Love under Fire Part 42

I heard the rush of feet, the shout of hoa.r.s.e voices, the crash of furniture flung aside. Bullets from some firing line chugged into the wall; the room was obscured by smoke, noisy with the sharp report of guns. I could dimly see the figures of men struggling forward, and I also made for the nearest light, stumbling over the debris. But we were too late. Already the gray ma.s.s were upon the veranda, battering in the door, clambering through the windows, dashing recklessly at every hole cleft by the plunging sh.e.l.ls. Rifles flared in our faces; steel flashed, as blade or bayonet caught the glare; clubbed muskets fell in sweep of death; and men, maddened by the fierce pa.s.sion of war, pushed and hacked their way against our feeble defence, hurling us back, stumbling, fighting, cursing, until they also gained foothold with us on the b.l.o.o.d.y floor. The memory of it is but h.e.l.lish delirium, a recollection of fiends battling in a strange glare, amid stifling smoke, their faces distorted with pa.s.sion, their muscles strained to the uttermost, their only desire to kill. Uniform, organization, were alike blotted out; we scarcely recognized friend or foe; shoulder to shoulder, back to back we fought with whatever weapon came to hand. I heard the crack of rifles; saw the leaping flames of discharge, the dazzle of plunging steel, the downward sweep of musket stocks. There were crash of blows, the thud of falling bodies, cries of agony, and yells of exultation. I was hurled back across the table by the rush, yet fell upon my feet. The room seemed filled with dead men; I stepped upon them as I struggled for the door. There were others with me--who, or how many, I knew not. They were but grim, battling demons, striking, gouging, firing. I saw the gleam of knives, the gripping of fingers, the mad outshooting of fists. I was a part of it, and yet hardly realized what I was doing. I had lost all consciousness save the desire to strike. I know I shouted orders into the din, driving my carbine at every face fronting me; I know others came through the smoke cloud, and we hurled them back, fairly cleaving a lane through them to the hall door. I recall stumbling over dead bodies, of having a wounded man clutch at my legs, of facing that mob with whirling gun stock until the last fugitive was safely behind me, and then being hurled back against the wall by sudden rush.

How I got there I cannot tell, but I was in the hall, my clothing a ma.s.s of rags, my body aching from head to foot, and still struggling. About me were men, my own men--pressed together back to back, meeting as best they could the tide pouring against them from two sides. Remorselessly they hurled us back, those behind pushing the front ranks into us. We fought with fingers, fists, clubbed revolvers, paving the floor with bodies, yet inch by inch were compelled to give way, our little circle narrowing, and wedged tighter against the wall. Mahoney had made the stairs, and fought there like a demon until some one shot him down. I saw three men lift the great log which had barricaded the door, and hurl it crashing against the gray ma.s.s. But nothing could stop them. I felt within me the strength of ten men; the carbine stock shattered, I swung the iron barrel, striking until it bent in my hands. I was dazed by a blow in the face, blood trickled into my eyes where a bullet had grazed my forehead, one shoulder smarted as though burned by fire, yet it never occurred to me to cease fighting. Again and again the men rallied to my call, devils incarnate now, only to have their formation shattered by numbers. We went back, back, inch by inch, slipping in blood, falling over our own dead, until we were pinned against the wall. How many were on their feet then I shall never know, but I was in the narrow pa.s.sage beside the stairs alone. Out of the clangor and confusion, the yells and oaths, there came a memory of Billie. My G.o.d! I had forgotten! and she was there, crouching in the blackness, not five feet away. The thought gave me the reckless strength of insanity. My feet were upon a rubbish heap of plaster, where a sh.e.l.l had shaken the ceiling to the floor. It gave me vantage, a height from which to strike. Never again will I fight as I did then. Twice they came, and I beat them back, the iron club sweeping a death circle. Somewhere out from the murk two men joined me, one with barking revolver, the other with gleam of steel; together we blocked the pa.s.sage. Some one on the stairs above reached over, striking with his gun, and the man at my right went down. I caught a glimpse of the 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 my head, and I lost consciousness.

I doubt if to exceed a minute elapsed before I was able to lift my head sufficiently to see about me. Across my body sprang a Federal officer, and behind him pressed a surging ma.s.s of blue-clad men. They trod on me as though I were dead, sweeping their way forward with plunging steel.

Others poured out of the parlor, and fought their way in through the shattered front door. It was over so quickly as to seem a dream--just a blue cloud, a cheer, a dozen shots, those heavy feet crunching me, the flicker of weapons, a shouted order, and then the hall was swept bare of the living, and we lay there motionless under the clouds of smoke. The swift reaction left me weak as a child, yet conscious, able to realize all within range of my vision. My fingers still gripped the carbine barrel, and dripping blood half blinded me. Between where I lay and the foot of the stairs were bodies heaped together, dead and motionless most of them, but with here and there a wounded man struggling to extricate himself. They were clad in gray and blue, but with clothing so torn, so blackened by powder, or reddened by blood, as to be almost indistinguishable. The walls were jabbed and cut, the stair-rail broken, the chandelier crushed into fragments. Somehow my heart seemed to rise up into my throat and choke me--we had accomplished it! We had held 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 the st.u.r.dy Northern cheers. They were driving them, and after the fight, those same lads would come back, tender as women, and care for us. It was not so bad within, now the smoke was drifting away, and nothing really hurt me except my shoulder. It was the body lying half across me that held me p.r.o.ne, and I struggled vainly to roll it to one side. But I had no strength, and the effort was vain. The pain made me writhe and moan, my face beaded with perspiration. A wounded man lifted his arm from out a tangled heap of dead, and fired a revolver up into the ceiling; I saw the bullet tear through the plaster, and the hand sink back nerveless, the fingers dropping the weapon. The sounds of battle were dying away to the eastward; I could distinguish the volleys of musketry from the roar of the big guns. I worked my head about, little by 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 I stared without recognition. Then I knew he must be Miles. Oh, yes, I remembered; he had come up at the very last, he and another man, and one had been knocked down when the stair-rail broke. I wondered how they came to be there; who the other man was. I felt sorry for Miles, sorry for that girl back in Illinois he had told me about. I reached back and touched his hand--it felt warm still, and, in some manner, I got my fingers 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 my hands against the wall. Once I had to stop, faint and sick, everything about 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 sat staring at it, half demented, utterly helpless to do more, my own body throbbing with a thousand agonies. Some poor devil shrieked, and I trembled and shook as though lashed by a whip. Then a hand fell softly on my forehead, and I looked up dizzily, half believing it a dream, into Billie's eyes. She was upon her knees beside me, her unbound hair sweeping 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 G.o.d, I thank you!"

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

THE MYSTERY SOLVED

It was impossible for me to speak. Twice I endeavored, but no sound came from my parched lips, and I think my eyes must have filled with tears, her dear face was so blurred and indistinct. She must have understood, for she drew my head down upon her shoulder, pressing back the matted hair with one hand.

"My poor boy!" she whispered sobbingly. "My poor boy!"

"And you--you are injured?" I managed to ask with supreme effort.

"No, not physically--but the horror of it; the thought of you in midst of that awful fighting! Oh, I never knew before what fiends men can become. This has taught me to hate war," and she hid her face against my cheek. "I was in that dark corner against the wall; I saw nothing, yet could not stop my ears. But this sight sickens me. I--I stood there holding onto the rail staring at all those dead bodies, believing you to be among them. I thought I should go mad, and then--then I saw you."

Her words--wild, almost incoherent--aroused me to new strength of purpose. To remain idle there, amid such surroundings, would wreck the girl's reason.

"It was a desperate struggle, la.s.s," I said, "but there are living men here as well as dead, and they need help. Draw this man off me, so I can sit up against the wall. Don't be afraid, dear; that is Miles, and he is yet alive. I felt his pulse a moment ago, and it was still beating."

She shrank from the grewsome task, her hands trembling, her face white, yet she drew the heavy body back, resting the head upon the pile of plaster. The next moment her arms were about me, and I sat up supported by her shoulder. Even this slight movement caused me to clinch my teeth in agony, and she cried out,

"You are hurt? Tell me the truth!"

"My shoulder and side pain me," I admitted, "but they are nothing to worry over. Can you find water?"

"Yes," eager now for action. She was gone not to exceed a minute, returning with a pail and cloth, and dropping again on her knees, began bathing my face.

"It is a charnel house, with dead lying everywhere. I had to step across their bodies to get to the kitchen, and stopped to give one poor wounded lad a drink. Oh, I never can blot this scene out; it will haunt me in my dreams." Tears were in her eyes, and stealing down her cheeks, but there was no faltering. Softly she bathed the wound on my head, and bound it up. Then she kissed me. "Will they never come to help us?" she cried, lifting her eyes from mine. "Hear that man yonder groan. What can I do, Robert? I cannot sit still here!"

"Try to revive Miles," I suggested, pointing to him. "You heard what he replied when I called him just before the charge. He had caught the murderer, and, if he dies, we may never know the man's ident.i.ty. Here, Billie, take this cloth and sprinkle water on his face. Don't mind me any more; I am all right now."

She started to do as I requested but had scarcely dampened the rag when a man came in through the wrecked door, picked his way forward a couple of steps, and stopped, staring about at the scene. Behind him were other figures blocking the entrance. Apparently we were indistinguishable from where he stood, for he called out,

"Is there any one alive here?"

I heard a weak response or two, and then answered, "A few, yes--back here behind the stairs."

He moved to one side, shading his eyes with one hand so as to see better. I could tell now he wore the uniform of a Federal officer, but was unable to distinguish his rank. The sight of the girl, standing in the midst of all that horror, her loosened hair falling below her waist, evidently startled him. An instant he stared toward us incredulously; then removed his hat.

"Who are you?"

"I am Lieutenant Galesworth," I answered, although his question was directed to her. "And this lady is Miss Hardy, the daughter of Major Hardy of the Confederate army."

"This, I believe, was the Hardy plantation?"

"Yes--she was present throughout the fight."

"I understand. By all the G.o.ds, I thought I had gone crazy when I first saw her. A woman in such a scene as this seemed impossible. Here, men, quick now," and he turned to his following, pointing. "There were several voices answered among those lying there. Place the dead against the wall, and," glancing through the doorway beside him, "carry the wounded into the parlor. Corporal, you and one man come with me."

He stepped across carefully, picking a way between the bodies.

"Galesworth, did you say? Then you were in command here?"

I bowed, feeling as I did so that Billie had slipped her hand into mine.

"Great fight you made," he went on warmly. "Perfect shambles, outside the house as well as in. Nothing like it in my experience. I am Doctor McFarlan, Surgeon Medical Corps. Much hurt yourself?"

"Nothing serious, I think, Doctor. Shoulder and side pain some, but I want you to look at this fellow. He was my sergeant, and seems to be alive."

The shrewd gray eyes surveyed us quizzically.

"Exactly, I see," he replied. "Love and war--the old story. Ah! that brought a little red into your cheeks, my girl. Well, it's good for you.

Which is the man?--this one? Here, Corporal, lift his head, and you, Jones, bring me the water; easy now."

I drew her closer to me, our eyes on the surgeon and Miles. The former worked with swift professionalism, forgetful of all else in his task, yet commenting audibly.

"Ah, a bad blow, a bad blow; however, skull intact; concussion merely.

Bullet wound right chest--must probe for it later; right arm broken; not likely to see any more of this war. Live? Of course he'll live, so far as I can see. Tough as a knot--country stock, and that's the best kind; const.i.tution pull him through. More water, Jones; that's it, my lad--yes, you're all right now, and among friends. Lift him up higher, Corporal. Do you begin to see things?--know that man over there?"

Miles looked at me dully, but slowly the light of returning intelligence came into his eyes.

"The lieutenant?" he asked weakly, "the lieutenant?"

"Yes, Sergeant," I replied eagerly, "we're both here, but we're about all there is left."

"Did they come, sir? Did our boys get here?"

"Did they!" broke in the surgeon, his face glowing. "It was like bees out of a hive the way they came up from that ravine. The lads had been held back until they were mad clear through. The moment they saw what was going on they broke for the house; never waited for orders, or formation--just made a run for it. I guess they didn't get here any too soon either. Well, that's all I can do for you now, son. Jones, you stay here until I come back--you know what to do."

Miles' eyes followed him; then he looked at the dead bodies, shuddering, his hands to his face. When he took them down again he seemed to see Billie for the first time.

"You--you here, Miss! Oh, I remember now; it had been knocked plum out o' me. Did he get away?"

"Who?"