Produced by Donald Lainson
SALLY DOWS
By Bret Harte
CONTENTS
SALLY DOWS
THE CONSPIRACY OF MRS. BUNKER
THE TRANSFORMATION OF BUCKEYE CAMP
THEIR UNCLE FROM CALIFORNIA
SALLY DOWS.
PROLOGUE.
THE LAST GUN AT SNAKE RIVER.
What had been in the cool gray of that summer morning a dewy countrylane, marked only by a few wagon tracks that never encroached upon itsgrassy border, and indented only by the faint footprints of a crossingfox or coon, was now, before high noon, already crushed, beaten down,and trampled out of all semblance of its former graciousness. The heavyspringless jolt of gun-carriage and caisson had cut deeply through themiddle track; the hoofs of crowding cavalry had struck down and shreddedthe wayside vines and bushes to bury them under a cloud of followingdust, and the short, plunging double-quick of infantry had trodden outthis hideous ruin into one dusty level chaos. Along that rudely widenedhighway useless muskets, torn accoutrements, knapsacks, caps, andarticles of clothing were scattered, with here and there the largerwrecks of broken-down wagons, roughly thrown aside into the ditch tomake way for the living current. For two hours the greater part ofan army corps had passed and repassed that way, but, coming or going,always with faces turned eagerly towards an open slope on the rightwhich ran parallel to the lane. And yet nothing was to be seen there.For two hours a gray and bluish cloud, rent and shaken with explosionafter explosion, but always closing and thickening after each discharge,was all that had met their eyes. Nevertheless, into this ominous cloudsolid moving masses of men in gray or blue had that morning melted away,or emerged from it only as scattered fragments that crept, crawled,ran, or clung together in groups, to be followed, and overtaken in therolling vapor.
But for the last half hour the desolated track had stretched empty anddeserted. While there was no cessation of the rattling, crackling, anddetonations on the fateful slope beyond, it had still been silent. Onceor twice it had been crossed by timid, hurrying wings, and frightenedand hesitating little feet, or later by skulkers and stragglers fromthe main column who were tempted to enter it from the hedges and busheswhere they had been creeping and hiding. Suddenly a prolonged yell fromthe hidden slope beyond--the nearest sound that had yet been heard fromthat ominous distance--sent them to cover again. It was followed bythe furious galloping of horses in the lane, and a handsome, red-cappedofficer, accompanied by an orderly, dashed down the track, wheeled,leaped the hedge, rode out on the slope and halted. In another instant acloud of dust came whirling down the lane after him. Out of it strainedthe heavy shoulders and tightened chain-traces of six frantic horsesdragging the swaying gun that in this tempest of motion alone seemedpassive and helpless with an awful foreknowledge of its power. As inobedience to a signal from the officer they crashed through the hedgeafter him, a sudden jolt threw an artilleryman from the limber beforethe wheel. A driver glanced back on the tense chain and hesitated. "Goon!" yelled the prostrate man, and the wheel went over him. Another andanother gun followed out of the dust cloud, until the whole battery haddeployed on the slope. Before the drifting dust had fairly settled, thefalling back of the panting horses with their drivers gave a momentaryglimpse of the nearest gun already in position and of the four erectfigures beside it. The yell that seemed to have evoked this suddenapparition again sounded nearer; a blinding flash broke from thegun, which was instantly hidden by the closing group around it, anda deafening crash with the high ringing of metal ran down the lane. Acolumn of white, woolly smoke arose as another flash broke beside it.This was quickly followed by another and another, with a response fromthe gun first fired, until the whole slope shook and thundered. And thesmoke, no longer white and woolly, but darkening and thickening as withunburnt grains of gunpowder, mingled into the one ominous vapor, anddriving along the lane hid even the slope from view.
The yelling had ceased, but the grinding and rattling heard through thedetonation of cannon came nearer still, and suddenly there was a showerof leaves and twigs from the lower branches of a chestnut-tree near thebroken hedge. As the smoke thinned again a rising and falling medley offlapping hats, tossing horses' heads and shining steel appeared for aninstant, advancing tumultuously up the slope. But the apparition was asinstantly cloven by flame from the two nearest guns, and went down in agush of smoke and roar of sound. So level was the delivery and so closethe impact that a space seemed suddenly cleared between, in whichthe whirling of the shattered remnants of the charging cavalry wasdistinctly seen, and the shouts and oaths of the inextricably strugglingmass became plain and articulate. Then a gunner serving the nearestpiece suddenly dropped his swab and seized a carbine, for out ofthe whirling confusion before them a single rider was seen gallopingfuriously towards the gun.
The red-capped young officer rode forward and knocked up the gunner'sweapon with his sword. For in that rapid glance he had seen that therider's reins were hanging loosely on the neck of his horse, who wasstill dashing forwards with the frantic impetus of the charge, andthat the youthful figure of the rider, wearing the stripes of alieutenant,--although still erect, exercised no control over the animal.The face was boyish, blond, and ghastly; the eyes were set and glassy.It seemed as if Death itself were charging the gun.
Within a few feet of it the horse swerved before a brandished rammer,and striking the cheeks of the gun-carriage pitched his inanimate rideracross the gun. The hot blood of the dead man smoked on the hotter brasswith the reek of the shambles, and be-spattered the hand of the gunnerwho still mechanically served the vent. As they lifted the dead bodydown the order came to "cease firing." For the yells from below hadceased too; the rattling and grinding were receding with the smokefarther to the left. The ominous central cloud parted for a brief momentand showed the unexpected sun glittering down the slope upon a near andpeaceful river.
The young artillery officer had dismounted and was now gently examiningthe dead man. His breast had been crushed by a fragment of shell; hemust have died instantly. The same missile had cut the chain of a locketwhich slipped from his opened coat. The officer picked it up with astrange feeling--perhaps because he was conscious himself of wearing asimilar one, perhaps because it might give him some clue to the man'sidentity. It contained only the photograph of a pretty girl, a tendrilof fair hair, and the word "Sally." In the breast-pocket was a sealedletter with the inscription, "For Miss Sally Dows. To be delivered if Ifall by the mudsill's hand." A faint smile came over the officer's face;he was about to hand the articles to a sergeant, but changed his mindand put them in his pocket.
Meantime the lane and woods beyond, and even the slope itself, werecrowding with supports and waiting troops. His own battery was stillunlimbered, waiting orders. There was a slight commotion in the lane.
"Very well done, captain. Smartly taken and gallantly held."
It was the voice of a general officer passing with his staff. There wasa note of pleasant relief in its tone, and the middle-aged, care-drawnface of its owner was relaxed in a paternal smile. The young captainflushed with pleasure.
"And you seem to have had close work too," added the general, pointingto the dead man.
The young officer hurriedly explained. The general nodded, saluted, andpassed on. But a youthful aide airily lingered.
"The old man's feeling good, Courtland," he said. "We've rolled 'em upall along the line. It's all over now. In point of fact, I reckon you'vefired the last round in this particular fratricidal engagement."
The last round! Courtland remained silent, looking abstractedly at theman it had crushed and broken at his feet.
"And I shouldn't wonder if you got your gold-leaf for to-day's work.But who's your sunny Southern friend here?" he added, following hiscomp
anion's eyes.
Courtland repeated his story a little more seriously, which, however,failed to subdue the young aide's levity. "So he concluded to stopover," he interrupted cheerfully. "But," looking at the letter andphotograph, "I say--look here! 'Sally Dows?' Why, there was another manpicked up yesterday with a letter to the same girl! Doc Murphy has it.And, by Jove! the same picture too!--eh? I say, Sally must have gatheredin the boys, and raked down the whole pile! Look here, Courty! you mightget Doc Murphy's letter and hunt her up when this cruel war is over. Sayyou're 'fulfilling a sacred trust!' See? Good idea, old man! Ta-ta!" andhe trotted quickly after his superior.
Courtland remained with the letter and photograph in his hand, gazingabstractedly after him. The smoke had rolled quite away from the fieldson the left, but still hung heavily down the south on the heels of theflying cavalry. A long