"Yes. You wouldn't believe that thousands of men can stand in front of each other a whole day and pour lead into each other's faces, and not one in fifty is. .h.i.t?"

"Ah!" Olympia commented, thinking that, after all, Jack might not have been hit.

"These are the trenches of the dead. Our dead are not here. They were all taken and sent to friends. There are five hundred of your dead here and near the stone bridge yonder. We lost three hundred killed in the fight."

"And are there no other marks than this plain board?" Olympia pointed to a rough pine plank, sticking loosely in the ground, with the words painted in lampblack: "85 Yanks. By the Hospital Corps, Bee's Brigade."

"That's all. They were all stripped--no means of identifying them. The sun was very hot; the rain next day made the bodies rot, and the men had to just shovel them in--" "Oh, oh! don't, pray don't!" Olympia cried, as her mother tottered against the ambulance.

"I ask your pardon, ladies; I forgot that these are not things for ladies to hear." He spoke in sincere contrition.

To relieve him Olympia smiled sadly, saying, "Won't you take us back, please?"

The ambulance drove on into the Warrenton pike, and, if Olympia had known it, within a stone's-throw of Jack's last effort, where the cavalry picket came upon him. It was noon when they reached the station.

The orderly returned the ambulance to the hospital, brought down the luggage, and the three women made a luncheon of fruit and dry bread, declining the orderly's invitation to eat at the hospital. The train came on three hours late. It was filled with military men, most of them officers; but so soon as the orderly entered the rear coach, ushering in his charges, two or three young men with official insignia on their collars arose with alacrity and begged the ladies to take the vacant places. At Bristow Station many of the officers got out and a number of civilians entered from the coach ahead and took their places. Mrs.

Sprague, worn out by the fatigue of the journey and the strain upon her mind, quite broke down in the hot, ill-ventilated car. There was no water to be had, and Olympia turned inquiringly to the person opposite her, asking:

"Could we possibly get any water--my mother is very much overcome?"

"Certainly, madam. There must be plenty of canteens on the train. I will bring you some in a moment."

An officer who had been sharing the seat with Merry arose on hearing this and said, kindly:

"Madam, if you will make use of your seat as a couch, perhaps your mother will feel more comfortable reclining. I will get a seat elsewhere."

Olympia was too much distressed to think of acknowledging this courteous action, but Merry spoke up timidly:

"We are most grateful to you, sir."

"Oh, don't mention it. Are you going far?" "Yes, we're going to Richmond, to--to find our boys, lost in the battle two weeks ago."

"Oh, you're from the North." He was a young man, perhaps thirty, evidently proud of his unsoiled uniform and the glittering insignia of rank on the sleeve and collar.

"Yes, sir; we're from Acredale, near Warchester," Merry said, as though Acredale must be known even in this remote place, and that the knowing of it would bring a certain consideration to the travelers.

"Oh, yes, Warchester. I fell in with an officer from there after the battle, a Captain Boone. Do you know him?"

"Oh, dear me, yes. He is from Acredale. He is captain of Company K of the Caribee Regiment--"

"Caribee? Why, yes. I remember that name. We got their flags and sent them to Richmond; we--"

"And, oh, sir, did you take the prisoners? I mean the Caribees--were there many? Oh, dear sir, it is among them our boys were; they were mere boys."

"Yes, ma'am, there were a good smart lot of them, and as you say all very young. Boone himself can't be twenty-five."

"And are they treated well? Do they have care? Of course you did not ask any of their names?" Merry asked eagerly, comforted to be able to talk with some one who knew of the Caribees, for heretofore, of the scores they had questioned, no one had ever heard of the regiment.

"Oh, as to that, ma'am, you know a soldier's life is hard, and a prisoner's is a good deal harder. Most of your men are in Castle Thunder--a large tobacco warehouse." He hesitated, and looked furtively at Olympia administering water to her mother. "Perhaps," he said, heartily, "if you would put a drop of whisky in the cup it would brace up your mother's nerves. We find it a good friend down here, when it isn't an enemy," he added, smiling as Olympia looked at the proffered flask hesitatingly.

"I a.s.sure you, madam," (Southerners, in the old time at least, imitated the pleasant continental custom of addressing all women by this comprehensive term), "you will be the better for a sip yourself. It was upon that we did most of our fighting the other day, and it is a mighty good brace-up, I a.s.sure you."

But Olympia shook her head, smiling. Her mother had taken a fair dose, and was, as she owned, greatly benefited by it. The young man sat on the arm of the opposite seat, anxious to continue the conversation, but divided in mind. Merry was trying to hide her tears, and kept her head obstinately toward the window. Olympia, with her mother's head pillowed on her lap, strove to fan a current of air into circulation. She gave the young man a rea.s.suring glance, and he resumed his seat in front of her, beside the distracted Merry.

"You are from Richmond?" Olympia asked as he sat puzzling for a pretext to renew the talk with her.

"Oh, no; I am from Wilmington, but I have kinsfolk in Richmond, I am on General Beauregard's staff. My name is Ballman--Captain Ballman."

She vaguely remembered that Vincent Atterbury was on staff duty. Perhaps this young man knew him.

"Do you know a Mr. Atterbury in--in your army?" she asked, blushing foolishly.

"Atterbury--Atterbury--why, yes! I know there is such a man. He is in General Jackson's forces--whether on the staff or not I can't say. Stay.

I saw his name in _The Whig_ this very day." He took out the paper and glanced down the columns. "Ah, yes; is this the man?" And he read: "Major Vincent Atterbury, whose wounds were at first p.r.o.nounced serious, is now at his mother's country-house on the river. He is doing excellently, and all fears have been removed."

"Yes, that is he. We know him quite well." And she turned her head window-ward, with a feeling of confidence in the mission, heretofore so blank and wild. Vincent would aid them. He could bring official intervention to bear, without which Jack might, even though alive and well, be hidden from them. She whispered this confidence to her mother as the train jolted along noisily over the rough road, and, a good deal inspired by it, Mrs. Sprague began to take something like interest in the melancholy country that flew past the window, as if seeking a place to hide its bareness in the blue line of uplands that marked the receding mountain spurs.

The captain was much more potential in providing a supper at the evening station than the orderly, who was looked upon with some suspicion when he told the story of his _proteges_. The zeal of the new Confederates did not extend to aiding the enemy, even though weak women and within the Confederate lines. It was nearly morning when the train finally drew up in the Richmond station, and the captain, with many protestations of being at their service, gave them his army address, and, relinquishing them to the orderly, withdrew. It had been decided that the party should not attempt to find quarters in the hotels, which their escort declared were crowded by the government and the thousands of curious flocking to the city since the battle.

He could, however, he thought, get them plain accommodations with an aunt, who lived a little from the center of the town. They were forced to walk thither, no conveyance being obtainable. After a long delay they were admitted, the widow explaining that she had been a good deal troubled by marauding volunteers. The orderly explained the situation to his kinswoman, and without parley the three ladies were shown into two plain rooms adjoining. They were very prim and clean; the morning air came through the open windows, bearing an almost stupefying odor. It may have been the narcotic influence of the flowers that brought sleep to the three women, for in ten minutes they were at rest as tranquilly as if in the security of Acredale.

CHAPTER XIII.

A COMEDY OF TERRORS.

When Jack, the day after the battle, found himself able to take account of what was going on, he closed his eyes again with a deep groan, believing in a vague glimpse of peaceful rest that his last confused sensation was real--that he was dead. But there were no airy aids of languorous ease to perpetuate or encourage this delusion. Sharp pains racked his head; his right arm burned and twinged as though he had thrust it into p.r.i.c.king flames. Loud voices about, but invisible to him, were swearing and gibing. He was lying on his back, his head on a line with his body. A regular movement, broken by joltings that sent torturing darts through his whole frame, told him without much conjecture that he was in an ambulance. The accent of the voices outside told him that it was a rebel ambulance and not a Northern one he was in.

He tried to raise his head to see his companions, but he might as well have been nailed to the cross, so far as pain and helplessness went.

Then he lost the thread of his thought. He heard, in a vague, far-off voice, men talking:

"We'll catch old Abe on our next trip ef we go on like this--eh, Ben?"

"I reckon. I'm jess going to take a furlough now. Hain't seen my girl fo' foah months."

"How much did you pick up?"

"I've got five gold watches and right smart o' shinplasters, I don't reckon they'll pa.s.s in our parts, but I'm going to trade 'em off with some of these wounded chaps. They'll give gold for 'em fast enough."

"I got a heap of gold watches, jackknives, and sech. I don't know what in the land to do with 'em. Suppose we can sell 'em in Richmond?"

"Yes--but how are we going to get to Richmond? We're ordered to dump these Yanks at Newmarket and go back. Ef we don't get to Richmond, our watches ain't worth a red cent. Jess like's not old Bory'll issue an order to turn everything in. I'm blamed if I will!"

"Look yere, Ben, do you see that road off there to the right?"

"Yes, I do, but I don't see that it's different from any other road."