Love under Fire

by Randall Parrish

  CHAPTER XV

  I MEET AN EX-SLAVE

  In this narrative of adventure it would but waste the reader's time toindulge in any extended description of military movements. The interestof my story centres around individuals rather than the great events ofhistory, and I will touch these but briefly, so as to make thesurrounding conditions sufficiently clear. It was noon the following daywhen I reached headquarters with my report, only to find that rumors ofthe combined movements of Johnston's and Beauregard's forces had alreadypenetrated our lines. I could merely add details to the informationpreviously received. The result was the immediate strengthening of ourposition to repel any possible attack. None occurred however, exceptdesultory skirmishing. Later we learned the reason to be the failure ofChambers to appear, his march having been retarded by heavy rains.

  At the end of this period of waiting our army was well prepared foraction, the troops eager to test the strength of the enemy. Impatient ofdelay, and suspecting the probable cause of the Confederate quietness,we finally took the aggressive, determined to regain our former positionsouth of the river. An. early morning attack won us the bridge and thetown beyond, while heavy forces rushed the available fords, and aftersome severe fighting, obtained foothold on the opposite bank. Hastilythrowing up intrenchments these advance troops succeeded in repulsingtwo charges before nightfall. This brought an end to hostilities. Duringthe hours of darkness reinforcements were hurried across the stream. Bydawn the opposing forces were about evenly mated, and every man ineither line knew a battle was imminent.

  In this emergency the need of every soldier was felt, and I was returnedto my regiment for duty. We were the first to trot over the recapturedbridge, and through the deserted streets of the village. Impelled by acuriosity which could not be resisted I wheeled my horse and rode up thegravelled driveway to Judge Moran's door, but to my vigorous knockingthere was no response. The shades were drawn at the windows, the housesilent, and yet I felt convinced the old partisan was within, watchingfrom some point of vantage. Yet if I believed this, the same silence andrefusal to respond also served to convince me that Miss Hardy was nolonger there. She was a vastly different type, and would exhibitinterest even in the coming of the enemy. Ay! and she would have seenme, and not for one moment could I be made to believe that she wouldtreat me with contempt.

  I rode back slowly to rejoin the column of horsemen, glancing over myshoulder at the house, my mind busily occupied with the stirring eventswhich had transpired there. She had gone with the Confederate troops,and had probably already been safely returned to her own home. Moranmight have departed also, but more likely he remained to look after hisproperty. I wondered who was her escort for the long ride--would it beCaptain Le Gaire, sufficiently recovered from his injuries for thisservice, yet scarcely capable of active military duty? If so, he waswith her still, a guest at "The Gables," sufficiently an invalid to beinteresting, and to require attention, but with tongue in good repair. Iwas glad I had told my story first; the gentleman would experience somedifficulty in changing Miss Willifred's opinion of the affair.

  The gray dust cloud hung about us, almost obscuring the files ofplodding troopers; to right and left the flankers showed dark againstthe green of the fields, and far in front an occasional carbine barkedas some suspicious scout fired at a skulking figure. Once this wouldhave been full of interest, but now it was mere routine, the sturdyveterans of the Ninth riding soberly forward, choked with dust, theirhats drawn low over their eyes, wearied by a long night in the saddle. Iglanced proudly down those ranks of fighting men, glad to be with themonce again, but my thought drifted back to Billie, for this was the roadwe had travelled together. It seemed a long while ago, and much mighthappen before we should meet again, if ever we did. I might be killed inbattle, or Le Gaire might insist upon an immediate marriage. This lastwas what I most feared, for I believed that if this could only besufficiently delayed, she would learn to know the man better, and refuseto be sacrificed. The engagement rather mystified me, for it was clearenough no blind love on her part was responsible for its existence; atleast she had begun to perceive his shallowness, and resented hisattempt at bullying. I even began to believe that some one else had nowcome into her life, whose memory would serve to increase the feeling ofdissatisfaction. Le Gaire was not the kind that wears well--he could notimprove upon acquaintance; and, while I was no connoisseur of women, yetI could not persuade myself that her nature was patient enough not torevolt against his pretensions. I was no egotist, no lady-killer, but Irecognized now that I loved this girl, and had read in her eyes themessage of hope. Mine was, at least, a fighting chance, and fightingwas my trade. I liked it better so, finding the lady more alluringbecause of the barrier between us, the zest of combat quickening mydesire. Already I began to plan meeting her again, now that the campaignhad turned our faces southward. Back beyond those wooded hills somefreak of fate must lead me right, some swirl of fortune afford meopportunity. I was of the school of Hope, and Love yielded courage.

  I looked back down the long hill, so silent and deserted that graymorning when we were driving together, but now dark with the solidmasses of marching troops. It was a stirring scene to soldier eyes,knowing these men were pressing sternly on to battle. They seemed like aconfused, disorganized mob, filling the narrow road, and streaming outthrough the fields; yet I could read the meaning of each detachedmovement, as cavalry, artillery, infantry, staff and wagon trains, metand separated, swinging into assigned positions, or making swift detour.Hoarse voices shouted; bugles pealed; there was the rumble of wheels,the pounding of hoofs, the tramp of feet, and over all the cloud ofdust, through which the sun shone redly. The intense vividness of thepicture gave me a new memory of war. Suddenly a battery of artillery,out of sight on the distant crest, opened fire, the shrieking shellsplunging down into the ploughed field at our left, and casting the softdirt high in air. Our advance spread wide into skirmish line, the blackdots representing men flitting up the steep side of the hill, whitespirals of smoke evidencing their musket fire. Behind them was a grimmass of infantry, silent and ominous, swinging forward like a hugesnake. The men of the Ninth straightened up, their eyes glowing, but itwas soon over with--the snake uncoiled, flinging a tail gleaming withsteel over the ridge, and the troopers sank back wearily intotheir saddles.

  As I turned again to glance over my shoulder I noticed a man riding atthe right of the second file. His face was new to me, and so peculiarwas it that I continued to stare, unable to determine whether the fellowwas white or colored. He was in private's uniform, but carried no arms,and for head covering, instead of the hat worn by the Ninth, had aninfantry cap perched jauntily on his curly black hair. But his face wasclear, and his cheeks rosy, and he sat straight as an arrow in thesaddle. I drew back my horse and ranged up beside him, inspired bycuriosity. The eyes turned toward me undoubtedly betrayed negro blood.

  "I do not remember seeing you before," I said, wiping the dust from mylips. "Are you a new recruit?"

  "I'se Col'nel Cochran's man," he answered, without salute, but with theaccent of education oddly mixed with dialect.

  "Oh, I see--what has become of Sam?"

  "He done took sick, an' de col'nel wanted a man right away, so he pickedme."

  "Did you belong around here?"

  "Well, no, not exactly belong round yere, but I'se travelled dese partssome considerable. I was born down in Louisiana, sah."

  "Not so very long ago either," I ventured, feeling a peculiar interestin the fellow. "Were you a slave?"

  His rather thin lips closed over his white teeth, and his fingersgripped the saddle pommel.

  "Yes,"--the word snapped out. "I'se nineteen, sah, an' my mother was aslave. I reckon my father was white 'nough, but that don't count fo'much--I'se a nigger just de same. Dat's bad 'nough, let me tell yo', butit's worse to be yo' own father's nigger."

  I had nothing to say to this outburst, feeling that back of it werefacts into which I had no right to probe, and we rode along quiet
ly.Then he spoke, glancing aside at me:

  "Dey won't be no 'portant fightin' long yere, sah, not fo' 'bout tenmiles."

  "How do you figure that out?"

  "'Cause de lay ob de groun' ain't right, fo' one thing, an' 'cause allde Confed intrenchments was back yander."

  "Yonder--where?"

  "In behind de log church at de Three Corners--done know dat countrymighty well."

  I turned and faced him, instantly suspicious.

  "Now see here; you do know that country, and a bit too well for a manriding in the ranks. Where did you come from? Were you in theConfederate service? Let's have this straight."

  "Suah," with frankness. "I done tol' de col'nel all how it was. I waswid my Massa from Louisiana, an' he was a captain, sah! 'Bout two weeksago he lef' me down yander on de pike wid orders fo' to stay dere tillhe done come back. But it wa'n't no job fo' me, sah, an' so I skippedout de first night, an' joined up wid de Yanks. I reckon I knows 'boutwhar I belongs in dis yere fightin', an' I ain't nobody's slaveno mor'."

  The lad's earnestness impressed me, and beneath his words was evident adeep smouldering resentment, not so much against slavery as against theindividual who had owned him.

  "What is your name, my boy?"

  "Charles Le Gaire, sah."