Men Running

I

INSISTENTLY, prodding him awake, George Holcombe heard, unreal, then harsh, more urgent, ‘Captain! Say, Captain!’

He made himself stir. Straws poked his cheek and, recoiling, he lifted his head from the saddlebags. ‘What the devil!’ he grunted. At once he was wholly aware; tense, remembering where he was.

To all appearances it was night still. A play of firelight entered the open doors of the barn, showed him dimly the thick crossbeams high above. Sitting up on the straw in the wagon, he groped for his boots in the dark. ‘What is it?’ he asked quickly. ‘Are we going to be attacked?’ He climbed stiffly over the side, landing on his sore stockinged feet.

‘The Colonel ain’t back,’ observed his awakener. It was Carl Hurd, bulking big and aimless against the firelight. ‘So I — ’

‘Well, what are you doing here? How dare you leave your post? Don’t you know yet what picket duty means?’

‘Sure I do, George; but there’s a cavalry fellow or something here looking for the Colonel. You better talk to him. I stopped him all right and he did n’t have any countersign; but I figured how could anybody have it except us? He said he’s from General Runyon with orders, so I — ’

‘Tell him I’m coming.’ George Holcombe found his boots, forced his feet into them. He came out into the firelight past the short picket line of the officers’ horses. Several groups of men by the fires were still playing cards — making a night of it, apparently. They ought to be getting some rest, but probably they found they could n’t sleep on the ground. The ones who could were rolled in blankets here and there off in the shadows beyond the irregular stacks of muskets. A few of them, not wrapped in anything and doubtless wet with dew, might be drunk as well as asleep.

A uniformed man was sitting his horse, looking from right to left slowly. It was possible to recognize from no more than the silhouette of his carriage that he must be from the regular army. What he thought of this encampment would n’t be hard to guess. He watched George Holcombe approach a minute and said, ‘What troops are these?’ Plainly it cost him an effort to call them troops at all. George Holcombe could see the insignia and shoulder bars of a first lieutenant, U. S. A.

‘Second New Jersey Volunteers; first and sixth companies, First Battalion. I’m Captain Holcombe.’

The rider saluted him with a kind of negligent precision. Obviously he did not consider George Holcombe’s years and general appearance adequate for a captain. ‘These orders are directed to Lieutenant Colonel Tucker. He’s not here?’

‘He heard there was to be a conference somewhere up the line. He went up. He said he ’d be back, but he may have lost his way.’

’He’ll be lucky if the Secesh cavalry don’t find it for him,’ the Lieutenant said. Wearily he allowed himself to relax a little in the saddle. ‘You have n’t a major?’

‘He was left sick at Roach’s Mills. I think I’m in command. I’m first company captain. We lost track of the Second Battalion. Maybe Colonel Tucker’s with them.’

The Lieutenant unbent more. He swung painfully out of the saddle. ‘Well, Captain,’ he said, ‘you have n’t a drink on you, have you?’

‘I have a pint of brandy, sir.’

‘It would be a favor if you’d give me a drink. I’m about in. Have you any kind of map? Do you know where you are now?’

‘No, sir. Not very well. Colonel Tucker had a map, but he took it with him.’

The Lieutenant groaned slightly. George Holcombe had unbuttoned the flap of his deep blouse pocket and produced the glass flask. The Lieutenant tilted it up, took a remarkable swallow, and handed it back. ‘Well, I have a map,’ he said, wiping his mouth. ‘Find a bit of paper if you can and try to copy some of it.’ He produced and spread out a frail, soiled sheet. ‘The Warrenton Turnpike runs directly west from Fairfax to Centerville to Gainesville Station, up there. The first three divisions started moving just after midnight. The engineers found them an unfortified ford over the Bull Run several miles north of the turnpike bridge. As we understand it, there’s to be a feint at the bridge to cover a flanking movement by the ford which is expected to take in reverse the whole enemy line along the Run. Colonel Miles’s Fifth Division is at Centerville. General Runyon would like to get the Fourth Division up to where it would be available to reënforce Miles. Better have your men get breakfast, and as soon as it’s perfectly light march them east on any paths or roads you can find — you’re bound to come on the Fairfax Court House road. You’re about three miles south of Vienna Station.’ He shivered a little and yawned. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Hear the locomotive whistle?’

‘Yes, sir.’

There had been a general stir around the fires and more fuel had been thrown on the nearest one. In the brighter light the Lieutenant’s puffed eyes and drawn cheeks were gilded. The young sandy moustache drooped its ends. Removing his hat a moment, he showed the wisps of his light hair matted damply with sweat. He looked about him, shivered again, and said, ‘ You may as well keep the map. It’s dawn already. I’ll have to report back. Get toward Fairfax the best way you can. One thing: the Rebels are probably as bad off as we are.’

George Holcombe was moved to say, ‘We don’t look a great deal, sir; we bivouacked here after dark and we are n’t used to it, but these boys are all right. We have n’t done any marching, much; but if they can find any Rebels, they’ll fight all you want.’

The lieutenant laid a hand on his saddle. ‘Captain,’ he said, ‘I hope they will. I know they’ll try to. But you can’t win a battle without an army. The Rebels could lose it, but we can’t possibly win it. You don’t know where your Colonel is. You don’t know where your other battalion is — you should n’t be formed in battalions, anyway; there’s no sense in it. You have no brigade headquarters because nobody has seen fit to brigade the division. Where are your trains?’

‘Captain Kingsinger of the sixth company went back for them, sir. He knew where they were to be.’

‘He won’t find them there. They broke some wheels; they missed the road; they were held up by artillery. Now you’re short another officer. What became of the Adjutant?’

‘He went with Colonel Tucker, sir.’

‘The roster went with him, probably. How are you going to have roll call?’

‘Well, sir,’ — George Holcombe found himself flushing, — ‘I think the first sergeants keep rolls for their companies.’

‘Good for you! Have your men anything for breakfast?’

‘Most of them probably have a little something in their haversacks, sir.’

‘If I were you I’d see that it was shared where necessary — so everyone gets some. It’s going to be a hard, hot day.’ George Holcombe saw that it was, in fact, day. In the east, early summer light had paled all the stars. It was Sunday, July 21, 1861.

II

With Hurd’s help, George Holcombe found Lieutenants Joe Matthews and Harry Vanzant burrowed in a haystack. The regimental color sergeant and three corporals of his guard were also in the haystack at a point marked by the furled colors leaning casually against the side. Nathan Wright, the first company bugler, and his nephew Pete, who was drummer, put in their appearance. The boy had shed the drum jacket, and yawning, flexing his wrists, began to coax out subdued, fragmentary periods of the long roll.

George Holcombe said, ‘We might as well have Wright sound assembly. We’re ordered to report at Fairfax. A battle is going to be fought beyond Centerville. We’re simply joining the reserve, though. I’m afraid we won’t get anywhere near it.’

Harry Vanzant said, ‘Maybe we will, if we get started. We’re going to look pretty silly if we come home without ever even seeing a battle. Where’s the Colonel?’

‘He may be with the other battalion. We ought to see if we can find where it is before we start. They won’t have had any orders, maybe.’

‘I move we let them find us. If we don’t start, they’ll run the Rebs all the way to Richmond without giving us a shot at them.’

‘Well, we’ll get lined up, anyway, and have roll call. Sound off, will you, Nathan? We can form across the field there.’

Wright spat, licked his lips, and brought the bugle up. ‘Let ’er go, Sonny!’ he said to Pete.

George Holcombe buttoned his blouse and straightened his sword belt. The eastern sky was a fine, gleaming, lucent white above the shadowed treetops. Dew was visibly gray on the short rough tufts of pasture grass stretched away to the second-growth oak woods. The bugle, clear and fresh as the early air, went ringing over the barnyard, down the lane and orchard, the drum after it, roll on roll.

Probably hardly anyone was asleep, for at once in the dusk of dawn under the trees, around the wide ruddy splotches of the fading fires, there was a swarming movement; the musket stacks were plucked apart; sergeants came running. Now, from somewhere, Lieutenants Hart and Moore of the sixth company came up. George Holcombe said quietly, ‘Maybe they’re going to raise a row. They’ll want to wait for Kingsinger, probably.’

Hart said, ‘What’s up, Holcombe? Colonel get back?’

‘No; but orders came from General Runyon to move at daylight. We’ll have to go.’

‘ We can’t go. How about the Colonel and Kingsinger? How’ll they know where to find us?’

‘ We ’ll have to chance it. We ’ll have to obey General Runyon’s orders.’

‘I don’t think so. We have n’t anyone in command. We’d better wait.’

‘I’m in command. I’m the ranking captain.’

‘Who said so?’

‘I’m captain of the first company. That makes me senior captain.’

‘What do you mean? Any company could have happened to be first. What’s senior about that?’

‘Well, that’s the way it is in the army. Tell your men to fall in.’

‘Not until the Colonel comes, Holcombe. I’m not taking orders from you.’

‘D’you want a bang on the snout?’ asked Harry Vanzant. ‘Because that’s something you’ll take, all right.’

‘Not from you.’

‘Oh, so you think not!’

‘Stop it, Harry!’ George Holcombe snatched his arm. ‘We won’t get anywhere that way. Listen to a little common sense, Hart. There’s going to be a battle somewhere around Centerville. General Runyon is trying to get his division together, in case it’s needed.’ He had one eye apprehensively on the lines forming in the brightening light across the pasture. ‘Do you want it to be said the Second New Jersey Volunteers lay around camp all morning because they were afraid to fight ? ’

‘Who’ll say it?’

‘Well, the militia regiments certainly will.’

‘Who cares what the militia says?’ asked Hart. ‘Their ninety days are about up, and all they want to do is get home. The volunteers could lick them any day.’

‘ No,’ Lieutenant Moore said. ‘ Come on, Jake. He’s right, there. If there’s going to be any fighting, we want to help.’

‘All right.’ Hart nodded, sulky. ‘But look here, don’t think you’re commanding the sixth company. Until Captain Kingsinger comes back, Moore and I are commanding it.’

‘You mean,’ said Harry Vanzant, ‘ until a gun goes off. After that you ’ll be so far away — ’

‘See here, Vanzant — ’

‘Shut up, you fools,’ Moore said. ‘Let’s get to our places. We’re just wasting time.’

George Holcombe wiped his forehead.

‘Battalion, attention!’ he shouted. ‘Sergeants, to the front — march! Call the rolls.’

III

Rations were ordinarily prepared by the company cooks, to whom the orderly sergeants issued them. Preparing their own food seemed more than many of the men could manage. There was a good deal of grumbling and quarreling around the badly built small fires while the morning grew brighter and the sun came up level across the orchard.

Hurd, who had been acting as George Holcombe’s orderly, made some bad coffee which the officers drank, sitting in a circle, eating old bread and halfcooked bacon strips. Harry was still belligerent. Lieutenant Hart, who was no match for him and probably knew it, covered his sense of inferiority by being huffy and sarcastic. Joe Matthews wanted only to keep the peace and Moore was a quiet chap, not at all inclined to back up Hart. George Holcombe spread out the map for them and indicated as well as he could where they were going — supposing the men got themselves fed and they ever started. The sun was riding high, the freshness gone from the air before Wright was able to blow assembly. There was some delay in lining up. ‘That spring’s dry,’ the first sergeant told George Holcombe. ‘They’ve been hunting around, but there is n’t any other water. I don’t think more than four or five of them got their canteens filled.’

‘We’ll find some water,’ George Holcombe promised. ‘We’ve wasted hours now. Get them in line. Make sure they have all their equipment.’

‘A lot of them say they won’t carry it, George. It’s quite a load for a hot day.’

‘Well, they’ll be sorry.’ He noticed that several men in the first rank had removed their boots and stockings and stood barefoot. ‘We may have to march fifteen or twenty miles,’ he said, exasperated. ‘Tell those fellows to put their shoes on!’

‘They say it hurts them too much, Captain. They’ve got pretty good calluses.’ It would be hopeless to try to correct these matters unless he wished to spend the morning arguing. ‘They ’ll be sorry,’ he repeated, futilely. He walked down the line and said to Lieutenant Moore, ‘We’ll march them in column of companies by the right flank — ’

He broke off, turning his head. Moore turned, too. The ranks, fairly quiet before, were instantly completely quiet. After a moment it came again, at a great distance, but distinct on the hot morning air : a deep dull sound like something heavy — the earth itself, perhaps — being moved in the southwest. ‘That’s cannon,’ a surprised voice remarked.

‘Battalion, attention!’ George Holcombe called. ‘By the right flank — ’

Sergeants’ voices went up in chorus. Harry Vanzant roared, ‘Right face, you blockhead! Don’t you know how to march by the flank?’

‘Forward,’ George Holcombe continued, giving them time enough to correct any initial errors. They had evolved themselves moderately well into ranks of four. ‘Route step, march! ’ He swung a leg over his horse. Lieutenant Hart’s sharp voice reached him above the tramping: ‘Arms at will, simpleton, but keep your muzzle up! Do you want to shoot Luke’s head off?’ A gruffer voice guffawed, ‘ Luke’d never miss it,’ Riding to the front, George Holcombe half turned in his saddle, looking back at the column, now altogether into the shadowed woods closing down on the lane. This view of them was more encouraging. Their uniforms, seen not too closely, looked well, clean and new.

Gazing at the faces, — some bearded, some brown, some reddened under the variously tipped and tilted forage caps, — he could name most of those in the first company, remember things about them, where they lived, who their people were. They were a good sort, in the main — farm boys used to a hard day’s work. There was no reason to suppose that, to a Monmouth County man, the sixth company would n’t seem as good. The three companies which had been detached Friday were largely from Ewing and Trenton — store clerks and mechanics. George Holcombe doubted if they would stand up to marching so well. Their arms were poorer, too — long, heavy, altered muskets instead of the fine new Minié rifles these men had been given. On the other hand, there was n’t much ammunition available for the rifles. On an average, they probably did n’t have twenty rounds.

The Vienna-Fairfax Court House road lay full in the sun. George Holcombe called out, ‘Column right!’ and saw the dried reddish dust puff up under his horse’s hoofs. It rose at once in a haze about the first platoon. Looking back an instant later, he saw it lifting to the treetops. The sixth company was entirely invisible. Out of the obscurity he could hear the vague voices of sergeants crying, ‘Close up! Close up, boys!’

In a few minutes, riding his horse through the roadside brush, Lieutenant Hart appeared. ‘Listen, Holcombe,’ he said, ‘you can’t breathe back there ’ — he was indeed coated with dust from boots to hat brim. ‘I’ll halt our company and let you get a half a mile or so ahead. We can’t miss the road, and if you run into anything, all you have to do is stop and we’d be up with you in a couple of minutes.’

Harry Vanzant was riding forward from the haze now, and, foreseeing a new altercation, George Holcombe nodded. ‘All right. I think we ought to reach Fairfax in an hour, so don’t halt to rest before that.’

‘That’s the last you’ll see of him,’ Harry said. ‘Well, he’s no loss. Hear the guns?’

‘Yes.’

‘It certainly must be the real thing. If it goes on at that rate, I’ll bet you a half dollar it ’ll be over before we get anywhere near it.’

‘We have n’t orders to get anywhere near it. I’d just as soon we did n’t get into an engagement — I mean until everyone has had more practice with the rifles. Half of them would probably take an hour to reload.’

‘They might hurry a little more if they saw some Rebels. When you can hear them having a battle, I guess you don’t need any orders about where to go.‘

‘Well, we may find the Colonel, or division headquarters at Fairfax.’ He looked at Harry’s dust-coated face. ‘Ride here,’ he said. ‘I’ll fall back awhile.’

In the deep dust, Joe Matthews’s horse plodded patiently along. Joe had tied a handkerchief over his mouth and nose. He saluted George Holcombe. ‘That Hart fellow ordered the sixth company to halt,’ he observed, muffled by the handkerchief. ‘He was getting his nice uniform all dirty. I could n’t blame them much, but I think some of us ought to stay together. A fine battalion this is! First they detach three companies; then Hart thinks he’s General Scott and holds another; and here we are with one company to the regimental colors. A couple of troops of Rebel cavalry scouting around could take them right away from us.’

George Holcombe, coughing, looked at the sun, a firm-edged, fierce copper disk in the dust cloud above. ‘Cheer up, Joe,’ he said.

From the front came suddenly Harry Vanzant’s voice: ‘Company, halt!’ The sergeants in position as file closers passed it back: ‘Halt! — Halt! — Halt! ’ George Holcombe put his horse violently ahead, his heart jumping to a suspended beat. ‘Harry!’ he shouted. ‘Harry, what is it?’

‘Dust ahead there. I could hear horses.’

‘Joe, come up! Company, attention! Ready, arms!’

‘Maybe it’s just a team,’ Harry said, apologetic. ‘But I thought we’d better see if we’re running into anything.’

Joe Matthews said, ‘I knew it. It’s Rebel cavalry. They’re all over the place. Wait and see. What do you think we’d better do, George?’

‘Harry and I will ride forward. You take command. Get the company into platoon front and fix bayonets. If you hear any shooting, prepare to fire by volley. If it’s cavalry, shoot low, at the horses; they’d only miss the men. And have somebody ready to send back to warn Hart.’

‘Now?’

‘No. Give someone your horse. At the first shot, let him ride for it. And, wait a minute — I have another idea. Get the men re-formed, and then move forward slowly, kicking up as much dust as you can. That way, anyone attacking might not be able to tell how many lines there were.’

‘Well, it’s nothing but a carriage,’ Harry said. ‘Look at that!’

Through the trees at the bend of the road appeared a pair of horses trotting laboriously. A Negro driver immediately pulled them up. ‘ We’d better see about it,’ Harry said. ‘It may be spies, or some big Secesh fellow trying to get away.’ George Holcombe rode forward.

From the carriage an enormously fat, red-faced man, with curved gray moustaches thick as sausages, squeaked vehemently, ‘Who the devil are you?’

A younger, spryer fellow with checked trousers and a dust-powdered bowler hat laughed. ‘It’s all right, Senator,’ he said. ‘These are our boys. Good morning, Captain.’

‘Good morning,’ George Holcombe said, at a loss.

‘I’m the correspondent from the New York Globe, Captain. The Senator and I are trying to get to Centerville. We seem to have missed the road. Perhaps you could direct us. The Senator thought you were Rebels.’ He laughed. ‘You’re not, are you?’

‘We’re the Second New Jersey Volunteers. You could n’t get to Centerville this way. But I would n’t go if I were you. That firing you hear now is down there. There was expected to be a battle this morning.’

‘As a matter of fact, Captain, we came out to see the battle, but I guess it’s too late. It’s about over. McDowell seems to have done it. The Rebels are reported in full retreat. We thought we could see the field, however.’

‘You definitely know that?’ The depth of his disappointment surprised George Holcombe. He had n’t, he reminded himself, really expected that they would see any fighting to-day, but there had been a chance — if General Runyon were getting his division together it must be wanted for something. ‘Are you sure it’s really all over?’ he asked. ‘We can still hear firing.’

‘I know how you feel, Captain. But it’s as much credit to a man to have been ready to fight. There was word direct from the field at Fairfax. Burnside and Sherman had cleared the Warrenton Pike; the stone bridge was open. The artillery you hear is probably shelling Manassas Junction and the railroad stock. I should say that the rebellion — in Virginia, at least — is finished.’

‘Have some champagne, New Jersey,’ said the Senator. ‘Whole hamper of it here. It’s no man’s drink, but it takes the dust out of your mouth.’

‘I think we’d better get through to Fairfax, sir. I’d be glad of a drink then.’

‘Right-about face, Sambo!’ cried the Senator. ‘Captain, you’re welcome to all you can hold of it, whenever you want it. This is a great day for America.’ Man’s drink or none, it occurred to George Holcombe that the Senator was making the best of it. The newspaper fellow gave him a quick, friendly wink. With difficulty the Negro got the carriage around in the road.

IV

Over the white cupola of Fairfax Court House, over the massed treetops and few roofs of the village, dust hung too, an immense vague cloudy pillar visible on the hot blue sky. Not far behind the Senator’s carriage, George Holcombe marched the first company up the rise past the old church. Oppressed still to reflect that it was all over, — they might even be back in Trenton in a week or so, and where they went or what they did was of no pressing importance, — he could at least hope that orders of some sort would be found here, for at Fairfax the army seemed to be in force. Before the church at least a score of smiths worked over traveling forges, reshoeing strings of horses to a great clangor of hammers on anvils, scorching stench of red iron laid to horn. The churchyard was full of teamsters and commissary orderlies reclining to rest or play cards among the graves. The roadside was lined solidly with canvas-hooded commissary wagons. Jamming the country streets moved carts and carriages, troops of cavalry, groups of mounted officers, ambulances. Most of the Court House grounds were occupied by an artillery park of brass Napoleons. Horses crowded the hitching rails and blocked half the road before two taverns.

Reaching finally the short arched arcade of the red brick Court House, George Holcombe wiped his dust-thickened lips and croaked, ‘ Company, halt. At ease.’ He dismounted, trying to slap the dust from his uniform and make himself a little more presentable.

‘Stay in ranks!’ shouted Harry Vanzant; but vainly, for the men had noticed the Court House well around the side.

‘All right,’ George Holcombe said. ‘Let them fill their canteens. You can’t stop them. Carl, hold my horse a minute, will you?’

Stepping into the arcade, he saluted a very tall man with colonel’s eagles pinned to a brilliant red and pale blue uniform. ‘Could you tell me where General Runyon’s headquarters are, sir?’

‘Runyon?’ said the Colonel. ‘Never heard of him. Miles’s headquarters are in Centerville, but if you ’re looking for him, he’s over the road there, drunk as an owl. What he’s doing here, nobody knows. I hear McDowell’s won. Did you just come down?’

‘No, sir. We came from Vienna Station way.’

‘Humph! Well, excuse me, I must get on.’

Two artillery officers, presumably attached to the parked battery, came out the doors and George Holcombe saluted again.

In answer to his question, one of them shook his head. The other said, ‘Hold on! Runyon. Fourth Division. Why, he never left Roach’s Mills, that I heard of. He was n’t ordered forward. Who are you?’

‘New Jersey, eh?’ said the first officer. ‘Well, maybe I can help you there. I don’t know anything about General Runyon, but quite a number of your boys went through toward Centerville— about an hour ago, I’d think. A Colonel Montgomery commanding. He your colonel?’

‘He commands the First New Jersey,’ George Holcombe said, despondent.

‘Well, is that in your division?’

‘Yes, sir, I think so.’

‘Then, young man, I’d say the best thing for you to do would be to report to him, if you can find him.’

George Holcombe stepped out with them from the shadow of the arches into the sun. The first company had surrounded the roofed, lattice-walled well under the trees. One of the artillery officers said, ‘If those are your men, it won’t do them any good. That well was drunk dry three hours ago.’

‘Where could we get water, sir?’

‘ I wish I could tell you. If you move out the pike, you’ll probably find a brook somewhere.’ He considered George Holcombe a moment. ‘I suppose you have nothing to eat, either.’

‘I’m afraid we have n’t, sir.’

‘Well, I’ll give you a tip. Those commissary wagons are full of cases of biscuit. It’s better than nothing. Send one of your lieutenants down with a few men. There are no guards and no drivers. It’s simply bedlam around here. Fortunate for us that McDowell whipped the Rebels so quickly. One more day like this and we’d be in full retreat.’

V

At one o’clock there had been no sign of Hart and the sixth company. George Holcombe could see that this might be his own fault. Fairfax grew more and more crowded. Hart might have found it impossible to get into the village at all.

In any event, they would have to get some water, and there was no use waiting. George Holcombe lined the company up. As he had expected, the men who threw away their shoes could not possibly go on. Their feet were caked over with bloody dust. The rest had resulted in such swelling that they could scarcely stand on them. He wrote slips of permission to be out of ranks and signed them. They could wait for the sixth company.

To get out of town in column would be impossible. They broke ranks and worked their way through. Once out on the Centerville road, this meant a long delay in re-forming and they were hardly re-formed when they came on a small stream at the bottom of the slope. A flimsy wooden bridge over it had broken down, damming up a wide shallow pool. At least a hundred men were already there, bathing their feet and faces; despite the filthiness of the water, drinking it. The approach of the company was watched with open hostility and George Holcombe guessed that a column coming in reasonable military order made many of them afraid they were about to be rounded up and returned to their commands.

Ranks were broken again to let those who could stomach it drink. Harry Vanzanl rode up beside him and said, ‘What do you think all that firing’s about, George? It has n’t stopped any.’

The first sergeant made his way up from the throng on the muddy trampled bank, wiped the water from his beard, and, saluting, said, ‘ George, a lot of those fellows say they’ve come down from the field and that it’s all a lie about there being any victory. They say the Rebels captured a couple of batteries and are drumming the daylight out of — ’

‘All right, all right,’George Holcombe said, agitated. ‘Don’t believe everything you hear. Let’s get formed up. We may find some better water farther along.’

At the fork a faded sign, pointing left, read ‘CENTERVILLE 5’; but there would have been no doubt about it anyway. A constant slow stream of passers-by straggled down. A few appeared to be wounded. Many of them, seeing at a distance the dust-hazed shape of the tramping column, got quickly off the road altogether. Occasionally wagons or carriages came up, pulled over a little, and waited while they passed.

His sharp pointed face sombre, Joe Matthews rode alongside after a while. ‘George,’ he said, ‘nobody seems to be going our way but us. Do you think maybe we’d better — ’

‘Centerville can’t be more than two or three more miles. I think we’d better go on to there.’

‘The boys are pretty well fagged out.’

‘We’ll give them ten minutes’ rest. That looks like a little brook, there. Maybe they can fill their canteens.’

For several hours now heavy whitecrested thunderclouds had been gathering on the horizon. They massed up, quietly ominous, well over the roadside skirts of pine and the dense low groves of black jack and pin oak. Looking down from them, George Holcombe was astonished to see the Senator with the heavy moustaches. He sat at the edge of the woods on a log, fanning himself with his huge straw hat, with the other hand gesturing toward the great clouds. ‘On the just and on the unjust,’ he observed. ‘ Mark my words, New Jersey.’

The Senator’s carriage, minus a wheel, reposed helplessly in the ditch. There was no sign of horses, driver, or the newspaper correspondent. The Senator had turned his attention to the men released from ranks crowding the little brook. ‘Every one,’he boomed, ‘that lappeth of the water with his tongue, as a dog lappeth, him shalt thou set by himself — the Midianites are given into thy hand, New Jersey. Take some champagne. That newspaper fellow rode to Centerville on one horse. He ought to be back. Sambo rode to Fairfax to fetch another carriage. So here I am, so here I am! What’s all this mob doing?’ On the wicker wine hamper beside him lay a short four-barreled New Elliott revolver. ‘Band of thieves, most of them,’ he said. ‘Hi, there!’ he cried.

The horse, lathered, had coated with dust, lathered through that and coated again. Mud clung in flat cakes all over him. The newspaper fellow had lost his hat; his dark hair was as dirty as the horse. His checked pants and narrow pointed shoes were red with clay. He wiped the mud off his lips, swung down, and tied his horse to the young oak where George had fastened his. ‘Where’s your company, Captain?’

George Holcombe indicated them.

‘You’d better get them back. It’s all up—it’s a rout. They’re pouring into Centerville. They’re—’

‘You mean our men?’

‘Naturally. Heaven knows what happened, but they’re licked. It’s nothing but a panic now. They’re running so hard — ’

‘They could n’t be! Run from a lot of miserable Rebels! Why — ’

‘Don’t worry, you’ll see it in a minute. These are just stragglers, but a mile or so back they’re coming down like a river. They’ll run all the way to Washington probably.’

‘You mean the army’s retreating?’

‘What there is left of it. We’ll wait for the first rush to go by. Then we’ll get you on this horse, Senator — what are you going to do, Captain?’

‘Try to rally them, you fool. Harry! Joe! Company, fall in. Sergeant, on the right there, to guide. By platoon front across the road. That’s it. Get them up, Harry. Out of that water, you men! ’

‘Captain,’ said the newspaper man, ‘I may be a fool, but I’m not so much of a fool as you are. There are probably ten thousand men and a thousand horses who are going to come down this road. They’ll go right over you.’

‘That’s the only way they will get by.’ Facing the partly formed lines, he said, ‘No one is to pass by this road. If those approaching do not halt on order, I shall give the command: “Fire by files.” The first rank will then fire a volley. It will at once face about, pass through the succeeding ranks to the rear, re-form, and reload. The second rank will then fire — ’

‘Good God, Captain!’ The newspaper man seized his shoulder. ‘ You can’t do that! It’s nothing but murder. You might kill a few wretches, but that won’t stop them. They can’t stop — too many behind.’

‘It will never be said that the Second New Jersey Volunteers ran away.’

‘Men just as good are running now, Captain. Listen! There it comes. The ones who could get horses will be first. They won’t even hear you if you try to tell them to halt.’

Over the low rise, down toward the brook, lifted a great cloud of dust, a tumult of hoofbeats. George Holcombe opened his mouth to say, ‘Get off the road, if you ’re afraid,’ but, seeing now the dust like an impending cyclone, he recognized suddenly, with a kind of amazement, that he was afraid himself. No one in his right senses stood in front of a herd of galloping horses.

There were sudden slight wavering breaks in the solid rank of the front line; bayonets shook here and there. ‘Hey!’ roared Harry Vanzant. ‘Stand to the colors, you cursed cowards!’ But his voice was without volume, without any warmth or conviction, for, like George Holcombe, he must have found, looking at what was coming, that he was a coward himself. He just stood lumpishly with his nerveless sword out, not certain whether he was more afraid of admitting that he was afraid than of being trampled to death. He turned his fixed eyes and blank dusty face furtively toward George Holcombe. George Holcombe yelled faintly, ‘Break ranks! Jump for it! Clear out!’

The newspaper fellow, putting his head down, charged straight at him. They both went over and over, bringing up in the ditch. From this angle, dazed, George Holcombe could see the swinging, bayoneted rifles, the flying boots of men leaping above him. There was a solitary shriek of someone ridden down. Groups of swaying, pounding horses loomed in the dust whirl; the ground shook under them. They were by. Immediately more succeeded them; and then more.

The newspaper fellow sat up slowly, a hand to the side of his head, where a slight shallow abrasion was beading the dust with blood. ‘Well,’ he panted, ‘that was a near thing, if I do say it. They were right on top of us, Captain. Pretty soon you ’ll see the mob on foot. After a while, when they thin out a little, if I were you I’d just take my colors and form up as many of the men as you can find and go back. The Rebels won’t be coming. There’s nothing you can do here.’

George Holcombe got painfully to his feet. ‘You saved my life,’he said. ‘I suppose I should be grateful.’

The Senator had not budged from his log. His big straw hat was tilted back on the great dome of his forehead, and to this expanse he applied a silk handkerchief. Through the dust haze he said gently, ‘There, there, Sonny, don’t take it too much to heart. We all did a little misjudging to-day.’

George Holcombe looked at him, stony-eyed. ‘I take it to heart, sir, when my country’s whipped. You came out here expecting a sort of picnic or something, but we — ’ He stopped.

‘Have some champagne, Sonny,’ said the Senator. ‘It’s the last in the hamper. Next time we start for Richmond we won’t be bringing anything fancy, maybe.’