Читать книгу Who Goes There? - B. K. Benson - Страница 14

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"I cannot tell

What heaven hath given him; let some graver eye

Pierce unto that."--SHAKESPEARE.

For a time I was dumb. I knew not what to say or ask or think. The happenings of this terrible day, which had wrought the defeat of the Union army, had been too much for me. Vanquished, exhausted, despairing, heart-sore from enforced desertion of my wounded friend, still far from safety myself, with no physical desire remaining except the wish to lie down and be at rest forever, and with no moral feeling in my consciousness except that of shame,--which will forever rise uppermost in me when I think of that ignominious day,--to be suddenly accosted by the man whom I held in the most peculiar veneration and who, I had believed, was never again to enter into my life--accosted by him on the verge of the lost battlefield--in the midst of darkness and the débris of the rout, while groping, as it were, on my lone way to security scarcely hoped for--it was too much; I sank down on the road.

How long I lay there I have never known--probably but few moments.

The Doctor took my hand in his. "Be consoled, my friend," said he; "you are in safety; this is my ambulance; we will take you with us."

Then, he called to some one in the ambulance, "Reed, bring me the flask of brandy."

When I had revived, the Doctor urged me to climb in before him.

"No," I cried, "I cannot do it; I cannot leave Willis; we must get Willis."

"I heard that Willis was shot," said he; "but I had supposed, from the direction you two wore taking when last seen, that he had reached the field hospital. Where is Willis now?"

I told him as accurately as I could, and in half an hour we were in the stubble-field. For fear the sergeant should be unnecessarily alarmed on hearing persons approach, I called him softly by name; then, hearing no answering call, I raised my voice--"Willis! It is Jones, with help!" But there was no response.

We found the sergeant fast asleep. It was more difficult to get him awake than to get him into the ambulance. Reed and I picked him up bodily and laid him down on a mattress in the bottom of the vehicle.

And now, with my load of personal duty gone, I also sank back and slumbered through a troubled night, and when I fully awoke it was six in the morning and we were crossing Long Bridge in the midst of a driving rain. There were two seats in the ambulance, besides a double-deck, that is to say, two floors for wounded to lie upon. I scrambled to the rear seat.

We were making but slow progress. The bridge ahead of us was crowded. There were frequent stoppages. Many civilians, on horseback or in carriages, were before and behind us. Soldiers single and in groups swelled the procession, some of them with their arms in slings; how they had achieved the long night march I cannot yet comprehend.

Willis was yet lying on the mattress; his eyes were not open, but he was awake, I thought, for his motions were restless.

Reed appeared to be exhausted; he said nothing and nodded sleepily, although holding the lines. The Doctor, on the contrary, looked fresh and vigorous; indeed, as I closely studied his face, I could almost have believed that he had become younger than he had been when I parted with him in Charleston, more than three years before. He knew that I was observing him, for he said, without turning his face toward me, "You have not slept well, Jones; but you did not know when we stopped at Fairfax; we rested the horses there for an hour."

"Yes," I said, "I feel stupid, and my spirits are wofully down."

"Why so?" he asked, with a smile.

"Oh, the bitter disappointment!" I cried; "what will become of the country?"

"What do you mean by the country?" asked the Doctor.

I did not reply at once.

"Do you mean," he repeated, "the material soil? Do you mean the people of the United States, including those of the seceded States? Do you mean the idea symbolized by everything that constitutes American civilization? However, let us not speak of these difficult matters now. We must get your friend Willis to the hospital and then arrange for your comfort."

"I thank you, Doctor; but first be so good as to relieve my devouring curiosity: tell me by what marvellous chance you were on the battlefield."

"No chance at all, Jones; you know that I have always told you there is no such thing as chance, I went to the field deliberately, as an agent of the United States Sanitary Commission."

"I thought that you were far from this country, and that you felt no interest in us," said I. "My father and I were in Charleston in 'fifty-eight,' and were told that you were in Europe. And then, too, how could you know that I was on such a part of the battlefield, and that Willis was hurt and that I was with him?"

"All that is very simple," said he; "as to being in Europe, and afterward getting to America, that is not more strange than being in America and afterward getting to Europe; however, let us defer all talk of Europe and America. As to knowing that you were with Sergeant Willis, and that he was wounded, that is simple; some men of your regiment gave me that information."

I did not reply to the Doctor, but sat looking at the miscellaneous file of persons, carriages, ambulances, and all else that was now blocked on the bridge,

At length I said: "I cannot understand how you could so easily find the place where I left Sergeant Willis. It was more than a mile from the spot where I met you; the night was dark, and I am certain that I could not have found the place."

"Of course you could not," he replied; "but it was comparatively easy for me; I had passed and repassed the place, for I worked all day to help the disabled--- and Reed was employed for the reason that he knows every nook and corner of that part of the country."

After crossing the bridge, Reed drove quickly to the Columbia College Hospital, where we left Sergeant Willis, but not before learning that his wound was not difficult.

"Now," said the Doctor, "you are my guest for a few days. I will see to it that you are excused from duty for a week. It may take that time to set you right, especially as I can see that you have some traces of nervous fever. I am going to take steps to prevent your becoming ill."

"How can you explain my absence, Doctor?"

"Well," said he, "in the first place there is as yet nobody authorized to receive an explanation. To-day our time is our own; by to-morrow all the routed troops will be in or near Washington; then I shall simply write a note, if you insist upon it, to the commanding officer of your company, explaining Willis's absence and your connection with his case, and take on myself the responsibility for your return to your command."

"Has the Sanitary Commission such credit that your note will be accepted as a guaranty, in good form, for my return?"

"The circumstances in this case are peculiar," said the Doctor; "some of your men will not report to their commands for a week. You will be ready for your company before your company is ready for you."

"That is true enough, Doctor; but I should wish to observe all military requirement."

He left me for a while and returned with a piece of paper in his hand.

"Well, what do you think of this?"

It was a surgeon's commitment of Private Jones Berwick, company and regiment given, into the hands of the Sanitary Commission for ten days. I could say no more, except to speak my gratitude for his kindness.

"I am sorry," said Dr. Khayme, "to be unable to offer you the best of quarters. The Commission has so recently been organized that we have not yet succeeded in getting thorough order into our affairs; in fact, my work yesterday was rather the work of a volunteer than the work of the Commission. Our tents are now beyond Georgetown Heights; in a few days we shall move our camps, and shall increase our comfort."

The ambulance was driven through some of the principal streets. The sidewalks and carriageways were crowded; civilians and soldiers; wagons, guns, caissons, ambulances; companies, spick-and-span, which, had not yet seen service; ones, twos, threes, squads of men who had escaped from the disaster of the 21st, unarmed, many of them, without knapsacks, haggard.

At the corners of the streets were rude improvised tables behind which stood men and women serving food and drink to the famished fugitives. The rain fell steadily, a thick drizzle. Civilians looked their anxiety. A general officer rode by, surrounded by the remnant of his staff, heads bent down, gloomy. Women wept while serving the hungry. The unfinished dome of the Capitol, hardly seen through the rain, loomed ominous. Depression over all: ambulances full of wounded men, tossing and groaning; fagged-out horses, vehicles splashed with mud; policemen dazed, idle; newsboys crying their merchandise; readers eagerly reading--not to know the result to the army, but the fate of some loved one; stores closed; whispers; doom.

I turned to Dr. Khayme; he smiled. Then he made Reed halt; he got out of the ambulance and went to one of the tables. A woman gave him coffee, which he brought to me, and made me drink. He returned to the table and gave back the cup. The woman looked toward the ambulance. She was a tall young woman, serious, dignified. She impressed me.

We drove past Georgetown Heights. There, amongst the trees, were four wall-tents in a row; one of them was of double length. The ambulance stopped; we got out. The Doctor led the way into one of the tents; he pointed to one of two camp-beds. "That is yours," said he; "go to sleep; you shall not be disturbed."

"I don't think I can sleep, Doctor."

"Why not?"

"My mind will not let me."

"Well, try," said he; "I will peep in shortly and see how you are getting on."

I undressed, and bathed my face. Then I lay down on the bed, pulling a sheet over me. I turned my face to the wall.

I shut my eyes, but not my vision. I saw Ricketts's battery--the First Michigan charge;--the Black-Horse cavalry ride from the woods. I saw the rebel cannons through dust and smoke;--a poplar log in a thicket;--a purple wound--wet clay;--a broken rifle;--stacks of straw.

Oh, the gloom and the shame! What does the future hold for me? for the cause? What is to defend Washington?

Then I thought of my father; I had not written to him; he would be anxious. My eyes opened; I turned to rise; Dr. Khayme entered; I rose.

"You do not sleep readily?" he asked.

"I cannot sleep at all," I said; "besides I have been so overwhelmed by this great calamity that I had not thought of telegraphing to my father. Can you get a messenger here?"

"Oh, my boy, I have already provided for your father's knowing that you are safe."

"You?"

"Yes, certainly. He knows already that you are unhurt; go to sleep; by the time you awake I promise you a telegram from your father."

"Doctor, you are an angel; but I don't believe that I can sleep."

"Let me feel your pulse."

Dr. Khayme placed his fingers on my wrist; I was sitting on the side of the bed.

"Lie down," said he. Then, still with his fingers on my pulse, he said softly, "Poor boy! you have endured too much; no wonder that you are wrought up."

He laid his other hand on my head; his fingers strayed through my hair.