The Feast of the Virgins and Other Poems Part 6

"I raised a company of riflemen, Marched to the front, and proud of my command, Nor seeking higher, led them till the day Of triumph and the nation's jubilee.

Among the first that answered to my call The hero came whose story you shall hear.

'Tis better I describe him: He was young-- Near two and twenty--neither short nor tall-- A slender student, and his tapering hands Had better graced a maiden than a man: Sad, thoughtful face--a wealth of raven hair Brushed back in waves from forehead prominent; A cla.s.sic nose--half Roman and half Greek; Dark, l.u.s.trous eyes beneath dark, jutting brows, Wearing a shade of sorrow, yet so keen, And in the storm of battle flashing fire.

"'Well, boy,' I said, 'I doubt if you will do; I need stout men for picket-line and march-- Men that have bone and muscle--men inured To toil and hardships--men, in short, my boy, To march and fight and march and fight again.'

A queer expression lit his earnest face-- Half frown--half smile.

"'Well _try_ me.' That was all He answered, and I put him on the roll-- _Paul Douglas, private_--and he donned the blue.

Paul proved himself the best in my command; I found him first at _reveille_, and first In all the varied duties of the day.

His rough-hewn comrades, bred to boisterous ways, Jeered at the slender youth with maiden hands, Nicknamed him 'Nel,' and for a month or more Kept up a fusillade of jokes and jeers.

Their jokes and jeers he heard but heeded not, Or heeding did a kindly act for him That jeered him loudest; so the hardy men Came to look up to Paul as one above The level of their rough and roistering ways.

He never joined the jolly soldier-sports, But ever was the first at bugle-call, Mastered the drill and often drilled the men.

Fatigued with duty, weary with the march Under the blaze of the midsummer sun, He murmured not--alike in sun or rain His utmost duty eager to perform, And ever ready--always just the same Patient and earnest, sad and silent Paul.

"The day of battle came--that Sabbath day, Midsummer.[A] Hot and blistering as the flames Of prairie-fires wind-driven, the burning sun Blazed down upon us and the blinding dust Wheeled in dense clouds and covered all our ranks, As we marched on to battle. Then the roar Of batteries broke upon us. Glad indeed That music to my soldiers, and they cheered And cheered again and boasted--all but Paul-- And shouted _'On to Richmond!'_--He alone Was silent--but his eyes were full of fire.

[A] The first battle of Bull Run, July 21, 1861.

"Then came the order--_'Forward, double quick!'_ And we rushed into battle--formed our line Facing the foe--the ambushed, deadly foe, Hid in the thicket, with the Union flag-- A cheat--hung out before it--luring us Into a blazing h.e.l.l. The battle broke With wildest fury on us--crashed and roared The rolling thunder of continuous fire.

We broke and rallied--charged and broke again, And rallied still--broke counter-charge and charged Loud-yelling, furious, on the hidden foe;-- Met thrice our numbers and came flying back Disordered and disheartened. Yet again I strove to rally my discouraged men, But h.e.l.l was fairly howling;--only Paul-- Eager, but bleeding from a bullet-wound In the left arm--came bounding to my side.

But at that moment I was struck and fell-- Fell prostrate; and a swooning sense of death Came on me, and I saw and heard no more Of battle on that Sabbath.

"I awoke, Confined and jolted in an ambulance Piled with the wounded--driven recklessly By one who chiefly cared to save himself.

Dizzy and faint I raised my head: my wound Was not as dangerous as it might have been-- A scalp-wound on the temple; there, you see--"

He put his finger on the ugly scar-- "Half an inch deeper and some soldier friend, Among the veterans gathered here to-night, Perchance had told a briefer tale than mine.

"In front and rear I saw the reckless rout-- A broken army flying panic-struck-- Our proud brigades of undulating steel That marched at sunrise under blazoned flags, Singing the victory ere the cannon roared, And eager for the honors of the day-- Like bison Indian-chased on windy plains, Now broken and commingled fled the field.

Words of command were only wasted breath; Colonels and brigadiers, on foot and soiled, Were pushed and jostled by the hurrying hordes.

Anon the cry of _'Cavalry!'_ arose, And army-teams came dashing down the road And plunged into the panic. All the way Was strewn with broken wagons, battery-guns, Tents, muskets, knapsacks and exhausted men.

My men were mingled with the lawless crowd, And in the swarm behind us, there was Paul-- Silent and soldier-like, with knapsack on And rifle on his shoulder, guarding me And marching on behind the ambulance.

So all that dark and dreadful night we marched, Each man a captain--captain of himself-- Nor cared for orders on that wild retreat To safety from disaster. All that night, Silent and soldier-like my wounded Paul Marched close behind and kept his faithful watch.

For ever and anon the jaded men, Clamorous and threat'ning, sought to clamber in; Whom Paul drove off at point of bayonet, Wielding his musket with his good right arm.

But when the night was waning to the morn I saw that he was weary and I made A place for Paul and begged him to get in.

'No, Captain; no,' he answered,--'I will walk-- I'm making bone and muscle--learning how To march and fight and march and fight again.'

That silenced me, and we went rumbling on.

Till morning found us safe at Arlington.

"A month off duty and a faithful nurse Worked wonders and my head was whole again-- Nay--to be candid--cracked a little yet.

My nurse was Paul. Albeit his left arm, Flesh-wounded, pained him sorely for a time, With filial care he dressed my battered head, And wrote for me to anxious friends at home-- But never wrote a letter for himself.

Thinking of this one day, I spoke of it:-- A cloud came o'er his face.

"'My friends,' he said, 'Are here among my comrades in the camp.'

That made a mystery and I questioned him: He gave no answer--or evasive ones-- Seeming to shrink from question, and to wrap Himself within himself and live within.

"Again we joined our regiment and marched; Over the hills and dales of Maryland Along the famous river wound our way.

On picket-duty at the frequent fords For weary, laggard months were we employed Guarding the broad Potomac, while our foes, Stealthily watching for their human game, Lurked like Apaches on the wooded sh.o.r.es.

Bands of enemy's cavalry by night Along the line of river prowled, and sought To dash across and raid in Maryland.

Three regiments guarded miles of river-bank, And drilled alternately, and one was ours.

Off picket duty, alike in fair or foul, With knapsacks on and bearing forty rounds, From morn till night we drilled--battalion-drill-- Often at double-quick for weary hours-- Bearing our burdens in the blazing sun, Till strong men staggered from the ranks and fell.

Aye, many a hardy man in those hard days Was drilled and disciplined into his grave. Arose Murmurs of discontent, and loud complaints Fell on dull ears till patience was worn out And mutiny was hinted. As for Paul I never heard a murmur from his lips; Nor did he ask a reason for the things Unreasonable and hard required of him, But straightway did his duty just as if The nation's fate hung on it. I pitied Paul; Slender of form and delicate, he bore The toils and duties of the hardiest.

Ill from exposure, or fatigued and worn, On picket hungered, shivering in the rain, Or sweltering in full dress, with knapsack on, Beneath the blaze of the mid-summer sun, He held his spirit--always still the same Patient and earnest, sad and silent Paul.

"We posted pickets two by two. At night, By turns each comrade slept and took the watch.

Once in September, in a drenching storm, Three days and nights with neither tent nor fire Paul and a comrade held a picket-post.

The equinox raged madly. Chilling winds In angry gusts roared from the northern hills, Dashing the dismal rain-clouds into showers That fell in torrents over all the land.

In camp the soldiers crouched in dripping tents, Or shivered by the camp-fires. I was ill And gladly sought the shelter of a hut.

Orders were strict and often hard to bear-- Nor tents nor fire upon the picket-posts-- Cold rations and a canopy of storms.

I pitied Paul and would have called him in, But that I had no man to take his place; Nor did I know he took upon himself A double task. His comrade on the post Was ill, and so he made a shelter for him With his own blankets and a bed within; And took the watch of both upon himself.

And on the third night near the dawn of day, In rubber cloak stole in upon the post A pompous major, on the nightly round, Unchallenged. All fatigued and drenched with rain, Still on his post with rifle in his hand-- Against a sheltering elm Paul stood and slept.

Muttering of death the brutal major stormed, Then pitiless p.r.i.c.ked the comrade with his sword, And from his shelter drove him to the watch, Burning with fever. There Paul interposed And said:

"'I ask no mercy at your hands; I shall not whimper, but my comrade here Is ill of fever; I have stood his watch: Sir, if a human heart beats in your breast, Send him to camp, or he will surely die.'

"The pompous brute--vaingloriously great In straps and b.u.t.tons--haughtily silenced Paul, Hand-bound and sent him guarded to the camp, And the poor comrade shivering stood the watch Till dawn of day and I was made aware.

Among the true were some vainglorious fools Called by the fife and drum from native mire To lord and strut in shoulder-straps and b.u.t.tons.

Scrubs, born to brush the boots of gentlemen, By sudden freak of fortune found themselves Masters of better men, and lorded it As only base and brutish natures can-- Braves on parade and cowards under fire.

"I interceded in my Paul's behalf, Else he had suffered graver punishment, But as himself for mercy would not beg-- 'A stubborn boy,' our bluff old colonel said-- To extra duty for a month he went Unmurmuring, storm or shine. When the cold rain Poured down most pitiless Paul, drenched and wan, Guarded the baggage and the braying mules.

When the hot sun at mid-day blazed and burned, Like the red flame on Mauna Loa's top, Withering the gra.s.s and parching earth and air, I often saw him knapsacked and full-dressed, Drilling the raw recruits at double-quick; And yet he wore a patient countenance, And went about his duty earnestly As if it were a pleasure to obey.

"The month wore off and mad disaster came-- Gorging the blood of heroes at Ball's Bluff.

'Twas there the brave, unfaltering Baker fell Fighting despair between the jaws of death.

Quenched was the flame that fired a thousand hearts; Hushed was the voice that shook the senate-walls, And rang defiance like a bugle-blast.

Broad o'er the rugged mountains to the north Fell the incessant rain till, like a sea, Him and the deadly ambush of the foe The swollen river rolled and roared between.

Brave Baker saw the peril, but not his The soul to shrink or falter, though he saw His death-warrant in his orders. Forth he led His proud brigade across the roaring chasm, Firm and unfaltering into the chasm of death.

From morn till mid-day in a single boat Unfit, by companies, the fearless band Pa.s.sed over the raging river; then advanced Upon the ambushed foe. We heard the roll Of volleys in the forest, and uprose, From out the wood, a cloud of battle-smoke.

Then came the yell of foemen charging down Rank upon rank and furious. Hand to hand, The little band of heroes, flanked and pressed, Fought thrice their numbers; fearless Baker led In prodigies of valor; front and flank Volleyed the deadly rifles; in the rear The rapid, raging river rolled and roared.

Along the Maryland sh.o.r.e a mile below, Eager to cross and reinforce our friends, Ten thousand soldiers lay upon their arms; And we had boats to spare. In all our ranks There was not one who did not comprehend The peril and the instant need of aid.

Chafing we waited orders. We could see That Baker's men were fighting in retreat; For ever nearer o'er the forest rolled The smoke of battle. Orders came at last, And up along the sh.o.r.e our regiment ran, Eager to aid our comrades, but too late!

Baker had fallen in the battle-front; He fought like Spartan and like Spartan fell Defiant, clutching at the throat of fate.

Their leader lost, confusion followed fast; Wild panic and red slaughter swept the field.

Powerless to saves we saw the farther sh.o.r.e Covered with wounded and wild fugitives-- Our own defeated and defenseless friends.

Shattered and piled with wounded men the boat Pushed off to brave the river, while the foe Pressed on the charge with fury, and refused Mercy to the vanquished. Officers and men, Cheating the savage foemen of their spoils, Their flags and arms into the gurgling depths Despairing hurled, and following plunged amain.

As numerous as the wild aquatic flocks That float in autumn on Lake Nepigon, The heads of swimmers moved upon the flood.

And still upon the sh.o.r.e a Spartan few-- Shoulder to shoulder--back to back, as one-- Amid the din and clang of clashing steel, Surrounded held the swarming foes at bay.

As in the pre-historic centuries-- Unnumbered ages ere the Pyramids-- Whereof we read on pre-diluvian bones And fretted flints in excavated caves, When savage men abode in rocky dens, And wrought their weapons from the fiery flint, And clothed their tawny thighs in lion-skins-- Before the mouth of some well-guarded cave, Where smoked the savory flesh of mammoth, came The great cave-bear unbidden to the feast.

Around the monster swarm the brawny men, Wielding with sinewy arms and savage cries Their flinty spears and tomahawks of stone.

Erect old bruin growls upon his foes, And swings with mighty power his ponderous paws-- Woe unto him who feels the crushing blow-- Till, bleeding from an hundred wounds and blind, With sudden plunge he falls at last, and dies Amid the shouts of his wild enemies.

So fought the Spartan few, till one by one, They fell surrounded by a wall of foes.

The river boiled beneath the storm of lead; Weighed down with wounded comrades many sunk, But more went down with bullets in their heads.

O! it was pitiful. The outstretched hands Of men that erst had faced the battle-storm Unshaken, grasping now in wild despair, Wrung cries of pity from us. Vain our fire-- The range too long--it fell upon our friends; At which the foemen yelled their mad delight.

A storm of bullets poured upon the boat, Mangling the mangled on her, till at last, Shattered and over-laden, suddenly She made a lurch to leeward and went down.

"A shallow boat lay moored upon the sh.o.r.e; Our gallant Colonel called for volunteers In mercy's name to man it and push out.

But all could see the peril. Stout the heart Would dare to face the raging flood and fire, And to his call responded not a man-- Save Paul and one who perished at the helm.

They went as if at bugle-call to drill; Their comrades said, 'They never will return.'

Stoutly and steadily Paul rowed the boat Athwart the turbid river's sullen tide, And reached the wounded struggling in the flood.

Bravely they worked away and lifted in The helpless till the boat would hold no more; Others they helped to holds upon the rails, Then pulled away the over-laden craft.

We cheered them from the sh.o.r.e. The maddened foe With furious volleys answered--hitting oft The little craft of mercy--hands anon Let go their holds and sunk into the deep.

And in that storm Paul's gallant comrade fell.