Special Messenger Page 4
III
ABSOLUTION
Just before daylight the unshaven sentinels at headquarters halted her;a lank corporal arrived, swinging a lighted lantern, which threw ayellow radiance over horse and rider. Then she dismounted.
Mud smeared her riding jacket; boots and skirt were clotted with it; sowas the single army spur. Her horse stretched a glossy, sweating neckand rolled wisely-suspicious eyes at the dazzling light. On the graysaddle cloth glimmered three gilt letters, C. S. A.
"What name, ma'am?" repeated the corporal, coming closer with liftedlantern, and passing an inquiring thumb over the ominous lettersembroidered on the saddle cloth.
"No name," she said. "They will understand--inside there."
"That your hoss, ma'am?"
"It seems to be."
"Swap him with a Johnny?"
"No; took him from a Johnny."
"Shucks!" said the corporal, examining the gilt letters. Then, lookingaround at her:
"Wa'll, the ginrall, he's some busy."
"Please say that his messenger is here."
"Orders is formuel, ma'am. I dassent----"
She pronounced a word under her breath.
"Hey?"
She nodded.
"Tain't _her_?" demanded the corporal incredulously.
She nodded again. The corporal's lantern and jaw dropped in unison.
"Speak low," she said, smiling.
He leaned toward her; she drew nearer, inclining her pretty, disheveledhead with its disordered braids curling into witchlocks on hershoulders.
"'Tain't _the_ Special Messenger, ma'am, is it?" he inquired hoarsely."The boys is tellin' how you was ketched down to----"
She made him a sign for silence as the officer of the guard came up--anill-tempered, heavily-bandaged young man.
"What the ----" he began, but, seeing a woman's muddy skirt in thelantern light, checked his speech.
The corporal whispered in his ear; both stared. "I guess it's allright," said the officer. "Won't you come in? The general is asleep;he's got half an hour more, but I'll wake him if you say so."
"I can wait half an hour."
"Take her horse," said the officer briefly, then led the way up thesteps of a white porch buried under trumpet vines in heavy bloom.
The door stood open, so did every window on the ground floor, for theJuly night was hot. A sentry stood inside the wide hall, resting on hisrifle, sleeves rolled to his elbows, cap pushed back on his flushedyoung forehead.
There was a candle burning in the room on the right; an old artilleryofficer leaned over the center table, asleep, round, red face buried inhis arms, sabre tucked snugly between his legs, like the tail of asleeping dog; an aide-de-camp slept heavily on a mahogany sofa, jacketunbuttoned, showing the white, powerful muscles of his chest, allglistening with perspiration. Beside the open window sat a thin figurein the uniform of a signal officer, and at first when the SpecialMessenger looked at him she thought he also was asleep.
Then, as though her entrance had awakened him, he straightened up,passed one long hand over his face, looked at her through thecandlelight, and rose with a grace too unconscious not to have beeninherited.
The bandaged officer of the guard made a slovenly gesture, half salute,half indicative: "The Messenger," he announced, and, half turning on hisheel as he left the room, "our signal officer, Captain West," indeference to a convention almost forgotten.
Captain West drew forward an armchair; the Special Messenger sank intoits tufted depths and stripped the gauntlets from her sun-tannedhands--narrow hands, smooth as a child's, now wearily coiling up thelustrous braids which sagged to her shoulders under the felt ridinghat. And all the while, from beneath level brows, her dark, distraiteyes were wandering from the signal officer to the sleeping major ofartillery, to the aide snoring on the sofa, to the trumpet vines hangingmotionless outside the open window. But all she really saw was CaptainWest.
He appeared somewhat young and thin, his blond hair and mustache wereburned hay-color. He was adjusting eyeglasses to a narrow, well-cutnose; under a scanty mustache his mouth had fallen into pleasant lines,the nearsighted eyes, now regarding her normally from behind theglasses, seemed clear, unusually pleasant, even a trifle mischievous.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked respectfully.
"After the general is awake--if I might have the use of a room--and alittle fresh water--" Speech died in her throat; some of the color diedin her face, too.
"Did you wish me to awake him now? If your business is urgent I will,"said Captain West.
She did not reply; an imperceptible twitching tightened her lips; thenthe young mouth relaxed, drooping a trifle at the corners. Lying there,so outwardly calm, her tired, faraway gaze fixed absently on him, sheseemed on the verge of slumber.
"If your business is urgent," he was repeating pleasantly. But she madeno answer.
Urgent? No, not now. It had been urgent a second or two ago. But notnow. There was time--time to lie there looking at him, time to try torealize such things as triumph, accomplishment, the excitement ofachievement; time to relax from the long, long strain and lie nerveless,without strength, yielding languidly to the reaction from a task welldone.
So this was success? A pitiful curiosity made her eyes wistful for aninstant. Success? It had not come as she expected.
Was her long quest over? Was this the finish? Had all ended here--hereat headquarters, whither she had returned to take up, patiently, thelost trail once more?
Her dark gaze rested on this man dreamily; but her heart, after itsfirst painful bound of astonishment, was beating now with heavy,sickened intelligence. The triumph had come too suddenly.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
She was not hungry. There was a bucket of water and a soldier's tin cupon the window sill; and, forestalling him instinctively, she reachedover, plunged the cup into the tepid depths and drank.
"I was going to offer you some," he said, amused; and over the brimmingcup she smiled back, shuddering.
"If you care to lie down for a few moments I'll move that youngster offthe sofa," he suggested.
But fatigue had vanished; she was terribly awake now.
"Can't you sleep? You are white as death. I'll call you in an hour," heventured gently, with that soft quality in his voice which sounded soterrible in her ears--so dreadful that she sat up in an uncontrollabletremor of revolt.
"What did you ask me?"
"I thought you might wish to sleep for half an hour----"
Sleep? She shook her head, wondering whether sleep would be moremerciful to her at this time to-morrow--or the next day--or ever again.And all the time, apparently indifferent and distrait, she was studyingevery detail of this man; his lean features, his lean limbs, his thin,muscular hands, his uniform, the slim, light sabre which he balancedwith both hands across his angular knees; the spurred boots, wellgroomed and well fitted; the polished cross-straps supporting fieldglasses and holster.
"Are you the famous Special Messenger?--if it is not a militaryindiscretion to name you," he asked, with a glint of humor in hispleasant eyes. It seemed to her as though something else glimmeredthere, too--the faintest flash of amused recklessness, as though gaylydaring any destiny that might menace. He was younger than she hadthought, and it sickened her to realize that he was quite as amiablyconscious of her as any well-bred man may be who permits himself torecognize the charm of an attractive woman. All at once a deathlyfeeling came over her--faintness, which passed--repugnance, which gavebirth to a desperate hope. The hope flickered; only the momentarynecessity for self-persuasion kept it alive. She must give him everychance; she must take from him none. Not that for one instant she wasafraid of herself--of failing in duty; she understood that she _could_not. But she had not expected this moment to come in such a fashion. No;there was more for her to do, a chance--barely a miracle of chance--thatshe might be mistaken.
"Why do you think I am the Special Messenger, Captain West?"
"Other spies come to headquarters," he said, "but you are the only oneso far who embodies my ideal of the highly mysterious SpecialMessenger."
"Do I appear mysterious?"
"Not unattractively so," he said, smiling.
"I have heard," she said, "that the Union spy whom they call the SpecialMessenger is middle-aged and fat."
"I've heard that, too," he nodded, with a twinkle in his gray eyes--"andI've heard also that she's red-headed, peppered with freckles,and--according to report--bow-legged from too many cross-saddles."
"Please observe my single spur," she said, extending her slender, bootedfoot; "and you will notice that I don't fit that passport."
"My idea of her passport itemizes every feature you possess," he said,laughing; "five feet seven; dark hair, brown eyes, regular features,small, well-shaped hands----"
"Please--Captain West!"
"I beg your pardon--" very serious.
"I am not offended.... What time is it, if you please?"
He lifted the candle, looked closely at his watch and informed her; sheexpressed disbelief, and stretched out her hand for the watch. He maynot have noticed it; he returned the watch to his pocket.
She sank back in her chair, very thoughtful. Her glimpse of the monogramon the back of the watch had not lasted long enough. Was it an M or a Wshe had seen?
The room was hot; the aide on the sofa ceased snoring; one spurred heelhad fallen to the floor, where it trailed limply. Once or twice hemuttered nonsense in his sleep.
The major of artillery grunted, lifted a congested face from the cradleof his folded arms, blinked at them stupidly, then his heavy,close-clipped head fell into his arms again. The candle glimmered on histarnished shoulder straps.
A few moments later a door at the end of the room creaked and afully-lathered visage protruded. Two gimlet eyes surveyed the scene; amouth all awry from a sabre-slash closed grimly as Captain West rose toattention.
"Is there any fresh water?" asked the general. "There's a dead mouse inthis pail."
At the sound of his voice the aide awoke, got onto his feet, took thepail, and wandered off into the house somewhere; the artillery officerrose with a dreadful yawn, and picked up his forage cap and gauntlets.
Then he yawned again, showing every yellow tooth in his head.
The general opened his door wider, standing wiry and erect in boots andbreeches. His flannel shirt was open at the throat; lather covered hisfeatures, making the distorted smile that crept over them unusuallyhideous.
"Well, I'm glad to see _you_," he said to the Special Messenger; "comein while I shave. West, is there anything to eat? All right; I'm readyfor it. Come in, Messenger, come in!"
She entered, closing the bedroom door; the general shook hands with herslyly, saying, "I'm devilish glad you got through, ma'am. Have anytrouble down below?"
"Some, General."
He nodded and began to shave; she stripped off her tight outer jacket,laid it on the table, and, ripping the lining stitches, extracted somemaps and shreds of soft paper covered with notes and figures.
Over these, half shaved, the general stooped, razor in hand, eyesfollowing her forefinger as she traced in silence the lines she haddrawn. There was no need for her to speak, no reason for him to inquire;her maps were perfectly clear, every route named, every regiment, everybattery labeled, every total added up.
Without a word she called his attention to the railroad and the noteregarding the number of trains.
"We've got to get at it, somehow," he said. "What are those?"
"Siege batteries, General--on the march."
His mutilated mouth relaxed into a grin.
"They seem to be allfired sure of us. What are they saying down below?"
"'They seem to be allfired sure of us.'"]
"They talk of being in Washington by the fifteenth, sir."
"Oh.... What's that topographical symbol--here?" placing one finger onthe map.
"That is the Moray Mansion--or was."
"_Was?_"
"Our cavalry burned it two weeks ago Thursday."
"Find anything to help you there?"
She nodded.
The general returned to his shaving, completed it, came back andexamined the papers again.
"That infantry, there," he said, "are you sure it's Longstreet's?"
"Yes, sir."
"You didn't see Longstreet, did you?"
"Yes, sir; and talked with him."
The general's body servant knocked, announcing breakfast, and left thegeneral's boots and tunic, both carefully brushed. When he had gone outagain, the Special Messenger said very quietly:
"I expect to report on the Moray matter before night."
The general buckled in his belt and hooked up his sword.
"If you can nail that fellow," he said, speaking very slowly, "I guessyou can come pretty close to getting whatever you ask for fromWashington."
For a moment she stood very silent there, her ripped jacket hanging limpover her arm; then, with a pallid smile:
"Anything I ask for? Did you say that, sir?"
He nodded.
"Even if I ask for--his pardon?"
The general laughed a distorted laugh.
"I guess we'll bar that," he said. "Will you breakfast, ma'am? The nextroom is free, if you want it."
Headquarters bugles began to sound as she crossed the hall, jacketdangling over her arm, and pushed open the door of a darkened room. Theair within was stifling, she opened a window and thrust back the blinds,and at the same moment the ringing crack of a rifled cannon shatteredthe silence of dawn. Very, very far away a dull boom replied.
Outside, in dusky obscurity, cavalry were mounting; a trooper, pumpingwater from a well under her window, sang quietly to himself in anundertone as he worked, then went off carrying two brimming buckets.
The sour, burned stench of stale campfires tainted the morningfreshness.
She leaned on the sill, looking out into the east. Somewhere yonder,high against the sky, they were signaling with torches. She watched thered flames swinging to right, to left, dipping, circling; other sparksbroke out to the north, where two army corps were talking to each otherwith fire.
As the sky turned gray, one by one the forest-shrouded hills took shape;details began to appear; woodlands grew out of fathomless shadows,fields, fences, a rocky hillock close by, trees in an orchard, someSibley tents.
And with the coming of day a widening murmur grew out of the invisible,a swelling monotone through which, incessantly, near and distant,broken, cheery little flurries of bugle music, and far and fartherstill, where mists hung over a vast hollow in the hills, the droppingshots of the outposts thickened to a steady patter, running backward andforward, from east to west, as far as the ear could hear.
A soldier brought her some breakfast; later he came again with hersaddlebags and a big bucket of fresh water, taking away her ridinghabit and boots, which she thrust at him from the half-closed door.
Her bath was primitive enough; a sheet from the bed dried her, thesaddlebags yielded some fresh linen, a pair of silk stockings and acomb.
Sitting there behind closed blinds, her smooth body swathed to the waistin a sheet, she combed out the glossy masses of her hair before braidingthem once more around her temples; and her dark eyes watched daylightbrighten between the slits in the blinds.
The cannonade was gradually becoming tremendous, the guns tuning up bybatteries. There was, however, as yet, no platoon firing distinguishablethrough the sustained crackle of the fusillade; columns of dust, hangingabove fields and woodlands, marked the courses of every northern roadwhere wagons and troops were already moving west and south; the fog fromthe cannon turned the rising sun to a pulsating, cherry-tinted globe.
There wa
s no bird music now from the orchard; here and there a scaredoriole or robin flashed through the trees, winging its frightened wayout of pandemonium.
The cavalry horses of the escort hung their heads, as though dullyenduring the uproar; the horses of the field ambulances parked near theorchard were being backed into the shafts; the band of an infantryregiment, instruments flashing dully, marched up, halted, depositedtrombone, clarion and bass drum on the grass and were told off asstretcher-bearers by a smart, Irish sergeant, who wore his cap over oneear.
The shock of the cannonade was terrific; the Special Messenger,buttoning her fresh linen, winced as window and door quivered under thepounding uproar. Then, dressed at last, she opened the shaking blindsand, seating herself by the window, laid her riding jacket across herknees.
There were rents and rips in sleeve and body, but she was not going tosew. On the contrary, she felt about with delicate, tentative fingers,searching through the loosened lining until she found what she waslooking for, and, extracting it, laid it on her knees--a photograph, ina thin gold oval, covered with glass.
The portrait was that of a young man--thin, quaintly amused, looking outof the frame at her from behind his spectacles. The mustache appearedto be slighter, the hair a trifle longer than the mustache and hair wornby the signal officer, Captain West. Otherwise, it was the man. And hopedied in her breast without a flicker.
Sitting there by the shaking window, with the daguerreotype in herclasped hands, she looked at the summer sky, now all stained andpolluted by smoke; the uproar of the guns seemed to be shaking herreason, the tumult within her brain had become chaos, and she scarcelyknew what she did as, drawing on both gauntlets and fastening her softriding hat, she passed through the house to the porch, where the staffofficers were already climbing into their saddles. But the general,catching sight of her face at the door, swung his horse and dismounted,and came clanking back into the deserted hallway where she stood.
"What is it?" he asked, lowering his voice so she could hear him underthe din of the cannonade.
"The Moray matter.... I want two troopers detailed."
"Have you nailed him?"
"Yes--I--" She faltered, staring fascinated at the distorted face,marred by a sabre to the hideousness of doom itself. "Yes, I think so.I want two troopers--Burke and Campbell, of the escort, if you don'tmind----"
"You can have a regiment! Is it far?"
"No." She steadied her voice with an effort.
"Near _my_ headquarters?"
"Yes."
"Damnation!" he blazed out, and the oath seemed to shock her toself-mastery.
"Don't ask me now," she said. "If it's Moray, I'll get him.... What arethose troops over there, General?" pointing through the doorway.
"The Excelsiors--Irish Brigade."
She nodded carelessly. "And where are the signal men? Where is yoursignal officer stationed--Captain----"
"Do you mean West? He's over on that knob, talking to Wilcox with flags.See him, up there against the sky?"
"Yes," she said.
The general's gimlet eyes seemed to bore through her. "Is that all?"
"All, thank you," she motioned with dry lips.
"Are you properly fixed? What do you carry--a revolver?"
She nodded in silence.
"All right. Your troopers will be waiting outside.... Get him, in oneway or another; do you understand?"
"Yes."
A few moments later the staff galloped off and the escort clatteredbehind, minus two troopers, who sat on the edge of the veranda in theirblue-and-yellow shell jackets, carbines slung, poking at the grass withthe edges of their battered steel scabbards.
The Special Messenger came out presently, and the two troopers rose tosalute. All around her thundered the guns; sky and earth were tremblingas she led the way through an orchard heavy with green fruit. A volunteernurse was gathering the hard little apples for cooking; she turned, herapron full, as the Special Messenger passed, and the two women, bothyoung, looked at one another through the sunshine--looked, and turnedaway, each to her appointed destiny.
Smoke, drifting back from the batteries, became thicker beyond theorchard. Not very far away the ruddy sparkle of exploding Confederateshells lighted the obscurity. Farther beyond the flames of the Unionguns danced red through the cannon gloom.
Higher on the hill, however, the air became clearer; a man outlined inthe void was swinging signal flags against the sky.
"Wait here," said the Special Messenger to Troopers Burke and Campbell,and they unslung carbines, and leaned quietly against their feedinghorses, watching her climb the crest.
The crest was bathed in early sunlight, an aerial island jutting upabove a smoky sea. From the terrible, veiled maelstrom roaring below,battle thunder reverberated and the lightning of the guns flaredincessantly.
For a moment, poised, she looked down into the inferno, striving topenetrate the hollow, then glanced out beyond, over fields and woodswhere sunlight patched the world beyond the edges of the dark pall.
Behind her Captain West, field glasses leveled, seemed to be intent uponhis own business.
She sat down on the grassy acclivity. Below her, far below, Confederateshells were constantly striking the base of the hill. A mile away blacksquares checkered a slope; beyond the squares a wood was suddenly beltedwith smoke, and behind her she heard the swinging signal flags begin towhistle and snap in the hill wind. She had sat there a long while beforeCaptain West spoke to her, standing tall and thin beside her; somehalf-serious, half-humorous pleasantry--nothing for her to answer. Butshe looked up into his face, and he became silent, and after a while hemoved away.
A little while later the artillery duel subsided and finally died outabruptly, leaving a comparative calm, broken only by slow and verydeliberate picket firing.
The signal men laid aside their soiled flags and began munchinghardtack; Captain West came over, bringing his own rations to offer her,but she refused with a gesture, sitting there, chin propped in herpalms, elbows indenting her knees.
"Are you not hungry or thirsty?" he asked.
"No."
He had carelessly seated himself on the natural rocky parapet, spurredboots dangling over space. For one wild instant she hoped he might slipand fall headlong--and his blood be upon the hands of his Maker.
Sitting near one another they remained silent, restless-eyed, broodingabove the battle-scarred world. As he rose to go he spoke once or twiceto her with that haunting softness of voice which had begun to tortureher; but her replies were very brief; and he said nothing more.
At intervals during the afternoon orderlies came to the hill; one or twogeneral officers and their staffs arrived for brief consultations, anddeparted at a sharp gallop down hill.
About three o'clock there came an unexpected roar of artillery from theUnion left; minute by minute the racket swelled as battery after batteryjoined in the din.
Behind her the signal flags were fluttering wildly once more; a priest,standing near her, turned nodding:
"Our boys will be going in before sundown," he said quietly.
"Are you Father Corby, chaplain of the Excelsiors?"
"Yes, madam."
He lifted his hat and went away knee-deep through the windyhill-grasses; white butterflies whirled around him as he strode, headon his breast; the swift hill swallows soared and skimmed along theedges of the smoke as though inviting him. From her rocky height she sawthe priest enter the drifting clouds.
A man going to his consecrated duty. And she? Where lay her duty? Andwhy was she not about it?
"Captain West!" she called in a clear, hard voice.
Seated on his perch above the abyss, the officer lowered his fieldglasses and turned his face. Then he rose and moved over to where shewas sitting. She stood up at once.
"Will you walk as far as those trees with me?" she asked. There was astrained ring to her voice.
He wheeled, spoke briefly to a sergeant, then, with that subtle andpleasant defe
rence which characterized him, he turned and fell into stepbeside her.
"Is there anything I can do?" he asked softly.
"No.... God help us both."
He halted. At a nod from her, two troopers standing beside their quietlybrowsing horses, cocked carbines. The sharp, steel click of the lockswas perfectly audible through the din of the cannon.
"Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and itwas empty."]
The signal officer looked at her; and her face was whiter than his.
"You are Warren Moray--I think," she said.
His eyes glimmered like a bayonet in sunlight; then the old half-gay,half-defiant smile flickered over his face.
"Special Messenger," he said, "you come as a dark envoy for me. Now Iunderstand your beauty--Angel of Death."
"Are you Major Moray?" She could scarcely speak.
He smiled, glanced at the two troopers, and shrugged his shoulders.Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and it was empty; andhis pistol glimmered in her hand.
"For God's sake don't touch your sabre-hilt!" she said.... "Unclasp yourbelt! Let it fall!"
"Can't you give me a chance with those cavalrymen?"
"I can't. You know it."
"Yes; I know."
There was a silence; the loosened belt fell to the grass, the sabreclashing. He looked coolly at the troopers, at her, and then out acrossthe smoke.
"_This_ way?" he said, as though to himself. "I never thought it." Hisvoice was quiet and pleasant, with a slight touch of curiosity in it.
"How did you know?" he asked simply, turning to her again.
She stood leaning back against a tree, trying to keep her eyes fixed onhim through the swimming weakness invading mind and body.
"I suppose this ends it all," he added absently; and touched the sabrelying in the grass with the tip of his spurred boot.
"Did you look for any other ending, Mr. Moray?"
"Yes--I did."
"How could you, coming into our ranks with a dead man's commission andforged papers? How long did you think it could last? Were you mad?"
He looked at her wistfully, smiled, and shook his head.
"Not mad, unless you are. Your risks are greater than were mine."
She straightened up, stepped toward him, very pale.
"Will you come?" she asked. "I am sorry."
"I am sorry--for us both," he said gently. "Yes, I will come. Send thosetroopers away."
"I cannot."
"Yes, you can. I give my word of honor."
She hesitated; a bright flush stained his face.
"I take your word," she murmured.
A moment later the troopers mounted and cantered off down the hill,veering wide to skirt the head of a column of infantry marching in; andwhen the Special Messenger started to return she found masses of menthreatening to separate her from her prisoner--sunburnt, sweating,dirty-faced men, clutching their rifle-butts with red hands.
Their officers rode ahead, thrashing through the moist grass; a forestof bayonets swayed in the sun; flag after flag passed, slanting abovethe masses of blue.
She and her prisoner looked on; the flag of the 63d New York swept by;the flags of the 69th and 88th followed. A moment later the columnshalted.
"Your Excelsiors," said Moray calmly.
"They're under fire already. Shall we move on?"
A soldier in the ranks, standing with ordered arms, fell straightbackward, heavily; a corporal near them doubled up with a grunt.
The Special Messenger heard bullets smacking on rocks; heard their dullimpact as they struck living bodies; saw them knock men flat. Meanwhilethe flags drooped above the halted ranks, their folds stirred lazily,fell, and scarcely moved; the platoon fire rolled on unbroken somewhereout in the smoke yonder.
"God send me a bullet," said Moray.... "Why do you stay here?"
"To--give you--that chance."
"You run it, too."
"I hope so. I am very--tired."
"I am sorry," he said, reddening.
She said fiercely: "I wish it were over.... Life is cruel.... I supposewe must move on. Will you come, please?"
"Yes--my dark messenger," he said under his breath, and smiled.
A priest passed them in the smoke; her prisoner raised his hand to thevisor of his cap.
"Father Corby, their chaplain," she murmured.
"Attention! Attention!" a far voice cried, and the warning ran from rankto rank, taken up in turn by officer after officer. Father Corby wasclimbing to the summit of a mound close by; an order rang out, buglesrepeated it, and the blue ranks faced their chaplain.
Then the priest from his rocky pulpit raised his ringing voice inexplanation. He told the three regiments of the Irish Brigade--nowscarcely more than three battalions of two companies each--that everysoldier there could receive the benefit of absolution by making asincere act of contrition and resolving, on first opportunity, toconfess.
He told them that they were going to be sent into battle; he urged themto do their duty; reminded them of the high and sacred nature of theirtrust as soldiers of the Republic, and ended by warning them that theCatholic Church refuses Christian burial to him who deserts his flag.
In the deep, battle-filled silence the priest raised up his hands; threeregiments sank to their knees as a single man, and the Special Messengerand her prisoner knelt with them.
"_Dominus noster Jesus Christus vos absolvat, et ego, auctoritateipius, vos absolvo ab omvir vinculo_----"
The thunder of the guns drowned the priest's voice for a moment, then itsounded again, firm and clear:
"_Absolve vos a peccatis_----"
The roar of battle blotted out the words; then again they rang out:
"_In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti!... Amen._"
The officers had remounted now, their horses plunging in the smoke; theflags were moving forward; rivers of bayonets flowed out into themaelstrom where the red lightning played incessantly. Then from theirfront crashed out the first volley of the Irish Brigade.
"Forward! Forward!" shouted their officers. Men were falling everywhere;a dying horse kicked a whole file into confusion. Suddenly a shell fellin their midst, another, another, tearing fiery right of way.
The Special Messenger, on her knees in the smoke, looked up and aroundas a priest bent above her.
"Child," he said, "what are you doing here?" And then his worn gaze fellon the dead man who lay in the grass staring skyward through his brokeneyeglasses with pleasant, sightless eyes.
The Special Messenger, white to the lips, looked up: "We were on ourknees together, Father Corby. You had said the amen, and the bulletstruck him--here!... He had no chance for confession.... But yousaid----"
Her voice failed.
The priest looked at her; she took the dead man's right hand in hers.
"He was a brave man, Father.... And you said--you said--about those whofell fighting for--their _own_ land--absolution--Christian burial----"
She choked, set her teeth in her under lip and looked down at the dead.The priest knelt, too.
"Is--is all well with him?" she whispered.
"Surely, child----"
"But--his was the--_other_ flag."
There was a silence.
"Father?"
"I know--I know.... The banner of Christ is broader.... You say he waskneeling here beside you?"
"Here--so close that I touched him.... And then you said.... Christianburial--absolution----"
"He was a spy?"
"What am I, Father?"
"Absolved, child--like this poor boy, here at your feet.... What is thatlocket in your hand?"
"His picture.... I found it in his house when the cavalry were settingfire to it.... Oh, I am tired of it all--deathly, deathly sick!... Lookat him lying here! Father, Father, is there no end to death?"
The priest rose wearily; through the back-drifting smoke the long battleline of the Excelsiors wavered like phantoms in the mist. Six flagsf
lapped ghostlike above them, behind them men writhed in the trampled,bloody grass; before them the sheeted volleys rushed outward intodarkness, where the dull battle lightning played.
A maimed, scorched, blackened thing in the grass near by was calling onChrist; the priest went to him, turning once on his way to look backwhere the Special Messenger knelt beside a dead man who lay smiling atnothing through his shattered eyeglasses.