Before the Dawn: A Story of the Fall of Richmond

  CHAPTER XVIII

  DAY IN THE WILDERNESS

  Helen Harley saw the sun rise in a shower of red and gold on a Maymorning, and then begin a slow and quiet sail up a sky of silky blue. Iteven touched the gloomy shades of the Wilderness with golden gleams, andshy little flowers of purple, nestling in the scant grass, held up theirheads to the glow. From the window in the log house in which she hadnursed her brother she looked out at the sunrise and saw only peace, andthe leaves of the new spring foliage moving gently in the wind.

  The girl's mind was not at rest. In the night she had heard the rumblingof wheels, the tread of feet, and many strange, muffled sounds. Now themorning was here and the usual court about her was missing. Gone werethe epaulets, the plumes and the swords in sheath. The generals, Raymondand Winthrop, who had come only the day before. Talbot, Prescott andWood, were all missing.

  The old house seemed desolate, abandoned, and she was lonely. She lookedthrough the window and saw nothing that lived among the bushes and thescrub oaks only the scant grass and the new spring foliage waving in thegentle wind. Here smouldered the remains of a fire and there another,and yonder was where the tent of the Commander had stood; but it wasgone now, and not a sound came to her ears save those of the forest. Shewas oppressed by the silence and the portent.

  Her brother lay upon the bed asleep in full uniform, his coat coveringhis bandages, and Mrs. Markham was in the next room, having refused toreturn to Richmond. She would remain near her husband, she said, butHelen felt absolutely alone, deserted by all the world.

  No, not alone! There, coming out of the forest, was a single horseman,the grandest figure that she had ever seen--a man above six feet inheight, as strong and agile as a panther, his head crowned withmagnificent bushy black hair, and his face covered with a black beard,through which gleamed eyes as black as night. He rode, a very king, shethought.

  The man came straight toward the window of the log house, the feet ofhis horse making no sound upon the turf. Here was one who had come tobid her good-by.

  She put her hand through the open window, and General Wood, themountaineer, bending low over his horse's neck, kissed it with all thegrace and gallantry of an ancient knight.

  "I hope that you will come back," she said softly.

  "I will, I must, if you are here," he said.

  He kissed her hand again.

  "Your brother?" he added.

  "He is still asleep."

  "What a pity his wounds are so bad! We'll need him to-day."

  "Is it coming? Is it really coming to-day, under these skies so peacefuland beautiful?" she asked in sudden terror, though long she had beenprepared for the worst.

  "Grant is in the Wilderness."

  She knew what that meant and asked no more.

  Wood's next words were those of caution.

  "There is a cellar under this house," he said. "If the battle comes nearyou, seek shelter in it. You promise?"

  "Yes, I promise."

  "And now good-by."

  "Good-by," she said.

  He kissed her hand again and, without another word, turned and rodethrough the forest and away. She watched him until he was quite out ofsight, and then her eyes wandered off toward the east, where the newsun was still piling up glowing bands of alternate red and gold.

  Her brother stirred on the bed and awoke. He was fretful that morning.

  "Why is the place so silent?" he asked, with the feeling of a vain manwho does not wish to be left alone.

  "I do not know," she replied, though well she knew.

  There was a knock at the door and Mrs. Markham entered, dressed as iffor the street--fresh, blonde and smiling.

  "You two are up early, Helen," she said. "What do you see there at thewindow?"

  "Nothing," replied Helen. She did not tell any one of the parting withWood. That belonged to her alone.

  A coloured woman came with the breakfast, which was served on a littletable beside Harley's bed. He propped himself up with a pillow and satat the table with evident enjoyment. The golden glory of the new sunshone there through the window and fell upon them.

  "How quiet the camp is!" said Mrs. Markham after awhile. "Surely thearmy sleeps late. I don't hear any voices or anything moving."

  "No," said Helen.

  "No, not a thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Markham.

  "Eh?" cried Harley.

  His military instinct leaped up. Silence where noise has been isominous.

  "Helen," he said, "go to the window, will you?"

  "No. I'll go," said Mrs. Markham, and she ran to the window, where sheuttered a cry of surprise.

  "Why, there is nothing here!" she exclaimed. "There are no tents, noguns, no soldiers! Everything is gone! What does it mean?"

  The answer was ready.

  From afar in the forest, low down under the horizon's rim, came thesullen note of a great gun--a dull, sinister sound that seemed to rollacross the Wilderness and hang over the log house and those within it.

  Harley threw himself on the bed with a groan of grief and rage.

  "Oh, God," he cried, "that I should be tied here on such a day!"

  Helen ran to the window but saw nothing--only the waving grass, thesomber forest and the blue skies and golden sunshine above. The echo ofthe cannon shot died and again there was silence, but only for a moment.The sinister note swelled up again from the point under the horizon'srim far off there to the left, and it was followed by another, and moreand more, until they blended into one deep and sullen roar.

  Unconsciously Constance Markham, the cynical, the worldly and theself-possessed, seized Helen Harley's hand in hers.

  "The battle!" she cried. "It is the battle!"

  "Yes," said Helen; "I knew that it was coming."

  "Ah, our poor soldiers!"

  "I pity those of both sides."

  "And so do I. I did not mean it that way."

  The servant was cowering in a corner of the room. Harley sprang to hisfeet and stood, staggering.

  "I must be at the window!" he said.

  Helen darted to his support.

  "But your wounds," she said. "You must think of them!"

  "I tell you I shall stay at the window!" he exclaimed with energy. "If Icannot fight, I must see!"

  She knew the tone that would endure no denial, and they helped him tothe window, where they propped him in a chair with his eyes to theeastern forest. The glow of battle came upon his face and rested there.

  "Listen!" he cried. "Don't you hear that music? It's the big guns, notless than twenty. You cannot hear the rifles from here. Ah if I wereonly there!"

  The three looked continually toward the east, where a somber black linewas beginning to form against the red-and-gold glow of the sunrise.Louder and louder sounded the cannon. More guns were coming into action,and the deep, blended and violent note seemed to roll up against thehouse until every log, solid as it was, trembled with the concussion.Afar over the forest the veil of smoke began to grow wider and thickerand to blot out the red-and-gold glory of the sunrise.

  Harley bent his head. He was listening--not for the thunder of the greatguns, but for the other sounds that he knew went with it--the crash ofthe rifles, the buzz and hiss of the bullets flying in clouds throughthe air, the gallop of charging horsemen, the crash of falling trees cutthrough by cannon shot, and the shouts and cries. But he heard only thethunder of the great guns now, so steady, so persistent and sopenetrating that he felt the floor tremble beneath him.

  He searched the forest with eyes trained for the work, but saw no humanbeing--only the waving grass, the somber woods, and a scared lizardrattling the bark of a tree as he fled up it.

  In the east the dull, heavy cloud of smoke was growing, spreading alongthe rim of the horizon, climbing the concave arch and blotting out allthe glory of the sunrise. The heavy roar was like the sullen, steadygrumbling of distant thunder, and the fertile fancy of Harley, thoughhis eyes saw not, painted all the scene that was going on within thesolemn shades of
the Wilderness--the charge, the defense, the shiveredregiments and brigades; the tread of horses, cannon shattered by cannon,the long stream of wounded to the rear, and the dead, forgotten amid therocks and bushes. He had beheld many such scenes and he had been a partof them. But who was winning now? If he could only lift that veil of theforest!

  Every emotion showed on the face of Harley. Vain, egotistic, and oftenselfish, he was a true soldier; his was the military inspiration, and helonged to be there in the field, riding at the head of his horsemen ashe had ridden so often, and to victory. He thought of Wood, a cavalryleader greater than himself, doing a double part, and for a moment hisheart was filled with envy. Then he flushed with rage because of thewounds that tied him there like a baby. What a position for him,Vincent Harley, the brilliant horseman and leader! He even looked withwrath upon his sister and Mrs. Markham, two women whom he admired somuch. Their place was not here, nor was his place here with them. He waseaten with doubt and anxiety. Who was losing, who was winning out therebeyond the veil of the forest where the pall of smoke rose? He struckthe window-sill angrily with his fist.

  "I hate this silence and desolation here around us," he exclaimed, "withall that noise and battle off there where we cannot see! It chills me!"

  But the two women said nothing, still sitting with their hands in eachother's and unconscious of it; forgetting now in this meeting of the twohundred thousand the petty personal feelings that had divided them.

  Louder swelled the tumult. It seemed to Helen, oblivious to all else,that she heard amid the thunder of the cannon other and varying notes.There was a faint but shrill incessant sound like the hum of millions ofbees flying swiftly, and another, a regular but heavier noise, wassurely the tread of charging horsemen. The battle was rolling a stepnearer to them, and she began to see, low down under the pall of smoke,flashes of fire like swift strokes of lightning. Then it rolled anotherstep nearer and its tumult beat heavily and cruelly on the drums of herears. Yet the deathly stillness in the scrub oaks around the housecontinued. They waved as peacefully as ever in the gentle wind from thewest. It was still a battle heard but not seen.

  She would have left the window to cower in the corner with the colouredwoman who served them, but this struggle, of which she could see onlythe covering veil, held her appalled. It was misty, intangible, unlikeanything of which she had read or heard, and yet she knew it to be real.They were in conflict, the North and the South, there in the forest, andshe sat as one in a seat in a theatre who looked toward a curtainedstage.

  When she put her free hand once on the window-sill she felt beneath herfingers the faint, steady trembling of the wood as the vast, insistentvolume of sound beat upon it. The cloud of smoke now spread in a huge,somber curve across all the east, and the swift flashes of fire werepiercing through it faster and faster. The volume of sound grew more andmore varied, embracing many notes.

  "It comes our way," murmured Harley, to himself rather than to thewomen.

  Helen felt a quiver run through the hand of Mrs. Markham and she lookedat her face. The elder woman was pale, but she was not afraid. She, too,would not leave the window, held by the same spell.

  "Surely it is a good omen!" murmured Harley; "the field ofChancellorsville, where we struck Hooker down, is in this sameWilderness."

  "But we lost there our right arm--Jackson," said Mrs. Markham.

  "True, alas!" said Harley.

  The aspect of the day that had begun so bright and clear was changing.The great pall of smoke in the east gave its character to all the sky.From the west clouds were rolling up to meet it. The air was growingclose, sultry and hot. The wind ceased to blow. The grass and the newleaves hung motionless. All around them the forest was still heavy andsomber. The coloured woman in the corner began to cry softly, but fromher chest. They could hear her low note under the roar of the guns, butno one rebuked her.

  "It comes nearer and nearer," murmured Harley.

  There was relief, even pleasure in his tone. He had forgotten his sisterand the woman to whom his eyes so often turned. That which concerned himmost in life was passing behind the veil of trees and bushes, and itssound filled his ears. He had no thought of anything else. It waswidening its sweep, coming nearer to the house where he was tied sowretchedly by wounds; and he would see it--see who was winning--his ownSouth he fiercely hoped.

  The thoughts of brother and sister at that moment were alike. All thespirit and fire of the old South flushed in every vein of both. Theywere of an old aristocracy, with but two ambitions, the military and thepolitical, and while they prayed for complete success in the end, theywanted another great triumph on the field of battle. Gettysburg, thatinsuperable bar, was behind them, casting its gloomy memory over theyear between; but this might take its place, atoning for it, wiping itout. But there was doubt and fear in the heart of each; this was a newgeneral that the North had, of a different kind from the old--one whodid not turn back at a defeat, but came on again and hammered andhammered. They repeated to themselves softly the name "Grant." It had tothem a short, harsh, abrupt sound, and it did not grow pleasant withrepetition.

  An odour, the mingled reek of smoke, burnt gunpowder, trampled dust andsweating men, reached them and was offensive to their nostrils. Helencoughed and then wiped her face with her handkerchief. She was surprisedto find her cheeks damp and cold. Her lips felt harsh and dry as theytouched each other.

  The trembling of the house increased, and the dishes from the breakfastwhich they had left on the table kept up an incessant soft, jarringsound. The battle was still spreading; at first a bent bow, then asemi-circle, the horns of the crescent were now extending as if theymeant to meet about the house, and yet they saw not a man, not a horse,not a gun; only afar off the swelling canopy of smoke, and the flashesof light through it, and nearer by the grass and the leaves, now hangingdull and lifeless.

  Harley groaned again and smote the unoffending window-sill with hishand.

  "Why am I here--why am I here," he repeated, "when the greatest battleof all the world is being fought?"

  The clouds of smoke from the cannon and the clouds from the heated andheavy air continued to gather in both heavens and were now meeting atthe zenith. The skies were dark, obscure and somber. Most trying of allwas the continuous, heavy jarring sound made by the thunder of theguns. It got upon the nerves, it smote the brain cruelly, and once Helenclasped her hands over her ears to shut it out, but she could not; thesullen mutter was still there, no less ominous because its note waslower.

  A sudden tongue of flame shot up in the east above the forest, butunlike the others did not go out again; it hung there a red spire,blood-red against the sky, and grew taller and broader.

  "The forest burns!" murmured Harley.

  "In May?" said Helen.

  "What a cannonade it must be to set green trees on fire!" continuedHarley.

  The varying and shriller notes heard through the steady roar of thegreat guns now grew more numerous and louder; and most persistent amongthem was a nasty buzz, inconceivably wicked in its cry.

  "The rifles! A hundred thousand of them at least!" murmured Harley, towhose ear all these sounds were familiar.

  New tongues of fire leaped above the trees and remained there, blood-redagainst the sky; sparks at first fugitive and detached, then in showersand millions, began to fly. Columns of vapour and smoke breaking offfrom the main cloud floated toward the house and assailed those at thewindow until eyes and nostrils tingled. The strange, nauseous odour, themingled reek of blood and dust, powder and human sweat grew heavier andmore sickening.

  Helen shuddered again and again, but she could not turn away. The wholelook of the forest had now changed to her. She saw it through a redmist: all the green, the late green of the new spring, was gone. Allthings, the trees, the leaves, the grass and the bushes, seemed burnt,dull and dead.

  "Listen!" cried Harley. "Don't you hear that--the beat of horses' feet!A thousand, five thousand of them! The cavalry are charging! But whosecavalry?"
/>
  His soul was with them. He felt the rush of air past him, the strain ofhis leaping horse under him, and then the impact, the wild swirl ofblood and fire and death when foe met foe. Once more he groaned andstruck the window-sill with an angry hand.

  Nearer and nearer rolled the battle and louder and shriller grew itsnote. The crackle of the rifles became a crash as steady as the thunderof the great guns, and Helen began to hear, above all the sound of humanvoices, cries and shouts of command. Dark figures, perfectly black liketracery, began to appear against a background of pallid smoke, or ruddyflame, distorted, shapeless even, and without any method in theirmotions. They seemed to Helen to fly back and forth and to leap about asif shot from springs like jumping-jacks and with as little of life inthem--mere marionettes. The great pit of fire and smoke in which theyfought enclosed them, and to Helen it was only a pit of the damned. Forthe moment she had no feeling for either side; they were not fellowbeings to her--they who struggled there amid the flame and the smoke andthe falling trees and the wild screams of the wounded horses.

  The coloured woman cowering in the corner continued to cry softly, butwith deep sobs drawn from her chest, and Helen wished that she wouldstop, but she could not leave the window to rebuke her even had she theheart to do so.

  The smoke, of a close, heavy, lifeless quality, entered the window andgathered in the rooms, penetrating everything. The floor and the wallsand the furniture grew sticky and damp, but the three at the window didnot notice it. They had neither eyes nor heart now save for thetremendous scene passing before them. No thought of personal dangerentered the mind of either woman. No, this was a somber but magnificentpanorama set for them, and they, the spectators, were in their properseats. They were detached, apart from the drama which was of another ageand another land, and had no concern with them save as a picture.

  Helen could not banish from her mind this panoramic quality of thebattle. She was ashamed of herself; she ought to draw from her heartsympathy for those who were falling out there, but they were yet to herbeings of another order, and she remained cold--a spectator held by theappalling character of the drama and not realizing that those who playedthe part were human like herself.

  "The battle is doubtful," said Harley.

  "How do you know?"

  "See how it veers to and fro--back and forth and back and forth it goesagain. If either side were winning it would all go one way. Do you knowhow long we have been here watching?"

  "I have no idea whatever."

  He looked at his watch and then pointed upward at the heavens where inthe zenith a film of light appeared through the blur of cloud and smoke.

  "There's the sun," he said; "it's noon. We've been sitting here forhours. The time seems long and again it seems short. Ah, if I only knewwhich way fortune inclined! Look how that fire in the forest isgrowing!"

  Over in the east the red spires and pillars and columns united into onegreat sheet of flame that moved and leaped from tree to tree and shotforth millions of sparks.

  "That fire will not reach us," said Harley. "It will pass a half-mile tothe right."

  But they felt its breath, far though hot, and again Helen drew herhandkerchief across her burning face. The deadly, sickening odourincreased. A light wind arose, and a fine dust of ashes, borne on itsbreath, began to enter the window and sweep in at every possible creviceand cranny of the old house. It powdered the three at the window andhung a thin, gray and pallid veil over the floor and the scantyfurniture. The faint jarring of the wood, so monotonous and sopersistent, never ceased. And distinctly through the sounds they heardthe voice of the coloured woman, crying softly from her chest, alwaysthe same, weird, unreal and chilling.

  The struggle seemed to the three silent watchers to swing away a little,the sounds of human voices died, the cries, the commands were heard nomore; but the volume of the battle grew, nevertheless. Harley knew thatnew regiments, new brigades, new batteries were coming into action;that the area of conflict was spreading, covering new fields and holdingthe old. He knew by the rising din, ever swelling and beating upon theear, by the vast increase in the clouds of smoke, the leaping flashes offlame and the dust of ashes, now thick and drifting, that two hundredthousand men were eye to eye in battle amid the gloomy thickets andshades of the Wilderness, but God alone knew which would win.

  Some of the awe that oppressed the two women began to creep over Harleyand to chill the blood in his veins. He had gone through many battles;he had been with Pickett in that fiery rush up Cemetery Hill in the faceof sixty thousand men and batteries heaped against each other; but therehe was a part of things and all was before him to see and to hear: herehe only sat in the dusk of the smoke and the ashes and the clouds, whilethe invisible battle swung to and fro afar. He heard only the beat ofits footsteps as it reeled back and forth, and saw only the mingledblack and fiery mists and vapours of its own making that enclosed it.

  The dun clouds were still rolling up from both heavens toward thezenith, shot now and then with yellow streaks and scarlet gleams.Sometimes they threw back in a red glare the reflection of the burningforest, and then again the drifting clouds of smoke and ashes and dustturned the whole to a solid and dirty brown. It was now more than abattle to Harley. Within that cloud of smoke and flashing flame the fateof a nation hung--the South was a nation to him--and before the sun setthe decree might be given. He was filled with woe to be sitting therelooking on at so vast an event. Vain, selfish and superficial, depths inhis nature were touched at last. This was no longer a scene set as at atheatre, upon which one might fight for the sake of ambition or apersonal glory. Suddenly he sank into insignificance. The fortunes orthe feelings of one man were lost in mightier issues.

  "It's coming back!" exclaimed Mrs. Markham.

  The battle again approached the old house, the clouds swept up denserand darker, the tumult of the rifles and the great guns grew louder; thevoices, the cries and the commands were heard again, and the humanfigures, distorted and unreal, reappeared against the black or fierybackground. To Helen's mind returned the simile of a huge flaming pit inwhich multitudes of little imps struggled and fought. She was yet unableto invest them with human attributes like her own, and the mystic andunreal quality in this battle which oppressed her from the first did notdepart.

  "It is all around us," said Mrs. Markham.

  Helen looked up and saw that her words were true. The battle now made acomplete circuit of the house, though yet distant, and from every pointcame the thunder of the cannon and the rifles, the low and almostrhythmic tread of great armies in mortal struggle, and the rising cloudsof dust, ashes and smoke shot with the rapid flame of the guns, likeincessant sheet-lightning.

  The clouds had become so dense that the battle, though nearer, grewdimmer in many of its aspects; but the distorted and unreal humanfigures moved like shadows on a screen and were yet visible, springingabout and crossing and recrossing in an infinite black tracery that theeye could not follow. But to neither of the three did the thought offear yet come. They were still watchers of the arena, from high seats,and the battle was not to take them in its coils.

  The flame, the red light from the guns, grew more vivid, and was sorapid and incessant that it became a steady glare, illuminating the vastscene on which the battle was outspread; the black stems of the oaks andpines, the guns--some wheelless and broken now, the charging lines,fallen horses scattered in the scrub, all the medley and strain of atitanic battle.

  The sparks flew in vast showers. Bits of charred wood from the burningforest, caught up by the wind, began to fall on the thin roof of the oldhouse, and kept up a steady, droning patter. The veil of gray ashes uponthe floor and on the scanty furniture grew thicker. The coloured womannever ceased for a moment to cry drearily.

  "It is still doubtful!" murmured Harley.

  His keen, discerning eye began to see a method, an order in all thishuge tumult--signs of a design, and of another design to defeat it--thehuman mind seeking to achieve an end. One side was the North
and anotherthe South--but which was his own he could not tell. For the present heknew not where to place his sympathies, and the fortunes of the battlewere all unknown to him.

  He looked again at his watch. Mid-afternoon. Hours and hours had passedand still the doubtful battle hung on the turning of a hair; but hisstudy of it, his effort to trace its fortune through all the intricatemaze of smoke and flame, did not cease. He sought to read the purposesof the two master minds which marshaled their forces against each other,to evolve order from chaos and to read what was written already.

  Suddenly he uttered a low cry. He could detect now the colour of theuniforms. There on the right was the gray, his own side, and Harley'ssoul dropped like lead in water. The gray were yielding slowly, almostimperceptibly, but nevertheless were yielding. The blue masses werepouring upon them continually, heavier and heavier, always coming to theattack.

  Harley glanced at the women. They, too, saw as he saw. He read it in thedeathly pallor of their faces, their lips parted and trembling, thefallen look of their eyes. It was not a mere spectacle now--something togaze at appalled, not because of the actors in it, but because of thespectacle itself. It was beginning now to have a human interest, vitaland terrible--the interest of themselves, their friends and the South towhich they belonged.

  Helen suddenly remembered a splendid figure that had ridden away fromher window that morning--the figure of the man who alone had come to bidher good-by, he who had seemed to her a very god of war himself; and sheknew he must be there in that flaming pit with the other marionettes whoreeled back and forth as the master minds hurled fresh legions anew tothe attack. If not there, one thing alone had happened, and she refusedto think of that, though she shuddered; but she would not picture himthus. No; he rode triumphant at the head of his famous brigade, sword inhand, bare and shining, and there was none who could stand before itsedge. It was with pride that she thought of him, and a faint blush creptover her face, then passed quickly like a mist before sunshine.

  The battle shifted again and the faces of the three who watched at thewindow reflected the change in a complete and absolute manner. The Northwas thrust back, the South gained--a few feet perhaps, but a gainnevertheless, and joy shone on the faces where pallor and fear had beenbefore. To the two women this change would be permanent. They could seeno other result. The North would be thrown back farther and farther,overwhelmed in rout and ruin. They looked forward to it eagerly and infancy saw it already. The splendid legions of the South could not bebeaten.

  But no such thoughts came to Harley. He felt all the joy of a momentarytriumph, but he knew that the fortune of the battle still hung in doubt.Strain eye and ear as he would, he could see no decrease in the tumultnor any decline in the energy of the figures that fought there, anintricate tracery against the background of red and black. The afternoonwas waning, and his ears had grown so used to the sounds without that hecould hear everything within the house. The low, monotonous crying ofthe coloured woman was as distinct as if there were no battle ahalf-mile away.

  The dense fine ashes crept into their throats and all three coughedrepeatedly, but did not notice it, having no thought for anything savefor what was passing before them. They were powdered with it, face, hairand shoulders, until it lay over them like a veil, but they did not knownor care.

  The battle suddenly changed again and the South was pressed back anew.Once more their faces fell, and the hearts of the women, raised to suchheights, sank to the depths. It was coming nearer, too. There was afierce hiss, a shrill scream and something went by.

  "A shell passed near us then," said Harley, "and there's another. Thebattle is swinging close."

  Still the element of fear did not enter into the minds of any of thethree, not even into those of the women, although another shell passedby and then others, all with a sharp, screaming note, full of malignantferocity. Then they ceased to come and the battle again hovered in thedistance, growing redder and redder than ever against a black backgroundas the day darkened and the twilight approached. Its sound now was aroar and a hum--many varying notes blending into a steady clamour, whichwas not without a certain rhythm and music--like the simultaneousbeating of a million mighty bass drums.

  "They still press us back," murmured Harley; "the battle is wavering."

  With the coming of the twilight the light in the forest of scrub oaksand pines, the light from so many cannon and rifles, assumed vivid andunearthly hues, tinged at the edges with a yellow glare and shot throughnow and then with blue and purple streaks. Over it hung the dark andsullen sky.

  "It comes our way again," said Harley.

  It seemed now to converge upon them from all sides, to contract itscoils like a python, but still the house was untouched, save by thedrifting smoke and ashes. Darker and darker the night came down, a blackcap over all this red struggle, but with its contrast deepening thevivid colours of the combat that went on below.

  Nearer it came, and suddenly some horsemen shot from the flame-cloud andstood for a moment in a huddled group, as if they knew not which way toturn. They were outlined vividly against the red battle and theiruniforms were gray. Even Helen could see why they hesitated and doubted.Riderless horses galloped out of the smoke and, with the curiousattraction that horses have for the battlefield, hovered near, theirempty saddles on their backs.

  A groan burst from Harley.

  "My God," he cried, "those cavalrymen are going to retreat!"

  Then he saw something that struck him with a deeper pang, though he wassilent for the moment. He knew those men. Even at the distance many ofthe figures were familiar.

  "My own troop!" he gasped. "Who could have thought it?"

  Then he added, in sad apology: "They need a leader."

  The horsemen were still in doubt, although they seemed to drift backwardand away from the field of battle. A fierce passion lay hold of Harleyand inflamed his brain. He saw his own men retreating when the fate ofthe South hung before them. He thought neither of his wounds nor of thetwo women beside him, one his sister. Springing to his feet while theytried in vain to hold him back, he cried out that he had lingered therelong enough. He threw off their clinging hands, ran to the door, bloodfrom his own wounds streaking his clothes, and they saw him rush acrossthe open space toward the edge of the forest where the horsemen yetlingered. They saw him, borne on by excitement, seize one of theriderless horses, leap into the saddle and turn his face toward thebattle. They almost fancied that they could hear his shout to histroops: "Come on, men; the way is here, not there!"

  The horse he had seized was that of a slain bugler, and the bugle, tiedby a string to the horn of the saddle, still hung there. Harley liftedit to his lips, blew a note that rose, mellow and inspiring, above allthe roar of the cannon and the rifles, and then, at the head of his men,rode into the heart of the battle.