Love under Fire

by Randall Parrish

  CHAPTER XXVI

  THE LAST STAND

  I had no time to answer, no opportunity to even realize what was meant.There was a fiendish roar, a crash that shook the house to its veryfoundations, sending us staggering back against the walls. I remembergripping Billie closely, and seeing her white face, even as I warded offwith uplifted arm the falling plaster. The soldier was on his knees,grovelling with face against the floor. A great jagged hole appeared inthe opposite wall, and I could see daylight through it. My ears roared,my brain reeled.

  "Lie down," I cried, forcing her to the floor. "Both of you lie down!"

  "And you--you!"

  I caught a glimpse of her eyes staring up at me, her arms uplifted.

  "I am going to stop this," I answered, "and you must stay here."

  I stumbled over the rubbish, with but one thought driving me--thedining-room table, its white cloth, and the possibility of gettingoutside before those deadly guns could be discharged again. I knew thehouse was already in ruins, tottering, with huge gaping holes ripped inits sides; that dead men littered the floor; and the walls threatened tofall and bury us. Another round would complete the horror, would crushus into dust. I gripped the cloth, jerking it from the table, stumblingblindly toward the nearest glare of light. There was a pile of shatteredfurniture in the way, and I tore a path through, hurling the fragmentsto left and right. I smelt the fumes of powder, the odor of plaster, andheard groans and cries. The sharp barking of carbines echoed to me, anda wild yell rose without. There were others living in the room; I wasaware of their voices, of the movement of forms. Yet all was chaos,bewildering confusion. I had but the single thought, could conceive onlythe one thing. I was outside, gripping the white cloth, clinging withone hand to the shattered casing. Some one called, but the words diedout in the roar of musketry. The flame of carbines seemed in my veryface, the crack of revolvers at my ears. Then a hand jerked me back headfirst into the debris. I staggered to my knees, only to hearMahoney shout,

  "They're coomin', lads, they're coomin'! Howly Mary, we've got 'em now!"

  "Who's coming?"

  "Our own fellars, sorr! They're risin' out o' the groun' yonder loikeso many rats. Here they are, byes! Now ter hell wid 'em!"

  His words flashed the whole situation back to my consciousness. Thehouse still stood, wrecked by cannon, but yet a protection. To the leftour troops were swarming out of the ravine, and forming for a charge,while in front, under the concealment of the smoke, believing us alreadyhelpless, the Confederate infantry were rushing forward to completetheir work of destruction. We must hold out now, five minutes, tenminutes, if necessary. I got to my feet, gripping a carbine. I knew notif I had a dozen men behind me, but the fighting spirit had come again.

  "To the openings, men! To the openings!" I shouted. "Beat them back!"

  I heard the rush of feet, the shout of hoarse voices, the crash offurniture flung aside. Bullets from some firing line chugged into thewall; the room was obscured by smoke, noisy with the sharp report ofguns. I could dimly see the figures of men struggling forward, and Ialso made for the nearest light, stumbling over the debris. But we weretoo late. Already the gray mass were upon the veranda, battering in thedoor, clambering through the windows, dashing recklessly at every holecleft by the plunging shells. Rifles flared in our faces; steelflashed, as blade or bayonet caught the glare; clubbed muskets fell insweep of death; and men, maddened by the fierce passion of war, pushedand hacked their way against our feeble defence, hurling us back,stumbling, fighting, cursing, until they also gained foothold with us onthe bloody floor. The memory of it is but hellish delirium, arecollection of fiends battling in a strange glare, amid stifling smoke,their faces distorted with passion, their muscles strained to theuttermost, their only desire to kill. Uniform, organization, were alikeblotted out; we scarcely recognized friend or foe; shoulder to shoulder,back to back we fought with whatever weapon came to hand. I heard thecrack of rifles; saw the leaping flames of discharge, the dazzle ofplunging steel, the downward sweep of musket stocks. There were crash ofblows, the thud of falling bodies, cries of agony, and yells ofexultation. I was hurled back across the table by the rush, yet fellupon my feet. The room seemed filled with dead men; I stepped upon themas I struggled for the door. There were others with me--who, or howmany, I knew not. They were but grim, battling demons, striking,gouging, firing. I saw the gleam of knives, the gripping of fingers, themad outshooting of fists. I was a part of it, and yet hardly realizedwhat I was doing. I had lost all consciousness save the desire tostrike. I know I shouted orders into the din, driving my carbine atevery face fronting me; I know others came through the smoke cloud, andwe hurled them back, fairly cleaving a lane through them to the halldoor. I recall stumbling over dead bodies, of having a wounded manclutch at my legs, of facing that mob with whirling gun stock until thelast fugitive was safely behind me, and then being hurled back againstthe wall by sudden rush.

  How I got there I cannot tell, but I was in the hall, my clothing a massof rags, my body aching from head to foot, and still struggling. Aboutme were men, my own men--pressed together back to back, meeting as bestthey could the tide pouring against them from two sides. Remorselesslythey hurled us back, those behind pushing the front ranks into us. Wefought with fingers, fists, clubbed revolvers, paving the floor withbodies, yet inch by inch were compelled to give way, our little circlenarrowing, and wedged tighter against the wall. Mahoney had made thestairs, and fought there like a demon until some one shot him down. Isaw three men lift the great log which had barricaded the door, and hurlit crashing against the gray mass. But nothing could stop them. I feltwithin me the strength of ten men; the carbine stock shattered, I swungthe iron barrel, striking until it bent in my hands. I was dazed by ablow in the face, blood trickled into my eyes where a bullet had grazedmy forehead, one shoulder smarted as though burned by fire, yet it neveroccurred to me to cease fighting. Again and again the men rallied to mycall, devils incarnate now, only to have their formation shattered bynumbers. We went back, back, inch by inch, slipping in blood, fallingover our own dead, until we were pinned against the wall. How many wereon their feet then I shall never know, but I was in the narrow passagebeside the stairs alone. Out of the clangor and confusion, the yells andoaths, there came a memory of Billie. My God! I had forgotten! and shewas there, crouching in the blackness, not five feet away. The thoughtgave me the reckless strength of insanity. My feet were upon a rubbishheap of plaster, where a shell had shaken the ceiling to the floor. Itgave me vantage, a height from which to strike. Never again will I fightas I did then. Twice they came, and I beat them back, the iron clubsweeping a death circle. Somewhere out from the murk two men joined me,one with barking revolver, the other with gleam of steel; together weblocked the passage. Some one on the stairs above reached over, strikingwith his gun, and the man at my right went down. I caught a glimpse ofthe other's face--it was Miles. Then, behind us, about us, rose a cheer;something sent me reeling over against the wall, striking it with myhead, and I lost consciousness.

  I doubt if to exceed a minute elapsed before I was able to lift my headsufficiently to see about me. Across my body sprang a Federal officer,and behind him pressed a surging mass of blue-clad men. They trod on meas though I were dead, sweeping their way forward with plunging steel.Others poured out of the parlor, and fought their way in through theshattered front door. It was over so quickly as to seem a dream--just ablue cloud, a cheer, a dozen shots, those heavy feet crunching me, theflicker of weapons, a shouted order, and then the hall was swept bare ofthe living, and we lay there motionless under the clouds of smoke. Theswift reaction left me weak as a child, yet conscious, able to realizeall within range of my vision. My fingers still gripped the carbinebarrel, and dripping blood half blinded me. Between where I lay and thefoot of the stairs were bodies heaped together, dead and motionless mostof them, but with here and there a wounded man struggling to extricatehimself. They were clad in gray and blue, but with clothing so torn, soblackened by powder
, or reddened by blood, as to be almostindistinguishable. The walls were jabbed and cut, the stair-railbroken, the chandelier crushed into fragments. Somehow my heart seemedto rise up into my throat and choke me--we had accomplished it! We hadheld the house! Whether for death or life, we had performed our duty.

  I could hear the echoing noises without; above the moans and cries,nearer at hand, and even drowning the deep roar of the guns, sounded thesturdy Northern cheers. They were driving them, and after the fight,those same lads would come back, tender as women, and care for us. Itwas not so bad within, now the smoke was drifting away, and nothingreally hurt me except my shoulder. It was the body lying half across methat held me prone, and I struggled vainly to roll it to one side. But Ihad no strength, and the effort was vain. The pain made me writhe andmoan, my face beaded with perspiration. A wounded man lifted his armfrom out a tangled heap of dead, and fired a revolver up into theceiling; I saw the bullet tear through the plaster, and the hand sinkback nerveless, the fingers dropping the weapon. The sounds of battlewere dying away to the eastward; I could distinguish the volleys ofmusketry from the roar of the big guns. I worked my head about, littleby little, until I was able to see the face of the man lying across me.It was ghastly white, except where blood discolored his cheek, and Istared without recognition. Then I knew he must be Miles. Oh, yes, Iremembered; he had come up at the very last, he and another man, and onehad been knocked down when the stair-rail broke. I wondered how theycame to be there; who the other man was. I felt sorry for Miles, sorryfor that girl back in Illinois he had told me about. I reached back andtouched his hand--it felt warm still, and, in some manner, I got myfingers upon his pulse. It beat feebly. Then he was not dead--not dead!Perhaps if I could get up, get him turned over, it might save his life.The thought brought me strength. Here was something worthy the effort--and I made it, gritting my teeth grimly to the pain, and bracing myhands against the wall. Once I had to stop, faint and sick, everythingabout swimming in mist; then I made the supreme effort, and turned over,my back against the wall, and Miles' ghastly face in my lap. I satstaring at it, half demented, utterly helpless to do more, my own bodythrobbing with a thousand agonies. Some poor devil shrieked, and Itrembled and shook as though lashed by a whip. Then a hand fell softlyon my forehead, and I looked up dizzily, half believing it a dream, intoBillie's eyes. She was upon her knees beside me, her unbound hairsweeping to the floor, her face as white as the sergeant's.

  "And you live?--you live!" she cried, as though doubting her own eyes."O God, I thank you!"