CHAPTER IV
THE COMING OF DAWN
The road was rough, apparently little travelled, and our lively passageover it not greatly conducive to conversation. Besides I hardly knewwhat to say. The consciousness of total failure in all my plans, and theknowledge that I would be received at headquarters in anything buthonor, weighed heavily upon me, yet this depression did not seal my lipshalf as much as the personality of the young woman at my side. Pleasantand free as her manner had been, yet I was clearly made to realize therewas a distinct limit to any familiarity. I could not define the feeling,but it had taken possession of me, and I knew the slightest oversteppingof the boundaries would result in trouble. We were neither enemies norfriends; merely acquaintances under a temporary flag of truce. No doubt,trusting me as an honorable soldier, even though wearing an enemy'suniform, she was almost glad to have my protection along this lonelyroad, but, when the time came to part, she would be equally relieved tohave me go. I was nothing to her; if ever remembered again it would bemerely to laugh over my discomfiture in mistaking her for another. Ithurt my pride to think this, to thus realize her complete indifference.She was a young woman, and I a young man, and nothing in my nature madesurrender easy. I desired, at least, to leave behind me some differentimpression of my own personality. I was not a fool, nor a failure, and Icould not bear to have her conceive me as a mere blundering block-head,a subject for subsequent laughter. The silence in which she drovestirred me to revolt. Apparently she felt no overwhelming curiosity asto whom I was, no special desire to exchange further speech. Theflapping of the loosened curtain was annoying, and I leaned over andfastened it down securely into place. She merely glanced aside toobserve what I was doing, without even opening her lips.
"This is a miserably gloomy road," I ventured desperately. "I wonder youdared to travel it alone at night."
"Its very loneliness makes it safe," was the response, ratherindifferently uttered. "Meeting others was the very thing I was mostanxious to avoid."
"Indeed! You are tantalizing; you cannot expect me to be devoid ofcuriosity."
"Of course not," turning her face toward me, "neither can you expect meto gratify it."
"You mean you could not trust me?"
"Rather that you would not believe me, if I did. The reason for thistrip is so simple and commonplace that if I were to confess its purposeto you, you would suppose I were attempting deceit. Oh, yes, you would,so I might just as well remain still. Besides it can make no differenceanyway. When we reach Jonesboro this morning you will go back to yourarmy, and I shall meet friends. There is scarcely one chance in athousand we shall ever see each other again. We are the mereststrangers--enemies, indeed, for I am a Rebel clear through. We don'teven know each others' names."
"Do you care to know mine?"
She hesitated, and I thought her eyes dropped.
"I--I hardly know," doubtfully. "Yet you have been very kind, and,perhaps, sometime I might serve you. Yes, you may tell me."
"Robert Galesworth."
"Of what rank?"
"Lieutenant, Ninth Illinois Cavalry, but detailed for special service."
"Thank you. I--I am rather glad you told me."
"And you," I insisted, determined this confidence should be mutual."May I not, in return, be told your name?"
"I am Willifred Gray," she said quietly. "That is all--just WillifredGray."
There was something about the manner in which she said this which heldme silent. I should have liked to ask more, a second question tremblingon my lips, but the words would not come. It was altogether new to me,this fear of offending a woman, so new it almost angered, and yetsomething about her positively held me as though in bonds. To this day Ido not know the secret of it, but I sat there silently staring out intothe night.
I could see a little now, becoming aware that dawn was approaching, thesky shading to a dull gray in the east, and casting a weird light overthe landscape. It was a gloomy scene of desolation, the road a mereribbon, overgrown with grass and weeds, a soggy marsh on one side, and aline of sand-hills on the other, sparsely covered by some stuntedgrowth. Far away, across the level, my eyes caught a glimmer of water,locating the river, but in no direction was there any sign of a house,or curl of smoke. The unproductive land--barren and swampy--sufficientlyaccounted for lack of inhabitants, and told why it had been avoided bythe foragers of both armies. Seeking safety the girl had chosen hercourse wisely--here was desolation so complete as to mock even at theravages of war. The gray in the east changed to pink, delicately tintingthe whole upper sky, objects taking clearer form, a light breezerustling the long grass. Tirelessly the pony trotted, his head down, thelines lying loose. I turned to gaze at my companion, and our eyes met.Hers were either gray or blue; I could not be certain which, so quicklywere they lowered, and so shadowed by long lashes. And they were merryeyes, smiling, and deep with secrets no man could hope to solve. Perhapsshe deemed it only fair that I should look at her as she had beenobserving me; perhaps it was but the coquetry of the "eternal feminine"conscious of her own attraction, but she sat there silent, the lashesshading her eyes, the clear light of the dawn upon her face. I cannotdescribe what I saw, only it was a young face, the skin clear andglowing with health, the nose beautifully moulded, the throat white andround, the red lips arched like a bow, and a broad forehead shadowed bydark hair. She had a trooper's hat on, worn jauntily on one side,crossed sabres in front, and her shoulders were concealed by a graycavalry cape. Suddenly she flashed a glance at me, her eyes fullof laughter.
"Well, Mr. Lieutenant Galesworth, have you looked long enough?"
The swift question confused me, but I found answer.
"No; but as long as I dare. You were observing me also."
"Naturally--womanly curiosity is my excuse. Would you like to know whatconclusion I came to?"
"From your eyes it may not prove altogether flattering."
"Oh, my eyes are not to be trusted. I warn you frankly of that at thevery start. All I shall say is you appear better than I hadexpected--only, really, you need a shave."
"Better how? In what way?"
"Well, younger for one thing; somehow your statement that you were alieutenant made me suspect your age--or possibly it was your voice."
"I am twenty-four."
"And look to be scarcely twenty. How did you ever gain a commission?Were you in battle?"
The question decidedly hurt my pride, yet I managed to control mytongue.
"I have met colonels in both armies no older than I," I returnedswiftly. "Of course I have been in battle, wounded for the matter ofthat, and three months a prisoner."
"Oh, I did not mean to question your right to the shoulder straps. Warmakes men fast; I know that for my home has been in the track ofboth armies."
"You live in this neighborhood?"
"Yes, about twenty miles south of where we are now. Shall I tell youwhat I am doing here?"
I bowed, eager to learn although I had not been brash enough to inquire.
"You have been wondering all night," carelessly. "If you had asked Ishould have refused to answer, but will now reward your remarkablepatience with a full confession. I am going to take quinine back to ourhospitals. I won't tell you where I am going to get it," a bitdefiantly, "although I am not afraid you would try to stop me."
"Certainly not; why should I?"
"There are plenty of Yanks who do; the last messenger was shot by yourraiders, and the whole consignment lost. He was my cousin; that is why Iam trying what I can do--the boys need it so badly. If you are anhonorable soldier you will not interfere with a work of mercy."
"An honorable soldier!" I exclaimed, stung by the words. "Do youquestion that?"
"Not until after daylight came, and I noticed how you were clothed,"and her eyes lost all gleam of humor. "I respect a scout, but despisea spy."
My cheeks flamed, as I realized what she meant--the tattered grayjacket, buttoned tightly, and concealing my blue blouse. In swiftdisgust I wren
ched it open, and flung the garment into the road.
"I had entirely forgotten I had the thing on," I explained hastily."Don't condemn until you hear my story. You will listen, will you not?"
She sat silent, looking intently into my face, with merely the slightestinclination of the head.
"I came into your lines dressed just as I am now, drifting across theriver behind a log. It was my third attempt to get through your pickets,and this time I succeeded. I found myself in thick brush near a clusterof tents, and overheard two officers talking. One was a major by thename of Hardy--do you know him?"
"Yes," a swift little catch in her voice.
"The other was a shorter, heavier-set man, out-ranking Hardy."
"Speaking with short, crisp sentences," she interrupted, "and wearing aheavy beard?"
"He spoke that way--yes; but as to the beard I could not say owing tothe darkness."
"It must have been General Johnston."
"I thought as much. The two were discussing the getting of despatchesthrough to Beauregard, and decided no one could succeed but a fellowthey called Billie, some relative or friend of Hardy's. It was allarranged he should try it, and the major started off to completearrangements. An aide, with the despatches, was to meet the messenger atthe 'Three Corners,' where the little log church is, and then accompanyhim through the pickets. It was plainly enough my duty to interceptthese if I could, but in order to do so I must pass through two miles ofthe Confederate camp, meeting soldiers almost every step of the way.That was when I stole the jacket, and slipped it on, and never thoughtof it again until you spoke."