cemetery Hill at last and 
 were protected by some reserve men with artillery, who 
 had dug intrenchments and prepared this refuge, so 
 welcome to the routed battalions. Then we could rest 
 a little and look upon what was left. But what a sight 
 we saw! The battle, opened by mere detachments, had 
 been fought from first to last by forty thousand men — 
 twenty-three thousand for the South and seventeen 
 thousand for the North. Of those seventeen thousand, 
 only a scant five thousand had escaped to the hills; all 
 the others had fallen or been taken, and the South had 
 suffered an equal list of killed and wounded. From 
 Oak Hill, through Gettysburg to Cemetery Eidge, was 
 one wide path of red ruin; the five thousand could have 
 
BATTLE'S SHIFT AND CHANGE 339 
 
 the gloomy consolation of knowing that they had 
 fought all day, and until two thirds of their number had 
 been lost, a record that few battlefields in the history of 
 the world could show. It was something to know that 
 we had fought so well even if we had lost, and we were 
 not without this sanguinary pride. 
 
 We took only a few moments for breath, and when 
 we felt the rugged slopes of the hills, the natural forti- 
 fications under our feet, we faced the enemy again, ex- 
 pecting a new attack and ready to resist it; there were 
 yet two or three hours of sun, and an enemy so ener- 
 getic as ours would not leave us alone. 
 
 The attack did not come. The Southern brigades 
 were swarming in Gettysburg, and some of the generals 
 were eager to lead them on against Cemetery Hill, but 
 there was a division of counsels, and they lingered. 
 Our troops at once reformed their lines, posted their 
 artillery, made new breastworks, and waited; meanwhile 
 Slocum arrived and superseded Hancock, being the 
 sixth man to command the Northern army on that 
 remarkable day. 
 
 The sun set on the red battlefield, the town, the 
 hills, the thousands of fallen and the soldiers who 
 waited. The thunder and crash of the battle sank 
 to the intermittent crackle of musketry, and then to 
 the hum and rumble of voices and marching men. 
 
 The day ended. The dying, turning their eyes to 
 the west, saw above the hills the last red glow of the 
 sunken sun. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 THE CLICKING OF THE WIRES 
 
 The momentary silence that followed the crash of 
 the battle was heavy and threatening; after so much 
 noise, it seemed strange and against Nature. The night 
 sank down suddenly upon the field and blotted out the 
 towns and hills, and through the darkness came no 
 sound; then a rumble sprang up and swelled; the lights 
 began to twinkle on hill and valley and in the town. 
 
 The rumble increased, and the lights grew like 
 bunches of fireworks igniting. The two armies turned 
 to work; this was to be no night of rest; the battle of 
 that day, the 1st of July, had been fought by the two 
 vanguards, but a fourth of the total. By the next day- 
 light all would be there, and nearly two hundred thou- 
 sand men would stand face to face for the final test. 
 We knew now that the great moment had come, and 
 within the narrow valley between the ridges, upon 
 which the remains of the two vanguards stood, the fate 
 of a nation would be decided; the veterans of a hundred 
 battles, they recognised the crisis. While generals and 
 colonels had been planning, and guessing, and trying to 
 name the place upon which the decisive battle would be 
 fought, Fate, careless of them all, had chosen already 
 the unknown little town of Gettysburg. There it lay, 
 in the hands of the South now, its few feeble lights 
 flaring in the darkness, its frightened inhabitants who 
 340 
 
THE CLICKING OF THE WIRES 341 
 
 had not fled or joined the defenders trembling in their 
 homes — a respectable, modest little town, shuddering 
 under the terrible honour that had been thrust upon 
 it unsought. 
 
 Shaftoe and I were working at an embankment, 
 and we rested a few moments to stare into the valley 
 and at the threatening ridge that lay over against ours. 
 We were silent; even Shaftoe, the philosopher, hard- 
 ened as he was by thirty years of war, was awed; he 
 knew better than I that the carnage we had seen that 
 day was but the beginning. 
 
 The vapours and the battle smoke floated over the 
 field and permeated the air. The night sank down, 
 close, heavy, and portentous. The lights increased in 
 number, but became dimmer. The rumble grew. 
 
 The activity of the two armies went on — not the 
 energy of battle, but the energy of preparation, and 
 never was there greater need of it. Lee himself, the 
 South's great commander, arrived before sunset and 
 surveyed the field, so brilliantly won by his vanguard. 
 He might have ordered, before the night became im- 
 pervious, another attack upon our beaten remnants as 
 they lay exhausted and gasping on Cemetery Hill, but 
 he did not. Some of his generals have criticised him 
 for his failure to do so, but whether they were right or 
 not the historians do not agree. Silent, impenetrable, a 
 man who never claimed credit and never shunned blame, 
 he let the world judge him as it chose. 
 
 Perhaps he saw difficulties that his generals did not 
 see. Perhaps he was lamenting the absence of the 
 brilliant, too brilliant Stuart, with his ten thousand 
 cavalrymen, gone now some days on a fruitless raid 
 around our army; but, whatever the cause, he did not 
 attack when we were least able to stand it. 
 
 Meade, too, a slender man wearing eyeglasses and 
 not of imposing appearance, came soon after nightfall. 
 Hancock, grasping the full measure and meaning of the 
 
342 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 battle, had sent messengers for him, and not waiting for 
 them to arrive, went in person to tell what he had seen 
 and to bring his commander-in-chief. Thus Meade 
 rode in the dark along the hilltop, and by the flaring 
 camp fires looked upon the field which his vanguard 
 had so gallantly lost. 
 
 Meade, like the Southern leader, was cool; he, too, 
 sent messengers for troops, and all through the night he 
 studied the field, noting the points for defence, putting 
 the newly arrived regiments in place, hurrying more 
 messengers for others, and detailing to generals the 
 duties of the next day — the day which all expected to 
 bring forth so much. 
 
 That night witnessed a wonderful gathering of men. 
 Gettysburg became a centre to which all things tended. 
 From the two great semicircles of lights facing each 
 other on Seminary Ridge and Cemetery Hill radiated 
 lines of other and fainter lights, flickering and dying 
 away in the darkness; many roads came to Gettysburg, 
 and along all these the troops were marching. It 
 seemed a singular circumstance that the Southern sol- 
 dier came chiefly out of the north, and the Northern 
 chiefly out of the south, each turning his back to the 
 hostile section. 
 
 The regiments came to both armies all through the 
 night, muddy, patient, enduring, ready to kill or be 
 killed, according to order. The hostile lines extended 
 to north and to south as the new regiments and bri- 
 gades took their places, and the flickering fires bent in 
 two great semicircles. 
 
 The full moon came out and lighted up the ridges, 
 the columns and clefts of stone, the sombre, cave-like 
 hollows and the unequal summits of Eound Top and 
 Little Eound Top, the two steep hills that stood 
 like huge towers dominating the field, tried in vain 
 to penetrate the chasm of the Devil's Den, and threw 
 its light over the soldiers who slept in thousands 
 
THE CLICKING OF THE WIRES 343 
 
 along the slopes, and the dead who lay in the valley 
 below. 
 
 The tombstones in the old cemetery were cold and 
 white in the moonlight; that cemetery was full of men, 
 the living sleeping above the dead, Northern soldiers 
 covering all the spaces between the stones. Meade and 
 his staff passed among them after midnight, picking 
 their way in order not to step on the sleepers, but too 
 busy with the work of the morning to draw any signifi- 
 cance from the place. The general walked on, and the 
 sleeping soldiers remained motionless under the shadow 
 of the tombstones. 
 
 As hour after hour passed, the ring of bayonets and 
 gun muzzles contracted, closing in tighter on Gettys- 
 burg, and the two armies grew. But forty thousand 
 combined in the first day's fighting, the numbers soon 
 rose to forty thousand each and then passed on. The 
 regiments crowded each other; the artillery was massed 
 in batteries along all the hillsides, and the artillerymen 
 slept beside their guns. 
 
 It was a singular scene to one not animated by the 
 feelings of those who were to have a part in the vast 
 tragedy — the long, dim slopes, the lights, the forms of 
 the recumbent men almost hidden in the dusk, the som- 
 bre hills and rocks looking down in silence upon them, 
 the vapours and patches of smoke that still drifted aim- 
 lessly about, the soothing rumble like the heave of the 
 sea upon the coast, and the full moon throwing its fan- 
 tastic light that touched everything and made it ghostly 
 and unreal. This was some old battlefield, some battle- 
 field of ancient times, a Cannae or a Metaurus seen at 
 night! 
 
 Throughout all that night, while the two armies 
 were converging upon Gettysburg and the dead of the 
 first day's battle yet lay upon the field, silvered by the 
 moonlight, the telegraph wires were clicking, and thirty 
 million people were asking what had become of their 
 
344 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 armies. The battle for a continent and a nation was to 
 be fought upon an area of five square miles, and all who 
 were gathering there knew it; but over an area of three 
 million square miles ignorance as dark as the night it- 
 self prevailed. Mingled with this ignorance was an un- 
 certainty, a doubt far more trying. In the South there 
 were fewer telegraphs and newspapers, and less general 
 knowledge about the invasion, but in the North misin- 
 formation was free to everybody, and the alarm — the 
 justifiable alarm — caused by the advance of the Army 
 of Northern Virginia was deepened when it and the 
 Army of the Potomac disappeared in the Pennsylvania 
 country, and no man knew when or how they would 
 emerge. 
 
 Wherever the telegraph wires reached, their clicking 
 went on, bearing a message of anxiety and question; in 
 New York, in Philadelphia, in Boston, in Chicago, and 
 to the tiny hamlets in the woods, " Where are the 
 armies and when will they meet? " It was asked in the 
 drawing-rooms, where many lights glittered, and in 
 the one-room log house of some far Northwestern town, 
 where the only light was that of the dying coals flicker- 
 ing over the puncheon floor, and in each the doubt and 
 fear were the same. 
 
 In Washington, a haggard man, old beyond his 
 years, his face seamed into ugliness, and his eyes melan- 
 choly, was the most anxious of them all. It had been 
 for him to decide this war; all the power of the North 
 had been placed in his hands; he was for the time being 
 an equal despot with a Czar; the armies and navies were 
 at his command; he could make and unmake generals as 
 he chose; he could plan the campaigns if he wished; all 
 the resources of a nation were in his hands to risk as he 
 pleased; he had done his best without any thought of 
 glorification or gain of any kind, and so far had won 
 but little success; he had seen his generals one after an- 
 other beaten, and now the enemy so often the invaded 
 
THE CLICKING OF THE WIRES 345 
 
 had become the invader. Instead of using the resources 
 of a nation to crush his antagonist, he was compelled to 
 use them in defence of that nation. 
 
 This man of imperial power who carried the fate 
 of thirty million people in the hollow of his hand was 
 as ignorant to-night as the humblest farmer in the 
 Northwestern woods. The armies had slipped from 
 him, disappearing in the darkness; the Army of North- 
 ern Virginia had gone into obscurity, and with it the 
 Army of the Potomac, the sole defence against it. No 
 one would wish to have been in his place that night, to 
 feel his fears and doubts and responsibility as he vain- 
 ly traced lines on the map and tried to follow the two 
 armies, only to lose them always in the wilderness of 
 Pennsylvania roads and hills. There are times when 
 one does not wish to have imperial power, to be re- 
 sponsible for the fate of thirty million people. 
 
 The wires that clicked so volubly, clicked to his 
 questions, too, but they brought no answer; they 
 searched the darkness, they sent the question along to 
 each Pennsylvania hamlet, and then they ran it out 
 through the woods, until it stopped suddenly at the 
 end of a wire cut through by some army sabre. And 
 always the answer came back to Washington, " Noth- 
 ing! " None of these questions could reach Gettysburg; 
 it was still an unknown place to all the world save 
 to the two armies that converged upon it in the 
 darkness and whose vanguards had fought there; its 
 sombre fame had begun for itself, but not yet for 
 others. 
 
 That was the answer everywhere to all the clicking 
 of wires, " Nothing! " Eumours and reports came in 
 plenty, but the people had fed on them until they 
 turned at the taste; they wanted something more solid, 
 and they sneered at invention. The two armies were 
 lost, swallowed up, and all the telegraph wires of the 
 United States could not find them. 
 
346 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 The wires clicked on all through the night and 
 carried the same question over and over again to their 
 uttermost ends, but the answer never varied — " Noth- 
 ing! nothing! " The thirty million people, North and 
 South alike, were helpless; they had put their cause in 
 the hands of two champions, their armies, and these 
 would decide the issue there in the darkness, without 
 spectators and the cheers of friends. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE TALE THAT PEMBEOKE TOLD 
 
 But I saw little of the gathering armies on that 
 night and heard none of the clicking wires. The most 
 of it was told to me afterward; even the chances of the 
 great battle suddenly became of much less importance 
 in my mind, a message brought by one I knew causing 
 this abrupt change in the course of my attention. It 
 was Mason who came. He found me early in the night, 
 lying on the slope of Cemetery Hill and gazing at the 
 opposite ridge that threatened us. 
 
 " I have been looking for you more than an hour," 
 he said. " A friend of ours from the other side is badly 
 wounded and a prisoner." 
 
 "Who is it?" I asked. 
 
 " Pembroke." 
 
 Poor Pembroke! I was shoeked. My personal 
 friends, except in the case of Tourville, and his wound 
 evidently was slight, had escaped the bullets so far, and 
 in a vague way it seemed to me that they would con- 
 tinue to do so. I went at once with Mason, and Shaftoe 
 accompanied us. We had lost our own command long 
 since, fighting with whatsoever body of troops we chose, 
 and we were free to go where it pleased us to go. 
 
 " It was in one of the last charges that the rebels 
 made," said Mason, as we picked our way among the 
 hurt. " We beat them off for a little while, but the 
 23 347 
 
348 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 fighting had been so close that they left several wound- 
 ed with us. Pembroke was among them and I helped 
 bring him up the hill. He's badly hit, though the sur- 
 geon says he'll recover, but he asked for you at once. 
 He has something to tell you that you must know." 
 
 We found Pembroke lying on Mason's blanket near 
 the crest of Cemetery Hill. He was hit in the shoulder, 
 and, having lost considerable blood, looked pale and 
 extremely weak, but he had received the most careful 
 attention and evidently was suffering little pain. A 
 camp fire burned near him, and many soldiers were 
 lying on the ground, sleeping so soundly that they 
 looked like the dead. Pembroke smiled faintly when 
 he saw me. 
 
 " It's a change of place since we met last, eh, 
 Henry?" he said. "Then you were the prisoner and 
 now it's I. But don't please yourself too much; Bobby 
 Lee's coming to-morrow to take me back, and all you 
 Yankees with me." 
 
 I knelt beside him, grieved at the hurt of this true 
 friend, but he ridiculed his wound and deprecated sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 "Just one little bullet!" he said. "Why, we've 
 men in our army who have been shot fifteen or sixteen 
 times, and they improve with each wound. You've 
 heard of the German general who said, ' Eaw troops 
 need to be shooted, over a little.' Well, ours never 
 reach their best until they are ' shooted ' through a 
 few times! But let that go; it's something else that I 
 want to talk to you about. She's over there." 
 
 He pointed toward the hill where the Southern 
 lights twinkled and passed and repassed in the dark- 
 ness, and I knew whom he meant. 
 
 " Yes, she's there, and so is Varian," continued Pem- 
 broke; " and I tell you he is not to be trusted. We 
 don't trust him ourselves. I've much to tell you that 
 concerns Elinor and you most nearly. He, Varian, was 
 
THE TALE THAT PEMBROKE TOLD 349 
 
 fierce when he heard of your escape the night of the 
 play in Libby. He said there was collusion; he in- 
 timated that you had been helped by your Southern 
 friends; that otherwise you could not have escaped from 
 the city, even after getting out of the prison. He re- 
 newed his claims for Elinor, saying that this marriage 
 of yours must be annulled; he seemed to forget that 
 man and wife can not be separated, in our time, without 
 the consent of at least one of them, and his influence 
 was so great that I do not know what he would not 
 have succeeded in doing if the unexpected had not hap- 
 pened. There came a rumour to Eichmond and the 
 army that Varian was not so confident of our ultimate 
 success as he used to be. We had failed to secure the 
 alliance of any of the European powers — you know how 
 we relied upon him to do that work for us, and you 
 know his ambition and love of place and power. He 
 was disappointed, too, because you were not punished 
 for what he considered a crime against himself; and, in 
 short, Henry, it was said that he was not true to us, 
 that he was willing to be tempted if anybody was will- 
 ing to make the temptation great. I do not understand 
 what his views of life and honour are; he seems to have 
 a code somewhat different from ours, but it never be- 
 came more than a whisper. It was said that Stonewall 
 Jackson had the proofs and meant to use them, but he 
 was killed a few days later at Chancellorsville, and what 
 he knew no one now knows. However, it weakened his 
 power and influence in our government, and suddenly 
 he ceased to make complaints against any of us who 
 were your friends, or to demand higher rewards. They 
 say, though, that he fought brilliantly at Chancellors- 
 ville, and even now he has an important command over 
 there on the hill. You see, with nothing but a whisper 
 against him, and that silenced with Stonewall Jackson's 
 death, they could not displace him after the real service 
 he has done for our cause." 
 
350 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 Pembroke was now silent a little and thoughtful, 
 and I waited until returning strength would permit him 
 to resume his narrative. 
 
 " It was directly after Chancellorsville," he con- 
 tinued presently, " that the quarrel between Tourville 
 and Blanchard occurred, and that concerned Elinor and 
 you too." 
 
 "Blanchard — that scoundrel!" I exclaimed. 
 
 " Ay, a scoundrel he was, but he will never trouble 
 any one again. I think that you owe Tourville a debt 
 of thanks. I do not approve of the duel which usually 
 decides in favour of might rather than right, but this 
 one of Tourville and Blanchard was an exception. 
 Blanchard, you know, was the most faithful ally of 
 Varian — Varian must have saved him from some great 
 embarrassment in Europe — and wished to help him in 
 all his purposes. He cherished, too, a fine hatred of 
 you, so his desires accorded well with his master's. It 
 was a few days after your escape — Blanchard said it was 
 treason that helped you, and then he mentioned Elinor's 
 name. He said that he did not understand her affection 
 for you, but that Varian would get her yet, if not with 
 marriage then without it; and then Tourville, who heard 
 him, stopped his foul mouth with his fist. Blanchard 
 demanded a duel, according to the custom of France 
 and Germany, saying that it was the alternative of 
 brave men. You know Tourville, rash and hot-blooded, 
 but good of heart — he accepted instantly and chose 
 swords, the very weapon that Blanchard wanted. Gen- 
 eral Lee, of course, would not permit a duel in his army 
 if he knew it, but he can not know everything. They 
 fought just at daylight in a little wood barely inside our 
 lines. De Courcelles was Tourville's second, and one of 
 Blanchard's men acted for him. Blanchard was openly 
 exultant, sure that he would kill Tourville, but five 
 minutes after the duel began he was a dead man, thrust 
 squarely through the heart, and Tourville did not have a 
 
THE TALE THAT PEMBROKE TOLD 351 
 
 wound upon him. "We have never told of it to Elinor. 
 She has heard that Blanchard is dead, but she thinks 
 that he fell in a cavalry skirmish." 
 
 He was silent again for a little while, and I felt 
 that I could never repay Tourville. Then I noticed 
 that Pembroke was looking at me curiously, as if he 
 were making a study of me. But I waited again for 
 him to speak of his own accord. 
 
 " Henry," he said, " Elinor Maynard is your wife, 
 but you do not know what a woman she is, or rather 
 what a woman will do for the man whom she loves. 
 Would any woman ever do as much for me? " 
 
 I looked at him in the deepest surprise. 
 
 " I have been holding this back," he said, " and it's 
 another cause why the favour of Varian has declined. 
 It is a tale that Major Titus Tyler brought to Rich- 
 mond after he recovered from the wound that he re- 
 ceived in the Valley of Virginia." 
 
 My surprise increased. Major Tyler's name had 
 been mentioned that night when Lee and Jackson came 
 to see me in Libby. 
 
 " And the story that Major Tyler tells," he resumed, 
 " seems incredible, but the major swears that it's true — 
 you know that he never lies — arid we, who know Elinor, 
 believe that he is not mistaken. 'He says that Varian 
 and Blanchard, or rather Blanchard, because he planned 
 it and Varian merely shut his eyes to it, intended to kill 
 you that night you escaped from them in the Valley of 
 Virginia. The way for you to escape was to be left 
 open, and was to be so obvious that you must accept the 
 chance. Elinor heard of it — it seems from Major Tyler 
 himself before whom Blanchard spoke incautiously — 
 and she took your place that you might escape in an- 
 other way, because she believed that if they did not kill 
 you that night they would soon find another pretext for 
 doing it. It was very easy for them to mistake her for 
 you in the darkness, and the rain, and the confusion, 
 
352 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 but, in some strange or perhaps providential way, she 
 escaped all their bullets. Major Tyler says that Varian 
 himself, seeing her about to escape, and believing that it 
 was you, fired at her. Now that he knows his mistake 
 and sees what she will do for a man whom she loves, his 
 love for her has become fire. He swears that no matter 
 what happens she must belong to him, that he alone is 
 worthy of a woman capable of such an act. I felt from 
 the first that the major's story was true, but the hitch 
 comes with Elinor. I told it to my sister Mary, and, 
 full of the wonderful tale, she ran at once to Elinor to 
 ask her about it. But Elinor will not say a word; you 
 can not talk to her about it, unless you enjoy talking to 
 a stone wall." 
 
 I knew in my heart too that it was true. I could 
 see it now, looking back at all the circumstances. I 
 was filled with a deep joy and pride that Elinor was my 
 wife, and I acknowledged humbly to myself that I was 
 unworthy of her. I was silent, looking across the val- 
 ley at the southern ridge where Pembroke said that she 
 was, and he, too, weak from his wound, again remained 
 a little while without speaking. 
 
 " Why is she over yonder? " I asked at last, point- 
 ing toward the hostile lights. 
 
 " She tried to go to her uncle in Washington," he 
 replied. " It was because she believed you were there, 
 but she could not get away from Richmond. It was no 
 fault of ours, but the authorities were too busy with 
 preparations for the present invasion to arrange the 
 transfer of a girl from Richmond to Washington. But 
 when she heard that we were going to invade the North 
 she insisted upon following. She wished to serve as a 
 nurse attached to one of the travelling hospitals, and 
 God knows that both sides have ample need of nurses! 
 It may be that she hoped for an opportunity to reach 
 you. Yes, she's over there. I saw her this morning 
 before that pestiferous little bullet stretched me on my 
 
THE TALE THAT PEMBROKE TOLD 353 
 
 back, and she is well. Varian is there too; and look 
 after her if you can, Henry, because the man is mad 
 with love of her, and to have his own way he will scruple 
 at nothing. He would kill her rather than lose her." 
 
 Pembroke's story was finished, and he was right 
 when he said that it concerned me deeply. Mason and 
 Shaftoe with instinctive delicacy had drawn away when 
 he began, that they might not hear, but now they re- 
 turned to his side. 
 
 " Pembroke," I said, " I owe you too much to make 
 you any promise of repayment." 
 
 He smiled faintly. 
 
 " What little I have done," he replied, " is for her 
 as much as for you." 
 
 There was no more that we could do for him, and 
 presently he closed his eyes, saying that he would sleep. 
 Then I walked away in the darkness and down the slope 
 toward the dividing valley. My mind was quite made 
 up. But before I went far, a heavy hand was laid upon 
 my shoulder, and turning I saw Shaftoe. 
 
 " What do you mean to do ? " he asked. 
 
 " I am going up yonder," I replied, pointing toward 
 the Southern position. 
 
 " You are crazy," he said. 
 
 " No, Shaftoe, my wife is up there and she is in 
 great danger. If you were in my place you would go 
 as I am going." 
 
 " How do you mean to do it? " he asked. 
 
 " I shall put on a Southern uniform; it is easy to 
 get one." 
 
 I pointed to a cluster of the dead not far away. 
 
 " And be caught and hanged as a spy! " 
 
 " I must risk it, Shaftoe." 
 
 He said no more, except to mutter, " It's a fool- 
 hardy thing," and turned away. 
 
 I stole down a little ravine, and then fell in behind 
 a burying-party, passing with it our farthest sentinels, 
 
354 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 and was soon in the heart of the valley where the dead 
 lay thickest. Informal burying parties from both sides 
 were traversing the field, and occasionally exchanging 
 a nod as they passed, none exhibiting the slightest hos- 
 tility toward one another. I let the party which I had 
 followed go on without me, stealing away again toward 
 the darkest place that I could find, and there, conquer- 
 ing my repulsion, I removed the uniform from a dead 
 Confederate soldier, substituting it for my own. Then 
 I advanced boldly toward Seminary Ridge. 
 
CHAPTER XLI 
 
 A MAN BOKN TOO LATE 
 
 I "walked with a beating heart up the slope of Sem- 
 inary Ridge and toward the Army of Northern Virginia, 
 which lay before me. I was resolved that Elinor should 
 not remain longer where Varian could reach her. I be- 
 lieved, too, that I would succeed, despite the dangers. 
 An army resting from one great battle, and spending 
 the few hours between in preparation for another, was 
 not likely to pay much attention to a straggler or two. 
 
 A Southern picket soon hailed me, and, advancing, 
 I said that I was an escaped prisoner taken a few days 
 before by the Yankees in a cavalry skirmish. My own 
 command, I added, was somewhere with Stuart, I sup- 
 posed, but I wanted to serve again, and where I was 
 needed most. He jerked his finger over his shoulder, 
 pointed toward the camp fires, and said nothing more. 
 
 I walked slowly on, gaining boldness at every step 
 as success attended me, and not forgetting, even in my 
 eager search for Elinor, to look curiously at the camp 
 that was now all around me. It was much like ours — 
 full of sleeping, wounded, or exhausted men, while the 
 unceasing rumble of preparations or of arriving troops 
 sounded in my ears. The camp fires wavered in long, 
 irregular lines, and beside one, talking to his generals, 
 was a large man whom I knew to be General Lee. But I 
 did not choose to go near him, turning instead toward 
 the rear, where the surgeons and the nurses would be. 
 
 355 
 
356 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 My task so far was easier than I had expected, and 
 yet I should have known that it would be simple work 
 within the camp, their sentinels once passed. The dif- 
 ficulty would come when I wished to get out again. 
 Thousands of soldiers were passing and repassing me, 
 seeking their positions for the morrow, and some were 
 straggling. I was only one man among sixty thousand 
 doing as many others were doing, and nobody noticed 
 me. I made my way slowly toward the rear of the army, 
 thinking it well not to be too eager, and now and then 
 exchanging a word with a wandering soldier like myself. 
 An officer once hailed me roughly and asked me where 
 my regiment was placed. " Over there/' I said, point- 
 ing in the way in which I was going. " Then see that 
 you join it at once ! " he said sharply. " All right, 
 sir," I replied, touching my hat respectfully and going 
 on about my business while he continued on his. 
 
 It was easy to find where the wounded lay, and I 
 still drifted about watching for a chance to see Elinor. 
 I knew that she would be there helping, and presently I 
 saw her. I could never mistake her figure, although it 
 was outlined but dimly in the darkness. She came to- 
 ward the camp fire, strong and lithe, and I moved into 
 her path, staggering as if I were a wounded or drunken 
 man. She was about to step aside, but raising my head 
 I gazed into her eyes. 
 
 I saw the instant look of recognition and joy upon 
 her face like a flash of sunlight, but she said not a 
 word. Elinor was not like other women. Her courage, 
 her command of herself, were beyond compare. It was 
 the soul in her rather than her beauty that made more 
 than one man love her so. 
 
 " Will you help me with this? " she asked at length, 
 and then for the first time I noticed that she carried in 
 either hand a pail of water. 
 
 " It is for the wounded," she said; " and there are 
 many who need it to-night." 
 
A MAN BORN TOO LATE 357 
 
 I took the pail and slouched behind her as if I were 
 some camp follower, detailed to help her with this heavy- 
 work. 
 
 " Why have you come? " she asked over her shoul- 
 der, and now I saw the anxiety in her voice. " Do you 
 know that it is death if you are caught? It is a joy to 
 see you, oh, you know it, Henry, but not at such a ter- 
 rible risk." 
 
 " You risked your life for me," I replied, " and why 
 should I not risk mine for you? " 
 
 I leaned forward and saw the sudden flush of rosy 
 colour over her face. She said nothing, but looked at 
 me with a slight appeal in her eyes. 
 
 " I shall not stay long," I said, " but you are to go 
 with me. I have come for you. You are in great 
 danger here." 
 
 We gave the water to the surgeons and went back for 
 more, I always walking a little in the rear, and filling 
 my role of helper. 
 
 " Pembroke told me," I continued. " He is a pris- 
 oner and wounded, but he will not die." 
 
 " I am glad that he is not worse hurt," she said 
 joyfully. " We missed him, and I was afraid that he 
 was lying down there with the dead who are so many." 
 
 She pointed to the valley hidden by the darkness 
 and the vapours. 
 
 " He told me," I continued, " that Varian was here, 
 that he watched you always, and that he was daring 
 enough to attempt anything. Therefore I came for 
 you. I am your husband, and I have the right to claim 
 you wherever I find you, as I now do." 
 
 She looked at me, and I saw her smile. 
 
 " You have no need to claim me," she said. " I 
 would go without the asking." Then her tone became 
 very grave as she continued: " And it is true that Va- 
 rian is to be feared. I fear him most of all now, at 
 this minute; he may be there in the dark, where we do 
 
358 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 not see him, watching us. He was one of the leaders in 
 the charge to-day that drove you through Gettysburg, 
 and he performed such acts of valour that General Lee 
 himself was forced to commend him, although he dis- 
 trusts him. He has spoken to me since the battle, and I 
 feel that his eyes are always upon me — it is not merely 
 the fear of a timid woman, Henry, it is the truth." 
 
 I looked carefully but I did not see Varian or any 
 one resembling him. I knew that at all times he was 
 our most dangerous enemy, but I did not fear him. 
 I think that I can say it without boasting. Where 
 we had met hitherto mine was the disadvantage, but 
 now, even here on Seminary Ridge, with the hostile 
 lines about me, I felt that I could face him on equal 
 terms. We were approaching the place where we ob- 
 tained the water, and I repeated: 
 
 " Elinor, I have come for you. Will you go with 
 me?" 
 
 " To the end of the world if you wish it." 
 
 " This is the road," I said, and I led the way into the 
 darkness at the rear of the Southern army. 
 
 " Let me go before," she said in a few moments. 
 " The path will open more readily for me than for you." 
 
 She led now, and we still carried the pails. " We 
 wish fresh water for the wounded from the creek over 
 there," she said to the first sentinel, at the same time 
 giving the countersign. He saluted with respect at 
 the sight of a woman so c evidently engaged upon a 
 task of mercy, gave one glance at my Confederate 
 uniform, and let us go. We passed another and then 
 another in the same manner, and soon we were out- 
 side the lines. I put down the pail and took Elinor in 
 my arms. 
 
 " Ah, my brave wife," I said, " I have you at last, 
 and nothing shall ever take you from me again." 
 
 I felt her soft young arms around my neck, and she 
 clung to me like a frightened child as she had clung 
 
A MAN BORN TOO LATE 359 
 
 once before. " Henry, I am so glad you came! " was 
 all she said. 
 
 There is a peculiar sensitiveness, a kind of chill 
 in the air, that often warns one of a hostile presence, 
 and suddenly I felt it. I looked up and beheld Varian. 
 He was as usual dressed in a brilliant uniform, and it 
 bore no marks of the day's toil and struggles. The only 
 expression upon his face was a faint look of irony; be- 
 yond that his eyes said nothing. He stood near us, 
 erect, tall, and strong. 
 
 "A pretty scene, a very pretty scene!" he said in 
 even tones. " Do not think that I intend sarcasm or 
 ridicule, for I do not; and, frankly, I should enjoy being 
 in your place, Mr. Kingsford. I think you know that." 
 
 " This is not the place to tell me so," I said. 
 
 " You may be right," he answered, without any 
 break in his even tones, " but I do not know when I 
 shall have another opportunity, and I could not let the 
 present pass without profiting by it." 
 
 Elinor stepped a little to one side and stood there, 
 regarding us, her young face expressing aversion and 
 defiance too when she looked at Varian. 
 
 " I have some explanations to make, and perhaps an 
 apology or two," he said. " You ought to feel flattered, 
 Mr. Kingsford, as I have made few apologies in my life. 
 Do not charge it to my vanity when I say it; rather con- 
 sider it a weakness. There has been a rivalry between 
 us, and you have triumphed so far, and yet at the be- 
 ginning I should have said that all the chances were 
 in my favour. I was born, Mr. Kingsford, to have my 
 own way in all things; it was and is my nature. I can 
 not help it, so I must hate any one who obstructs me. 
 It is not the person whom I really hate, but the obstruc- 
 tion that he has caused. Please understand that this 
 is the way that I feel toward you. I had the ambition 
 of war and the ambition of love; I have lost in the latter, 
 and it is probable that I shall lose in the former. It is 
 
360 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 a new experience, and I do not like it. I think that I 
 was born in the wrong age; I should have belonged to 
 the antique world, where men had vast power and de- 
 sires on the same gigantic scale. When I read of those 
 old times it fills me with regret that I did not live then, 
 or that then is not now. Then I could have filled my 
 proper place in the world. I should have been one of 
 those proconsuls whom the Eomans sent out to govern 
 great provinces; men with palaces, armies, millions of 
 revenue, and despotic power. Then I should have been 
 happy, and I think that I would have governed temper- 
 ately and well, so long as ho one opposed me. But I 
 would have been cruel to all opposition. Do you under- 
 stand me, Mr. Kingsf ord ? " 
 
 I nodded. Despite my anxiety to take Elinor into 
 our lines, the man held my attention. His tones were 
 still smooth and even, but his feelings had begun to 
 show in his face, which was flushed faintly. The slight 
 parting of Elinor's lips showed her deep interest. 
 
 " I am endeavouring to explain myself," he con- 
 tinued, " and in a way, as I have said, you may consider 
 it an apology, Mr. Kingsford, for some of the seeming 
 wrongs that I have done you. There are many others 
 like me in the modern world of ours, but perhaps they 
 have trimmed themselves down to the level of the times 
 better than I. Understand again that this is not van- 
 ity; it is merely an explanation of what you consider 
 the moral defects of my nature. When I saw that you 
 were triumphing over me in my dearest wish, that Eli- 
 nor Maynard was loving you when she should have been 
 loving me, it was the wrath of the antique despot that 
 consumed me. I felt that you should be thrust out of 
 the way, as the antique master got rid of a trouble- 
 some slave. If Elinor Maynard did not wish to marry 
 me, she must marry me nevertheless, just as an Eastern 
 princess is forced to wed the king who chooses her. 
 But, believe me, I did not intend at first to trap you to 
 
A MAN BORN TOO LATE 361 
 
 your death. That scene in the Valley of Virginia, just 
 as it occurred, was not suggested by me. It was Blan- 
 chard, in his zeal for me — I do not wish to wrong the 
 faithful fellow's memory — who carried it so far, and in 
 my passion I may have been drawn on with him. And, 
 believe me too, Mrs. Kingsford, had I known that it was 
 you instead of your husband who fled before us, I would 
 have killed one of my men, even Blanchard himself, 
 rather than let him fire a shot at you." 
 
 He paused, and I took Elinor's arm in mine. 
 
 " Let us pass," I said. " You have stated your mo- 
 tives, and we do not attack them now. My wife and I, 
 through Providence, have come to no harm at your 
 hands, and we shall attempt nothing in return." 
 
 " I can not let you pass so peacefully," he said, his 
 voice suddenly hardening. " I could have had you 
 seized, Henry Kingsford, and had you shot, at five min- 
 utes' notice, as a spy, but I relented so far, because it 
 occurred to me that perhaps I had not always fought 
 you fairly for the woman who hangs on your arm, when 
 she ought to be hanging on mine. But my nature 
 would not permit this. Now, I propose that we fight 
 for her with swords. It is just as I say: I belong to the 
 ancient world and not to this. Then the arm of the 
 strongest won the most beautiful woman, even prin- 
 cesses. Cleopatra belonged in turn to Cassar and An- 
 tony, and Augustus would have been the heir of Antony 
 had not death intervened. What I propose appeals to 
 me as our most natural recourse." 
 
 I felt Elinor's hand trembling on my arm, but she 
 said nothing. 
 
 " It seems to me extremely unnatural in the year 
 1863, in a civilized land," I said. " Moreover, I do not 
 fight for what is already my own." 
 
 "Are you afraid, Mr. Kingsford?" he said quietly; 
 " but I do not think that you have ever been a coward. 
 You should remember that you disarmed me once in a 
 
362 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 friendly contest in Washington. See! I am provided! 
 Perhaps you did not notice that I have two swords; you 
 may take your choice. The place is suitable. The 
 light is poor, it is true; but it is no darker for you than 
 it is for me, and here is the lady for whom we fight, 
 looking on and lending inspiration to each of the com- 
 batants. Is not the scene worthy of that antique world 
 which I have quoted so often to you in the last five 
 minutes? " 
 
 I stared at him in surprise. He had moved into our 
 path, and I could see plainly that he was in earnest. I 
 extended my hand for one of the sabres, and Elinor 
 stepped aside without a word. It may be that the 
 best woman in the world has in her nature a little of 
 the Venus who threw the apple of discord. 
 
 He had left me no choice, and I stood before him, 
 sword in hand. I caught one glimpse of Elinor's face, 
 pale and lovely, but firm and confident. She stood be- 
 side a dwarf oak, fifteen feet from us. Then I looked 
 steadily into Varian's eyes, watching every expression, 
 that I might see what he intended. There is some- 
 thing now and then, in time and place, which strips us 
 of our slow-won civilization, and brings out in us the 
 fierce and primitive impulses. I felt one of these im- 
 pulses now — the wish to fight; and as I saw the flame in 
 Varian's eyes, I knew that he, too, was moved by it; the 
 fact that Elinor stood by and looked on was not the 
 last or least incitement to either of us. 
 
 His sword flashed straight at my heart, and I avoided 
 it only by a swift leap to one side, but I replied with a 
 thrust which was barely parried by his own blade. As 
 it was, I heard with satisfaction the slight whir of the 
 steel as it cut through the cloth of the sleeve on his 
 right arm. 
 
 We paused a moment for breath, but I kept my eye 
 on his, lest in some unguarded moment of mine he 
 might cut me down. His look, so far as I could in- 
 
A MAN BORN TOO LATE 363 
 
 terpret it, expressed intense satisfaction. He seemed 
 to feel that he had won a great point, and my anger 
 against him swelled because of this contentment that 
 showed so clearly upon his face. I remembered, too, 
 all that he had attempted against me, and for one mo- 
 ment I was ready and willing to kill him if I could. 
 
 We raised our swords again and began to fence with 
 the caution and concentrated energy of men who mean 
 to slay. We heard nothing then but our own hard 
 breathing, the whir of the swords, and the occasional 
 ring of the steel as blade met blade. Yet neither 
 won advantage, and we paused a second time for breath, 
 letting the points of our blades drop. 
 
 " If you move your sword again, General Varian, I 
 will blow your brains out! " 
 
 It was a quiet voice that we heard, but, beyond a 
 doubt, the man who spoke the words meant them. I 
 glanced aside and saw Shaftoe standing twenty feet 
 away, with a carbine levelled at A T arian's head. 
 
 "Is this the way you fight your duels?" asked 
 Varian with an unchanged face, but with sarcasm in 
 his voice. 
 
 " I pledge you my word that I did not know of his 
 presence," I replied. 
 
 " I believe you," he said. " It was not in your char- 
 acter to do so. I give you that much credit." 
 
 Shaftoe approached, his carbine still bearing on Va- 
 rian, and I noticed now that he wore a Confederate uni- 
 form like my own. 
 
 " Mr. Kingsford," he said sternly, his manner sud- 
 denly investing him with great dignity, " I expected 
 more sense from you than to fight in this way at such 
 a time, but I was wrong. I thought you would get 
 into some such mischief, and that was why I followed 
 you into the Southern camp. Remember, that if either 
 of you begin again, I fire at General Varian, and I 
 
 don't miss! " 
 24 
 
364 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 Shaftoe's stern words recalled to me that it was 
 the nineteenth century, and that we stood on the edge 
 of a great battlefield, which would claim all the strength 
 of us both. But it was Elinor who spoke: 
 
 " He gave him no choice," said Elinor, pointing to 
 Varian. " Only a coward could have evaded the issue, 
 and my husband is not such a man." 
 
 She spoke proudly. 
 
 " The lady is right in both propositions," said Va- 
 rian; " and yet I am sorry only because we have been 
 interrupted. The test that we set ourselves appealed 
 and still appeals to me. Since you control the situa- 
 tion, what is your will, Mr. Soldier? " 
 
 " Go! " said Shaftoe, pointing toward the flickering 
 lights of the Southern camp. 
 
 Varian bowed to Elinor and to me, and without a 
 word walked toward the lights. 
 
 " And now come with me," said Shaftoe, letting the 
 muzzle of his carbine drop at last. " It's lucky that 
 you two have me to watch over you." 
 
 I took Elinor's arm and helped her over the rough 
 way, following Shaftoe in a wide circuit in the darkness. 
 He looked back at us occasionally, and always seasoned 
 his look with some rebuke of me. But his tone became 
 more genial presently. " After all, you fight well, 
 Henry," he said. Then I knew that I was forgiven. 
 
 One of the strangest events in my life was that long 
 walk, over rough places and in the darkness, around a 
 great battlefield, and from the camp of one army to the 
 camp of another; but those were also happy hours, be- 
 cause all the way I felt Elinor on my arm, and I be- 
 lieved that she would never again be taken from me. 
 She spoke only once, and it was to repeat her words 
 at the camp: " Henry, I am so glad that you came 
 for me ! " 
 
 We reached our own army without trouble, and 
 there Elinor offered to serve with our nurses as she had 
 
A MAN BORN TOO LATE 365 
 
 served with those of the South. I wanted, her to go 
 at once to Washington if a way could be found, but she 
 said: " There will be still greater need to-morrow night 
 for all such as I. And, Henry, I am near you." 
 
 So I had to leave her there in one of the hospitals 
 and return to my place in the lines. I knew that her 
 prayers for my safety followed me. 
 
CHAPTER XLII 
 
 THE DEVIL S DEN 
 
 The day came, the armies awoke, and, standing up, 
 looked at each other. They were all there, or soon 
 would be, one hundred and sixty thousand men face to 
 face — ninety thousand for the North, seventy thousand 
 for the South. 
 
 The sun, slow and majestic, rose above the hills; its 
 light in sheaves of red and yellow fell over the two 
 armies. The brilliant rays lingered in the crannies of 
 the rocks, and gilded the bodies of the dead. The 
 night dews dried up, the vapours were gone, and the 
 air felt pure and fresh. There was Gettysburg, looking 
 from our lines like the peaceful country town it had 
 always been before yesterday, with its trim houses and 
 the red gold of the young sun shining on dome and 
 cupola. 
 
 The two armies gazed at each other curiously and 
 without hostility. The fierceness, the bitterness, the 
 hatred that marked this war in common with other 
 wars, was not theirs. Such emotions were for the people 
 behind them; their own, if they had felt them, had 
 long since disappeared in the shock of battle. The sol- 
 diers on the opposite hill were enemies, veterans like 
 themselves, worthy of respect; it was not for them to 
 malign men who might soon prove themselves their 
 conquerors. 
 
 Shaftoe and I stood side by side. Neither had slept 
 366 
 
THE DEVIL'S DEN 367 
 
 in that night between battles, but I did not feel the 
 need of rest. ' I had forgotten such things in the deep 
 satisfaction that followed the rescue of Elinor. 
 
 We rubbed the vapours from our eyes and turned 
 our faces to the west, where stood the Army of Northern 
 Virginia, glittering in the sunlight. A bird alighted 
 on a bush near us, and, unafraid of armies, began to 
 pour out a stream of song. Shaftoe looked at him as 
 he sung, full-throated, upon his bough, and repeated 
 aloud: 
 
 " O for a beaker full of the warm south — 
 Full of the true, the blissful Hippocrene, 
 With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, 
 And purple-stained mouth ! 
 That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, 
 And with thee fade away into the forest dim." 
 
 I said nothing. I had long since ceased to be sur- 
 prised at anything this common soldier said or did; and 
 I knew, moreover, that the American common soldier 
 was not always like the common soldier of other coun- 
 tries. 
 
 " Why don't they begin? " I asked at length. 
 
 Shaftoe did not answer. He seemed deep in 
 thought. 
 
 Another hour passed, and then another; still no 
 movement. The armies stretched themselves and took 
 deep breaths. The sound of a rifle shot came presently 
 from a point down the line, and was followed soon by 
 another, and after that by others, in a fitful, desultory 
 way, as if not really in earnest. There was nothing in- 
 spiring in the reports, no expression of energy; merely 
 a lazy crackle like a tired salute. It did not stir the 
 two armies, which continued to stare at each other in 
 the same embarrassed way. 
 
 On went the sun in its slow, red majesty. The em- 
 barrassed pause, to which the crackling fire of the skir- 
 
368 IN CIECLING CAMPS 
 
 mishers formed no interruption, did not cease, and the 
 skirmishing was unheeded. Another hour passed, and 
 then another, and the armies did not move. The skir- 
 mishing in the wood increased in dignity. It was not 
 now an intermittent crackle, but a steady crash, swell- 
 ing and falling in volume, and unceasing. It was no 
 longer a skirmish going on there, it was a battle; but 
 to the main armies it was only an incident. The sun 
 climbed on, reaching the zenith, and the armies yet 
 stood there; it passed toward the west. One o'clock 
 came, two o'clock, three o'clock, and still they did not 
 move. 
 
 During all these long hours, when the two armies 
 stood face to face and attentive, the telegraph wires 
 clicked over thousands of miles, as they had clicked the 
 night before, asking the same question, " What news of 
 the armies? " and the answer, " Nothing," always came 
 back to the tired man at Washington, as it came to all 
 others. The one hundred and sixty thousand men who 
 looked at each other, and were to decide the fate of the 
 thirty millions, were hidden from the rest of the world. 
 
 The afternoon was of dazzling brightness. The 
 sunlight streamed over everything. The smoke from 
 the combat in the woods was only a single blur. The 
 armies simmered in the heat. 
 
 But the time had come. An important division of 
 the Southern army arrived, delayed two hours by a 
 mistaken order. 
 
 At mid-afternoon four brigades of the Southern 
 army moved forward to attack the Peach Orchard — 
 place of pleasant name and bloody memory — and the 
 frowning rocks of the Devil's Den. 
 
 A succession of flashes burst from the Peach Or- 
 chard, followed by a heavy, rolling crash, a sound now 
 familiar and old. The Northern artillery was filing a 
 remonstrance against the Southern advance. 
 
 The Southern batteries answered the remonstrance; 
 
THE DEVIL'S DEN 369 
 
 a vast flame flared out as the rifles took up the appeal, 
 and the line of fire leaped up and down the front of the 
 two armies like a blaze, running along the edge of a 
 tinder-dry forest. 
 
 The battle extended with incredible rapidity. The 
 rival generals saw their men meet around Little Eound 
 Top, and then disappear in the smoke bank of their 
 own firing. Above the fighting cloud on the slopes 
 rose the dark, tower-like dome of this summit, a mas- 
 sive rock dominating the southern end of the field and 
 seeming to say to the two armies, " Who keeps me keeps 
 the victory." Here troops were already climbing the 
 last slope. 
 
 The Northern commander-in-chief, still watching, 
 saw the streams of fire from the great guns, and then 
 the Southern troops were beaten back from the edge of 
 the crest, but not to retreat. Tenacity was allied with 
 their dash. They attacked again, and then the thick- 
 ening smoke hid the summit and the lower ridges, and 
 the men struggling upon them, from the commander. 
 Within this whirling cloud the combat for Little Eound 
 Top assumed a most desperate phase — a vast, confused, 
 overlapping struggle among the rocks, where the lines 
 could not be retained, and soldiers sometimes climbed 
 trees to get shots at each other, feeling no hate, but the 
 desire to kill. 
 
 There is a hill along the line of battle, with dark 
 and shaggy hollows in its western side, forming a kind 
 of crater, almost a cavern, sharp rocks rising up at its 
 mouth like rows of jagged and broken teeth. It is a 
 forbidding place, even when the sun shines in it, and one 
 does not like to linger there; the air has a kind of chill 
 in it, and you grow sombre. The sharp rocks threaten 
 like the shark's teeth they are, and the ground is cold. 
 
 This place is called the Devil's Den, and few names 
 are more fitting. 
 
 A Northern general filled the Devil's Den on the 
 
370 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 morning of July 2d with sharpshooters — men who could 
 hide themselves on the ground behind a stone and pick 
 out on the enemy's body the exact spot where they in- 
 tended the bullet to hit; men who could count, in the 
 evening after the battle, the number they had killed 
 with as much pleasure and as much freedom from re- 
 morse as if they had been hunters shooting rabbits. 
 They were grand masters of their craft, cool and experi- 
 enced, quick of eye and hand, and believed to be wholly 
 without conscience; therefore they were to be trusted. 
 
 Shaftoe and I stood behind some rocks just above 
 this crater, and whenever the battle let us, we watched 
 the sharpshooters in it with both curiosity and aver- 
 sion. 
 
 They had been impatient at the slow movements of 
 the Southern army, and grumbled as the long hours of 
 sunshine passed and brought nothing. They wanted 
 to hear the bullets singing; to see the white puffs of 
 smoke rise, and the men, their chosen targets, fall at so 
 many hundred yards, proof of their skill. They could 
 not be truly happy until this, which was meat and drink 
 to them, began, and they felt that they were treated un- 
 fairly. 
 
 They were lying down behind the rocks, examining 
 their slender-barrelled rifles, which they prized as wife 
 and children, rising up now and then for a better look 
 at the distant lines of the Southern army; a group of 
 men tanned to a russet brown by the sun; thin, sinuous, 
 and fierce-eyed, like forest Indians. There was a great 
 range of age; the one on the right was nearly sixty 
 years old, and another near him was not twenty. The 
 youth, Hunter, was more impatient than the others. 
 His impatience became anger, and he cursed the troops 
 because they would not come within range of his rifle. 
 
 " Save your breath, Hunter; you'll need it soon to 
 cool your rifle," said the old man. 
 
 " Do you suppose, "Wilson, that I want to lie here all 
 
THE DEVIL'S DEN 371 
 
 day on my stomach, frying like a turtle on a griddle, 
 waiting for the rebels? " replied Hunter. 
 
 " Why don't you send a letter to Lee telling him 
 you're tired of waiting? " asked a third man, Watson. 
 
 Hunter's only reply was an angry snarl. The others 
 laughed. 
 
 " Hunter's going to do like the Indians, and carry 
 a stick with a notch in it for every man that he's killed," 
 said Wilson. 
 
 Hunter was staring at the Southern lines. His was 
 not a good face to look at; it was too long and narrow, 
 and his greenish eyes were set close together like two 
 peas in a pod. He had already made a good record at 
 his trade, though, compared with some of his com- 
 rades, he was a novice. But he had his ambitions. 
 
 The sun shone into Hunter's eyes and inflamed 
 them. The heat seemed to creep from his eyes into his 
 brain, and he saw things through a curious red mist. 
 Naturally morose, his temper grew angrier at the long 
 wait; he felt of his rifle which he loved, a weapon with 
 a barrel longer than usual and a beautifully carved 
 stock. He held it up and admired it, then fitted the 
 stock to his shoulder and took aim at imaginary objects. 
 
 " Hunter's in love with his gun," said a comrade. 
 " See how he's fondling it! " 
 
 Hunter scorned to reply. Besides, he scarcely 
 seemed to hear. He was too much occupied with his 
 rifle. He admired it hugely. He believed it to be 
 the most beautiful weapon in the world, and the sense 
 of ownership that he felt, as I could see, was peculiarly 
 satisfying. This increased his desire to use it, to de- 
 vote it to the purpose for which it was made. The gun 
 had acquired a power over him, a sort of fascination, 
 like that of a snake, and it seemed to rebuke him be- 
 cause he did not find the opportunity for use. So he 
 felt apparently that it had cause for complaint against 
 him, and his impatience and anger grew as the sunlight 
 
372 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 broadened and stillness yet reigned over the valley and 
 slopes. He put the gun down. The barrel was hot to 
 his touch under the burning rays, but he could not es- 
 cape its reproach. He picked it up again, and it con- 
 tinually urged him on; the urging agreed so well with 
 his feelings that he scarcely needed it. He began to 
 measure the distance to the nearest Southern soldiers, 
 and wonder if he could not get a shot. He lay flat on 
 his stomach and calculated the horizontal line to an 
 officer, apparently a colonel, whom he could see on the 
 opposite slope. Unconsciously he began to squirm for- 
 ward, dragging himself with the elbows and muscular 
 motion of his body. He forgot his comrades; his eyes 
 were full of savage fire, and the lust of blood was in his 
 veins. 
 
 " Look at Hunter, turning himself into a rattle- 
 snake! " suddenly cried Wilson. — " What are you doing 
 there, Hunter? Come back, and don't waste your 
 bullets on the air. You'll have plenty need for 'em 
 soon." 
 
 Hunter came back, but he apologized to his rifle, 
 and whispered to it that the chance would come yet. 
 Then he stroked the long steel barrel and looked down 
 the sights again to see that there was no mistake. He 
 was muttering to himself, but the others did not no- 
 tice it. 
 
 The sun was very hot to Hunter. While the ground 
 in the Devil's Den was cold to his touch, the heat 
 poured directly upon his head, and he was restless as if 
 he had a fever. Nothing could satisfy him but the use 
 of his gun, the beloved weapon, which had been lying 
 idle too long, and was complaining. He pulled himself 
 forward again, not wishing to rise up and walk, as the 
 sharpshooters were to form an ambush, and this time 
 his comrades did not rebuke him, since they, too, were 
 becoming extremely impatient. He reached the edge 
 of the Den and lay there for a while, looking more than 
 
THE DEVIL'S DEN 373 
 
 ever like a rattlesnake sunning himself on a rock. He 
 raised himself up a little presently, and shouted: 
 
 " They are coming! " 
 
 He was transfigured. His eyes glittered and his face 
 showed joy. The rifle shots began to crash farther up 
 the line, and above them soon rose the roar of the 
 artillery. With these sounds the transformation of the 
 Devil's Den became complete. All its sloth was shed 
 like a shell, and it was filled with sinuous, strenuous 
 forms, sliding from rock to rock, and thrusting forward 
 long rifle barrels, seeking a shot. Hunter already had 
 taken possession of the outermost rock, and when the 
 Southern troops came within range he picked a man 
 and fired. The soldier fell, and Hunter's eyes ex- 
 pressed ferocious satisfaction. The sun burned into his 
 brain, and the good shot inflamed it. He patted his 
 rifle approvingly, and then quietly reloaded. He was 
 enjoying himself, and he felt that he was a true sharp- 
 shooter, worthy of his company. He loaded and fired 
 as fast as he could pick a target, and his breast expanded 
 with savage joy. 
 
 All the men in the Devil's Den were busy. Those 
 rocks became a nest of hornets, and they were stinging 
 the flanks of the Southern army, persistent, insatiable, 
 and always drawing blood. 
 
 The fire that came from the Devil's Den was not in 
 volleys, nor was it a regular succession of shots. It was 
 an intermittent crackle, each man pulling the trigger as 
 he secured his aim. They did not intend to waste lead. 
 They were there not merely to shoot but to hit. They 
 were no amateurs, burning powder just for the sake of 
 the flash and the blaze. They said but little; seldom 
 was anything heard in the Devil's Den save the crackle 
 of the rifle fire and the heavy breathing of the men. 
 The roar of the battle became continuous and thunder- 
 ous. Vast clouds of smoke drifted over the field and hid 
 most of it. The sharpshooters in the Devil's Den, de- 
 
374 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 spite their deadly work, were unnoticed so far. They lay 
 there among the rocks, and stung and stung. Now and 
 then a shell flew over their heads and shrapnel struck 
 near, but none fell among them, and they rejoiced at 
 their immunity. They were willing for the other side 
 to have all the danger. They were not there to secure 
 any of the glory of the war, or to give the other fellow a 
 chance. They wanted all the chances to be their own, 
 and they were burdened by no scruples. Their attitude 
 was precisely that of the man toward the partridge that 
 he hunts. 
 
 Hunter's face became inflamed, and was as red as 
 the setting sun. The muzzle of his rifle smoked con- 
 tinually with his rapid firing. 
 
 " Look at Hunter! " cried Wilson, in the course of a 
 lull. "Did you ever see such a face and eyes? He's 
 breathing too much of his own rifle smoke! It's got 
 powder in it, and it's gone to his brain! " 
 
 The men would have noticed Hunter more closely, 
 but at that moment the battle flamed afresh, and the 
 voices were lost in the roar of the batteries and the 
 rolling crash of the rifle fire, which gave delight to the 
 sharpshooters, and incited them to preternatural ac- 
 tivity. 
 
 The dense columns of the Southerners, marching to 
 attack the hills, presented their flanks to the sharp- 
 shooters, and the target was as fine and large as the 
 most ruthless of ambushed marksmen could wish. The 
 men in the Devil's Den sent a stream of bullets into the 
 solid masses, loading and firing in silence, unnoticed 
 yet, because they were lost in the vast battle that con- 
 verged around them, and because they kept under cover 
 of the rocks, with the Indian-like precaution of sharp- 
 shooters, who neglect no chances. 
 
 A cloud of whitish brown smoke from the rifles 
 hung over the Devil's Den and hid it. The cloud was 
 punctuated by many flashes of red fire, and the rattle of 
 
THE DEVIL'S DEN 375 
 
 the shots from the rocks was like the continued explo- 
 sion of packs of giant firecrackers. Never had the 
 Devil's Den deserved so well its name. It was filled 
 with men who were earning their pay. 
 
 " Stop firing, and let the smoke lift a little," called 
 out Wilson presently. " If we can't see, we'll waste 
 our bullets! " 
 
 The thought of sending bullets at a vague target was 
 unendurable to Wilson. 
 
 " Hold your fire ! " he called out again. " Who is 
 it that keeps on peppering away? — Stop that, I tell you, 
 Hunter, or I'll club you with your own gun! Are you 
 crazy? " 
 
 Hunter yielded, though sullenly. Perhaps he would 
 not have stopped at all if he had not wished to give his 
 gun time to cool. He looked affectionately at the rifle, 
 and seemed to feel that both it and he were doing well 
 that day. They could congratulate each other. The 
 look on his face was that of the unredeemed savage. 
 Hardened and merciless as all the men were, some of 
 them shrank from him. 
 
 " I told you that Hunter was inhaling too much 
 powder smoke," said Wilson, looking curiously at the 
 young man. " And it isn't a healthy diet. — Is your 
 head hot, Hunter? " 
 
 Hunter made no reply, but began to count the bul- 
 lets in his ammunition pouch. There was no time to 
 talk now. Many bullets were yet in the pouch; yonder 
 were the Southern columns as dense as ever, and here 
 was his beloved rifle, crying out to be used again. 
 There was work for him to do. 
 
 The cloud of smoke lifted, and the sharpshooters 
 saw the enemy clearly again; they resumed their fire, 
 and breathed sighs of satisfaction when they saw that 
 the target was nearer. The poorest among them could 
 scarcely miss it at so short a range. The activity of the 
 Devil's Den was redoubled. It spouted flame, and the 
 
376 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 well-aimed bullets cut gashes in the Southern lines. 
 So much fire, a fire so deadly, was bound to attract at- 
 tention in time, and presently a shell refused to pass 
 over the Devil's Den like its predecessors, but dropped 
 there among the rocks, hurling many pieces of hot and 
 jagged steel among the sharpshooters. These men did 
 not cry out when they were struck; they left on the 
 ground their dead, who were no longer of any use, and 
 the wounded attended to their own wounds, while the 
 others continued their fire with the same coolness and 
 accuracy. 
 
 The Devil's Den belched much destruction, but now 
 it was receiving a sinister attention in return. It was a 
 plague, and the Southern artillery undertook to apply 
 the cure. Two streams of fire met in the canopy of 
 smoke that overhung it — one the flash of the rifles held 
 by the sharpshooters, and the other the bursting of the 
 Southern shells hurled at the Devil's Den. 
 
 The sharpshooters grew angry; they were paying 
 too high a price for their opportunities; besides, the 
 scream of the shells and shrapnel over their heads was 
 so unearthly that it might have upset the nerves of 
 men less experienced than themselves. But they were 
 thankful that they were not so raw. Nevertheless, they 
 neglected no precautions; they burrowed under the 
 rocks, and some of them succeeded in protecting them- 
 selves from the searching shells. They lay flat upon 
 the ground, and their faded uniforms were almost the 
 colour of the rocks and dirt. Only their eager eyes 
 were visible, and always in the first rank, nearest the 
 enemy, was Hunter. He seemed happy. This activity, 
 the bursting of the shells about him, the incessant roar 
 of the battle, and above all the report of his own rifle, 
 soothed somewhat the flame in his head, but he 
 breathed continuously the powder smoke made by his 
 firing, and soon he forgot his comrades, everything ex- 
 cept the red battle in front, and the advancing masses, 
 
THE DEVIL'S DEN 377 
 
 into which he sent his bullets with regularity and pre- 
 cision. 
 
 The Devil's Den was growing hot. Each moment 
 added to the desert of its name. One third of the 
 sharpshooters had fallen, and the fragments of burst 
 shells still smoked. The odours were unpleasant, but 
 the activity of the remaining sharpshooters atoned for 
 the destruction of the others. They were enraged at 
 their losses, and gave their rifles no rest. Stung them- 
 selves, they stung with more fury. 
 
 Two shells burst simultaneously in the Devil's Den, 
 and there was wreck among the sharpshooters. 
 
 " It's time to go ! " shouted Wilson. " We're sharp- 
 shooters, and we're not expected to form a solid line 
 against artillery." 
 
 All the men who could, rose to go, except one. 
 Hunter was crawling forward, and aiming at an officer. 
 He had watched that man and others, and he believed 
 that he and his good gun would slay them all. He had 
 no thought of going. He was oblivious to everything, 
 except his quarry. Suddenly he uttered a cry of anger 
 and grief. A piece of a bursting shell had broken his 
 rifle in his hand. 
 
 " Hunter, you fool, come away! " cried Wilson. 
 
 Hunter snatched up the rifle of a fallen man and 
 went on with his work. His brain was red hot now. 
 
 "Hunter, are you crazy? " cried Wilson, in amaze- 
 ment. " Come on! " 
 
 Hunter did not reply. He would never fire again. 
 A shell had burst low down and directly over his head. 
 
 The Southern troops in one of their charges took 
 the Devil's Den hill and passed on, driving us before 
 them, but help came to us at last, and then we held our 
 new ground, although we could not drive them back. 
 
 The tranquil sun was setting, not varying a minute 
 from the allotted time because of the terrible struggle 
 that whirled about the little town; it cast a deep glow 
 
378 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 over all the field, and the swelling columns of smoke 
 were shot through with a tinge of red, the red of the 
 guns deepened by the red of the peaceful skies. 
 
 The armies were as heedless of the sun as the sun 
 was of them; its splendours of scarlet and gold passed 
 unseen. The two commanders still lifted up their regi- 
 ments and hurled them at each other, and men without 
 malice fought as if they had some precious hate to 
 avenge. 
 
 The Southern troops who had shown such valour 
 began at last to display less energy in the attack. They 
 ceased the advance, very slowly and full of anger, hesi- 
 tating at first, and then retreating. Above them 
 frowned the summit of Little Bound Top, untaken 
 and threatening, crowded with its guns, which con- 
 tributed their share to the shower of metal thrown upon 
 the brave men who had failed. 
 
 The line rolled back upon itself like a carpet, but 
 the slopes were lined with their dead. Victory rested 
 with us at the south end of the field, but elsewhere the 
 battle still raged with unbroken energy. The growing 
 darkness was lighted up by the blazing gunpowder, and 
 fresh regiments and brigades were sent into the vortex. 
 At these points, fate or chance, or whatever it may be, 
 still lingered over its decision, seeming to enjoy the 
 slow doubt, and to prolong it, as if it were a delicate 
 morsel. The Southern attack cut our squares in some 
 places, was driven back at others, and the line of battle 
 began to zigzag like a drunken man. 
 
 The sun shot down, the twilight darkened into 
 night, and, seen against the black background, the red- 
 ness of the battle grew. Every cannon-flash was mag- 
 nified, and each rifle shot made a spout of fire. The area 
 of flame began to contract at last, the roar of the battle 
 became irregular, and I saw that the energy of the com- 
 batants was waning. The flame vanished, the thunder 
 ceased, and the day's struggle was over. Exhaustion 
 
THE DEVIL'S DEN 379 
 
 and the night conquered at last, but there was no de- 
 cisive result. The final decree, which we believed 
 ought to be given, was withheld, and we sank down to 
 await another day of combat. 
 
 It was ten o'clock when the second day's struggle 
 ceased, but our second day was better than our first, 
 although there was no exultation in the soul of Meade as 
 he rode through his lines in the moonlit night and 
 looked upon the awful scene of ruin and desolation. 
 Twenty thousand of his men had fallen. The muster 
 roll of his dead and wounded was already large enough 
 to constitute an army. The Southern attack had failed 
 at the main points, but it had succeeded at others, and 
 it would come again. Meade, as he looked at the hills 
 held by the Southern troops and saw their camp fires 
 still burning, knew that Lee had not delivered his last 
 blow; he would attack again on the morrow. 
 
 Shaftoe and I came out of the smoke, still together, 
 still unhurt, but exhausted. I stopped a moment to 
 look over the theatre of the vast conflict and try to gain 
 some comprehension of the day's events. 
 
 " What has happened? " I asked. 
 
 " Nothing," replied the veteran. " Forty thousand 
 men have been killed or wounded, but nothing has 
 happened yet." 
 
 It was with no sense of cruelty, or even indifference, 
 that he spoke. His was strictly the military meaning. 
 He intended to say that forty thousand men had fallen, 
 and no decision had been reached. The issue of the 
 battle was as uncertain now as it was when it began. 
 In silence we went to the nearest camp fire. A great 
 passing of souls was the chief impression yet made upon 
 me by Gettysburg. 
 
 The night advanced, the moon shone, the stars glit- 
 tered in the sky of blue, and the work of the generals 
 went on. The ravages of the cannon balls were re- 
 paired by new lines. The contents of the ammunition 
 25 
 
380 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 wagons, which for the last two days had been pouring 
 out powder and ball in a continuous stream, like grain 
 from a mill, were measured. Breastworks were built 
 and cannon examined. 
 
 I went toward the rear as soon as my duties would 
 permit me, and there I found Elinor at work among 
 the wounded. " She has been worth as much to us as 
 any soldier on the field to-day," said a surgeon to me. 
 It was a brave face that she turned to me, though pale 
 from work and the sights of that day. " I knew that 
 you would come back safely," she said, and then she 
 smiled a little, and added, " Call it my woman's intui- 
 tion." 
 
 We talked, in the few minutes that she could spare, 
 about the chances of the battle, and I told her my 
 belief that we would win on the morrow. " Another 
 day! " she said; " surely that will end it! " Then I 
 left her, knowing how much she was needed among the 
 hurt, but I felt stronger, because I knew that a woman's 
 prayers for my safety followed me. 
 
 The Soutbern army arose the next morning sore 
 and angry, feeling that it had not won the success it 
 deserved on the day before, but prepared, whenever its 
 general called, to go back and take the triumph yet 
 denied. 
 
 The day was bright and burning, like the two just 
 before it. The battle had begun already, and this third 
 beginning was made by us. Before, the North waited 
 for the South. 
 
 Our artillery opened fire at daybreak on the South- 
 ern left, which occupied the same positions taken the 
 day before from the North. The South, for a little 
 while, contented itself without answer, but the volume 
 of the firing grew fast, and their interest began to in- 
 crease. 
 
 The Southern regiments, thus attacked, were the 
 old soldiers of Stonewall Jackson, who had always taken 
 
THE DEVIL'S DEN 381 
 
 them to victory. They were without a single cannon; 
 though the fire of batteries was turned upon them, they 
 could reply only with rifles, and at close quarters. 
 More troops were coming to the aid of their enemies; 
 none came to them. They wondered why they were 
 thus neglected. They could hear the sound of no 
 battle elsewhere, but their wonder and their isolation 
 never caused them to flinch for a moment. 
 
 The day grew hotter than its predecessors and the 
 long morning lingered on. The battle at the North 
 swelled and roared, but the bulk of the Army of North- 
 ern Virginia still rested on the slopes, and we wondered 
 why it did not move to the help of Jackson's men. 
 
 " What do you think of it? " I asked as I lay on 
 Cemetery Hill. 
 
 " Why is Lee waiting, do you mean? " answered 
 Shaftoe. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I'd rather tell you my thoughts after the battle. 
 Then I can make them fit," replied the cautious veteran. 
 
 Two hours, three hours, four hours, and more 
 passed, and the murmur of inquiry in both armies grew. 
 
 Now, Jackson's soldiers, who had been fighting 
 their long and lonely battle, were oppressed with a ter- 
 rible grief. They began to feel that they would have 
 to yield, to give back; they, the unbeaten, would be 
 beaten. They made superhuman efforts to hold their 
 ground, but they began to slip back, only an inch or two 
 at first, but an inch or two was too much. 
 
 The inch or two grew to feet, and then to yards. 
 Their backward movement was slow, but it did not 
 cease. It could not. The crushing weight driven 
 against them was never withdrawn, and to stand was 
 not now a question of bravery, merely of strength; 
 the reduced lines, strive as they might, could not 
 bear the load. Those who would not retreat were 
 taken; infolded by our numerous brigades, and threat- 
 
382 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 ened with annihilation, they were compelled to sur- 
 render. Arms and colours were lost. It became a day 
 doubly tragic for Jackson's men. The survivors could 
 neither preserve their weapons nor their flags. 
 
 They looked for help, but, seeing none, abandoned 
 the thought of it, and back they went still farther in 
 the smoke, leaving more prisoners, knowing the cer- 
 tainty of defeat for them — a defeat that was without 
 disgrace, yet full of pain. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock, and the noon hour was com- 
 ing. The battle, waged so fiercely at the north end of 
 the line, ceased. A silence, strange, even weird, settled 
 over the field. No shots were heard. Even the rumble 
 of men sank to a murmur. The clouds of smoke were 
 lifting, and through them came the burning sun. 
 
 The silence grew heavier, as if the two combatants 
 suffered a paralysis from long and gigantic exertions, 
 or had become appalled by their own work. The sun, 
 like a huge ball of glowing red-hot copper, sailed on 
 toward the zenith, unpitying. The day was breathless. 
 
 The silence, so strange, so oppressive, was broken at 
 last by a cannon shot; it was followed quickly by five 
 or six others, and the flames leaped up from a house 
 and several stacks of straw between the Virginians, 
 under Pickett, the newly arrived division, now lying on 
 Seminary Ridge, and our lines, burning brightly and 
 rapidly, set on fire by the cannon shot. We saw by the 
 light the forms of their skirmishers creeping forward 
 among the rocks and hillocks, and then we heard the 
 crackle of their rifles. The fire of the cannon in- 
 creased and spread from battery to battery the vast 
 amphitheatre resounded with the reports. " The cover 
 for some movement," I said to myself. 
 
 The cannonade swelled into tremendous volume, 
 and again the amphitheatre rested beneath the canopy 
 of smoke which now seemed natural to it, and through 
 and beneath this canopy flew the incessant showers of 
 
THE DEVIL'S DEN 383 
 
 steel. The spectacle was brilliant and majestic. The ' 
 flames, with the sunlight shining upon them, glittered 
 in many colours, and the house burned like a torch that 
 led the van. 
 
 The cannonade died after a while, and the hot guns 
 began to cool. The sharpshooters ceased. Their fire 
 was doing no damage, and they could not afford to waste 
 ammunition now. The bottoms of the Southern cais- 
 sons and ammunition chests were growing alarmingly 
 near; the battle had been long, and enough powder had 
 been burned and shot fired to equip a magazine. Then 
 we waited again, and all the smoke floated away. The 
 theatre of the battle-to-be was unchanged. The arena 
 was ready, and only the actors waiting; but silence 
 came once more, and the impatient ceased to question, 
 knowing its idleness. 
 
 Noon passed, and then another hour. The sun 
 hung overhead, pouring a flood of burning rays upon 
 the valley, the slopes, and the sombre towers of the 
 Eound Tops. 
 
 A cannon shot sounded on the right of the Southern 
 line; the single note echoed and rolled with sinister 
 suggestion in all that vast stillness. After one minute 
 of intense waiting, it was followed by a second cannon 
 shot, rolling and reverberating like the first. It was a 
 signal, and both armies knew its meaning. Those two 
 cannon shots said, " Be on your guard! " 
 
 The time was one o'clock. 
 
 Before the smoke of the two shots melted into the 
 sky, one hundred and thirty-eight Southern cannon, 
 massed at the southern end of their line and fired all 
 at once, hurled a storm of steel and iron upon our army. 
 The first cannonade had been without result, but this 
 was bigger and closer, and the Southern generals be- 
 lieved that it would not fail. The North, before silent, 
 replied with more than a hundred guns, and our can- 
 noneers, refreshed by their rest, worked with skill and 
 
384 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 speed. More than two hundred and fifty cannon were 
 engaged, and the greatest artillery duel ever known in 
 America had begun. 
 
 The Southern batteries, in action, were more nu- 
 merous, and their fire was concentric, but our men were 
 better sheltered, and we had sixty or eighty cannon in 
 reserve that we could bring up if needed. All the fac- 
 tors of a mighty duel were present, and none was neg- 
 lected. A light wind sprang up and drove the smoke 
 back over the valley and the Southern batteries, par- 
 tially hiding them and the line of attack from us, but 
 exposing our position and enabling the enemy to see the 
 destruction there. Men were falling, supply trains were 
 overturned and ambulances shattered, houses within 
 our lines torn in pieces, Meade's headquarters among 
 them, and great guns dismounted. Our soldiers not 
 engaged were hiding behind every projection, hugging 
 Mother Earth to escape the fire from sevenscore wide, 
 hot mouths across the valley. Meade and Hancock 
 were passing among the men, encouraging them, and 
 watching the cannonade. Fresh guns were hurried up 
 to take the place of those shattered or dismounted; new 
 cannoneers succeeded the fallen, and the cannon duel 
 went on. 
 
 The Southern gunners increased the speed of their 
 volley firing, and we followed with an equal increase. 
 Great as was the roar of the exploding gunpowder, it 
 could not drown the lash of the projectiles through the 
 air, the shrill discord of sound made by the shells, the 
 shrapnel, the canister, the solid shot, and all the other 
 missiles hurled by two hundred and fifty guns, worked 
 at the supreme speed of skilled cannoneers. 
 
 But the Southern generals yet felt the old uncer- 
 tainty, and there was good cause for it. Our resistance 
 exceeded all their anticipations, and the dwindling 
 stock of ammunition was heavy on their minds. They 
 calculated the distance across the valley, looked at their 
 
THE DEVIL'S DEN 385 
 
 brigades lying around the slopes, and then up at the 
 sun that marked the advancing afternoon. They no- 
 ticed presently a decline in our tire, and they hoped that 
 it would cease, crushed by the superior fire of the South. 
 It did not cease, yet most of the old swiftness and spirit 
 seemed to be gone. They began to feel that the time 
 had come. There were still doubt and hesitation among 
 them, a belief by some that the attack should be made; 
 by others that it should be postponed; but the order 
 was sent to Pickett and his Virginians to come. 
 The splendid brigades rose up for the task. 
 
CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 HIGH-WATEE MAEK 
 
 It was mid-afternoon. The sun, hotter than ever, 
 filled the valley with fiery rays, flashed along swords and 
 bayonets, and glowed in the wheat fields, where the 
 gold was slashed with red. The rocks burned. 
 
 The cannonade sank to a few stray shots, like funeral 
 guns; then it ceased, and, driven by the wind, the can- 
 opy of smoke floated away, like an awning suddenly 
 drawn back on invisible rollers. The whole battlefield 
 leaped into the light. 
 
 A cry of admiration arose from the two armies. We 
 saw the magnificent division of Pickett standing there, 
 amid the sea of the dead, calm, untroubled, their ranks 
 even, about to give the salute. "We knew that these 
 were soldiers. We were soldiers ourselves, and we did 
 not withhold applause. Then we turned to our guns. 
 
 " They are coming," I said. 
 
 " We are ready," replied Shaftoe. 
 
 I saw them distinctly as they marched toward us in 
 the burning sunlight, descending the slopes in solid 
 array, silent, superb in order and bearing, aflame with 
 ardour, their eyes on the far hills, where stood their 
 enemy, four thousand five hundred men, ready to march 
 through gates of fire. 
 
 It was a massive column, strong, enduring, and 
 linked together as if made of flexible steel. The men 
 felt the swell of muscle and tightening of sinew like 
 386 
 
HIGH-WATER MARK 387 
 
 whipcord as they stepped in their pride, and the ranks 
 rose and fell with the sweep of the ground, their arms 
 catching the sunlight and throwing far gleams. The 
 hot air which bore upon its breath the smell of burned 
 powder, stinging their faces and filling their lungs, fed 
 the flame of battle already burning so brightly in their 
 veins. I knew as they marched so steadily what they 
 felt, and for the moment I could march with them. 
 
 " Plant your feet deep, Henry," said Shaftoe. 
 
 " Yes, they still come," I replied. 
 
 The blood was leaping in my veins. Many voices 
 rang in my ears. The men out there were my kindred. 
 I was bone of their bone; I, too, was of the South, and 
 I wished for a moment that they might succeed. They 
 were worthy of it — men without fear, gentlemen, un- 
 afraid. Then the feeling passed. 
 
 A general almost involuntary movement occurred 
 in our army. It seemed to contract, to cover less space, 
 but to thicken and deepen, as if, preparing to receive a 
 blow, it would gather its full strength at the threatened 
 point. There was the sound of moving cannon, the 
 clink of bullets, the sigh of the ramrod in the barrel 
 when the charge was driven home, and the mutter of 
 men talking, as they chose shrapnel and canister. 
 
 The Virginians gave their salute, and turned their 
 eyes once more to their enemy. They saw in the daz- 
 zling sunlight the long lines of our army, the solid array 
 of batteries, the mouths of many cannon, but they felt 
 no fear. I watched them, unable to take my eyes away. 
 
 They swung forward again with long, easy steps, 
 heads erect, shoulders back, the hot air upon their faces 
 and the sunlight pouring upon their heads. They knew 
 that they drew all eyes; they knew that the battle had 
 been fought so far without them, and marking well the 
 spot in the great concave wall of blue and black before 
 them, at which they intended to strike, they came with 
 measured tread. Pickett himself led. Kemper took 
 
388 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 the right and Armistead the left. Other columns of 
 men, ten thousand in number, formed on the flanks. 
 But the Virginians were the sword blade that was to be 
 driven home to the hilt. They were to win the victory 
 for the South, and the others were to help them keep it. 
 
 The light of the sun turned to fire; all its rays 
 seemed to be poured upon the valley which held so 
 many dead. It was like an arena, and these Virginians 
 were the gladiators, kept for the last and best act. 
 They knew the greatness and danger of their task, but 
 felt that it was an increase of honour. Their two 
 brigades marched steadily toward us, facing the posi- 
 tion held by Hancock, every eye on the spot chosen for 
 the blow. 
 
 The field was still silent, save for the advance of the 
 Virginians. The wounded raised themselves up to see; 
 the sun beat down on the faces of the dead; the march- 
 ing soldiers stepped lightly over them, and in our lines 
 sixty thousand men looked on. 
 
 Forward they came across the valley, Pickett meas- 
 uring the distance with his eye, and the men marching 
 with the long, easy stride of the open-air Virginian. 
 Handfuls of smoke lingered among the clefts and 
 rocks, or floated off before the light wind. The sun 
 was pitiless. Its heat inclosed all the field, and entered 
 the blood of the Virginians. It burned them, and 
 urged them to action. The red sprang into their eyes. 
 Our lines melted into one great blue blur, and there was 
 a haze between. The Southern shells began to fly over 
 their heads, and the roar of the cannon swelled behind 
 them. The Virginians paid no heed. It was the cov- 
 ering fire of their comrades. Those were friendly 
 shells sounding in their ears, and the threat of the 
 shrapnel was for their foe, not for them. 
 
 We were silent. The rifles were at rest. The can- 
 non mouths facing the Virginians, in sombre rows, were 
 voiceless. They may have thought that those cannon 
 
HIGH-WATER MARK 389 
 
 had been crushed, overwhelmed by the fire of the South, 
 and the gunners slain; but on they came into the valley, 
 keeping their ranks over the rough ground, a sword 
 blade of tempered steel balanced for the final stroke. 
 Well did they deserve the cry of admiration uttered by 
 both armies! 
 
 The smoke from the guns of their comrades began 
 to float about them. The valley again became dim. 
 The sun was veiled, but the intensity of the heat was 
 not relaxed. The air grew thick and sulphurous, and 
 the men breathed heavily. But there was no faltering 
 among the Virginians. They marched as to a review. 
 The general commanding half wheeled to the left, and 
 they wheeled too as if on parade and came on. The 
 smoke from the guns behind them passed far over 
 their heads, and was banking up in front into a 
 great bluish wall that rose up and hid us. It seemed 
 to quiver suddenly, and was then hurled aside by a 
 stream of fire. The report of forty heavy cannon, 
 massed directly before them, roared in the ears of the 
 Virginians, and the shells and shrapnel slashed their 
 ranks. Before the light of the flash died, and the 
 smoke closed again over the gap, they saw our gunners 
 bending over the guns, and to right and left, curving 
 away in a vast semicircle, thousands and thousands of 
 riflemen, some standing behind stone fences, some be- 
 hind hasty walls of earth, some in the open — but all 
 ready. 
 
 They saw then that our artillery had not been 
 crushed. It was there, with its gunners waiting. One 
 hundred cannon and fifty thousand rifles would pour 
 their fire upon the four thousand five hundred Virgin- 
 ians. But they did not falter. They were still gen- 
 tlemen, unafraid. This was a great task, but they 
 would not flinch it. They closed their ranks over the 
 fallen, and marched on into the heart of the smoke 
 and flame. 
 
390 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 It must have seemed to these heroic men that they 
 were truly marching through gates of fire. The wall 
 of smoke that stood in front of them was rent continu- 
 ously now by the blasts of the cannon. Solid shot beat 
 upon them, shell and shrapnel burst among them, and 
 the canister flew in their faces. In their ears was 
 always the roaring of guns, and the fiercer cry of the 
 missiles. Behind them they left the long red trail of 
 their dead. 
 
 The fire 01 a whole army converged upon this col- 
 umn, battery following battery, and now and then a 
 half dozen firing together in one huge gush of metal, 
 while always the shell and shrapnel flew to the mark. 
 The Virginians had been in the sunlit open for all 
 to see, and our gunners marked well their course, lash- 
 ing their squares with intersecting showers, and in- 
 creasing the speed of their fire as the Virginians came 
 nearer. The batteries worked like smooth and deadly 
 machines. None spoke there save the chiefs, who gave 
 sharp orders, but the cannoneers breathed hard and fast 
 as they served their pieces with naked brown arms, 
 upon which the great muscles bunched up in knots 
 under the strain. 
 
 The Virginians did not turn. They advanced di- 
 rectly into the storm which swelled out to meet them, 
 and began the ascent of our slopes. Their numbers 
 were melting, their squares were dwindling, incessantly 
 shorn away by the cannon fire, but their ranks were un- 
 broken, the living stepping in place of the dead, and 
 on they came to the music of the guns. 
 
 I saw these men again, through the film of smoke 
 and fire, and again my heart swelled, for I knew that 
 they had not flinched. There they were in the red 
 haze, coming as straight as ever. I looked a question at 
 Shaftoe. He did not speak; his voice could not have 
 been heard then, and he looked back the reply: " I see; 
 they will not stop ! " Once more I felt that sense of 
 
HIGH-WATER MARK 391 
 
 pride. These were of my own South, and Americans, 
 too, like those of the North. 
 
 The Virginians wheeled again, and this time to- 
 ward the right. Over their heads the Southern shells 
 were still flying, though slowly now. The bottoms of 
 the ammunition chests were in plain view, and the 
 spirit of the Southern cannonade, from lack of material, 
 declined; yet it was a time when powder and shell were 
 most needed by them. 
 
 The Virginians looked up now and then, when the 
 shells flew over their heads, and perhaps they noticed 
 their fewness, but they took no alarm from it, approach- 
 ing with the same steady valour and resolved purpose. 
 But they needed less space at every step. The heat of 
 the fire into which they marched was increasing. It 
 licked through the lines, clipped off the companies, and 
 ate into the heart of the brigades. There was a steady 
 compression of the squares, closing up over their losses; 
 the solidity remained, but the size decreased. A won- 
 derful cutting down of the division had occurred since 
 its start a few hundred yards back, but there was no de- 
 crease in its speed. The men swung their shoulders 
 once to see if their supports — the ten thousand — were 
 there, but they did not find them. " Lost in the 
 smoke! " thought the Virginians. The forty-five hun- 
 dred were alone marching against our entire army. 
 The fifty thousand rifles facing them might become 
 sixty thousand, seventy thousand; the hundred cannon 
 might turn to two hundred, and the Virginians knew it, 
 but their stride was unbroken, though they were now on 
 the rocky slopes, and their object was still the same — 
 the heart of our force. 
 
 That fire in front served as a beacon; otherwise they 
 would have been infolded in the smoke and blinded 
 by it. They could see neither to right nor left, but 
 they did not look that way. Their gaze was always 
 in front, and the light ahead never failed. It was 
 
392 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 the light of destruction, but it was there and it was a 
 beacon. 
 
 We marked the steady advance of the Virginians, 
 and wondered at it. Exceptional courage had become 
 common in this war, but we had not seen before such 
 an exhibition as this. The admiration shown by us, 
 when the Virginians first appeared, increased, but it did 
 not diminish by one particle the activity of our men 
 with the guns, and as the hostile lines approached, the 
 fire upon them rapidly grew heavier, fresh cannon, 
 which had been short of all but canister, opening and 
 doubling the volume of projectiles thrown into the faces 
 of the advancing men. 
 
 Then I heard a shrill crash which displaced for a 
 moment the roar of the cannon in my ears. It was a 
 new note, angrier and sharper than that of the great 
 guns — the voice of countless rifles, and the bullets 
 flew among the Virginians, cutting down their squares 
 twice as fast as before. The wall of fire in their front 
 broadened and rose. No chance for the smoke bank to 
 settle down now! It was blown away always by the 
 cannon and rifles. Perhaps the thoughts of some of 
 the Virginians as they marched reached back to their 
 own Virginia hillsides, which they now knew few would 
 ever see again, but it was only a brief memory, and 
 their minds turned again to the enemy before them. 
 They had crossed some fields, inclosed by strong fences, 
 yet these obstacles did not even break their order, and 
 they were now at the foot of our hill that they were to 
 attack. They swung their shoulders again to feel for 
 their supports, but still they were not there. The ten 
 thousand seemed hopelessly lost in the smoke, and the 
 Virginians began to climb the hill. 
 
 Our lines were only two hundred yards away, and, 
 beyond, the Virginians saw their destination, the heart 
 of the Northern army, a little grove of trees, oaks, 
 gnarled and dwarfed, fit emblems of the stern soil on 
 
HIGH-WATER MARK 393 
 
 which they grew. These were the distinguishing mark 
 of a narrow plateau, bounded on the west by rocks ris- 
 ing four or five feet, placed there by Nature, like a wall. 
 Across the same plateau ran a stone fence, from whose 
 shelter batteries were blazing, and in a second direction 
 ran another. Eocks and fences were lined with troops, 
 and their crests were aflame. The scrubby trees seemed 
 to be surrounded with strong fortifications, and the goal 
 of the Virginians was high. They saw it all by the 
 light of the guns, the plateau, the dwarfed oaks in their 
 summer green, the walls and fences, the batteries piled 
 against each other, and the great army bending for- 
 ward to meet them. The whistle of the friendly shells 
 over their heads was lost in the hostile crash. 
 
 The Virginians began to discharge their rifles, 
 shooting steadily and straight, replying at last to the 
 fire which had so long beat upon them. But their own 
 approach made of them a better target. The vast fire 
 of small arms bent upon them increased, the bullets 
 from thousands and tens of thousands of rifles flying 
 straight at the column — a fire that filled the air with 
 singing lead and beat upon the Virginians like a storm, 
 deadly, incessant, pitiless. The red trail that they left 
 behind them widened, the squares melted half away, our 
 army infolded them, the cannon and the rifles crashed 
 upon them from the front, from the right, from the 
 left. Never before had men marched into such a fire. 
 Behind them only stood no foes, but the Virginians had 
 no thought of going that way. Before them waved the 
 scrubby oaks, their green turned red in the cannon 
 glare; around them was a sea of hostile faces, a flood 
 that poured on them, but they did not falter. 
 
 They were still in compact squares, closing up of 
 their own accord, and pressed together by the fire of 
 our army, that now struck them on three sides. They 
 felt the Northern enemy at their throat, and, stretching 
 their muscles, they threw him off, only to see him press- 
 
394 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 ing down again with the same force and weight. They 
 marched on, cleaving the way, loading and firing their 
 rifles, sending volley after volley, which seemed to be 
 lost in the heaving wall of blue, and keeping their eyes 
 steadily fixed on the clump of trees which they had 
 chosen for their goal. They never looked back now at 
 the red trail they left, but, heads yet erect, pushed on in 
 the deepening fire. 
 
 Their generals were still alive — Pickett, Armistead, 
 Garnett, Kemper, and the others. They pointed with 
 their swords through the red mist toward the trees, and 
 the mangled squares of the Virginians, gathering them- 
 selves anew, rushed on at double speed. Garnett, who 
 led the first brigade, dropped dead on the slope. His 
 men paused a moment and fired, their bullets covering 
 with black spots the stone wall that sheltered the 
 Northern troops just before them. Then their com- 
 rades pressed on from behind, and all sprang forward 
 together, raising a tremendous shout, for they were now 
 about to come to close quarters. 
 
 Some of our troops shrank back, not afraid, but 
 amazed at this red body of men hurled among us, as if 
 utterly reckless of death. It reminded them of nothing 
 so much as a dripping sword blade thrust forward with 
 vehement force. It was cutting its way through all ob- 
 stacles, a wonderful exhibition of courage and daring. 
 Hancock, the ever-ready, suddenly brought up a fresh 
 division and poured a new fire upon the flank of the 
 Virginians, slashing their lines and littering the 
 ground with their fallen, but it made no difference with 
 their course. A solid, compact mass, they hurled them- 
 selves like a single huge cannon shot upon us. 
 
 A deep shiver ran through our army, and the 
 squares burst apart beneath the blow. Then the 
 mighty mass recovered and threw itself upon the Vir- 
 ginians. 
 
 But it was impossible to stop this bolt, shot with 
 
HIGH-WATER MARK 395 
 
 so much force. The Virginians pierced our front 
 lines and drove at those behind. They were mad with 
 the fury of the moment, still a cohesive body, red 
 and dripping, fierce and indomitable, surrounded and 
 pressed by overwhelming numbers, but unafraid, their 
 lines flaming with the fire of their rifles, their bayonets 
 flashing, and still cleaving their way to the heart of 
 our force. Our breath was on their faces. Bayonets 
 crossed with theirs, but beyond stood the trees that they 
 had marked as their halting place, and they would 
 not stop. Everything was in a flame to them. They 
 could hear invisible drums beating them on, and the 
 projectiles played the same tune. 
 
 Our generals redoubled the attack; they whirled 
 into line guns that had been resting; troops not yet in 
 the battle were rushed into the mass; from the clump 
 of trees marked by the Virginians as their prize, Cush- 
 ing and his cannon opened fire. Some of the brigades, 
 turning about, closed in from behind, and the Vir- 
 ginians pressed on, the centre of a gigantic combat that 
 inclosed them, a turmoil of men fighting hand to hand, 
 of smoke and flame gushing from many cannon and 
 rifles, of the crash of artillery, of blood, sweat, cries, 
 and death. 
 
 The Virginians shook off for a moment the mass 
 that clung to them, but it hurled itself back, heavier, 
 more crushing than ever. Their steps became slower, 
 the trees seemed farther away, the clouds of smoke 
 strangled them, the flames burned their faces, the 
 streams of projectiles slashed their ranks, and the sun- 
 light, piercing at times through the smoke, showed the 
 shattered squares dissolving like mists under that 
 frightful fire. A groan arose from the Virginians. 
 But few of their squares were left. The trees, waving 
 their green boughs in the gentle wind, were only a 
 little distance away. Biit they had not been reached. 
 Beneath these boughs stood the guns of Cushing, firing 
 20 
 
396 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 upon the enemy as fast as the cannoneers could load 
 them. 
 
 " Come! " shouted the fiery Armistead, snatching 
 off his hat and raising it on the point of his sword. 
 
 He rushed forward upon the cannon. A few men, 
 sevenscore perhaps, followed him. The others were 
 smothered by the hostile mass, which poured over them, 
 wave after wave, like a flood. 
 
 Northern troops rushed in before Armistead. He 
 and his sevenscore cut through them, but all were 
 mingled in a turmoil, a confused, struggling heap, and 
 the cannon feared to fire where friend and foe alike 
 would be the target. 
 
 A fierce combat began before the guns, a medley of 
 rifle and pistol shots, of metal ringing on metal, of 
 shouts, cries, and oaths, and a pillar of flame and smoke 
 inclosed it all. 
 
 The Virginians passed through, Armistead still at 
 their head, and sprang upon Cushing's guns. They 
 had reached the trees, the heart of our army, but only a 
 hundred of them were there. Over them waved the 
 green foliage, and before them, eye to eye, were the 
 Northern men. 
 
 The gunners and the soldiers supporting them 
 threw themselves upon the little band of Virginians, 
 and they fought over the cannon. Armistead, shot 
 through by many bullets, fell, and Cushing fell beside 
 him. There, with the hot July sun on their faces, they 
 lay, dying under the clump of trees, the high-water 
 mark of the South. 
 
 The little band that came were overwhelmed, slain, 
 or captured. From the battle slope behind them, 
 through which they had passed, rose all the sounds of 
 conflict. The others were not able to follow. Our 
 troops had closed in again and shut the way. These 
 Virginians who had not yet reached the trees might 
 have turned back, but they would not. They stood 
 
HIGH-WATER MARK 397 
 
 there, in the centre of our army, firing their rifles, their 
 flags planted on captured breastworks, unable to come 
 forward, refusing to go backward, all their generals 
 killed but Pickett, all their field officers fallen, save 
 one lieutenant-colonel; three generals, fifteen field offi- 
 cers down, yet refusing to yield. 
 
 They no longer hoped for a triumph. Its impossi- 
 bility was evident to all, but the spirit of resistance was 
 strong. They had not come so far merely to surrender. 
 They heard their enemies shouting to them to yield, 
 but the cries made no impression upon them, and with 
 rifles pointed in every direction they faced the shells 
 and bullets. Their squares were crumbling fast. The 
 close lines around them were contracting, and soon they 
 would need but little space. 
 
 There was a tremendous discharge of artillery into 
 their ranks, and a great cloud of smoke settled over 
 the Virginians. Before it raised, some bodies of men 
 burst through and joined them. They were friends, 
 fragments of the supports which had been lost in the 
 cannon smoke, and were fighting at the wrong place. 
 Detached from their comrades, these wandered at last 
 toward the Virginians, and, breaking through the circle 
 of foes, united themselves with the remnants of Pick- 
 ett's men. There they stood together, cheered by the 
 partnership, yet lost in the mass of enemies who con- 
 verged upon them, the odds as great as ever. 
 
 The Virginians and their new comrades could see 
 but dimly. The smoke was in their eyes, the heat was 
 still in their blood, but there was no longer any hope, 
 any anticipation of victory. Nothing was left for them 
 but to stand to the last, and that they prepared to do. 
 Their numbers were decreasing so fast that soon they 
 must disappear wholly. The force pressing upon them 
 was so great that their own fire made no impression 
 upon it. The attack had failed for the South, and with 
 it the entire battle. Yet they fought, while the ring 
 
398 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 around them, a mass of many thousand men, pressed 
 closer and closer, infolding and crushing them. 
 
 Now the smoke that hung in a vast bank over Ceme- 
 tery Hill was kindly blotting out the difference be- 
 tween friend and foe, and from the tangle and density 
 came some of the Southerners,, cast forth as it were 
 from a cloud of fire; stragglers here, a company there, 
 disordered groups, scorched and battered survivors. 
 
 I was one of those in the great circle that pressed 
 upon the Virginians, and upon the few who joined them 
 at the last moment. I had never lost my admiration for 
 these brave men and their wonderful march, but I did 
 not forget that they were my official enemies. As the 
 figures of those who yet lived shot out of the smoke 
 bank, I found myself face to face with a tall man, whose 
 long white hair was flying about his head. 
 
 " Surrender, major! " I cried; " it is I — Kings- 
 ford! " 
 
 Major Titus Tyler looked at me a moment as if he 
 did not recognise me, like one dazed, then he dropped 
 his sword, and suddenly burst out weeping. 
 
 "Where are the others, Henry?" he cried; "am I 
 the only one left alive? " 
 
 I looked for his comrades, and I could not answer 
 him. I saw nothing but our army, and the smoke, and 
 the flash of the firing which inclosed and compressed 
 the last of the Southern column. The major put his 
 hands before his eyes and said not another word. 
 
 The ring of blue drew its coils tighter and tighter 
 and crushed the Virginians. The firing sank suddenly, 
 the smoke lifted a little, and when we looked again we 
 saw no enemy. 
 
 Out of the forty-five hundred who came up the hill, 
 only one thousand went back to the Southern army. 
 
 When the fragments of the Virginians burst out of 
 the fire and smoke, the Southern leaders on Seminary 
 
HIGH-WATER MARK 399 
 
 Kidge knew that the battle was over, and the last blow 
 had failed; but the reserves advanced and met the fugi- 
 tives, the batteries were ready, and the Army of North- 
 ern Virginia, calm and threatening, bade us come if we 
 would. 
 
 Fortune, wavering for three days, had given her de- 
 cree at last. The South had lost; the North had won. 
 
 But the South was still defiant. She stood upon 
 her hill, arms in hand, and said to us, " Touch me if 
 you dare! " 
 
CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 THE FIELD OF THE SLAIN 
 
 Gettysburg was ended. The little town, before 
 unknown, and yet scarcely realizing it, took her famous 
 place in history. The fire of the cannon and the rifles 
 died, and one of those strange silences that marked at 
 times the changes of this battle came over the field. 
 
 The two armies, North and South, stood upon their 
 opposing hills looking at each other, the South a hedge 
 of arms, fierce, challenging, sure that she could repel 
 any attack, and inviting it. 
 
 The attack did not come. The silence lasted. The 
 sun was yet high in the skies, and its dazzling light 
 drove the smoke away. The valley, now truly a valley 
 of the dead, stained, torn by cannon shot, filled with 
 bodies, rose up from the vapours and confronted both 
 North and South. 
 
 A deep sense of awe crept over us all. The collapse 
 came from the passions, the tumults, the carnage, all 
 the terrible struggles of so many days and nights; we 
 saw between us what we had done: fifty thousand men 
 killed or wounded, a wreck unparalleled, countrymen 
 all, the grandsons of men who had fought beside each 
 other to establish the same country. We were appalled, 
 because the picture of Gettysburg, after the fiercest pas- 
 sion was over and while the field was yet fresh, made 
 upon every brain the impression that the triumph was 
 400 
 
THE FIELD OF THE SLAIN 401 
 
 to none of us. We were destroyers, and we beheld 
 our work! 
 
 The singular pause endured; the clouds and shreds 
 of smoke floated far away over the ridges; the sky be- 
 came again a sheet of burning blue; the heat of the 
 sun grew more intense; its rays, brilliant and searching, 
 were poured upon the hills, and the valley and every 
 rock stood out like carving; there frowned the Eound 
 Tops; yonder, in the Devil's Den, where the sharp- 
 shooters lay dead, the shadows still hovered. Upon 
 the slope of Cemetery Hill, Lee could see the clump of 
 trees, the dwarfed oaks, beneath which Armistead and 
 Cushing had fallen side by side, the extreme point to 
 which the fire and pride of the Virginians had carried 
 them. 
 
 The silence was succeeded by that murmur and 
 rumble so familiar to the ears of the troops; we began 
 to recover from our stupefaction, the deep sense of op- 
 pression that overwhelmed us, and we moved about 
 and began to talk again, glad that the battle was over, 
 glad that we were alive, and seeking to discover what 
 comrades also lived. 
 
 " Will they come again? " I asked of Shaftoe. 
 
 " I think not," replied the veteran, willing for once 
 to be a tentative prophet. " All of us have had enough. 
 When I think of the last three days I wonder how you, 
 or I, or anybody else come to be alive." 
 
 I did not answer. I was enjoying the luxury of rest, 
 lying upon the ground with every limb relaxed, feeling 
 now the long strain of the three days, and thinking of 
 Elinor. 
 
 The afternoon began to wane. The fire of the sun 
 abated, the dense, tremulous heat yielded to the shadows 
 of the twilight. The wounded turned their faces to the 
 skies and thanked God that the night was coming. The 
 west glowed redly, but the east was gray. The two 
 armies, watching each other, saw figures become dim 
 
402 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 and blend into the group. Then night, lighted by the 
 clear and full moon, sank down for the third time over 
 this field of the slain. 
 
 Gettysburg was ended, but the country yet knew it 
 not. The wires that had clicked so volubly for many 
 days were still clicking, asking their unanswered ques- 
 tions; the rumours and reports that came to the great 
 cities were swelling in volume, and sometimes spoke 
 with a certain note, but men knew nothing to believe, 
 much to disbelieve. Gettysburg was yet without its 
 sombre fame, save to itself. 
 
 That night those of either army who had not work 
 to do slept the deep sleep, or rather lay in the torpor of 
 utter collapse, resting from three days of supreme effort 
 and emotion — three such days as America had never 
 known before. Some of the wounded were gathered 
 up, but others who could not move lay where they 
 had fallen, and they were many; far up the thousands 
 went the tragic roll. But the noise was slight for 
 that narrow area upon which so many men were 
 gathered; the wounded, as usual, were uncomplaining, 
 awaiting in silence the help that would or would not 
 come. 
 
 It was about the twilight hour when I found Elinor 
 again. She was sitting by the side of Pembroke, who 
 was lying on a blanket, and the wounded man's eyes 
 followed her in a manner that stirred my sympathy. 
 Elinor's own face was pale — paler than I had ever seen 
 it before, and I understood what it was to a woman 
 to witness such a battle as Gettysburg. 
 
 " Is it all over, Henry? " she asked. 
 
 " I think so," I replied. 
 
 " I shall hear all those guns again — many times,'* 
 she said. 
 
 Pembroke raised himself on his arm and looked 
 at me. 
 
 " Henry," he said, " I know that we were driven 
 
THE FIELD OF THE SLAIN 403 
 
 back. Major Tyler has been here, and he told me, but 
 he says that we made a great fight." 
 
 " There was never a better/' I replied. " The 
 charge of the Virginians has no equal." 
 
 A trim figure stepped into the light. It was Major 
 Titus Tyler, a prisoner — my prisoner even, but restored 
 to his own cheerful bearing. 
 
 " You have not conquered us, Henry," he said. 
 " "We have simply worn ourselves out beating you, and 
 shall have to give up. The odds against us are too 
 great. I knew that we must fail when, looking across 
 at this hill, I saw a general ride out on a white horse, 
 and heard him shout to his men the command: ' By 
 nations right wheel; forward march the world! ' " 
 
 Then he proceeded to prove to us his proposition. 
 
 The night passed on, and the darkest hours came, 
 without a shot. Even the skirmishers were quiet; every 
 unsatisfied ambition cherished by them had been grati- 
 fied in those three days so full of opportunities; there 
 was no need for industry, and they rested. The lights 
 of torches and camp fires glowed again on the opposing 
 hills and slopes, but, to those who watched, these 
 beacons seemed more friendly to-night, as if an end had 
 come for a time to passion, and men might sleep in 
 peace, even under the guns of the enemy. 
 
 The day came, the morning of July 4, 1863, the 
 national anniversary, flooding the world with light, 
 and showing to the Army of the Potomac its enemy for- 
 tified on Seminary Eidge and defying attack, even in- 
 viting it. Its front was a hedge of cannon mouths, and 
 behind these the riflemen stood in deep rows; it was 
 impervious to assault, and Meade again waited, content 
 now to watch his formidable antagonist. 
 
 The sun, so bright at daylight, was soon dimmed 
 by gray vapours rising on the far horizon; the close, 
 tremulous heat was again in the air, the earth perspired; 
 the morning was growing hotter, closer, and darker. 
 
404 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 The ctey, the national anniversary, spent in so 
 strange a manner, was verging on toward noon, and the 
 heat was increasing in density; the vapours rising on 
 the horizon grew to clouds of steely blue, darkening to 
 gray, and then to black, rolling in sombre waves before 
 the sun and hiding its light; the faint breeze died; 
 the trampled grass ceased to quiver, the red stains upon 
 it turned to brown; imprisoned in this damp, close air, 
 which lay so heavily upon the lungs, the men lost their 
 energy and the horses drooped. 
 
 " A storm is about to break," said a young soldier 
 beside me. 
 
 " It's time," said another. 
 
 The earth was in complete stillness, save for the 
 murmur and movement of soldiers. The day dark- 
 ened to the verge of twilight, the clouds in formless 
 legions rolled 'across the sky, the deep hush of Nature 
 seemed full of expectancy. Like the army, it was wait- 
 ing, but the stillness was broken in a few moments by 
 the mutter of thunder from the west; the mutter grew 
 to a rumble, and the rumble to a crash and a peal; 
 strokes of lightning burned across the sky and blazed in 
 the eyes of the soldiers, a rushing noise mingled with 
 the peal of the thunder, and afar we saw the sweep of 
 the rain and the wind; the big drops began to fall, and 
 the dry earth steamed at their touch; the wounded felt 
 the cool water on their faces, and were grateful. 
 
 " The tear-drops of God! " said a young soldier with 
 florid imagery as he looked over the bloody field. 
 
 The rush of the rain deepened to a roar, and then it 
 burst in torrents upon the camps, flooding the armies, 
 soaking the dry earth, which thankfully drank it up, 
 giving back the deep green to the foliage, rushing in 
 streams down the slopes on which the brigades lately 
 had been fighting with such fire, and washing from the 
 grass the plentiful red that war had put there. 
 
 All Nature responded, indifferent to the battle that 
 
THE FIELD OF THE SLAIN 405 
 
 had raged so long, or forgetful that it had been. The 
 trampled grass, free from its red stains, straightened 
 up and glowed in green again, the wheat shone in 
 pure gold, on the far hills the forests were masses of 
 fresh foliage, and the earth, so lately burned and dead, 
 leaped to life, luxuriating in new sap and growth. 
 
 " This makes marching difficult," said Shaftoe. 
 " The artillery will plough to the hubs in the mud." 
 
 " But nobody is marching," I said. 
 
 Shaftoe did not reply, nor did he take his attentive, 
 inquiring eyes from the army on the opposite ridge. 
 
 The rain ceased by and by, and when the sunlight 
 broke through the thinning clouds, the Army of North- 
 ern Virginia turned its head toward the south and be- 
 gan to march away, leaving behind it the fatal field of 
 Gettysburg, but as defiant as ever, its rear and flanks 
 lined with batteries, the cavalry covering the wagons 
 containing its supplies and wounded, these wagons 
 forming a chain so long that, when the first at mid- 
 night were beyond Cashtown, sixteen miles away, the 
 last were still at Gettysburg — an army conscious that it 
 had failed in a great attempt, yet had made a new record 
 for courage and endurance, and was still saying to its 
 enemy, " Touch me if you dare ! " There was no sign of 
 fear or even panic in the ranks of its men; their faith 
 in their commander was still complete. No complaints 
 arose from the sixteen miles of wounded who stretched 
 in a long, black line over the muddy roads and fields 
 and through the darkness; men with the white faces 
 of pain who lay in rough carts and had nothing to 
 cheer them but their own courage and the sympathetic 
 gaze of the watchful horsemen riding beside them and 
 bending down now and then to ask what they wished. 
 
 There have been few processions more solemn than 
 the one that took its way toward the south that night 
 with its fifteen thousand or more of wounded, marching 
 in the rain and the darkness, but without lament. 
 
406 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 Many began to believe now that the Southern invasion 
 had rolled back forever; that the little clump of trees 
 on Cemetery Hill was the Southern high-water mark, 
 and would remain so; that the brilliant period of the 
 war had passed for the South, and henceforth she was 
 to fight without hope, and many more were to know 
 these facts soon. Yet none thought of yielding. The 
 only way to conquer the Southern army was to destroy 
 it. The North was to find the road to Eichmond still 
 long and weary. 
 
 When the Southern army began to retreat, our gen- 
 erals held a council. Should they or should they not 
 attack? They looked around at their broken brigades, 
 estimated their vast losses, and with the one voice said 
 "No." The Army of the Potomac had done enough 
 for the present. 
 
 The same day the voluble wires ceased to click and 
 ask their unanswered questions. The proclamation of 
 the President announced to the nation that the Army 
 of Northern Virginia had been defeated. Throughout 
 the North swelled the mighty wave of rejoicing. 
 
 The next morning the last Southern soldier was 
 gone from Seminary Ridge. 
 
CHAPTER XLV 
 
 THE LAST OF A LATEE ROMAN 
 
 It was ten months later, and Paul Warner was en- 
 tertaining his friends in a magnificent marquee on Vir- 
 ginia soil, in the rear of the Northern army. There 
 had been three fat years for Mr. Warner, and he shed 
 good humour as the sun sheds rays. His clothes were 
 rich, and a single diamond blazed from the soft folds of 
 the tie that encircled his huge neck. He had a great 
 capacity for making friends, and a yet greater capacity, 
 it was said, for using them. But Mr. Warner was a 
 host again, and in that office his intentions were good. 
 It was May, and the Virginia sun was warm, but sher- 
 bets and wines cooled in ice were served to all who 
 wished. In front of us was a red, sterile country, bear- 
 ing only bushes and dwarfed trees, a region wonderfully 
 like that through which I had passed on the night I 
 saw Lee and Jackson planning Chancellorsville. A 
 line of soldiers in faded blue were marching over a 
 distant hill, and beyond them arose a spire of smoke. 
 
 My wife, Elinor, sat on a camp stool near the en- 
 trance of the tent. She was dressed simply in gray, 
 the only touch of colour being a pink ribbon at her 
 throat. I had taken her to Washington immediately 
 after Gettysburg and given her into the care of her 
 uncle, Paul Warner. He loved her, and was proud of 
 her, however much repugnance both she and I might 
 feel toward him. Now, Mr. Warner, as he followed 
 
 407 
 
408 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 the Army of the Potomac, with which he transacted a 
 large and profitable business, insisted upon entertain- 
 ing his friends, and he demanded the presence of Elinor 
 that she might do him honour. 
 
 " Do you think that Grant will succeed in crushing 
 Lee?" asked Mr. Upton, a member of Congress, of 
 me. He was a tall, thin man, with high cheek bones, 
 and eyes close together. He affected ministerial gar- 
 ments and a ministerial air, and it was his custom to 
 denounce in Congress as extravagant any measure that 
 entailed the expenditure of money. By doing so he 
 acquired a great reputation for sagacity and economy, 
 and was known as a custodian of the people's rights. 
 He and Paul Warner were great friends. 
 
 " I do not know," I replied; " but I am sure that 
 he will not be turned back so easily as our other gener- 
 als who invaded Virginia." 
 
 The chief impression that Grant formed upon my 
 mind at Shiloh was that of will and endurance, and it 
 was confirmed by the few glimpses I had caught of 
 him in the East. Now he was leading us, and we were 
 expecting the two supreme commanders of the war to 
 meet in decisive conflict. 
 
 " You might ask the question of General Grant him- 
 self," said Elinor, with a smile, " for see, he is com- 
 ing! " 
 
 She spoke the truth. General Grant had alighted 
 from his horse already, and, accompanied by an aide, 
 was walking toward us. He was not imposing, but his 
 short, square figure seemed to me to express unflinch- 
 ing resolution. 
 
 Paul Warner, Mr. Upton, and most of the others 
 were effusive in their welcome. " I had invited you, 
 general, but I scarcely hoped for your presence. You 
 fall upon us, as you fall upon the enemy, when you are 
 not expected," said Mr. Warner, meaning to pay a com- 
 pliment. The general smiled faintly, but did not an- 
 
THE LAST OF A LATER ROMAN 409 
 
 swer. Then the introductions were made, and he be- 
 gan to talk to Elinor. He took an ice, but would touch 
 no wine. I noticed that his uniform was much soiled 
 and his beard unshaven. 
 
 I was outside the tent, and a senator, a large man 
 from one of the richest Northern States, was standing 
 beside me. I was off duty that day, after a period of 
 unusually long and hard service. 
 
 "Do you notice that smoke?" asked the senator 
 of me, pointing toward the thin bluish spire. " It is 
 increasing." 
 
 " I see," I said. " It is a large camp fire, or per- 
 haps the woods are burning." 
 
 " It may be so," he said. " But listen! " 
 
 I obeyed, and heard a faint but bass note, like an 
 imprisoned wind groaning up a ravine. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked the senator. 
 
 " A cannon shot," I replied, " or rather several of 
 them." 
 
 "Does not that mean a battle?" he asked, with 
 visible uneasiness. 
 
 " Maybe," I replied indifferently. I had become 
 hardened by three years' campaigning. It was not 
 now the sound of cannon shots to which I objected, 
 but to cannon balls. 
 
 " It may be the beginning of a great battle," he 
 said, with increasing alarm. 
 
 " Perhaps," I replied doubtfully. 
 
 And yet he was right. It was the first guns of the 
 Wilderness — that awful battle amid the burning forests, 
 rivalling Gettysburg itself in desperation and slaughter. 
 
 The distant rumble increased, and a dull red blur 
 appeared on the horizon. General Grant came to the 
 entrance of the tent and looked intently at the red 
 flashes. Then he opened his watch and glanced at it. 
 I was standing near him, and I distinctly heard him say 
 to himself, " Meade is exactly on time." He signed to 
 
410 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 the aide who held the horses to lead them forward, 
 bade adieu to us with great courtesy, especially to Eli- 
 nor, mounted, and rode toward the spurts of fire. 
 
 " Mr. Warner," said Mr. Upton, " is it not ad- 
 visable for us to withdraw? I must confess that I 
 am a man of peace. I have always opposed this wicked 
 war." 
 
 " It's only a skirmish," replied Paul Warner, " and 
 it's far away." Mr. Warner had grave faults, but cow- 
 ardice was not among them. 
 
 I said nothing, but I saw that it was more than a 
 skirmish. The thunder of the guns was still low but 
 steady, and a cloud of smoke was gathering on the hori- 
 zon. There were six or seven ladies in our party, but 
 Elinor was the only one who had seen a battle, and 
 she alone remained calm. 
 
 We left the tent and walked to a little hill near by, 
 from the summit of which we looked toward the battle- 
 field, although for a while we saw only the smoke and 
 the flashes of the firing. The country before us was 
 covered with thickets and dwarfed forests, and among 
 them the combatants were hidden. But the struggle 
 was extending with great rapidity, and presently we 
 saw a battle line several miles in length. The air quiv- 
 ered with the roll of the heavy guns, and we heard, too, 
 the distant rattle of the small arms. The cheeks of 
 the ladies began to turn pale. 
 
 "Are you sure it is safe here?" asked the senator 
 of me. I was the only soldier in the party. 
 
 " I am not at all sure of it," I could not resist reply- 
 ing. The ladies were not in hearing just at that mo- 
 ment, and, moreover, I spoke the truth. 
 
 I moved nearer to Elinor, and watched the rising 
 battle. "Look!" she said suddenly to me, and her 
 hand pressed my arm with nervous force. We saw an 
 entire battery driven in haste through the bushes not 
 half mile away. The combat was moving much nea r 
 
THE LAST OF A LATER ROMAN 411 
 
 The report of heavy guns suddenly came from both left 
 and right, and now we were infolded on three sides. 
 
 " Mr. Warner," I said, " you must withdraw with 
 the ladies at once! " 
 
 I saw that it was no time to wait. The battle, with 
 one of the abrupt changes for which no one can account, 
 was rolling down upon us. The sudden retreat of col- 
 our from Paul Warner's face showed that he understood 
 the danger. 
 
 We turned to flee, and our way was barred by horse- 
 men, who emerged suddenly from the bushes two hun- 
 dred yards away and came directly toward us. These 
 cavalrymen rode in gray. The ladies cried out with 
 fear, and we stopped, not knowing what to do. 
 
 Then a strange thing happened. A score of the 
 horsemen raised their rifles and fired at the. man who 
 led them, a handsome officer in a bright uniform. He 
 fell from his horse, and the others, wheeling about as 
 suddenly as they had come, galloped away, disappearing 
 in the thickets. 
 
 I ran toward the wounded man, attracted by the 
 sight of his face as he fell, and the others followed me. 
 He was lying partly upon his side, and with an in- 
 stinctive effort had composed both his features and his 
 dress before we arrived. It was Varian, dying from a 
 half dozen gunshot wounds. His face was pale from 
 weakness and loss of blood, but his manner was as high 
 and indifferent as it had ever been when I knew him 
 in his pride. In truth, I can not say that I did not see 
 him even now in his pride. He raised himself upon his 
 elbow and said to me: 
 
 " It is our last meeting, Mr. Kingsford, and you 
 have triumphed completely, as I have failed completely. 
 Will you pardon me for saying again that in the begin- 
 ning such an end would have seemed improbable? " 
 
 " Can't you take the others away? " I said hastily 
 to Mr. Warner, and he obeyed, leaving Elinor and me 
 27 
 
412 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 with Varian. I took off my coat, doubled it up, and 
 placed it under his head. He was too weak to sit up, 
 yet he seemed to retain all his mental strength. 
 
 " You are kind," he said, " but why should you 
 not be to your defeated and dying opponent? It may 
 be that kindness to a beaten enemy is the most exquisite 
 of all revenges, because, having proved already how 
 much you are his superior in strength, you now show to 
 him how much greater and finer your spirit is than his. 
 But I acquit you of any such intention, Mr. Kingsford. 
 You and your wife are wondering why I am here in 
 such a plight, shot by my own men. The tale is brief, 
 but you may find it instructive. A distrust of me has 
 been growing for a long time in the minds of the Con- 
 federate generals, and it has extended lately to the 
 troops. I have been watched, and I knew it, yet I was 
 not afraid. When this battle began I led a little troop 
 of cavalry over the hills and through the thickets for 
 the express purpose of capturing you, Mrs. Kingsford, 
 and your husband too. On this last day of my life I 
 paid you the finest compliment that I knew, neglecting 
 a great battle to devote special attention to a non-com- 
 batant. A faithful spy had informed me of your pres- 
 ence here. I told my men that it was a scouting ex- 
 pedition; but when they saw the ladies and the tents, 
 all their suspicions of me seemed to them justified. 
 They thought that I had led them into the heart of the 
 Northern army, intending to deliver them into your 
 hands. So they shot me down and galloped away." 
 
 He spoke clearly and distinctly. His pride and will 
 would not suffer him to speak otherwise, even in his 
 last moments. 
 
 I co aid not resist a feeling of sympathy because 
 such a man was coming to such an end. Tears were 
 in Elinor's eyes. 
 
 A faint smile flickered over Varian's face. 
 
 " Eecall what I told you, Mr. Kingsford," he said, 
 
THE LAST OF A LATER ROMAN 413 
 
 " and you will see that it was the truth. I belong to 
 the antique world, where men were permitted to rise 
 above their fellows and do whatever they chose if they 
 could find the power. I have tried to have my way in 
 this age, and you see my end. Perhaps I should have 
 been a brilliant figure in old Eome at her greatest and 
 worst. But I have always been willing to pay the price 
 for what I did or tried to do, and I do not complain 
 now. Would you object to lifting my head a little 
 higher, Mr. Kingsford? Eemember that I shall not 
 have the power to do you any more harm." 
 
 I raised his head. He looked at Elinor, and his gaze 
 became singularly soft. 
 
 " I trust you will remember, Mrs. Kingsford," he 
 said, his voice growing weak at last, " that I have — 
 always loved you with my whole heart. Would you 
 kiss me — just once? I ask you in the presence of your 
 husband. It would — smooth my way." 
 
 Elinor stooped, and her lips brushed his forehead. 
 Then he died quite peacefully. 
 
CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 THE CALL OF THE PLOUGH 
 
 Shaftoe and I served to the end of the war. We 
 followed Grant through the shades of the Wilderness, 
 the beginning of which I saw in Varian's death, and we 
 were present a few days later at Spottsylvania, when 
 nearly forty thousand men fell. We saw the charge on 
 the Southern intrenchments at Cold Harbor, where 
 the North lost twelve thousand in half an hour; we 
 were with Grant in all the long and ceaseless hammer- 
 ing of 1864, when the iron general, choosing the only 
 way, poured forward his numbers, regardless of battles 
 and losses, always striking at his enemy, giving him no 
 rest, while Lee, with his dwindling brigades, defended 
 every square foot of ground; and at the last, when the 
 South was crushed, and the great war over, we entered 
 Richmond, the Southern capital, with our comrades. 
 
 There was a little scene in Richmond after the sur- 
 render which had its pathetic side, but in which gaiety 
 then predominated. It was at the house of Mrs. Pem- 
 broke, and Sergeant Thomas Shaftoe, U. S. A., was 
 the host — that is, all except, Elinor, Mason, and myself, 
 were his prisoners, or virtually so. Mrs. Pembroke sat 
 at the head of the table, saddened a little by the down- 
 fall of the Confederacy, but too happy over the ending 
 of the war, and the return of her son from captivity, re- 
 covered of his wound, to grieve. Mary Pembroke did 
 not grieve at all, because De Courcelles was beside her, 
 414 
 
THE CALL OF THE PLOUGH 415 
 
 and it was only a month until their marriage. There 
 was Tourville, just well of his third wound, and Major 
 Titus Tyler, as usual the soul of dignity, and happy in 
 the conviction that the South had never been beaten, 
 but " had merely worn herself out beating the North." 
 It was Major Tyler and De Courcelles who did most of 
 the talking. The Frenchman, in particular, was full of 
 life and joy. He was one of the Southern soldiers who 
 in losing had won. Pembroke at length had all our 
 glasses filled — with water, as wine we had not — and, 
 rising to his feet, glass in hand, he said: 
 
 " Let us all drink, not to the Lost Cause, but to 
 those who fought for it." 
 
 We drank, none with a better grace than Mason 
 and I, who had fought against them, and we said no 
 more on that subject. 
 
 Then we saw the phenomenon of three million men 
 laying down their arms and going back peacefully to 
 work, a war ended the day the last battle was fought, 
 no executions for rebellion, no persecution, no revenge 
 of the conquerors upon the conquered, no acts that 
 would cause recollections more bitter than the war 
 itself, but a peace that was a peace, in fact as much as 
 in name. Nearly a million men had perished, but 
 vengeance was not to be sought for any one of them. 
 
 The men who had come four years before at the 
 call of the drum now began to listen to the call of the 
 plough. They were tired of so much war, of so many 
 battles, and the long tales of slaughter. They believed 
 that enough blood had been shed to drown any issue. 
 If one would not listen to the logic of all the bullets 
 fired in four years, he must remain deaf to everything. 
 As for themselves, they had fought all the old questions 
 to a solution. The people who stayed at home might 
 discuss them again if they felt like it, but they, the 
 soldiers, knew that such things were history now and no 
 longer living problems. 
 
416 IN CIKCLING CAMPS 
 
 They hated now the sound of the guns, and after so 
 long a period of silence, the call of the plough reached 
 them again, and was pleasant in their ears. They 
 heard the soft slide of the share as it cut through the 
 earth and turned the fresh soil up to the sun. They re- 
 membered the sweet smell of the corn lands in the 
 spring and the yellow gleam of the harvest in the 
 autumn. They had seen enough of war, its dangers 
 and excitement, and they longed once more for the 
 peace of the fields. Mostly farmers, boys yet, the 
 plough called them back to the old work and the old 
 task of maintaining old States and building new ones. 
 Their feet kept time to the call. 
 
 It was the same with North and South; the call 
 of the plough reached both, and was alike seductive. 
 The long-legged boys wished to see what had happened 
 at home since they left. Many had never heard from 
 there in all the four years, and they thought much of 
 the hills and plains and forests which were their birth- 
 place. 
 
 They had fought four years, and they had made a 
 war without parallel, but they were no seekers after 
 military glory, nor did they want a military rule, with 
 themselves as rulers. They wished to return to peace, 
 now that the fighting was over, and have done with 
 the sword. 
 
 The throb of the war-drum died. The sword and 
 bayonet were laid aside, the armies vanished, and the 
 myriads faded into the forests and the distant fields, 
 once more the peaceful builders of a peaceful republic. 
 
 Elinor and I were in Louisville, on our way home, 
 when Shaftoe left us. We had formed a great attach- 
 ment for this strong, cheerful man, who asked so little 
 of the world, and whose nature was so simple, so honest, 
 and yet so deep. 
 
 "Why do you persist in this, Shaftoe?" I asked. 
 " Why do you go out in the wild Western country, on 
 
THE CALL OF THE PLOUGH 417 
 
 those great dry plains, to serve as a common soldier, 
 to fight Indians, and perhaps to be killed and scalped 
 by them? " 
 
 " I am going out there," replied the veteran, with 
 his cheerful smile, " because I will be more satisfied on 
 those plains fighting Indians than I will be anywhere 
 else. I learned long ago that the happiest man is the 
 one who is doing with all his heart the work that he 
 likes best to do. Well, I am a soldier — a born one, I 
 think; not a general, or a colonel, or a captain, but 
 a private; I peel my own potatoes. I don't like the re- 
 sponsibilities of an officer; if I were one, I'd be making 
 mistakes myself instead of having so much satisfaction 
 in talking about those of other people. Besides, a 
 soldier has his uses, as the last four years have shown." 
 
 " But the work out there is obscure, and the public 
 never hears of it." 
 
 "What of that? A man can learn his trade, even 
 if ten thousand people are not looking on and applaud- 
 ing, and there's a heap of things yet that I want to 
 know. I'll be with the old regular army again, the 
 little army that fights battles, and makes thousand-mile 
 marches, and stands boiling heat, and a cold that freezes 
 your whiskers; that knows what it is in the sand deserts 
 to value diamonds less than a little cold water; that 
 dies alone on the endless plains, but always does its 
 work while life and muscle last. They are the men, 
 Henry, that I've lived my life with, and I'll finish it 
 with them too. What have I got to complain of? I 
 do not know what it is to be sick; I sleep like an inno- 
 cent baby when I have the chance; I've the appetite of 
 a wolf, the digestion of an ostrich, and the strength of 
 most men. Besides, I'll be a master builder out there! 
 Think of that! Not a mere builder of houses, or for- 
 tunes, or reputations, but a builder of great States." 
 
 " So you are to be a contributor to the wealth and 
 greatness of the nation, Shaftoe? " 
 
418 IN CIRCLING CAMPS 
 
 " That's so. But sometimes it seems to me that I'm 
 merely helping to roll up the fortune of some Eastern 
 millionaire, who will go off to Europe to live, where his 
 children will learn to sneer at the country that pro- 
 duced him. Let me have that one little complaint, and 
 I don't even say that I mean it. But don't forget that 
 out in the "West I'll be doing the work that I love, and 
 it's a good place to learn about men. I think that the 
 human race is governed too much and trained too little, 
 and maybe out there, in our little old regular army, we 
 strike a happy medium." 
 
 " I know you'll do it well," I said. 
 
 We said good-bye, and the old soldier began his 
 journey to the Great Plains. Elinor and I turned 
 southward. We were happy now, but we were sad, too, 
 for our people, and I pitied, the South. The land was 
 filled with widows and orphans; whole families had 
 perished, the rich were poor, the poor were poorer; but, 
 above all, the old systems were gone; men must not 
 alone begin anew, but learn anew. The Southern race 
 stod bare and naked on the bare and naked earth. 
 
 But we were proud that the Union had endured 
 such a strain and had come out of its trial greater and 
 stronger than ever. The old faith of the millions had 
 been vindicated. 
 
 Elinor and I did not tarry after Shaftoe's farewell, 
 but departed the next day for my grandmother's. We 
 had not been able to give her the exact date of our 
 coming, and when we left the train at the little station, 
 a tiny village of a dozen houses, we walked down the 
 road that gleamed across the country like a long, white 
 ribbon. It was all familiar, precisely as it was when we 
 left it — the road, the hills, the trees, the houses; the 
 fences even were not changed; the war had gone 
 around it; our own State was harmed but little, and 
 this portion not at all. 
 
 We forgot now all the war and its destruction, re- 
 
THE CALL OF THE PLOUGH 419 
 
 membering only that it was peace, and that we were 
 together. 
 
 " Is it not beautiful? " said Elinor. 
 
 We walked on. It was June. The beautiful coun- 
 try rolled far away in gentle waves; the grass was like 
 velvet, and the fruit trees bloomed in cones of white 
 and pink. 
 
 " Will my aunt forgive us? " asked Elinor pres- 
 ently. 
 
 " She has done so already," I replied. 
 
 I had seen Mrs. Maynard once and briefly in Eich- 
 mond after the surrender, and while she was not genial, 
 she accepted the inevitable. She was now at her home, 
 and we would visit her soon, although Madam Arlington 
 must come first. 
 
 The sun was setting when we saw through the trees 
 the roof of my grandmother's house. It was un- 
 changed; the cedars had not lost a bough; the same 
 old peacock strutted on the lawn and spread his gor- 
 geous tail in rivalry with the sun. 
 
 I think that some prescience warned my grand- 
 mother of our coming. She stood upon the portico, 
 with William Penn just behind her, where the last rays 
 of the dying day shone upon her strong old face. Then 
 she met us, her eyes full of gladness, saying only: 
 
 " I knew that you would come back." 
 
 THE END 
 
"A FRESH AND CHARMING NOVEL/' 
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry. 
 
 A Story of Italian New York. By Henry Wil- 
 ton Thomas. Illustrated by Emil Pollak. nmo. 
 Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 ** By far the most complete and satisfying description that 
 has been given of life in the Italian quarter of New York. . . . 
 Incidentally a very good novel, reasonable in its purpose and 
 character drawing, intricate in plot, and dramatic in its action." 
 — Philadelphia Times. 
 
 "A breezy book. It * goes ' from start to finish, and the ac- 
 tion moves in a rich atmosphere, albeit that of the poorest of 
 New York's alien colonies. . . . The best study of Italian life 
 in New York, and of its special environment that has ever been 
 drawn." — New York Herald. 
 
 " Through a very cleverly contrived course of events the 
 complex life of the colony shines out in most resplendent pro- 
 portions. . . . The story is an exceedingly clever piece of hu- 
 morous writing." — Pittsburg Chronicle-Telegraph. 
 
 " The author has evidently made a close study of the Italian 
 quarter and its people and customs, and has utilized his knowl- 
 edge to best advantage." — Denver Republican. 
 
 "Character drawing and humor of an excellent quality." — 
 Rochester Herald. 
 
 " Richly humorous, ' The Last Lady of Mulberry ' is one 
 of the most enjoyable little romances we have recently read. It 
 presents a picture of the Little Italy known in all our larger cities 
 in a way that is more effective than any number of serious dis- 
 sertations. " — Providence News. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 
 
By ELLEN THORNEYCROFT FOWLER. 
 
 JUST PUBLISHED. 
 
 The Farringdons. 
 
 A Novel. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " A most readable story of the fortunes of several interesting people. . . . 
 A plot that threads its way through the story reaches a conclusion the unex- 
 pectedness of which adds to the pleasure that the reader will find in this 
 romance." — Providence News. 
 
 " Miss Fowler makes her own audience, which, large as it is in England, 
 must be even larger in this country. There is a deeper note in this story 
 than any she has yet sounded. . . . ' The Farringdons ' is, above all else, 
 a proclamation to the world that the religion which Christ brought to hu- 
 manity is a living power, undiminished in strength, the mainspring of the 
 actions and aspirations of millions of Anglo-Saxons. "—New York Mail and 
 Express. 
 
 " A book of intense interest." — Springfield Union. 
 
 " Its whole atmosphere is that of a June morning. ... It is full of crisp 
 and original dialogue, and beneath all the persiflage and gossip there is a 
 strong undercurrent of wholesome and high-minded philosophy." — Chicago 
 Tribune. 
 
 " Sparkling dialogue, careful character drawing, and admirable descrip- 
 tions are all here, but above all we have real people, and teal people who 
 are interesting. The book is another evidence of the high abilities of the 
 writer." — Cincinnati Times-Star. 
 
 Concerning Isabel Carnaby. 
 
 A Novel. New edition, with Portrait and Biographical Sketch of the 
 Author. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " No one who reads it will regret it or forget it." — Chicago Tribune. 
 
 " For brilliant conversations, epigrammatic bits of philosophy, keenness 
 of wit, and full insight into human nature, ' Concerning Isabel Carnaby ' is 
 a remarkable success.'' — Roston Transcript. 
 
 " An excellent novel, clever and witty enough to be very amusing, and 
 serious enough to provide much food for thought." — London Daily Tele- 
 graph. 
 
 A Double Thread. 
 
 A Novel. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " The excellence of her writing makes . . . her book delightful reading. 
 She is genial and sympathetic without being futile, and witty without being 
 cynical." — Literature, London. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 A Story of American Life. By Edward Noyes 
 Westcott. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " David Harum deserves to be known by all good Americans ; 
 he is one of them in boundless energy, in large-heartedness, in 
 shrewdness, and in humor." — The Critic, New York. 
 
 " We have in the character of David Harum a perfectly 
 clean and beautiful study, one of those true natures that every 
 one, man, woman, or child, is the better for knowing." — The 
 World, Cleveland. 
 
 "The book continues to be talked of increasingly. It seems 
 to grow in public favor, and this, after all, is the true test of 
 merit." — The Tribune, Chicago. 
 
 "A thoroughly interesting bit of fiction, with a well-defined 
 plot, a slender but easily followed ' love ' interest, some bold and 
 finely sketched character drawing, and a perfect gold mine of 
 shrewd, dialectic philosophy." — The Call, San Francisco. 
 
 "The newsboys on the street can talk of * David Harum,' 
 but scarcely a week ago we heard an intelligent girl of fifteen, in 
 a house which entertains the best of the daily papers and the 
 weekly reviews, ask, 'Who is Kipling?'" — The Literary 
 World, Boston. 
 
 " A masterpiece of character painting. In David Harum, 
 the shrewd, whimsical, horse-trading country banker, the author 
 has depicted a type of character that is by no means new to fic- 
 tion, but nowhere else has it been so carefully, faithfully, and 
 realistically wrought out." — The Herald, Syracuse. 
 
 "We give Edward Noyes Westcott his true place in Amer- 
 ican letters — placing him as a humorist next to Mark Twain, as 
 a master of dialect above Lowell, as a descriptive writer equal to 
 Bret Harte, and, on the whole, as a novelist on a par with the 
 best of those who live and have their being in the heart of hearts 
 of American readers. If the author is dead — lamentable fact — 
 his book will live." — Philadelphia Item. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 
 
BOOKS BY CY WARMAN. 
 
 Snow on the Headlight. 
 
 A Story of the Great Burlington Strike. I 2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 " Mr. Warman holds a unique position among our tellers of tales, since he 
 alone is a practical railroad man, who knows the work, and has done it, in all 
 its details." — New York Mail and Express. 
 
 " Plenty of close-range photographs, interior views, of the great Burlington 
 strike are to be found in Cy Warman' s book." — Philadelphia Times. 
 
 " It has the great virtue of being a plain story plainly told by one who 
 knows. Whatever other impression it may convey to the reader, it conveys 
 most strongly the impression of truth. And this plain truth, told in a plain 
 way, is a terrible thing. One can feel all the way through that half the tale — 
 and perhaps the worst half — is left untold, yet such as stands in print is 
 sufficient, and to the reader who cares for something more than the superficial 
 adventurous incident of the book it will not be without its instructive 
 influence." — Den-ver Republican. 
 
 " Told with all the freshness and vividness of an eyewitness." — Philadelphia 
 Call. 
 
 "Will be read with interest by all railroad men." — Galesburg (III.) Mail. 
 
 The Story of the Railroad. 
 
 Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " Far more interesting than the average novel. . . . Mr. Warman's 
 volume makes us hear and feel the rush of modern civilization. It gives us 
 also the human side of the picture — the struggles of the frontiersman and his 
 family, the dismay and cruel wrath of the retreating savage, the heroism of 
 the advance guard of the railway builders, and the cutthroat struggles of com- 
 peting lines. He does not deal greatly with statistics, but the figures he uses 
 help make up the stunning effect of gigantic enterprise. There is not a dull 
 page in the book." — Neiv Tori Evening Post. 
 
 " Intensely interesting — a history that reads like a romance, and compared 
 with whose marvelous story indeed most modern romances will seem spiritless 
 and tame." — Charleston Neivs and Courier. 
 
 "Worthy to stand on the same shelf with Hough's Story of the Cowboy." 
 — Milwaukee Journal. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 
 
BOOKS BY FRANK T. BULLEN. 
 The Log of a Sea- Waif. 
 
 Being Recollections of the First Four Years of my Sea Life. 
 Illustrated. Uniform Edition, izmo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 The brilliant author of "The Cruise of the Cachalot" and "Idylls of the 
 Sea" presents in this new work the continuous story of the actual experiences 
 of his first four years at sea. In graphic and picturesque phrases he has sketched 
 the events of voyages to the West Indies, to Bombay and the Coromandel coast, 
 to Melbourne and Rangoon. Nothing could be of more absorbing interest 
 than this wonderfully vivid account of foks'l humanity, and the adventures and 
 strange sights and experiences attendant upon deep-sea voyages. It is easy to see 
 in this book an English companion to our own "Two Years before the Mast." 
 
 Idylls of the Sea. 
 
 l2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 "The 'deep-sea wonder and mystery' which Kipling found in Frank T. 
 Bullen's ' Cruise of the Cachalot " is appreciable again in this literary mate's 
 new book, 'Idylls of the Sea.' We feel ourselves tossed with him at the 
 mercy of the weltering elements," etc. — Philadelphia Record. 
 
 " Amplifies and intensifies the picture of the sea which Mr. Bullen had 
 already produced. . . . Calm, shipwreck, the surface and depths of the sea, 
 the monsters of the deep, superstitions and tales of the sailors — all find a place 
 in this strange and exciting book." — Chicago Times-Herald. 
 
 The Cruise of the Cachalot, 
 
 Round the World after Sperm Whales. Illustrated. 1 2mo. 
 Cloth, #1.50. 
 
 "It is immense — there is no other word. I've never read anything that 
 equals it in its deep-sea wonder and mystery, nor do I think that any book before 
 has so completely covered the whole business of whale fishing, and, at the same 
 time, given such real and new sea pictures. I congratulate you most heartily. 
 It's a new world you've opened the door to." — Rudyard Kipling. 
 
 " Written with racy freedom of literary expression and luxuriant abundance 
 of incident, so that ' The Cruise of the Cachalot ' becomes a story of fascinating 
 vividness which thrills the reader and amuses him. The volume is no less en- 
 thralling than ' Two Years before the Mast,' and higher praise can not be 
 accorded to a story of the sea. ... A book of such extraordinary merit as 
 seldom comes to hand." — Philadelphia Press. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 
 
FOR NATURE LOVERS AND ANGLERS. 
 
 Familiar Fish: Their Habits and 
 Capture. 
 
 A Practical Book on Fresh- Water Game Fish. 
 By Eugene McCarthy. With an Introduction 
 by Dr. David Starr Jordan, President of Leland 
 Stanford Junior University, and numerous Illus- 
 trations. i2mo. Cloth. 
 
 This informing and practical book describes in a most inter- 
 esting fashion the habits and environment of our familiar fresh- 
 water game fish, including anadromous fish like the salmon and 
 sea trout. The life of a fish is traced in a manner very interest- 
 ing to Nature lovers, while the simple and useful explanations of 
 the methods of angling for different fish will be appreciated by 
 fishermen old and young. As one of the most experienced of 
 American fishermen, Mr. McCarthy is able to speak with au- 
 thority regarding salmon, trout, ouananiche, bass, pike, and pick- 
 erel, and other fish which are the object of the angler's pursuit. 
 His clear and practical counsel as to fly-casting, and rods and 
 tackle and their use, and his advice as to outfits and the various 
 details of camp life, render his book a most useful companion for 
 all sportsmen and campers. Dr. David Starr Jordan has read 
 the manuscript, and has lent the weight of his approval by writ- 
 ing an introduction. The book is profusely illustrated with pic- 
 tures and serviceable diagrams. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
 Wilmer 
 
 49 
 
 c.l