Complete Works of Stephen Crane

by Stephen Crane

  The major suddenly ejaculated, “Listen!”

  They bent forward, scarce breathing, their mouths agape, their eyes glinting. Finally, the major turned his head. “Did yeh hear that?” he said hoarsely.

  “No,” said Peter, in a low voice. “What was it?”

  The major listened for a moment. Then he turned again. “I thought I heered somebody holler!” he explained cautiously.

  They both bent forward and listened once more. Peter in the intentness of his attitude lost his balance and was obliged to lift his foot hastily and with noise. “S-s-sh!” hissed the major.

  After a minute Peter spoke quite loudly, “Oh, shucks! I don’t believe yeh heered anythin’.”

  The major made a frantic downward gesture with his hand. “Shet up, will yeh!” he said, in an angry undertone.

  Peter became silent for a moment, but presently he said again, “Oh, yeh didn’t hear anythin’.”

  The major turned to glare at his companion in despair and wrath.

  “What’s th’ matter with yeh? Can’t yeh shet up?”

  “Oh, this here ain’t no use. If you’re goin’ in after ‘im, why don’t yeh go in after ‘im?”

  “Well, gimme time, can’t yeh?” said the major, in a growl. And, as if to add more to this reproach, he climbed the fence that compassed the woods, looking resentfully back at his companion.

  “Well,” said Peter, when the major paused.

  The major stepped down upon the thick carpet of brown leaves that stretched under the trees. He turned then to whisper, “You wait here, will yeh?” His face was red with determination.

  “Well, hol’ on a minnet!” said Peter. “You — I — we’d better — —”

  “No,” said the major. “You wait here.”

  He went stealthily into the thickets. Peter watched him until he grew to be a vague, slow-moving shadow. From time to time he could hear the leaves crackle and twigs snap under the major’s awkward tread. Peter, intent, breathless, waited for the peal of sudden tragedy. Finally, the woods grew silent in a solemn and impressive hush that caused Peter to feel the thumping of his heart. He began to look about him to make sure that nothing should spring upon him from the sombre shadows. He scrutinized this cool gloom before him, and at times he thought he could perceive the moving of swift silent shapes. He concluded that he had better go back and try to muster some assistance to the major.

  As Peter came through the corn, the women in the road caught sight of the glittering figure and screamed. Many of them began to run. The little boys, with all their valour, scurried away in clouds. Mrs. Joe Peterson, however, cast a glance over her shoulders as she, with her skirts gathered up, was running as best she could. She instantly stopped and, in tones of deepest scorn, called out to the others, “Why, it’s on’y Pete Witheby!” They came faltering back then, those who had been naturally swiftest in the race avoiding the eyes of those whose limbs had enabled them to flee a short distance.

  Peter came rapidly, appreciating the glances of vivid interest in the eyes of the women. To their lightning-like questions, which hit all sides of the episode, he opposed a new tranquillity gained from his sudden ascent in importance. He made no answer to their clamour. When he had reached the top of the fence, he called out commandingly: “Here you, Johnnie, you and George, run an’ git my gun! It’s hangin’ on th’ pegs over th’ bench in th’ shop.”

  At this terrible sentence, a shuddering cry broke from the women. The boys named sped down the road, accompanied by a retinue of envious companions.

  Peter swung his legs over the rail and faced the woods again. He twisted his head once to say: “Keep still, can’t yeh? Quit scufflin’ aroun’!” They could see by his manner that this was a supreme moment. The group became motionless and still. Later, Peter turned to say, “S-s-sh!” to a restless boy, and the air with which he said it smote them all with awe.

  The little boys who had gone after the gun came pattering along hurriedly, the weapon borne in the midst of them. Each was anxious to share in the honour. The one who had been delegated to bring it was bullying and directing his comrades.

  Peter said, “S-s-sh!” He took the gun and poised it in readiness to sweep the cornfield. He scowled at the boys and whispered angrily: “Why didn’t yeh bring th’ powder horn an’ th’ thing with th’ bullets in? I told yeh t’ bring ‘em. I’ll send somebody else next time.”

  “Yeh didn’t tell us!” cried the two boys shrilly.

  “S-s-sh! Quit yeh noise,” said Peter, with a violent gesture.

  However, this reproof enabled other boys to recover that peace of mind which they had lost when seeing their friends loaded with honours.

  The women had cautiously approached the fence and, from time to time, whispered feverish questions; but Peter repulsed them savagely, with an air of being infinitely bothered by their interference in his intent watch. They were forced to listen again in silence to the weird and prophetic chanting of the insects and the mystic silken rustling of the corn.

  At last the thud of hurrying feet in the soft soil of the field came to their ears. A dark form sped toward them. A wave of a mighty fear swept over the group, and the screams of the women came hoarsely from their choked throats. Peter swung madly from his perch, and turned to use the fence as a rampart.

  But it was the major. His face was inflamed and his eyes were glaring. He clutched his rifle by the middle and swung it wildly. He was bounding at a great speed for his fat, short body.

  “It’s all right! it’s all right!” he began to yell, some distance away. “It’s all right! It’s on’y ol’ Milt’ Jacoby!”

  When he arrived at the top of the fence, he paused and mopped his brow.

  “What?” they thundered, in an agony of sudden unreasoning disappointment.

  Mrs. Joe Petersen, who was a distant connection of Milton Jacoby, thought to forestall any damage to her social position by saying at once disdainfully, “Drunk, I s’pose!”

  “Yep,” said the major, still on the fence, and mopped his brow. “Drunk as a fool. Thunder! I was surprised. I — I — thought it was a rebel, sure.”

  The thoughts of all these women wavered for a time. They were at a loss for precise expression of their emotion. At last, however, they hurled this superior sentence at the major:

  “Well, yeh might have known.”

  A GRAY SLEEVE.

  I.

  “It looks as if it might rain this afternoon,” remarked the lieutenant of artillery.

  “So it does,” the infantry captain assented. He glanced casually at the sky. When his eyes had lowered to the green-shadowed landscape before him, he said fretfully: “I wish those fellows out yonder would quit pelting at us. They’ve been at it since noon.”

  At the edge of a grove of maples, across wide fields, there occasionally appeared little puffs of smoke of a dull hue in this gloom of sky which expressed an impending rain. The long wave of blue and steel in the field moved uneasily at the eternal barking of the far-away sharpshooters, and the men, leaning upon their rifles, stared at the grove of maples. Once a private turned to borrow some tobacco from a comrade in the rear rank, but, with his hand still stretched out, he continued to twist his head and glance at the distant trees. He was afraid the enemy would shoot him at a time when he was not looking.

  Suddenly the artillery officer said, “See what’s coming!”

  Along the rear of the brigade of infantry a column of cavalry was sweeping at a hard gallop. A lieutenant, riding some yards to the right of the column, bawled furiously at the four troopers just at the rear of the colours. They had lost distance and made a little gap, but at the shouts of the lieutenant they urged their horses forward. The bugler, careering along behind the captain of the troop, fought and tugged like a wrestler to keep his frantic animal from bolting far ahead of the column.

  On the springy turf the innumerable hoofs thundered in a swift storm of sound. In the brown faces of the troopers their eyes were set like bits of
flashing steel.

  The long line of the infantry regiments standing at ease underwent a sudden movement at the rush of the passing squadron. The foot soldiers turned their heads to gaze at the torrent of horses and men.

  The yellow folds of the flag fluttered back in silken, shuddering waves as if it were a reluctant thing. Occasionally a giant spring of a charger would rear the firm and sturdy figure of a soldier suddenly head and shoulders above his comrades. Over the noise of the scudding hoofs could be heard the creaking of leather trappings, the jingle and clank of steel, and the tense, low-toned commands or appeals of the men to their horses. And the horses were mad with the headlong sweep of this movement. Powerful under jaws bent back and straightened so that the bits were clamped as rigidly as vices upon the teeth, and glistening necks arched in desperate resistance to the hands at the bridles. Swinging their heads in rage at the granite laws of their lives, which compelled even their angers and their ardours to chosen directions and chosen faces, their flight was as a flight of harnessed demons.

  The captain’s bay kept its pace at the head of the squadron with the lithe bounds of a thoroughbred, and this horse was proud as a chief at the roaring trample of his fellows behind him. The captain’s glance was calmly upon the grove of maples whence the sharpshooters of the enemy had been picking at the blue line. He seemed to be reflecting. He stolidly rose and fell with the plunges of his horse in all the indifference of a deacon’s figure seated plumply in church. And it occurred to many of the watching infantry to wonder why this officer could remain imperturbable and reflective when his squadron was thundering and swarming behind him like the rushing of a flood.

  The column swung in a sabre-curve toward a break in a fence, and dashed into a roadway. Once a little plank bridge was encountered, and the sound of the hoofs upon it was like the long roll of many drums. An old captain in the infantry turned to his first lieutenant and made a remark which was a compound of bitter disparagement of cavalry in general and soldiery admiration of this particular troop.

  Suddenly the bugle sounded, and the column halted with a jolting upheaval amid sharp, brief cries. A moment later the men had tumbled from their horses, and, carbines in hand, were running in a swarm toward the grove of maples. In the road one of every four of the troopers was standing with braced legs, and pulling and hauling at the bridles of four frenzied horses.

  The captain was running awkwardly in his boots. He held his sabre low so that the point often threatened to catch in the turf. His yellow hair ruffled out from under his faded cap. “Go in hard now!” he roared, in a voice of hoarse fury. His face was violently red.

  The troopers threw themselves upon the grove like wolves upon a great animal. Along the whole front of woods there was the dry, crackling of musketry, with bitter, swift flashes and smoke that writhed like stung phantoms. The troopers yelled shrilly and spanged bullets low into the foliage.

  For a moment, when near the woods, the line almost halted. The men struggled and fought for a time like swimmers encountering a powerful current. Then with a supreme effort they went on again. They dashed madly at the grove, whose foliage from the high light of the field was as inscrutable as a wall.

  Then suddenly each detail of the calm trees became apparent, and with a few more frantic leaps the men were in the cool gloom of the woods. There was a heavy odour as from burned paper. Wisps of gray smoke wound upward. The men halted and, grimy, perspiring, and puffing, they searched the recesses of the woods with eager, fierce glances. Figures could be seen flitting afar off. A dozen carbines rattled at them in an angry volley.

  During this pause the captain strode along the line, his face lit with a broad smile of contentment. “When he sends this crowd to do anything, I guess he’ll find we do it pretty sharp,” he said to the grinning lieutenant.

  “Say, they didn’t stand that rush a minute, did they?” said the subaltern. Both officers were profoundly dusty in their uniforms, and their faces were soiled like those of two urchins.

  Out in the grass behind them were three tumbled and silent forms.

  Presently the line moved forward again. The men went from tree to tree like hunters stalking game. Some at the left of the line fired occasionally, and those at the right gazed curiously in that direction. The men still breathed heavily from their scramble across the field.

  Of a sudden a trooper halted and said: “Hello! there’s a house!” Every one paused. The men turned to look at their leader.

  The captain stretched his neck and swung his head from side to side. “By George, it is a house!” he said.

  Through the wealth of leaves there vaguely loomed the form of a large, white house. These troopers, brown-faced from many days of campaigning, each feature of them telling of their placid confidence and courage, were stopped abruptly by the appearance of this house. There was some subtle suggestion — some tale of an unknown thing — which watched them from they knew not what part of it.

  A rail fence girded a wide lawn of tangled grass. Seven pines stood along a drive-way which led from two distant posts of a vanished gate. The blue-clothed troopers moved forward until they stood at the fence peering over it.

  The captain put one hand on the top rail and seemed to be about to climb the fence, when suddenly he hesitated, and said in a low voice, “Watson, what do you think of it?”

  The lieutenant stared at the house. “Derned if I know!” he replied.

  The captain pondered. It happened that the whole company had turned a gaze of profound awe and doubt upon this edifice which confronted them. The men were very silent.

  At last the captain swore and said: “We are certainly a pack of fools. Derned old deserted house halting a company of Union cavalry, and making us gape like babies!”

  “Yes, but there’s something — something — —” insisted the subaltern in a half stammer.

  “Well, if there’s ‘something — something’ in there, I’ll get it out,” said the captain. “Send Sharpe clean around to the other side with about twelve men, so we will sure bag your ‘something — something,’ and I’ll take a few of the boys and find out what’s in the d —— d old thing!”

  He chose the nearest eight men for his “storming party,” as the lieutenant called it. After he had waited some minutes for the others to get into position, he said “Come ahead” to his eight men, and climbed the fence.

  The brighter light of the tangled lawn made him suddenly feel tremendously apparent, and he wondered if there could be some mystic thing in the house which was regarding this approach. His men trudged silently at his back. They stared at the windows and lost themselves in deep speculations as to the probability of there being, perhaps, eyes behind the blinds — malignant eyes, piercing eyes.

  Suddenly a corporal in the party gave vent to a startled exclamation, and half threw his carbine into position. The captain turned quickly, and the corporal said: “I saw an arm move the blinds. An arm with a gray sleeve!”

  “Don’t be a fool, Jones, now!” said the captain sharply.

  “I swear t’ — —” began the corporal, but the captain silenced him.

  When they arrived at the front of the house, the troopers paused, while the captain went softly up the front steps. He stood before the large front door and studied it. Some crickets chirped in the long grass, and the nearest pine could be heard in its endless sighs. One of the privates moved uneasily, and his foot crunched the gravel. Suddenly the captain swore angrily and kicked the door with a loud crash. It flew open.

  II.

  The bright lights of the day flashed into the old house when the captain angrily kicked open the door. He was aware of a wide hallway carpeted with matting and extending deep into the dwelling. There was also an old walnut hatrack and a little marble-topped table with a vase and two books upon it. Farther back was a great, venerable fireplace containing dreary ashes.

  But directly in front of the captain was a young girl. The flying open of the door had obviously been an utter astoni
shment to her, and she remained transfixed there in the middle of the floor, staring at the captain with wide eyes.

  She was like a child caught at the time of a raid upon the cake. She wavered to and fro upon her feet, and held her hands behind her. There were two little points of terror in her eyes, as she gazed up at the young captain in dusty blue, with his reddish, bronze complexion, his yellow hair, his bright sabre held threateningly.

  These two remained motionless and silent, simply staring at each other for some moments.

  The captain felt his rage fade out of him and leave his mind limp. He had been violently angry, because this house had made him feel hesitant, wary. He did not like to be wary. He liked to feel confident, sure. So he had kicked the door open, and had been prepared to march in like a soldier of wrath.

  But now he began, for one thing, to wonder if his uniform was so dusty and old in appearance. Moreover, he had a feeling that his face was covered with a compound of dust, grime, and perspiration. He took a step forward and said, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” But his voice was coarse from his battle-howling. It seemed to him to have hempen fibres in it.

  The girl’s breath came in little, quick gasps, and she looked at him as she would have looked at a serpent.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said again.

  The girl, still with her hands behind her, began to back away.

  “Is there any one else in the house?” he went on, while slowly following her. “I don’t wish to disturb you, but we had a fight with some rebel skirmishers in the woods, and I thought maybe some of them might have come in here. In fact, I was pretty sure of it. Are there any of them here?”

  The girl looked at him and said, “No!” He wondered why extreme agitation made the eyes of some women so limpid and bright.

  “Who is here besides yourself?”

  By this time his pursuit had driven her to the end of the hall, and she remained there with her back to the wall and her hands still behind her. When she answered this question, she did not look at him but down at the floor. She cleared her voice and then said, “There is no one here.”