Читать книгу Who Goes There? - B. K. Benson - Страница 21

"Our fortune on the sea is out of breath.

And sinks most lamentably."--SHAKESPEARE.

The winter brought an almost endless routine of drill, guard, and picket duty and digging.

The division was on duty near Budd's Ferry. Dr. Khayme's quarters were a mile to the rear of our left. I was a frequent visitor at his tents. After Willis's return to duty, which was in November, he and I spent much of our spare time at the Sanitary camp. It was easy to see what attracted Jake. It did not seem to me that Dr. Khayme gave much thought to the sergeant, but Lydia gravely received his adoration silently offered, and so conducted herself in his presence that I was puzzled greatly concerning their relations. I frequently wondered why the sergeant did not confide in me; we had become very intimate, so that in everything, except his feeling for Miss Khayme, I was Willis's bosom friend, so to speak; in that matter, however, he chose to ignore me.

One night--it was the night of February 6–7, 1862--I was at the Doctor's tent. Jake was sergeant of the camp guard and could not be with us. The Doctor smoked and read, engaging in the conversation, however, at his pleasure. Lydia seemed graver than usual. I wondered if it could be because of Willis's absence. It seemed to me impossible that this dignified woman could entertain a passion for the sergeant, who, while of course a very manly fellow, and a thorough soldier in his way, surely was not on a level with Miss Khayme. As for me, ah! well; I knew and felt keenly that until my peculiar mental phases should leave me never to return, love and marriage were impossible--so the very truth was, and always had been, that I had sufficient strength to restrain any incipient desire, and prudence enough to avoid temptation. My condition encouraged introspection. I was almost constantly probing my own mind, and by mere strength of will, which I had long cultivated until--I suppose there is no immodesty in saying it--I could govern myself, I drew back from every obstacle which my judgment pronounced insurmountable. The Doctor had been of the greatest help to me in this development of the will, and especially in that phase or exercise of it called self-control; one of his common sayings was, "He who resists the inevitable increases evil."

Ever since when as a boy I had yielded to his friendly guidance, Dr. Khayme had evidently felt a sense of proprietorship in respect to me, and I cherished such relationship; yet there had been many times in our recent intercourse when I had feared him; so keen was the man's insight. The power that he exercised over me I submitted to gratefully; I felt that he was a man well fitted for counselling youth, and I had so many proofs of his good-will, even of his affection, that I trusted him fully in regard to myself; yet, with all this, I felt that his great knowledge, and especially his wonderful alertness of judgment, which amounted in many cases seemingly to prophetic power almost, were doubtful quantities in relation to the war. I believed that he was admitted to high council; I had frequent glimpses of intimations--seemingly unguarded on his part--that he knew beforehand circumstances and projects not properly to be spoken of; but somehow, from a look, or a word, or a movement now and then, I had almost reached the opinion that Dr. Khayme was absolutely neutral between the contestants in the war of the rebellion. He never showed anxiety. The news of the Ball's Bluff disaster, which touched so keenly the heart of the North, and especially of Massachusetts, gave him no distress, to judge from his impassive face and his manner; yet it is but just to repeat that he showed great interest in every event directly relating to the existence of slavery. He commended the acts of General Butler in Virginia and General Fremont in Missouri, and hoped that the Southern leaders would impress all able-bodied slaves into some sort of service, so that they would become at least morally subject to the act of Congress, approved August 6, which declared all such persons discharged from previous servitude. In comparing my own attitude to the war with the Doctor's, I frequently thought that he cared nothing for the Union, and I cared everything; that he was concerned only in regard to human slavery, while I was willing for the States themselves to settle that matter; for I could see no constitutional power existing in the Congress or in the President to abolish or even mitigate slavery without the consent of the party of the first part. I was in the war not on account of slavery, certainly, but on account of the preservation of the Union; Dr. Khayme was in the war--so far as he was in it at all--not for the Union, but for the abolition of slavery.

On this night of February 6, the Doctor smoked and read and occasionally gave utterance to some thought.

"Jones," said he, "we are going to have news from the West; Grant advances."

"I trust he will have better luck than McDowell had," was my reply.

"He will; I don't know that he is a better general, but he has the help of the navy."

"But the rebels have their river batteries," said I.

"Yes, and these batteries are costly, and will prove insufficient; if the North succeeds in this war, and I see no reason to doubt her success if she will but determine to succeed, it will be through her navy."

I did not say anything to this. The Doctor smoked, Lydia sat looking dreamily at the door of the stove.

After a while I asked: "Why is it that we do not move? February is a spring month in the South."

The Doctor replied, "It is winter here, and the roads are bad."

"Is it not winter in Kentucky and Tennessee?"

"Grant has the help of the navy; McClellan will move when he gets the help of the navy."

"What good can the navy do between Washington and Richmond?"

"The James River flows by Richmond," said the Doctor.

I had already heard some talk of differences between our general and the President in regard to a removal of the Army of the Potomac to Fortress Monroe. I asked the Doctor if McClellan would advance on Richmond by the Peninsular route, as it was called.

"He will if he is allowed to do so," replied the Doctor; "at least," he added, "that is my opinion; in fact, I am so well convinced of it that I shall make preparation at once to remove my camp to some good place near Fort Monroe."

This intention was new to me, and it gave me great distress. What I should do with myself after the Doctor had gone, I did not know; I should get along somehow, of course, but I should miss my friends sadly.

"I am very sorry to hear it, Doctor," said I, speaking to him and looking at Lydia; her face was impervious.

"Oh," said the Doctor, with his rare and peculiar smile, "maybe we can take you with us; you would only be going ahead of your regiment."

Lydia's face was still inflexible, her eyes on the fire. I wished for a chance to bring Willis's name to the front, but saw none.

"I don't see how that could be done, Doctor; I confess that I should like very much, to go with you, but how can I get leave of absence?"

"Where there is a will there is a way."

"Yes, but I have no will; I have only a desire," said I, gloomily.

"Well," said the Doctor, "I have will enough for both of us and to spare."

"You mean to say that you can get me leave of absence?"

"Wait and see. When the time comes, there will be no trouble, unless things change very greatly meanwhile."

I bade my friends good night and went back to my hut. The weather was mild. My way was over hills and hollows, making me walk somewhat carefully; but I did not walk carefully enough--I stumbled and fell, and bruised my back.

The next day I was on camp guard. The weather was intensely cold. A bitter wind from the north swept the Maryland hills; snow and rain and sleet fell, all together. For two hours, alternating with four hours' relief, I paced my beat back and forth; at six o'clock, when I was finally relieved, I was wet to the skin. When I reached my quarters, I went to bed at once and fell into a half sleep.

Some time in the forenoon I found Dr. Khayme bending over me, with his hand on my temples.

"You have had too much of it," said he.

I looked up at him and tried to speak, but said nothing. Great pain followed every breath. My back seemed on fire.

The Doctor wanted to remove me to his own hospital tent, but dreaded that I was too ill. Yet there was no privacy, the hut being occupied by four men. Dr. Khayme found means to get rid of all my messmates except Willis; they were crowded into other quarters. The surgeon of the Eleventh had given the Doctor free course.

For two weeks Willis nursed me faithfully. Dr. Khayme came every day--on some days several times. Lydia never came.

One bright day, near the end of February, I was placed in a litter and borne by four men to the Doctor's hospital tent. My father came. This was the first time he and Dr. Khayme met. They became greatly attached.

My progress toward health, was now rapid. Willis was with me whenever he was not on duty. The Doctor's remedies gave way to simple care, in which Lydia was the chief priest. Lydia would read to me at times--but for short times, as the Doctor forbade my prolonged attention, I was not quite sure that Lydia was doing me good; I liked the sound of her voice, yet when she would cease reading I felt more nervous than before, and I could not remember what she had read. So far as I could see, there was no understanding between Lydia and Willis; yet it was very seldom that I saw them together.

One evening, after the lamps were lighted, my father told us that he would return home on the next day. "Jones is in good hands," said he, "and my business demands my care; I shall always have you in remembrance, Doctor; you have saved my boy."

The Doctor said nothing. I was sitting up in bed, propped with pillows and blankets.

"The Doctor has always been kind to me, Father," said I; "ever since he received the letter you wrote him in Charleston, he has been my best friend."

"The letter I wrote him? I don't remember having written him a letter," said my father.

"You have forgotten, Father," said I; "you wrote him a letter in which you told him that you were sure he could help me. The Doctor gave me the letter; I have it at home, somewhere."

The Doctor was silent, and the subject was not continued.

Conversation began again, this time concerning the movements and battles in the West. The Doctor said; "Jones, the news has been kept from you. On February 6, General Grant captured Fort Henry, which success led ten days later to the surrender of Buckner's army at Fort Donelson."

"The 6th of February, you say?" I almost cried; "that was the last time I saw you before I got sick; on that very day you talked about Grant's coming successes!"

"It did not need any great foresight for that," said the Doctor.

"You said that Grant had the navy to help him, and that he certainly would not fail."

"And it was the navy that took Fort Henry," said my father.

On the day following that on which my father left us, I was sitting in a folding chair, trying to read for the first time since my illness began.

Dr. Khayme entered, with a paper in his hand. "We'll go, my boy," said he; "we'll go at once and avoid the crowd."

"Go where, Doctor?"

"To Fort Monroe," said he.

"Go to Fortress Monroe, and avoid the crowd?"

"Yes, we'll go."

"What are we going there for?"

"Don't you remember that I thought of going there?"

"When was it that you told me, Doctor?"

"On the night before you became ill. I told you that if General McClellan could have his way, he would transfer the army to Fort Monroe, and advance on Richmond by the Peninsular route."

"Yes, I begin to remember."

"Well, President Lincoln has yielded to General McClellan's urgent arguments; the movement will be begun as soon as transportation can be provided for such an operation; it will take weeks yet."

"And you are going to move down there?"

"Yes, before the army moves; this is your written authority to go with me; don't you want to go?"

"Yes; that I do," said I.

"The spring is earlier down there by at least two weeks," said the Doctor; "the change will mean much to you; you will be ready for duty by the time your regiment comes."

Lydia was not in the tent while this conversation was going on, but she came in soon afterward, and I was glad to see that she was certainly pleased with the prospect of moving. Her eyes were brighter. She began at once to get together some loose things, although we had several days in which to make our preparations. I could not keep from laughing at her; at the same time I felt that my amusement was caused by her willingness to get away for a time from the army, rather than by anything else.

"So you are in a hurry to get away," I said.

"I shall be glad to get down there," she replied, "and I have the habit of getting ready gradually when we move. It saves worry and fluster when the time comes." Her face was very bright.

"That is the longest speech you have made to me in a week," said I.

She turned and looked full at me; then her expression changed to severity, and she went out.

That night Willis came; before he saw me he had learned that we were to go; he was very blank.

The 6th of March found us in camp in the Doctor's tents pitched near Newport News. The weather was mild; the voyage had helped me. I sat outside in the sunshine, enjoying the south wind. With the help of the Doctor's arm or of Lydia's--given, I feared, somewhat unwillingly--I walked a little. These were happy days; I had nothing to do but to convalesce. The Southern climate has always helped me. I was recovering fast.

I liked the Doctor more than ever, if possible. Every day we talked of everything, but especially of philosophy, interesting to both of us, though of course I could not pretend to keep pace with, his advanced thought. We talked of the war, its causes, its probable results.

"Jones, it matters not how this war shall end; the Union will be preserved."

I had never before heard him make just this declaration, though I had had intimations that such was his opinion. I was glad to hear this speech. It seemed to place the Doctor in favour of the North, and I felt relieved.

"Continue," I begged.

"You know that I have said many times that the war is unnecessary; that all war is crime."

"Yes."

"Yet you know that I have maintained that slavery also is a crime and must be suppressed."

"Yes, and I confess that you have seemed inconsistent."

"I know you think the two positions contradictory; but both these views are sound and true. War is a crime; slavery is a crime: these are two truths and they cannot clash. I will go farther and say that the North is right and the South is right."

"Doctor, you are astonishing. You will find it hard to convince me that both of these statements can be true."

"Well, are you ready to listen?"

"Ready and willing. But why is it that you say both sections are right? Why do you not prove that they are both wrong? You are speaking of crime, not virtue."

"Of course they are both wrong in the acts of which we are speaking; but in regard to the principles upon which they seem to differ, they are right, and these are what I wish to speak of."

"Well, I listen, Doctor."

"Then first let me say that the world is ruled by a higher power than General McClellan or Mr. Jefferson Davis."

"Agreed."

"The world is ruled by a power that has far-reaching, even eternal, purpose, and the power is as great as the purpose; the power is infinite."

"I follow you."

"This power cannot act contrary to its own purpose, nor can it purpose what it will not execute."

"Please illustrate, Doctor."

"Suppose God should purpose to make a world, and instead of making a world should make a comet."

"He would not be God," said I, "unless the comet should happen to be in a fair way of becoming a world."

"Exactly; to act contrary to His purpose would be caprice or failure."

"Yes; I see, or think I do."

"Not difficult at all; I simply say that war is a crime and slavery a crime. Two truths cannot clash."

"Then you mean to say that God has proposed to bring slavery into existence, and war, also?"

"Not at all. What I mean to say in that His purpose overrules and works beyond both. Man makes slavery, and makes war; God turns them into means for advancing His cause."

"Perhaps I can understand, Doctor, that what you say is true. But I do not see how the South can be right."

"What are all those crowds of people doing down on the battery?" asked Lydia, suddenly.

It was about two o'clock. We had walked slowly toward the beach.

"They are all looking in our direction," said Dr. Khayme; "they see something that interests them."

Across the water in the southeast could be seen smoke, which the wind blew toward us. Some officers upon a low sand-hill near us were looking intently through their field-glasses.

"I'll go and find out," said the Doctor; "stay here till I return."

We saw him reach the hill; one of the officers handed him a glass; he looked, and came back to us rapidly.

"We are promised a spectacle; I shall run to my tent for a glass," said he.

"What is it all about, Father?" asked Lydia.

"A Confederate war-vessel," said he, and was gone.

"I hope she will be captured," said I; "and I have no doubt she will."

"You have not read the papers lately," said Lydia.

"No; what do you mean?"

"I mean that there are many rumours of a new and powerful iron steamer which the Confederates have built at Norfolk," she replied.

"Iron?"

"Yes, they say it is iron, or at least that it is protected with iron, so that it cannot be injured."

"Well, if that is the case, why do we let our wooden ships remain here?"

The Doctor now rejoined us. He handed me a glass. I could see a vessel off toward Norfolk, seemingly headed in our direction. Lydia took the glass, and exclaimed, "That must be the Merrimac! what a strange-looking ship!"

The crowds on the batteries near Newport News and along the shore were fast increasing. The Doctor said not a word; indeed, throughout the prodigious scene that followed he was silent, and, to all seeming, emotionless.

Some ships of-war were at anchor not far from the shore. With the unaided eye great bustle could be seen on these ships; two of them were but a very short distance from us.

The smoke in the south came nearer. I had walked and stood until I needed rest; I sat on the ground.

Now, at our left, toward Fortress Monroe, we could see three ships moving up toward the two which were near us.

The strange vessel come on; we could see a flag flying. The design of the flag was two broad red stripes with a white stripe between.

The big ship was nearer; her form was new and strange; a large roof, with little showing above it. She seemed heading toward Fortress Monroe.

Suddenly she swung round and came slowly on toward our two ships near Newport News.

The two Federal ships opened their guns upon the rebel craft; the batteries on shore turned loose on her.

Lydia put her hands to her ears, but soon took them away. She was used to wounds, but had never before seen battle.

From above--the James River, as I afterward knew--now came down some smaller rebel ships to engage in the fight, but they were too small to count for much.

Suddenly the Merrimac fired one gun, still moving on toward our last ship--the ship at the west; still she moved on, and on, and on, and struck our ship with her prow, and backed.

The Union ships continued to fire; the batteries and gunboats kept up their fire.

The big rebel boat turned and made for our second ship, which was now endeavouring to get away. The Merrimac fired upon her, gun after gun.

Our ship stuck fast, and could not budge, but she continued to fire.

The ship which had been rammed began to lurch and at last she sank, with her guns firing as she went down.

Lydia's face was the picture of desolation. Her lips parted. The Doctor observed her, and drew his arm within her own; she sighed heavily, but did not speak.

The rebel ship stood still and fired many times on our ship aground; and white flags were at last seen on the Union vessel.

Now the small rebel ships approached the prize, but our shore batteries, and even our infantry on shore, kept up a rapid fire to prevent the capture. Soon the small ships steamed away, and the great craft fired again and again into the surrendered vessel, and set her afire.

Then still another Union ship took part in the contest; she also was aground, yet she fought the rebel vessels.

The great ship turned again and steamed toward the south until she was lost in the thickening darkness. Meanwhile, the burning ship was a sheet of flame; we could see men leap from her deck; boats put off from the shore.

"The play is over; let's go to supper," said the Doctor.

"I want no food," said I.

"You must not stay in this air; besides, you will feel better when you have eaten," he replied.

Lydia was silent; her face was wet with tears.

Groups of soldiers stood in our way; some were mad with excitement, gesticulating and cursing; others were mute and white. I heard one say, "My God! what will become of the Minnesota to-morrow?"

The Doctor's face was calm, but tense. My heart seemed to have failed.

The burning Congress threw around us a light brighter than the moon; each of us had two shadows.

We sat down to supper, "Doctor," said I, "how can you be so calm?"

"Why, my boy," he said, "I counted on such, long ago--and worse; besides, you know that I believe everything will come right."

"What is to prevent the Merrimac from destroying our whole fleet and then destroying our coast?"

"God!" said Dr. Khayme.

Lydia, kissed him and burst into weeping.

So far as I can remember, I have passed no more anxious night in my life than the night of the 8th of March, 1862. My health did not permit me to go out of the tent; but from the gloomy rumours of the camps I knew that my anxiety was shared by all. Strange, I thought, that my experience in war should be so peculiarly disastrous. Bull Run had been but the first horror; here was another and possibly a worse one. The East seemed propitious to the rebels; Grant alone, of our side, could gain victories.

The burning ship cast a lurid glare over land and sea; dense smoke crept along the coast; shouts came to my ears--great effort, I knew, was being made to get the Minnesota off; nobody could have slept that night.

The Doctor made short absences from his camp. At ten o'clock he came in finally; a smile was on his face. Lydia had heard him, and now came in also.

"Jones," said he, "what will you give me for good news?"

"Oh, Doctor," said I, "don't tantalize me."

Lydia was watching the Doctor's face.

"Well," said he, "I must make a bargain. If I tell you something to relieve your fears, will you promise me to go to sleep?"

"Yes; I shall be glad to go to sleep; the quicker the better."

"Well, then, the Merrimac will meet her match if she comes out to-morrow."

"What do you mean, Doctor?"

"I mean that a United States war-vessel, fully equal to the Merrimac, has arrived."

Lydia left the tent.

I almost shouted. I could no more go to sleep than I could fly. I started to get out of bed. The Doctor put his hand on my head, and gently pressed me back to my pillow.