Joseph A. Altsheler – The Complete Collection

Chapter 39

The wound was on the side of the head, under the hair, and she remembered afterward how glad she was that the scar would always be hidden by the hair. Strong enough to examine the nature of the injury, she judged that it had been done by a fragment of shell, and she believed that the concussion and loss of blood, rather than any fatal wound, had caused Prescott's fall.

As she drew away the hair, washed the wound and bound it up with a strip from her own dress, she was filled with a divine gladness. Not only was she doing that which she wished most to do, but she was making repayment. He would have died there had she not found him, and no one else would have found him in that lone spot.

Not yet did she seek to move him or to bring help. She would have him to herself for awhile--would watch over him like a mother, and she could do as much as any surgeon. She was glad Helen and the other woman had turned aside, for she alone had found him. No one else could claim a share in saving him. He was for the time hers and hers alone, and in this she rejoiced.

As his pulse was growing stronger she knew that he would live. No doubt of it now occurred to her mind, and she was still happy. The battle of the day that was gone and of the day that was to come, and all the thousands, the living and the fallen, were alike forgotten. She remembered only him.

Again came the tramp of riderless horses, and for a moment she was in dread--not for herself, but for him--but again they turned and passed her by. When the low, threatening note of the cannon shot came once more she trembled lest the battle be renewed in the darkness and surge over this spot; but silence only followed the report. Misty forms filed past in the thicket. They were in blue, a regiment of her own people passing in the darkness. She crouched low in the grass, holding his head upon her knees, hiding again, not for herself, but for him. She would not have him a prisoner, but preferred to become one herself, and cared nothing for it. This was repayment. His pulse was growing stronger and stronger and he uttered half-spoken words while his head moved slightly upon her knees.

She did not know how long she had been there, and she looked back again toward the field. It was now wholly in darkness, then lighted dimly by a fitful flash of lightning. She must carry him to shelter, and without taking thought, she tried to lift him in her arms. He was heavy, lying like lead, and she put him down again, but very softly. She must go for help. Then she heard once more the tread of those riderless horses and feared for him. She could not leave him there alone. She made a mighty effort, lifted him in her arms, and staggered toward the battlefield.

CHAPTER XX

THE SECRETARY LOOKS ON

The old house in the woods which still lay within the Confederate lines became a hospital before morning, and when General Wood turned away from it he beheld a woman staggering through the darkness, carrying a strange burden. It was Lucia Catherwood, and when she came nearer he knew that the burden was a man. He saw then that the girl's expression was one that he had never before seen on the face of woman. As he ran forward she gasped:

"Take him; it is Captain Prescott!"

Full of wonder, but with too much delicacy under his rough exterior to ask questions, the mountaineer lifted Prescott in his arms and carried him into the house, where he was placed on the bed beside Harley, who was unconscious, too. Lucia Catherwood followed alone. She had been borne up by the impulse of excessive emotion, but she was exhausted now by her mighty effort. She thought she was going to faint--she who had never fainted in her life--and leaned against the outside wall of the house, dizzy and trembling. Black shadows, not those of the night, floated before her eyes, and the house moved away; but she recovered herself in a few moments and went in.

Improvised beds and cots were in every room, and many of the wounded lay on the floor, too. Mixed with them were some in blue just as on the other side of the battlefield were some in gray mixed with the blue. There was a powerful odour of drugs, of antiseptics, and Helen and Mrs. Markham were tearing cloth into strips.

Prescott lay a long time awaiting his turn at the surgeon's hand--so long that it seemed to Lucia Catherwood it would never come; but she stayed by his side and did what she could, though conscious that both Mrs. Markham and Helen were watching her at times with the keenest curiosity, and perhaps a little hostility. She did not wonder at it; her appearance had been so strange, and was still so lacking in explanation, that they could not fail, after the influence of the battlefield itself had somewhat passed, to be curious concerning her. But she added nothing to what she had said, doing her work in silence.

The surgeon came at last and looked at Prescott's head and its bandages. He was a thin man of middle age, and after his examination he nodded in a satisfied way.

"You did this, I suppose," he said to Lucia--it was not the first woman whom he had seen beside a wounded man. When she replied in the affirmative, he added:

"I could not have done better myself. He's suffering chiefly from concussion, and with good nursing he'll be fit for duty again in a few weeks. You can stay with him, I suppose? You look strong, and women are good for such work."

"Yes; I will stay with him," she replied, though she felt a sudden doubt how she should arrange to do so.

The surgeon gave a few instructions and passed on--it was a busy night for him and all his brethren, and they could not linger over one man. Lucia still sat by the side of Prescott, applying cooling bandages, according to the surgeon's instructions, and no one sought to interfere with her.

The house, which contained so many wounded, was singularly quiet. Hardly one of them groaned. There was merely the sound of feet moving softly. Two or three lights burned very low. Outside was the same silence and darkness. Men came in or went away and the others took no notice.

A man entered presently, a slender man, of no particular presence, with veiled eyes, it seemed to Lucia, and she observed that his coming created a faint rustle of interest, something that had not happened with any other. He was not in uniform, and his first glance was for Helen Harley. Then he came toward Lucia and, bending down, looked keenly at the face of her patient.

"It is Captain Prescott," he said. "I am sorry. Is he badly hurt?"

"No," she replied; "he is suffering chiefly from concussion, the surgeon says, and will be well again in two or three weeks."

"With good nursing?"

"Yes, with good nursing." She glaced up in a little surprise.

Revelation, comprehension, resolve, shot over James Sefton's face. He was genuinely pleased, and as he glanced at Lucia Catherwood again her answering gaze was full of understanding.

"Your name is Lucia Catherwood," he said.

"Yes," she replied, without surprise.

"It does not matter how I knew it," he continued; "it is sufficient that I do know it. I know also that you are the best nurse Robert Prescott could have."

Her look met his, and, despite herself, the deep red dyed her face, even her neck. There was a swift look of admiration on the Secretary's face. Then he smiled amiably. He had every reason to feel amiable. He realized now that he had nothing to fear from Prescott's rivalry with Helen Harley so long as Lucia Catherwood was near. Then why not keep her near?

"You are to be his nurse," he continued, "and you must have the right to go through our lines, even to Richmond if necessary. Here is a pass for you."

He took pencil and paper from his pocket and wrote an order which he handed to her.

The Secretary's next concern was for Harley, and he spoke in low tones of him to Mrs. Markham and his sister. He had heard of his heroic charge at a critical moment--of a man rising from his bed of wounds to lead back his wavering regiment; the army was ringing with it. In the new republic such a hero should have a great reward. Helen flushed with pleasure, but Mrs. Markham, shrewder and keener, said nothing. Her own husband, unhurt, came an hour later, and he was proud of his wife at work there among the wounded. The Secretary stayed a long while, and Lucia felt at times that he was watching her with an eye that read her throughout; but when she saw him looking at Helen Harley she thought she knew the reason of his complacency. She, too, was acute.

The Secretary brought news of the battle, and as he prophesied that the next day would be bloodier than the one just closed, he glanced through the window at the black Wilderness with real awe upon his face.

Lucia followed his look, and despite herself she felt a certain pride. This general, who struck so hard and never ceased striking, was her general. She had known that it would be so, but these people about her had not known it until now. She felt in her heart that the end was coming, but she knew it would be over the roughest road ever traveled by a victorious army.

She formed plans, too, as she sat there, and was thankful for the pass that she concealed in her dress. No matter how it had come, she had it and it was all-powerful. She did not fear this Secretary whom others seemed to fear. If necessary she would go to Richmond again, and she would there join her cousin, Miss Grayson, her nearest living relative, who could now give her protection that no one could question.

About three o'clock in the morning a young man whose face and manner she liked came in and looked at Prescott. He showed deep concern, and then relief, when assured that the wound was not serious. His name was Talbot--Thomas Talbot, he said--and he was a particular friend of Prescott's. He gave Lucia one or two glances, but in a few moments he went away to take his part in the next day's battle.

Lucia dozed a little by and by, her sleep being filled with strange dreams. She was awakened by a low, distant sound, one that the preceding day had made familiar--the report of a cannon shot. She looked out of the window, and it was still so dark that the forest, but a short distance away, was invisible.

"They have begun early," she murmured.

She saw Prescott stir as if he had heard a call, and his eyes half opened. Then he made an effort to move, but she put her hand gently upon his forehead and he sank back to rest. She saw in his half-open eyes a fleeting look of comprehension, gratitude and joy, then the eyes closed again, and he floated off once more into the land of peace where he abode for the present. Lucia felt singularly happy and she knew why, for so engrossed was she in Prescott that she scarcely heard the second cannon shot, replying to the first. There came others, all faint and far, but each with its omen. The second day's battle had begun.