CHAPTER XXVI
Through the winter of 1863-4 at Grey Pine things remained unaltered, andMcGregor concluded that there was no hope for happier change. Rareletters came from John Penhallow to his aunt, who sent no replies, and toLeila, who wrote impersonal letters, as did John. Once he wrote that hisuncle might like to know, that after that pontoon business in the nightat Chattanooga and General Farrar Smith's brilliant action, he, JohnPenhallow, was to be addressed as _Captain_. As the war went on, he wasacross the Rapidan with Grant in May.
At Grey Pine after breakfast the windows and both doors of the hall wereopen to let the western breezes enter. They lingered in the garden tostir the mothers of unborn flowers and swept through the hall, bearing asthey passed some gentle intimation of the ending of a cold spring.
The mail had been given to the colonel, as he insisted it should be. Withsome appearance of interest he said, "From Mark, for you, Ann."
"None for me, Uncle?" asked Leila, as she went around the table. "Let mehelp you. How many there are." She captured her own share, and for amoment stood curious as she sorted the mail. "Army trash, Uncle! What alot of paper is needed to carry on war! Here is one--I have seen himbefore--he is marked 'Respectfully referred.'"
The colonel released a smile, which stirred Ann like a pleasant memory,and fed one of the little hopes she was ever on the watch to find. "Whatis your letter, Ann?" he asked.
Looking up she replied, "It is only to acknowledge receipt of my draft.He is in Washington. I gather that he does not mean to come back untilthe war is over." "Over!" she thought; "Lee is not Pemberton, as Grantwill learn." It was of more moment to her that Penhallow was easier tointerest, and ate as he used to do.
"Is your letter from John, Leila?" he said. "I don't like concealments."
"But, I didn't conceal anything!"
"Don't contradict me!"
"No, sir."
Ann's face grew watchful, fearing one of the outbreaks which left himweak and querulous.
"Well," said the colonel, "read us John's letter. There is as much fussabout it as if it were a love-letter."
There is no way as yet discovered to victoriously suppress a blush, buttime--a little fraction of time--is helpful, and there are ways of hidingwhat cannot be conquered. The letter fell on the floor, and beingrecovered was opened and read with a certain something in the voice whichcaused Ann critically to use her eyes.
"DEAR LEILA: I am just now with the Second Corps, but where you will knowin a week; now I must not say.--"
"What's the date?" asked Penhallow.
"There is none."
"Look at the envelope."
"I tore it up, sir."
"Never throw away an envelope until you have read the letter." Ann lookedpleased--that was James Penhallow, his old self. Leila read on.
"I am glad to be under canvas, and you know my faith in General Grant.
"Tell Aunt Ann I have had three servants in two weeks. These newly freedblacks are like mere children and quite useless, or else--well--one wasbrutal to my horse. I sometimes wish Josiah was twins and I had one ofhim.--"
"What's that?" asked Penhallow. "Twins--I don't understand."
"He wishes he had a servant like Josiah, Uncle."
"Well, let him go to John," said the Colonel, with something of his oldpositive manner.
"But you would miss him, James."
"I will not," he returned, and then--"What else is there?"
"Oh--nothing--except that he will write again soon, and that he met Mr.Rivers in Washington. That is all--a very unsatisfactory letter."
For a day or two the colonel said no more of Josiah, and then asked ifhe had gone, and was so obviously annoyed that Ann gave way as usualand talked of her husband's wish to Josiah. The old life of Westwaysand Grey Pine was over, and Josiah was allowed by Ann to do so littlefor Penhallow that the black was not ill-pleased to leave home again forthe army life and to be with the man whom as a lad he had trusted andwho had helped him in a day of peril.
No one thought of any need for a pass. He was amply supplied with moneyand bade them good-bye. He put what he required in a knapsack, andleaving Westways for the second time and with a lighter heart, set offafoot to catch the train at Westways Crossing. The old slave was thusput upon a way which was to lead to renewed and unpleasant acquaintancewith one of the minor characters of my story.
Tired of unaccustomed idleness Josiah grinned as he went across countrythinking of the directions he had received from Leila of how he was tofind John Penhallow.
"You know he is captain of engineers, Josiah. Now how are you going tofind him? An army is as big as a great city, and in motion, too."
"Well, missy," said Josiah, "the way I'll find him is the way dog Caesarfinds you in the woods." He would hear no more and left her.
Josiah knew many people in Washington, black and white, and after somedisappointments went with a lot of remounts for cavalry to join thearmy in the Wilderness, where he served variously with the army teams.On an afternoon late in May, 1864, he strode on, passing by the longlines of marching men who filled the roadways on their way to thecrossing of the North Anna River. He had been chaffed, misdirected,laughed at or civilly treated, as he questioned men about the engineers.He took it all with good-humour. About three, he came near to a houseon the wayside, where a halt had been ordered to give the men a briefrest. The soldiers dust-grey and thirsty scattered over the clearing orlay in the shadow of the scrub oaks. Some thronged about a well or awayside spring, or draining their canteens caught a brief joy from thelighted pipe so dear to the soldier. Josiah looked about him, and knewthe log-cabins some distance away from the better house to have been theslave-quarters. Beyond them was a better built log-house. Apparently allwere deserted--men, cattle and horses, were gone. He lay down a littleway from the road and listened to the talk of the men seated in front ofhim. He heard a private say, "A halt is as bad as a march, the dust is afoot deep, and what between flies and mosquitoes, they're as bad as theRebs."
"Ah!" said an old corporal, "just you wait a bit. These are only askirmish line. July and Chickahominy mosquitoes will get you when yourbaccy's out."
"It's out now."
Josiah was eager to question some one and was aware of the value oftobacco as a social solvent. He said, "I've got some baccy, corporal."
The men in front of him turned. "For sale--how much?"
"No," said Josiah. "My pouch is full. Help yourselves."
This liberal contribution was warmly appreciated, and the private, whowas the son of a New York banker, interested in the black man, asked,"What are you doing in this big circus?" It was the opening for whichJosiah waited.
"Looking for an engineer-captain."
The corporal said, "Well, like enough he'll be at the bridge of the NorthAnna--but the engineers are here, there and anywhere. What is his name?"
"Thank you, sir. My master is Captain Penhallow."
"Well, good luck to you."
"Take another pipe load," returned Josiah, grateful for the unusualinterest.
"Thank you," said the private, "with pleasure. Tobacco is as scarce ashen's teeth."
"That's so. Who's that officer on the big horse? He's a rider whoever heis."
"That's the ring-master of this show," laughed the private.
"Not General Grant!"
"Yes." Josiah considered him with interest.
There was of a sudden some disturbance about the larger of the moreremote cabins; a soldier ran out followed by a screaming young woman.Her wild cries attracted attention to the man, who was at once caughtand held while he vainly protested. The men about Josiah sat up or goton their feet. The young woman ran here and there among the groups ofsoldiers like one distracted. At last, near the larger house at theroadside she fell on her knees and rocked backwards and forwards sobbing.Josiah at a distance saw only that a soldier had been caught trying toescape notice as a young woman followed him out of the house. It was toowell understood by the angry men wh
o crowded around the captive.
The general said to his staff, "Wait here, gentlemen." He rode throughthe crowd of soldiers, saying, "Keep back, my men; keep away--all ofyou." Then he dismounted and walked to where the girl--she was hardlymore--still knelt wailing and beating the air with uplifted hands. "Standup, my good girl, and tell me what is wrong."
The voice was low and of a certain gentleness, rarely rising even inmoments of peril. She stood up, "I can't--I can't--let me go--I want todie!"
The figure, still slight of build in those days, bent over her pitiful."I am General Grant. Look up at me. There shall be justice done, but Imust know."
She looked up a moment at the kind grave face, then with bent head andhands over her eyes she sobbed out what none but the general could hear.His voice grew even more distinctly soft as touching her shoulder hesaid, "Look at that man. Oh, bring him near--nearer. Now, be sure, isthat the man? Look again! I must be certain."
With a quick motion she pushed his hand from her shoulder as she stood,and pointing to the brute held by two soldiers cried, "That's him--oh, myGod! Take him away--kill him. Le' me go. Don't you keep me." She lookedabout like some hopelessly trapped, wild-eyed animal.
"You may go, of course," said the low-voiced man. "I will set a guardover your house."
"Don't want no Yankee guard--le' me go--I've got nothin' to guard--I wantto die." She darted away and through the parting groups of men who wereclear enough about what they knew had happened and what should be done.
The dark grey eyes of the General followed her flight for a pityinginstant. Then he remounted, and said to the scared captive, "What haveyou got to say?"
"It's all a lie."
The general's face grew stern. He turned and asked for an officer of theProvost Guard. A captain rode up and saluted. "I have no time to lose intrying this scoundrel. We can't take along the only witness." Hehesitated a moment. "Let your men tie him to a tree near the road. Lettwo of the guard watch him until the rear has gone by. Put a paper on hisbreast--make his crime clear, clear." He said a word or two more to theofficer, and then "put on it, '_Left to the justice of General Lee_.'"
"Is that all, sir?" said the amazed officer.
"No--put below, '_U.S. Grant_.' The girl will tell her story. When thecavalry pass, leave him. Now, gentlemen, the men have had a rest, let usride on."
Josiah a hundred feet away heard, "Fall in--fall in." The tired soldiersrose reluctant and the long line tramped away. Josiah interested satstill and saw them go by under the dust-laden air. The girl had gone pasther home and into the woods. The guards curiously watched by the marchingmen passed near Josiah with their prisoner and busied themselves withlooking among the hazel, scrub oak and sassafras for a large enough treenear to the road. As they went by, he saw the man.
"My God!" he exclaimed, "it's Peter Lamb." He moved away and lay downwell hidden in the brush. It was a very simple mind which considered thismeeting with the only being the black man hated. The unusual neverappealed to him as it would have done to a more imaginative person. Thecoming thus on his enemy was only what he had angrily predicted when hehad Peter in his power and had said to him that some day God would punishhim. It had come true.
The men who had arrested Peter and were near enough to hear the briefsentence, understood it, and being eagerly questioned soon spread amongthe moving ranks the story of the crime and this unexampled punishment.It was plain to Josiah, but what was to follow he did not know, as herose, lingered about, and following the Provost's party considered thewonderful fact of his fulfilled prediction. The coincidence of beinghimself present did not cause the surprise which what we callcoincidences awaken in minds which crave explanations of the uncommon.It was just what was sure to happen somehow, some day, when God settledJosiah's personal account with a wicked man. He had, however, an urgentcuriosity to see how it would end and a remainder of far-descendedsavagery in the wish to let his one enemy know that he was a witnessof his punishment. Thinking thus, Josiah went through the wayside scrubto see how the guard would dispose of their prisoner.
The man who had sinned was presently tied to a tree facing the road. Hishands were securely tied behind it, and his feet as rudely dealt with.He said no word as they pinned the label on his breast. Then the twoguards sat down between Peter and the roadway. Men of the passingbrigades asked them questions. They replied briefly and smoked withentire unconcern as to their prisoner, or speculated in regard to whatthe Rebs would say or do to him. The mosquitoes tormented him, and oncehe shuddered when one of the guards guessed that perhaps the girl wouldcome back and see him tied up. The story of Grant's unusual punishmentwas told over and over to men as the regiments went by. Now and thensoldiers left the ranks to read the sentence of what must mean death.Some as they read were as silent as the doomed wretch; others laughed orcursed him for dishonouring the army in which this one crime was almostunknown. A sergeant tore the corps mark from his coat, and still he saidno word. The long-drawn array went on and on; the evening shadowslengthened; miles of wagon trains rumbled by; whips cracked over mules;the cavalry guard bringing up the rear was lost in the dust left bytramping thousands; the setting sun shone through it ruddy; and last camethe squadron net of the Provost-marshal gathering in the stragglers.Tired men were helped by a grip on the stirrup leather. The lazyloiterers were urged forward with language unquotable, the mildest being"darned coffee-coolers." At last, all had gone.
Josiah rose from his hiding place and listened as the clank of steel andthe sound of hurried horsemen died away. No other noises broke thetwilight stillness. He walked back to the roadside, and stood before thepinioned and now lonely man. "You're caught at last, Peter Lamb."
"Oh, Lord!" cried the captive. "It's Josiah. For God's sake, let meloose."
"Reckon I won't," said Josiah.
"I'm in agony--my arms--I shall die--and I am innocent. I did not doanything. Won't you help me?"
"No--the Rebs will come and hang you."
The man's cunning awoke. He said the one thing, made the one plea which,as he spoke, troubled Josiah's decision. "Is the Squire alive?"
"Why shouldn't he be alive?" asked Josiah, surprised.
"Oh, I saw in a paper that he was wounded at Gettysburg. Now, Josiah, ifhe was here--if he was to know you left me to die."
Josiah was uncertain what he would have done. His simple-minded view ofthings was disturbed, and his tendency to be forgiving kindly assisted togive potency to the appeal. He said, "I won't set you free, but I'll dothis much," and he tore the paper from Peter's breast, saying, "You'llget off with some lie when the Rebs come." Then he turned and walkedaway, tearing up the death warrant and hearing the wild pleas of thepainfully bound man.
The night had come, but save for the faintly heard complaint of somefar-distant dog, there was nothing to break the quiet of the desertedland which lay between the two armies. Having torn to pieces andcarefully scattered the bits of paper, Josiah, who while doing one thingcould not think of another, began to reflect on what he had done. He hadbeen too long in servitude not to respect authority. If any one knew--butno one could know. He himself had said that what had come upon Lamb was ajudgment--the act of one who had said, "I will repay." It troubled a mindwhose machinery was of childlike incapacity to deal with problemsinvolving the moral aspects of conduct. Perhaps this had been a chance togive Lamb an opportunity to repent by setting him free; but there hadalready been interference with the judgment of God. More personallymaterial events relieved the black from responsibility. His quick earcaught the sound of troopers, the sharp notes of steel clinking; he hadno mind to be picked up by the enemy's horse, and dismissing all otherconsiderations he took to the woods and walked rapidly away. Late in theevening he crossed the North Anna with a train of wagons, as driver of anunruly mule team, one of which had rewarded his driver in kind for brutaluse of the whip and perverted English. The man groaning in the wagoninformed Josiah concerning mules and their ways. After a day or two hewas pleased to get back on his legs,
for when bullets were not flying thearmy life was full of interest. A man who could cook well, shave anofficer or shoe a horse, never lacked the friends of an hour; and too,his unfailing good-humour was always helpful. An officer of the linewould have been easy to find, but the engineers were continually inmotion and hard to locate. He got no news of John Penhallow until the29th of May, when he came on General Wilson's cavalry division left onthe north side of the Pamunkey River to cover the crossing of the trains.These troopers were rather particular about straggling negroes, andJosiah sharply questioned told the simple truth as he moved toward thebridge, answering the questions of a young officer. A horse tied to asapling at the roadside for reasons unknown kicked the passing cavalryman's horse. The officer moved on swearing a very original mixture ofthe over-ripe English of armies. Swearing was a highly cultivatedaccomplishment in the cavalry; no infantry profanity approached it inoriginality. The officer occupied with his uneasy horse dropped Josiahas he rode on. A small, dark-skinned negro, rather neatly dressed, spoketo Josiah in the dialect of the Southern slave, which I shall not try toput on paper. He spoke reflectively and as if from long consideration ofthe subject, entering at once into the intimacies of a relation with theman of his own colour.
"That horse is the meanest I ever saw--I know him."
"He's near thoroughbred," said Josiah, "and been badly handled, Ireckon. It's no good cussin' horses or mules--a good horseman don't everdo it--horses know."
"Well, the officer that rides that horse now is about the only man canride him. That horse pretty nearly killed one of my general's staff. Hesold him mighty sudden."
"Who's your General?" queries Josiah.
"Why, General Grant--I'm his headquarter man--they call meBill--everybody knows me."
He rose at once in Josiah's estimation. "Who owns that horse?" askedJosiah. "I'd like well to handle his beast."
"He's an engineer-officer, name of Penhallow. He's down yonder somewhereabout that pontoon bridge. I'm left here to hunt up a headquarter wagon."
"Penhallow!" exclaimed Josiah, delighted. "Why, I'm down here to be hisservant."
"Well, let's go to the bridge. You'll get a chance to cross after thewagons get over. I've just found mine." They moved to one side and satdown. "That's Wilson's cavalry on guard. Worst dust I ever saw. Infantrydust's bad, but cavalry dust don't ever settle. The Ninth Corps's goneover. There come the wagons." With cracking of whip and imprecations thewagons went over the swaying pontoons. Bill left him, and Josiah waitedto cross behind the wagons.
On the bridge midway, a young officer in the dark dress and black-stripedpantaloons of the engineers moved beside the teams anxiously observingsome loosened flooring. A wagon wheel gave way, and the wagon lurchingover struck the officer, who fell into the muddy water of the Pamunkey.Always amused at an officer's mishap, cavalry men and drivers laughed.The young man struck out for the farther shore, and came on to a shelvingslope of slimy mud, and was vainly struggling to get a footing when anofficer ran down the bank and gave him a needed hand. Thus aided,Penhallow gained firm ground. With a look of disgust at his condition, ashe faced the laughing troopers he said, with his somewhat formal way, "Towhom am I indebted?"
"Roland Blake is my name. Isn't it Captain Penhallow of the engineers?"
"Yes, well disguised with Rebel mud. What a mess! But, by George! notworse than you when I first saw you."
"Where was it?" asked Blake.
"I can give a good guess. You were quite as lovely as Mr. Penhallow." Itwas a third officer who spoke. "By the bye," he added, "as Blake doesn'tpresent me, I am Philip Francis."
"I can't even offer to shake hands," returned Penhallow, laughing, as hescraped the flakes of mud from his face. "I saw you both at the BloodyAngle. I think I could describe you."
"Don't," said Francis.
"Some people are modest," said Blake. "I think you will soon dry to dustin this sun. I have offered myself that consolation before. It's the onlycertainty in this land of the unexpected."
"The wagons are over; here comes the guard," said Francis. "It's ourbeastly business now. Call up the men, Roland."
"Provost duty, I suppose," said Penhallow. "I prefer my mud."
"Yes," growled Francis, "human scavengers--army police. I'm out of itthis week, thank Heaven."
The last wagon came creaking over the bridge, the long line of cavalrytrotted after them, the Provost Guard mounted to fall in at the rear andgather in the stragglers.
"Sorry I can't give you a mount," said Blake, as he turned to recross thebridge.
"Thank you, I have a horse on the other side." As he spoke a breezestirred the dead atmosphere and shook down from the trees their gatheredload of dust.
Francis said, "It's half of Virginia!"
Blake murmured, "Dust to dust--a queer reminder."
"Oh, shut up!" cried Francis.
The young engineer laughed and said to himself, "If Aunt Ann could seeme. It's like being tarred and feathered. See you soon again, I hope, Mr.Blake. I am deep in your debt." They passed out of sight. No one remainedbut the bridge-guard.
The engineer sat down and devoted his entire energies to the difficulttask of pulling off boots full of mud and water. Meanwhile as theprovost-officers rode back over the pontoons Francis said, "I rememberthat man, Penhallow, at the Bloody Angle. He was the only man I saw whowasn't fight-crazy, he insisted on my going to the rear. You know I wasbleeding like a stuck pig. It was between the two attacks. I said, 'Oh,go to H---!' He said, 'There is no need to go far.' I am sure he did notremember me. A rather cool hand--West Point, of course."
"What struck me," said Blake, "was that he did not swear."
"Then," said Francis, "he is the only man in the army who would havefailed to damn those grinning troopers."
"Except Grant," said Blake.
"So they say.--It's hard to believe, but I suppose the Staff knows.Wonder if Lee swears. Two army commanders who don't swear? It'sincredible!"
As Penhallow, left alone, tugged at a reluctant boot, he heard, "GoodLord! Master John, that's my business."
He looked up to seize Josiah by the hand, exclaiming, "How did you gethere?--I am glad to see you. Pull off this boot. How are they all?"
"The Colonel he sent me."
"Indeed! How is he? I've not heard for a month."
"He's bad, Master John, bad--kind of forgets things--and swears."
"That's strange for him."
"The doctors they can't seem to make it out. He hasn't put a leg over ahorse, not since he was wounded." Evidently this was for Josiah the mostserious evidence of change from former health.
"How is Aunt Ann?"
Tugging at the boots Josiah answered, "She's just a wonder--and MissLeila, she's just as pretty as a pansy."
Penhallow smiled; it left a large choice to the imagination."Pansy--pansy--why is she like a pansy, Josiah?"
"Well, Master John, it's because she's so many kinds of pretty. You seeI used to raise pansies. That boot's a tough one."
"Have you any letters for me?"
"No, sir. They said I wasn't as sure as the army-post. Got a notefrom Dr. McGregor in my sack. Hadn't I better get your horse over thebridge--I liked his looks, and I asked a man named Bill who owned thathorse. He said you did, and that's how I found you. He said that horsewas a bad one. He said he was called 'Hoodoo.' That's unlucky!"
"Yes, he's mine, Josiah. You would like to change his name?"
"Yes, sir, I would. This boot's the worst!"
Penhallow laughed. "That horse, Josiah, has every virtue a horse ought tohave and every vice he ought not to have. He'll be as good as Aunt Annone day, and as mean and bad as Peter Lamb the next day. Halloa there,guard! let my man cross over."
Hoodoo came quietly, and as Penhallow walked his horse, Josiah relatedthe village news, and then more and more plainly the captain gatheredsome clear idea of his uncle's condition and of the influence the youngerwoman was exerting on a household over which hung the feeling ofinexorable doom.
As he read McGregor's letter he knew too well that werehe with them he could be of no practical use.
The next few days John Penhallow was kept busy, and on June 2nd having toreport with some sketch-maps he found the headquarters at BethesdaChurch. The pews had been taken out and set under trees. The staff wasscattered about at ease. General Grant, to John's amusement, was pettinga stray kitten with one hand and writing despatches with the other. Atlast he began to talk with members of the Christian Commission abouttheir work. Among them John was aware of Mark Rivers. A few minutes laterhe had his chance and took the clergyman away to the tents of theengineers for a long and disheartening talk of home. They met no more formany days, and soon he was too busy to think of asking the leave ofabsence he so much desired.