in a city where thousands and thousands of women were now organising relief work for the troops already in the field, ailsa paige had been among the earliest to respond to the call for a meeting at the church of the puritans. here she had left her name for enrolment with mrs. gerard stuyvesant.
later, with mrs. marquand, mrs. aspinwall, mrs. astor, and mrs. hamilton fish, and a hundred others, she had signed the call for the great mass-meeting; had acted on one of the subcommittees chosen from among the three thousand ladies gathered at the institute; had served with mrs. schuyler on the board of the central relief association; had been present at the inception of the sanitary commission and its adjunct, the allotment commission; had contributed to the christian commission, six thousand of whose delegates were destined to double the efficiency of the armies of the union.
then sainte ursula's sisterhood, organised for field as well as hospital service, demanded all her energies. it was to be an emergency corps; she had hesitated to answer the call, hesitated to enroll for this rougher service, and, troubled, had sought counsel from mr. dodge and mr. bronson of the allotment commission, and from dr. agnew of the sanitary commission.
dr. agnew wrote to dr. benton:
"mrs. paige is a very charming and very sweet little lady, excellently equipped by experience to take the field with sainte ursula's sisterhood, but self-distrustful and afraid of her own behaviour on a battle-field where the emergency corps might be under fire. in this sort of woman i have every confidence."
the next day ailsa enrolled; arranged her household affairs so that she could answer any summons at a few hours' notice; and went to bed dead tired, and slept badly, dreaming of dead men. the morning sun found her pale and depressed. she had decided to destroy berkley's letters. she burned all, except one; then went to her class work.
dr. benton's class was very busy that morning, experimenting on the doctor's young assistant with bandages, ligatures, lint, and splints. letty, wearing only her underclothes, lay on the operating table, her cheek resting on her bared arm, watching ailsa setting a supposed compound fracture of the leg, and, at intervals, quietly suggesting the proper methods.
autumn sunshine poured through the windows gilding the soft gray garb of sainte ursula's nursing sisterhood which all now wore on duty.
the girl on the table lay very still, now and then directing or gently criticising the well-intended operations on limb and body. and after the allotted half hour had struck, she sat up, smiling at ailsa, and, slipping to the floor, dressed rapidly, talking all the while in her pretty, gentle way about bandages and bones and fractures and dislocations.
a few minutes after she had completed dressing and was standing before the glass, smoothing the dark, silky masses of her hair, dr. benton arrived, absent-eyed, preoccupied at first, then in a fidgety humour which indicated something was about to happen. it happened.
"could any lady get ready in time to take the noon train for
washington?" he asked abruptly.
there was a startled silence; the call had come at last.
mrs. rutherford said quietly: "i will go. but i must see my husband and children first. i could be ready by to-morrow, if that will do."
another—a young girl—said: "i could not leave my mother at an hour's notice. she is ill. would tomorrow do, dr. benton?"
"i—think i can go to-day," said ailsa in a low voice.
"our quota is to be two nurses," said the doctor. but no other lady could possibly leave before the morrow; and it was, after all, scarcely fair to expect it of women with families to be provided for and home responsibilities to be arranged.
"i could go to-day—if i may be permitted," said the doctor's young assistant, timidly.
he swung around and scowled at her, lips compressed, eyes gleaming through his spectacles:
"you are not asked to go, miss lynden."
"i—thought——"
"do you want to go?"
"if mrs. paige is going—alone——"
ailsa looked at her, gratefully surprised, but smiled her thanks.
"if miss lynden may come, dr. benton, i would be very glad. may she?"
"miss lynden is not a member of sainte ursula's congregation," he said drily. "she's my—rather valuable—assistant."
"she has been to church with me several times," said ailsa. "i have spoken to her about becoming a communicant of sainte ursula's, and she desired to begin her instruction in october——"
"but, confound it!—i want her with me!" interrupted the doctor impatiently. "my house and office require the services of miss lynden!" he turned and paced the room rapidly, hands clasped behind his bent back; then, halting:
"do you want to go?" he repeated.
the girl coloured. "you are very kind to wish me to remain. . . .
but i feel as though mrs. paige should not go alone."
"oh, all right," said the doctor gruffly. "and you'd better start at once; that train leaves at mid-day." and, turning to his class: "now, ladies, if you will kindly put away those rags and give me your strict and undivided attention!"—his voice rumbled off into a growl.
ailsa was already putting on her hat. presently letty lynden came out of the inner office, carrying a light scarf over her arm. she and ailsa bade a hasty and excited good-bye to the ladies of the class; thanked dr. benton; listened solemnly to instructions; promised to obey; and gave him tremulous hands in leave taking.
"if those ungrateful dogs of soldiers don't appreciate you two young ladies, come home on the next train, where you'll be appreciated," grumbled the doctor. "anyway, god bless you both. and don't drink dirty water! and keep your patients clean! keep 'em clean! clean! clean! i've a notion that cleanness is nine-tenths of surgery; and it's all there is to nursing—but few agree with me. good-bye! tell agnew i say that you know your business!"
ailsa turned to letty lynden.
"it is so sweet of you to want to come. will you send your trunk to my house? i will have luncheon ready, and another gray uniform for you. you'll be a communicant soon, so there is no possible harm in wearing it."
"i would like to wear sainte ursula's garb," said the girl wistfully. "do you really think i may, mrs. paige?"
"you shall indeed! will you be ready by eleven?"
"i have very little to take with me—only a small trunk. i will be at your house at eleven."
ailsa, nervous and excited, nodded; the suddenness of departure was beginning to stimulate her. she walked rapidly home, summoned the servants, interviewed the house-keeper, sat down and drew necessary checks to cover a month's absence; sent hurried notes to celia, to camilla, to colonel arran, to captain hallam; dispatched a servant to find a hack, another to pack for her, another to serve her something to eat.
the household below stairs was inclined to tears; old jonas sniffled and shuffled about, shrunken hands hanging helpless, mild eyes following his young mistress as she moved decisively from room to room, gathering up or indicating to servants what she required for her journey.
shawls, handbags, umbrellas, cloaks, and trunk were packed and strapped and carried off below. letty arrived with her trunk, was taken to ailsa's room where luncheon for two was ready on a big silver tray.
later jonas arrived, still sniffling, to announce the hack; and the two gray-garbed women hurried away amid the hysterical snivel of servants and the friendly mewing of missy, who trotted after them to the front door, tail erect, followed by her latest progeny on diminutive and wavering legs.
all the way to the ferry ailsa sat silent in her corner of the hack, worried, reflecting, trying to recollect what it was that she had left undone.
something important she certainly had forgotten; she knew it, searching her mind, while letty furtively watched her in silence, gloved hands clasped in her lap.
and suddenly ailsa knew, and a flood of colour dyed her face; for the vague sense of leaving something undone was the instinct to let berkley know she was going—the blind, unreasoning need for some communication with him.
had it been possible that all this time she had not utterly uprooted this man from her insulted heart! had hope, all this time, unconsciously lived latent in her; was it possible that somehow, somewhere, there remained a chance for him yet—a chance for her—a cure—the only cure for all he had done to her—himself!
she reddened painfully again as memory, insolent, imperious, flashed in her brain, illuminating the unquiet past, sparing her nothing—no, not one breathless heart beat, not one atom of the shame and the sweetness of it, not one dishonourable thrill she had endured for love of him, not one soundless cry at night where she lay tortured, dumb, hands clenched but arms wide flung as her heart beat out his name, calling, calling to the man who had ended himself for ever.
and letty, silent in her comer, watched her without a word.
at the station, scarcely knowing what she did, ailsa stopped at the telegraph office and wrote a despatch to him, addressing it to his old lodgings:
"i don't know whether this will ever reach you, but i can't go without trying to let you know that i am leaving for washington as volunteer nurse. they have my address at the house.
"ailsa paige."
then the two gray-garbed women hurried to the train, but found no seats together until a lank, sad-eyed lieutenant of artillery gave up his place and doubled in with a sweating, red-necked contractor from st. louis, who sat in his shirt sleeves, fanning himself with his straw hat.
the day was hot; the car dusty, ill-smelling, uncomfortable.
at philadelphia their train was stalled for hours. two long trains, loaded with ammunition and a section of field-artillery, had right of way; and then another train filled with jeering, blue-clad infantry blocked them.
the soldiers, bare headed and in their undershirts, lolled and yelled and hung from the car windows, chewing tobacco, smoking, or gazing, jaws a-gape, at the crowds in the station.
another train rolled by, trailing a suffocating stench of cattle and hogs from its slatted stock-cars; and ailsa was almost stifled before her train at last moved heavily southward, saluted by good-natured witticisms from the soldiers at the windows of the stalled troop train.
evening came, finding them somewhere in delaware; the yellow stars appeared, the air freshened a little. letty had fallen asleep; her dark lashes rested quietly on her cheeks, but the car jolted her head cruelly, and ailsa gently drew it to her own shoulder and put one arm around her.
a major of heavy artillery turned toward her from his seat and said:
"are you a volunteer nurse, ma'am?"
"yes," motioned ailsa with her lips, glancing cautiously at letty.
"can i do anything for you at wilmington?"
she thanked him, smiling. he was disposed to be very friendly.
"you ladies arc the right stuff," he said. "i've seen you aboard those abominable transports, behaving like angels to the poor sea-sick devils. i saw you after big bethel, scraping the blood and filth off of the wounded zouaves; i saw you in washington after bull run, doing acts of mercy that, by god, madam! would have turned my stomach. . . . won't you let me do something for you. you don't need any whisky for your sick boys, do you?"
ailsa smiled and shook her head, saying they had not yet been assigned to duty.
"i haven't anything else to offer you except tobacco," said the
major ruefully, and subsided.
at wilmington, however, he got out, and presently reappeared with hard-boiled eggs and sandwiches, a big bottle of cold, sweet milk, and a basket of fruit. letty awoke; realised that ailsa had been holding her in her arms; looked at her in confusion, then impulsively bent and laid her lips against ailsa's hands.
"why—child—i didn't mind," faltered ailsa, flushing in response to letty's swift emotion. "see what this very kind officer has brought us for dinner, dear! isn't it delicious?"
they were as hungry as two school children and ate everything; and by and by the major of heavy artillery came back and reversed the seat he had been occupying, and arranged it so he could sit facing them. he was fat, red-faced, with a pair of terrific moustaches, and a closely clipped head showing two scars.
"i've daughters older than you, ma'am," he said, in part explanation of his friendliness. "one's got a new baby. he's a devil!"
"w-what?" asked ailsa.
"the right kind of devil, ma'am. i've been to see him! he wanted my sword; he tried to chew off my shoulder straps; he almost impaled himself on my spurs. by heaven, ma'am, that's a boy for you!"
ailsa smiled. she knew about babies; implanted in her had always been a perfect madness to possess one.
she and the red-faced major talked babies. letty, knowing nothing about babies and not deeply interested, lay back in her seat, watching ailsa in the dim light of the ceiling lamps. she seemed never to have enough of ailsa. it had been so from the first.
in baltimore dawn was breaking when ailsa awoke at the summons of the major; and he remained devoted to the two nurses of sainte ursula, attending to their baggage and transfer across the city, finding seats in the waiting-room already invaded by the officers of several regiments in transit, and finally saw them safely aboard the cars again.
"good-bye, little ladies," he said cheerily. "if i'm hit, god send one of you to wash my face for me. my card, ladies—if i may be permitted the honour. i'm to be at fortress monroe as soon as my command leaves baltimore."
after he had gone away, ailsa looked at his card:
a. j. denislow major, art., u. s. a.
"i thought he was a regular," she said, smiling at letty. "he's a perfect old dear. shall we open the parcel and see what he has left us for breakfast?"
there was more milk, more peaches and pears, more bread and butter, and a cold roast chicken; and they made very merry over it, doing the best they could without knife and fork.
they were nearing washington now. every little while they passed bodies of troops marching or encamped along the roads; and once they saw a line of army waggons, drab coloured, with yellow canvas tops, moving slowly in clouds of dust.
in the limpid morning light buzzards were already soaring over the green fields; the fresh odour of wild flowers came blowing in at the open car window; butterflies fluttered, wind-driven, helpless.
and now they were passing mounds of freshly turned red earth—long stretches of hillocks banked high and squared at the ends. hundreds of negroes were at work sodding them; here and there a flag fluttered and a bayonet gleamed.
"i believe all these little hills and ditches have something to do with forts," said ailsa. "certainly that great mound must be part of a fort. do you see the cannon?"
letty nodded, wide-eyed. and now they were passing soldiers on every road, at every bridge, along every creek bank.
squads of them, muskets shining, marched briskly along beside the railroad track; sentinels stood at every culvert, every flag house, every water tank and local station past which they rolled without stopping. acres of white tents flashed into view; houses and negro cabins became thicker; brick houses, too, appeared at intervals, then half-finished blocks fronting the dusty roads, then rows and lines of dwellings, and street after street swarming with negroes and whites. and before they realised it they had arrived.
they descended from the car amid a pandemonium of porters, hackmen, soldiers, newsboys, distracted fellow-passengers, locomotives noisily blowing off steam, baggagemen trundling and slamming trunks about; and stood irresolute and confused.
"could you direct us to the offices of the sanitary commission?" asked ailsa of a passing soldier wearing the insignia of the hospital service on his sleeve.
"you bet i can, ladies! are you nurses?"
"yes," said ailsa, smiling.
"bully for you," said the boy; "step right this way, sanitary. one moment——"
he planted himself before a bawling negro hack driver and began to apply injurious observations to him, followed by terrible threats if he didn't take these "sanitary ladies" to the headquarters of the commission.
"i'm going up that way, too," he ended, "and i'm going to sit on the box with you, and i'll punch your nose off if you charge my sanitary ladies more than fifty cents!"
and escorted in this amazing manner, cinder-smeared, hot, rumpled, and very tired, ailsa paige and letty lynden entered the unspeakably dirty streets of the capital of their country and turned into the magnificent squalor of pennsylvania avenue which lay, flanked by ignoble architecture, straight and wide and hazy under its drifting golden dust from the great unfinished dome of the capitol to the corinthian colonnade of the treasury. their negro drove slowly; their self-constituted escort, legs crossed, cap over one impish eye, lolled on the box, enjoying the drive.
past them sped a company of cavalry in blue and yellow, bouncing considerably in their saddles, red faces very dusty under their tightly strapped caps, sabres and canteens jangling like an unexpected avalanche of tin-ware in a demoralised pantry.
"go it, young 'uns!" cried their soldier escort from the box, waving his hand patronisingly. he also saluted an officer in spectacles as "bully boy with a glass eye," and later informed another officer in a broad yellow sash that he was "the cheese." all of which painfully mortified the two young nurses of sainte ursula, especially when passing the fashionably-dressed throng gathered in front of the willard and promenading lafayette square.
"oh, dear," said ailsa, "i suppose he's only a boy, but i didn't know soldiers were permitted to be so impudent. what on earth do all these people think of us?"
letty, who had been mischievously amused and inclined to enjoy it, looked very grave as the boy, after a particularly outrageous jibe at a highly respectable old gentleman, turned and deliberately winked at his "sanitary ladies."
"that's old hoss cameron," he said. "i made such a mug at the old terrapin that he'll never be able to recognise my face."
"the—the secretary of war!" gasped ailsa.
"you very wicked little boy, don't you dare to make another face at anybody!—or i'll—i'll report your conduct to—to the sanitary commission!"
"oh, come!" he said blankly, "don't do that, lady! they'll raise hell with me, if you do. i want to get hunky with the sanitary boss."
"then behave yourself!" said ailsa, furious; "and don't you dare to swear again. do you hear?"
"yes, ma'am—i will—i won't, i mean. and if i see that old mudsill, simon cameron, i'll take off my cap to him, b'gosh!"
it was an anxious and subdued soldier who showed them the door of the commission's office, and stood at attention, saluting carefully as the ladies passed him.
"you won't peach, will you?" he whispered loudly, as ailsa stopped to pay the driver.
"no, i won't—this time," she said, smiling, "if you promise to be a very good soldier hereafter."
he promised fervidly. he happened to be on duty at headquarters, and the fear of the commission had been driven into him deep. so she and letty entered the door with a stream of people who evidently had business with the officials of the american sanitary commission; and a very amiable young man received them in their turn, took their papers, examined their credentials, nodded smilingly, and directed them to a small boarding-house on f street, where, he explained, they had better remain until further orders.
there had been some desultory fighting in virginia, he said, also there were a great many sick soldiers in the army.
perhaps, added the young man, they would be sent to one of the city hospitals, but the chances were that they would be ordered directly to a field hospital. in that case their transportation would be by army waggon or ambulance, or the commission might send one of its own mule-drawn conveyances. at any rate, they had better rest and not worry, because as long as the commission had sent for them, the commission certainly needed them, and would see that they arrived safely at their destination.
which turned out to be a perfectly true prophecy; for after a refreshing bath in their boarding-house quarters, and a grateful change of linen, and an early supper, a big, bony cavalryman came clanking to their door, saying that a supply train was leaving for the south, and that an ambulance of the sanitary commission was waiting for them in front of the house.
the night was fearfully hot; scarcely a breath of dir stirred as their ambulance creaked put toward the river.
the long bridge, flanked by its gate houses, loomed up in the dusk; and:
"halt! who goes there?"
"friends with the countersign."
"dismount one and advance with the countersign!"
and the sergeant of cavalry dismounted and moved forward; there was a low murmur; then: "pass on, sanitary!"
a few large and very yellow stars looked down from the blackness above; under the wheels the rotten planking and worn girders of the long bridge groaned and complained and sagged.
ailsa, looking out from under the skeleton hood, behind her, saw other waggons following, loaded heavily with hospital supplies and baggage, escorted by the cavalrymen, who rode as though exhausted, yellow trimmed shell jackets unbuttoned exposing sweat-soaked undershirts, caps pushed back on their perspiring heads.
letty, lying on a mattress, had fallen asleep. ailsa, scarcely able to breathe in the heavy heat, leaned panting against the framework, watching the darkness.
it seemed to be a little cooler on the virginia side after they had passed the general hospital, and had gone forward through the deserted city of alexandria. about a mile beyond a slight freshness, scarcely a breeze, stirred ailsa's hair. the driver said to her, pointing at a shadowy bulk with his whip-stock:
"that's the marshall house, where colonel ellsworth was killed.
god help their 'tigers' if the fire zouaves ever git at 'em."
she looked at the unlighted building in silence. farther on the white tents of a pennsylvania regiment loomed gray under the stars; beyond them the sentinels were zouaves of an indiana regiment, wearing scarlet fezzes.
along the road, which for a while paralleled the orange and alexandria railroad, cavalry vedettes sat their horses, carbine on thigh. no trains passed the embankment; once she saw, on a weed-grown siding, half a dozen locomotives apparently intact; but no fire burned in their furnaces, no smoke curled from their huge drumhead stacks; and on the bell frame of one an owl was sitting.
and now, between a double line of ditches, where a battalion of engineers lay asleep in their blankets, the road entered the pine woods.
ailsa slept fitfully, but the far challenge and the halting of the waggon usually awoke her in darkness feebly lit by the rays of a candle-set lantern, swung up inquiringly by the corporal of some guard. and, "pass forward, sanitary!" was the invariable formula; and the ambulance rolled on again between a double abattis of fallen trees, flanked on either horizon by tall, quiet pines.
once she heard singing; a small company of cavalry-men straggled by, and, seeing their long lances and their belgian forage caps, she leaned out and asked what regiment it might be. somebody answered: "escort squad of rankin's lancers, 1st united states. our regiment is in detroit, miss, and thank god we're going back there."
and they rode on toward washington, singing their monotonous "do they miss me at home" song, till she lost them against the darkness of the distant woods, and dropped back to her bed of shawls and blankets once more.
after midnight she slept, and it was only the noise the driver made pulling the canvas cover of the frame above her that awakened her, and she sat up, half frozen, in a fine fog that became a drizzle soon after the cover was up.
"the sunny south," observed the driver in disgust. "yesterday the thermometer stood at 105 in washington, and now look at this here weather, lady."
day broke, bitter cold; it was raining heavily; but soon after sunrise the rain slackened, the fog grew thinner, and the air warmer. slowly the sun appeared, at first only a dazzling blot through the smother, then brassy, glittering, flooding the chilled earth with radiance.
through steaming fields, over thickets, above woods, the vapours were rising, disclosing a shining and wet world, sweet and fresh in its early autumn beauty.
the road to fairfax court house was deep in red mud, set with runnels and pools of gold reflecting corners of blue sky. through it slopped mules and horses and wheels, sending splashes of spray and red mud over the roadside bushes. a few birds sang; overhead sailed and circled hundreds of buzzards, the sun gilding their upcurled wing tips as they sheered the tree-tops.
and now, everywhere over the landscape soldiers were visible, squads clothed only in trousers and shirts, marching among the oaks and magnolias with pick and shovel; squads carrying saws and axes and chains. a little farther on a wet, laurel-bordered road into the woods was being corduroyed; here they were bridging the lazy and discoloured waters of a creek, there erecting log huts. hammer strokes rang from half-cleared hillsides, where some regiment, newly encamped, was busily flooring its tents; the blows of axes sounded from the oak woods; and ailsa could see great trees bending, slowly slanting, then falling with a rippling crash of smashed branches.
the noises in the forest awoke letty. whimpering sleepily, but warm under the shawls which ailsa had piled around her, she sat up rubbing her dark eyes; then, with a little quick-drawn breath of content, took ailsa's hand.
the driver said: "it's them gallus lumbermen from some o' the maine regiments clearing the ground. they're some with the axe. yonder's the new fort the forty thieves is building."
"the—what?" asked ailsa, perplexed.
"fortieth new york infantry, ma'am. the army calls 'em the forty thieves, they're that bright at foraging, flag or no flag! chickens, pigs, sheep—god knows they're a light-fingered lot; but their colonel is one of the best officers in the land. why shouldn't they be a good fat regiment, with their haversacks full o' the best, when half the army feeds on tack and sow-belly, and the other half can't git that!"
the driver, evidently nearing his destination, became confidentially loquacious.
"yonder's fort elsworth, ladies! it's hid by the forest, but it's there, you bet! if you ladies could climb up one o' them big pines, you'd see the line of forts and trenches in a half-moon from the chain bridge at georgetown to alexandria, and you'd see the seminary in its pretty park, and, belike, gineral mcclellan in the chapel cupola, a-spying through his spy-glass what deviltry them rebel batteries is hatching on the hill over yonder."
"are the rebels there?"
"yes'm. little mac, he lets 'em stay there till he's good 'n' ready to gobble 'em."
ailsa and letty stared at the bluish hill, the top of which just showed above the forest.
a young soldier of engineers, carrying a bundle of axes, came along the road, singing in a delightful tenor voice the hymn, "arise, my soul, arise!" he glanced admiringly at ailsa, then at letty, as the ambulance drove by, but his song did not falter; and far away they heard him singing gloriously through the autumn woods.
presently a brigade medical officer rode up, signalling the driver to stop, with his gloved hand.
"where do you come from, ladies—the general hospital at
alexandria?"
ailsa explained.
"that's good," he said emphatically; "the brigade hospitals are short handed. we need experienced nurses badly." and he pointed across the fields toward a hillside where a group of farm-houses and barns stood. a red flag napped darkly against the sky from the cupola of a barn.
"is that the hospital?" asked ailsa, noticing some ambulances parked near by.
"yes, madam. you will report to dr. west." he looked at them for a second, shook his head thoughtfully, then saluted and wheeled his horse.
"pass on, sanitary!" he added to the driver.
there was a deeply rutted farm road across the fields, guarded by gates which now hung wide open. through these the supply waggons and the commission ambulance rolled, followed slowly by the rain-soaked troopers of the escort.
in front of one of the outhouses a tall, bald-headed, jolly-faced civilian stood in his checked shirt sleeves, washing bloody hands in a tin basin. to ailsa's question he answered:
"i'm dr. hammond of the sanitary commission. dr. west is in the wards. very glad you came, mrs. paige; very glad, indeed, miss lynden. here's an orderly who'll show you your quarters—can't give you more than one room and one bed. you'll get breakfast in that house over there, as soon as it's ready. after that come back here to me. there's plenty to do," he added grimly; "we're just sending fifty patients to alexandria, and twenty-five to washington. oh, yes, there's plenty to do—plenty to do in this god-forsaken land. and, it isn't battles that are keeping us busy."
no, it was not battles that kept the doctors, nurses, and details for the ambulance corps busy at the front that first autumn and winter in virginia. few patients required the surgeon, few wounded were received, victims of skirmish or sharpshooting or of their own comrades' carelessness. but unwounded patients were arriving faster and faster from the corduroy road squads, from the outposts in the marshy forests, from the pickets' hovels on the red-mud banks of the river, from chilly rifle pits and windy hill camps, from the trenches along richmond turnpike, from the stockades at fairfax. and there seemed no end of them. hundreds of regimental hospital tents, big affairs, sixty feet long by forty wide, were always full. the hospitals at alexandria, kalorama, the columbia, and the stone mansion, took the overflow, or directed it to washington, philadelphia, and the north.
in one regiment alone, the saratoga regiment, the majority of the men were unfit for duty. in one company only twelve men could be mustered for evening parade. typhoid, pneumonia, diphtheria, spotted fever were doing their work in the raw, unacclimated regiments. regimental medical officers were exhausted.
two steady streams of human beings, flowing in opposite directions, had set in with the autumn; the sick, going north, the new regiments arriving from the north to this vast rendezvous, where a great organizer of men was welding together militia and volunteers, hammering out of the raw mass something, that was slowly beginning to resemble an army.
through the wards of their hospital ailsa and letty saw the unbroken column of the sick pass northward or deathward; from their shuttered window they beheld endless columns arriving—cavalry, infantry, artillery, engineers, all seeking their allotted fields or hillsides, which presently blossomed white with tents and grew blue and hazy with the smoke of camp fires.
all day long, rain or sun, the landscape swarmed with men and horses; all day long bugle answered bugle from hill to hill; drums rattled at dawn and evening; the music from regimental and brigade bands was almost constant, saluting the nag at sunset, or, with muffled drums, sounding for the dead, or crashing out smartly at guard-mount, or, on dress parade, playing the favorite, "evening bells."
leaning on her window ledge when off duty, deadly tired, ailsa would listen dully to the near or distant strains, wondering at the strangeness of her life; wondering what it all was coming to.
but if life was strange, it was also becoming very real and very full as autumn quickened into winter, and the fever waxed fiercer in every regiment.
life gave her now scant time for brooding—scarce time for thought at all. there were no other women at the farm hospital except the laundresses. every regiment in the newly formed division encamped in the vicinity furnished one man from each company for hospital work; and from this contingent came their only relief.
but work was what ailsa needed, and what letty needed, too. it left them no chance to think of themselves, no leisure for self-pity, no inclination for it in the dreadful daily presence of pestilence and death.
so many, many died; young men, mostly. so many were sent away, hopelessly broken, and very, very young. and there was so much to do—so much!—instruments and sponges and lint to hold for surgeons; bandages, iced compresses, medicines to hand to physicians; and there were ghastly faces to be washed, and filthy bodies to be cleansed, and limp hands to be held, and pillows to be turned, and heads to be lifted. and there were letters to be written for sick boys and dying boys and dead boys; there was tea and lemonade and whisky and wine to be measured out and given; there was broth to be ordered and tasted and watched, delicacies to be prepared; clothing to be boiled; inventories to be made of dwindling medical supplies and of fresh stores to be ordered or unpacked from the pyramids of muddy boxes and barrels in the courts.
there was also the daily need of food and a breath of fresh air; and there were, sometimes, letters to read, none came to ailsa from berkley. no letters came to letty at all, except from dr. benton, who wrote, without any preliminary explanation of why he wrote at all, once every fortnight with absolute regularity.
what he had to say in his letters ailsa never knew, for letty, who had been touched and surprised by the first one and had read it aloud to ailsa, read no more of the letters which came to her from dr. benton. and ailsa asked her nothing.
part of colonel arran's regiment of lancers was now in washington—or near it, encamped to the east of meridian hill, in a field beyond seventh street—at least these were the careful directions for posting letters given her by captain hallam, who wrote her cheerfully and incessantly; and in every letter he declared himself with a patient and cordial persistence that perhaps merited something more enthusiastic than ailsa's shy and brief replies.
colonel arran had been to see her twice at her hospital that winter; he seemed grayer, bigger than ever in his tight blue and yellow cavalry uniform; and on both occasions he had spoken of berkley, and had absently questioned her; and after both visits she had lain awake, her eyes wide in the darkness, the old pain stirring dully in her breast. but in the duties of the morning she forgot sorrow, forgot hope, and found strength and peace in a duty that led her ever amid the shadows of pain and death.
once hallam obtained leave, and made the journey to the farm hospital; but it had been a hard day for her, and she could scarcely keep awake to talk to him. he was very handsome, very bronzed, very eager and determined as a wooer; and she did not understand just how it happened, but suddenly the world's misery and her own loneliness overwhelmed her, and she broke down for the first time. and when captain hallam went lightly away about his business, and she lay on her mattress beside letty, she could feel, furtively, a new jewel on the third finger of her left hand, and fell asleep, wondering what she had done, and why—too tired to really care.
the sick continued to drift north; new regiments continued to arrive; the steady, tireless welding of the army was going on all around her, night and day; and the clamour of it filled the sky.
celia craig wrote her and sent her boxes for herself; but the contents of the parcels went to her sick men. camilla wrote her and requested information concerning stephen, who was, it appeared, very lax in correspondence; but ailsa had not heard from colonel craig since the 3rd zouaves left fortress monroe, and she had no information for either celia or camilla.
christmas boxes for the hospital began to arrive early; presents came to ailsa from colonel arran, from hallam, from celia and camilla,
letty had only one gift, a beautiful watch and chain from dr. benton; and ailsa, going up to undress for a short sleep before supper, found the girl sitting with the little timepiece in her hand, crying silently all to herself.
"why, dear!" she exclaimed, "what in the world is the trouble?" and put both arms around her. but letty only laid her head against ailsa's breast, and sobbed anew, uncomforted.
"won't you tell me what is wrong?" urged ailsa, mystified.
"yes . . . i am . . . don't pay attention to what i say, mrs.
paige. you—you like me, don't you?"
"i love you, dear,"
"please—do. i am—very unhappy."
"you are only tired out. listen; don't the wards look pretty with all the laurel and evergreens and ribbons! our poor boys will have something to remind them of christmas. . . . i—do you know that young langley is dead?"
"yes—i helped him—die. yesterday dr. west seemed to think he would get well. but hammond couldn't stop the gangrene, and he cut him almost to pieces. oh—i'm very, very miserable—my boys die so fast—so fast——"
"you mustn't be miserable on christmas eve! i won't let you be silly!"
"i'm gay enough in the wards," said letty listlessly; "i've got to be. can't i cry a little in my own room?"
"no, we haven't time to cry," said ailsa decisively. "lie down beside me and go to sleep. flannery has promised to wake us in time for supper."
"i can't get langley's terrible face out of my mind," whimpered letty, cuddling close to ailsa, as they lay in bed in the wintry darkness. "it was all drawn up on one side."
"but coma had set in," said ailsa gently. "you know, he wasn't suffering when he died. . . . you'll write to his mother, won't you, dear? or shall i?"
"i will. . . . she wanted to come, you remember, but she's bedridden. . . . her only son. . . . yes, i'll write . . . i think peterson is going to die, next——"
"but levy is getting well," interrupted ailsa.
"stop it, letty dear! i won't let you become morbid. think of your beautiful watch! think of dear dr. benton." "i—i am," gasped letty, and fell to crying again until she sobbed herself to sleep in ailsa's tired arms.
supper was spread in dr. west's private office; hallam had obtained leave, and ailsa expected him; colonel arran was in washington and could not come, but the company was to be a small one at best—ailsa, letty lynden, dr. west, dr. hammond, and hallam were all who had been expected for christmas eve supper.
they waited for hallam until dr. west decided to wait no longer, saying that he was either stuck in the mud somewhere or had been detailed for duty unexpectedly.
so ailsa lighted the christmas candles, and the two young women in their fresh gray garbs, and the two civilian doctors in clean clothes, sat down before a rather thin roasted turkey. but the bird proved tender and juicy, and it was beautifully cooked; and a glass of wine sent the colour into letty's pale cheeks, and straightened ailsa's drooping neck.
candles, laurel branches, evergreens, bits of red ribbon, and flags made the office very gay and attractive. dr. west rose and delivered an unexpected speech, complimenting the ladies and praising their skill and devotion; then dinner began, and dr. hammond told about an intensely interesting operation, which made the negro waiter turn almost white.
"christmas comes but once a year!" cried jolly dr. hammond, warming up. "let's be merry!" and he told about another operation even more wonderful than the first; and letty, catching a glimpse of the negro's wildly rolling eyes, threw back her head and laughed. it was the first genuine laughter of the evening, and rested everybody.
a few moments later there came a jingle of metal from outside, and hallam walked in, his wonderfully handsome face aglow, and plenty of red mud frozen on his boots.
"i've a green orderly outside. where can i stow him?" he asked, shaking hands and exchanging preliminary christmas greetings all around.
"i'll attend to him," said ailsa, flushed and a little shy as she felt the significant pressure of hallam's hand and saw him glance at her ring.
"no," he insisted, "i'll see to him myself, if you'll tell me where he can put the horses and find some supper."
"poor fellow," said ailsa. "tell him to stable the horses in the new barn, and go to the kitchen. wait a moment, captain hallam, i'd rather do it myself!" and she turned lightly and ran out to the dark porch.
the trooper holding hallam's horse: sat his own saddle, wrapped to the eyes in his heavy overcoat, long lance with its drooping pennon slanting stiffly athwart the wintry wilderness of stars.
"soldier!" she called gently from the porch. "stable, blanket, and feed; then come back to the kitchen, and there will be a good hot dinner waiting."
the cavalryman slowly turned his head at the sound of her voice.
and, as he made no movement to obey:
"there is the stable over there," she said, pointing across the frozen field. "follow that gate path. there's a lantern in the barn."
an orderly, passing, added:
"come on, lancer. i'm going to the barn myself;" and very slowly the trooper turned both tired horses and walked them away into the darkness.
when she returned to the table there was considerable laughter over a story chat hallam had been telling. he jumped up, seated ailsa, hovered over her for a second with just a suspicion of proprietary air which made her blush uncomfortably. talking had become general, but everybody noted it, and letty's eyes grew wide and velvety, and the blood was making her cheeks and lips very pink.
dr. west said: "the new regiment on pine knob was recruited from the bowery. i happened to be with kemp, their surgeon, when sick call sounded, and i never saw such a line of impudent, ruffianly malingerers as filed before kemp. one, i am convinced, had deliberately shot off his trigger finger; but it couldn't be proven, and he'll get his discharge. another, a big, hulking brute, all jaw and no forehead, came up and looked insolently at kemp.
"kemp said: 'well, what's the matter with you?' "'aw,' said the soldier, with a leer, 'i've got de lapsy-palls, and i wanter go to de horspittle, i do.'
"i never saw such a mad man as kemp was.
"'so you've got the lapsy-palls, have you?'
"'bet yer boots, i have.'
"'and you want to go to the hospital?'
"aw—w'ats der matter wit youse, doc.?'
"and kemp gave him a bang on the eye with his fist, and another on the nose, and then began to hit him so quickly that the fellow reeled, about, yelling for mercy.
"'sure cure for the lapsy-palls,' said kemp; and, turning his glare on the rest of the shivering line: 'anybody else got 'em?' he asked briskly.
"at that a dozen big brutes sneaked out of the line and hurriedly decamped; and i don't think that disease is going to be popular in that regiment."
a shout of laughter greeted the story. all present had seen too many instances of malingering not to appreciate surgeon kemp's cure for a disease which never existed.
a plum pudding was brought on and set afire. ailsa poured the burning sauce over and over it. dr. hammond got up and threw some more pine logs on the fire. huge shadows rose up and danced in the ruddy light, as the candles burned lower. then dr. west began another story, but was checked by the appearance of a hospital steward:
"davis, ward a, no. 3, is very bad, sir."
"going?"
"yes, sir."
the doctor bent above the table, took a hasty spoonful of pudding, nodded to the company, and went out.
"speaking of malingerers," began hammond, "i saw the colonel of the forty thieves put down in a most amusing manner the day before bull run. shall i tell it? it involves some swearing."
ailsa laughed. "proceed, dr. hammond. do you think miss lynden and i have been deaf since we arrived at the front?"
"does anybody in this hospital use bad language?" demanded the doctor sharply.
"not to us," said ailsa, smiling. "but there's an army just outside the windows. go on with your story, please."
"well, then," said the jolly surgeon, "i was talking with colonel riley, when up walks the most honest-looking soldier i think i ever saw; and he gazed straight into the colonel's eyes as he saluted. he wanted a furlough, it appeared, to go to new york and see his dying wife.
"riley said: 'is she very sick?'
"'yes, colonel.'
"'you have a letter: saying she is very sick?'
"'yes, colonel.'
"'well, i also have a letter from your wife. i wanted to make certain about all the applications for furlough you have been making, so i wrote her.'
"'yes, colonel.'
"'and she says that she is perfectly well, and does not want you to come home!'
"the soldier smiled.
"'did you write a letter to my wife, colonel?'
"'i did."
"'did my wife write to you?'
"'she did. and what do you mean by coming here to me with a lie about your sick wife! have you anything to say to that?'
"'yes, colonel.'
"'then say it!'
"'well, colonel, all i have to say is that there are two of the damnedest, biggest liars that ever lived, right here in this regiment!'
"'what!'
"the soldier grinned.
"'i'm not married at all,' he said, 'and i'm the biggest liar—and you can ask the boys who the damnedest liar is.'"
when the merriment and laughter had subsided, hallam told another story rather successfully; then hammond told another. then dr. west returned; the tiny christmas tree, cut in the forest, and loaded with beribboned cakes and sticks of chocolate and a few presents tied in tissue-paper, was merrily despoiled.
ailsa and letty had worked slippers for the two doctors, greatly appreciated by them, apparently; hallam had some embroidered handkerchiefs from ailsa, and she received a chain and locket from him—and refrained from opening the locket, although everybody already had surmised that their engagement was a fact.
letty sent an orderly for her guitar, and sang very sweetly an old-fashioned song:
"when the moonlight
shines bright
silvery bright on the sea."
ailsa sang "aileen aroon," and "oft in the stilly night," and everybody, later, sang "the poor old soldier."
the fire glowed red in the chimney; gigantic shadows wavered on wall and ceiling; and, through the christmas candles dimly burning, the branches of the little evergreen spread, laden with cake and candy.
"they're to have a tree in every ward to-morrow," said ailsa, turning toward hallam. her eyes smiled, but her voice was spiritless. a tinge of sadness had somehow settled over the festivity; hammond was staring at the fire, chin in hand; west sipped his wine reflectively; letty's idle fingers touched her guitar at intervals, as her dark eyes rested on ailsa and hallam.
hallam had found in camp a copy of a southern newspaper; and,
thinking it might amuse the company to read it, produced it.
ailsa, looking over his shoulder, noticed a poem called
"christmas," printed on the first page.
"read it aloud," he said, laughing. "let's hear what sort of
christmas poetry the johnnies produce."
so, after smilingly scanning the first lines, she began, aloud; but her face had grown very grave, and her low voice thrilled them as she became conscious of the deeper sadness of the verse.
"how grace this hallowed day?
shall happy bells from yonder ancient spire
send their glad greetings to each christmas fire
round which our children play?
"how shall we grace the day?
with feast and song and dance and homely sport,
and shout of happy children in the court,
and tales of ghost and fay?
"is there indeed a door
where the old pastimes with their joyful noise
and all the merry round of christmas joys
can enter as of yore?
"would not some pallid face
look in upon the banquet, calling up
dread shapes of battle in the christmas cup,
and trouble all the place?
"how can we hear the mirth
while some loved reveller of a year ago
keeps his mute christmas now beneath the snow,
in cold virginia earth—"
her voice suddenly broke; she laughed, slightly hysterical, the tears glittering in her eyes.
"i—c-can't—read it, somehow. . . . forgive me, everybody, i think i'm—tired——"
"nerves," said west cheerily. "it'll all come right in a moment,
mrs. paige. go up and sit by davis for a while. he's going fast."
curious advice, yet good for her. and ailsa rose and fled; but a moment later, seated at the side of the dying man, all thought of self vanished in the silent tragedy taking place before her.
"davis?" she whispered.
the man opened his sunken eyes as the sleepy steward rose, gave his bedside chair to ailsa, and replaced the ominous screen.
"i am here, private davis," she said cheerily, winking away the last tear drop.
then the man sighed deeply, rested his thin cheek against her hand, and lay very, very still.
at midnight he died as he lay. she scarcely realised it at first. and when at length she did, she disengaged her chilled hand, closed his eyes, drew the covering over his face, and, stepping from behind the screen, motioned to the steward on duty.
descending the stairs, her pale, pensive glance rested on the locket flashing on its chain over the scarlet heart sewn on her breast. somehow, at thought of hallam waiting for her below, she halted on the stairway, one finger twisted in the gold chain. and presently the thought of hallam reminded her of the trooper and the hot dinner she had promised the poor fellow. had the cook been kind to him?
she hastened downstairs, passed the closed door of the improvised dining-room, traversed the hall to the porch, and, lifting the skirts of her gray garb, sped across the frozen yards to the kitchen.
the cook had gone; fire smouldered in the range; and a single candle guttered in its tin cup on the table.
beside it, seated on a stool, elbows planted on both knees, face buried in his spread fingers, sat the lancer, apparently asleep.
she cast a rapid glance at the table. the remains of the food satisfied her that he had had his hot dinner. once more she glanced at him, and then started to withdraw on tiptoe.
and he raised his head; and she gazed into the face of berkley.
neither stirred, although in the shock of discovery she felt that she would drop where she stood. then, instinctively, she reached for the table's edge, rested against it, hand clutching it, fascinated eyes never leaving his face.
he got up leisurely, walked toward her, made an abrupt turn and faced her again from the window recess, leaning back against the closed wooden shutters.
her heart was beating too rapidly for her to speak; she tried to straighten her shoulders, lift her head. both sank, and she looked down blindly through the throbbing silence.
berkley spoke first; but she could not answer him. then he said, again, lightly:
"a woman's contempt is a bitter thing; but they say we thrive best on bitter medicine. do you wish me to go, ailsa? if so, where? i'll obey with alacrity."
she raised her dazed eyes.
"w-was that you, with captain hallam's horse—there in the starlight—when i spoke?"
"yes. didn't you know me?"
"no. did you know me?"
"of course. i nearly fell out of my saddle."
she strove hard to collect herself.
"how did you know it was i?"
"how?" he laughed a short, mirthless laugh. "i knew your voice.
why shouldn't i know it?"
"did—had anybody told you i was here?"
"no. who is there to tell me anything?"
"nobody wrote you?—or telegraphed?"
he laughed again. "nobody has my address."
"and you never—received—receive—letters?"
"who would write to me? no, i never receive letters. why do you ask?"
she was silent.
he waited a moment, then said coolly: "if you actually have any interest in what i'm doing—" and broke off with a shrug. at which she raised her eyes, waiting for him to go on.
"i went into an unattached company—the westchester horse—and some fool promised us incorporation with the 1st cavalry and quick service. but the 1st filled up without us and went off. and a week ago we were sent off from white plains camp as k company to"—he bit his lip and stared at her—"to—your friend colonel arran's regiment of lancers. we took the oath. our captain, hallam, selected me for his escort to-night. that is the simple solution of my being here. i didn't sneak down here to annoy you. i didn't know you were here."
after a moment she raised her pallid face.
"have you seen colonel arran?"
"no," he said shortly.
"i—it would give me—pleasure—to recommend you to his—attention.
may i write——"
"thank you, no."
there was another painful interval of silence. then:
"may i speak to captain hallam about you?"
"no, thank you!" he said contemptuously, "i am currying no favours."
hurt, she shrank away, and the blood mounted to her temples.
"you see," he said, "i'm just a plain brute, and there's no use being kind to me." he added in a lower voice, but deliberately: "you once found out that."
she quivered and straightened up.
"yes," she said, "i found that out. i have paid very dearly for my—my—" but she could not continue.
watching her, cap hanging in his gauntleted hand, he saw the colour deepen and deepen in neck and cheek, saw her eyes falter, and turn from him.
"is there any forgiveness for me?" he said. "i didn't ask it before—because i've still some sense of the ludicrous left in me—or did have. it's probably gone now, since i've asked if it is in you to pardon—" he shrugged again, deeming it useless; and she made no sign of comprehension.
for a while he stood, looking down at his cap, turning it over and over, thoughtfully.
"well, then, ailsa, you are very kind to offer what you did offer. but—i don't like colonel arran," he added with a sneer, "and i haven't any overwhelming admiration for captain hallam. and there you are, with your kindness and gentleness and—everything—utterly wasted on a dull, sordid brute who had already insulted you once. . . . shall i leave your kitchen?"
"no," she said faintly. "i am going."
he offered to open the door for her, but she opened it herself, stood motionless, turned, considered him, head high and eyes steady;
"you have killed in me, this night—this christmas night—something that can never again l-live in me. remember that in the years to come."
"i'm sorry," he said. "that's the second murder i've attempted.
the other was your soul."
her eyes flashed.
"even murderers show some remorse—some regret——"
"i do regret," he said deliberately, "that i didn't kill it. . . .
you would have loved me then."
she turned white as death, then, walking slowly up in front of him:
"you lie!" she said in even tones.
confronted, never stirring, their eyes met; and in the cold, concentrated fury which possessed her she set her small teeth and stared at him, rigid, menacing, terrible in her outraged pride.
after a while he stirred; a quiver twitched his set features.
"nevertheless—" he said, partly to himself. then, drawing a long breath, he turned, unhooked his sabre from a nail where it hung, buckled his belt, picked up the lance which stood slanting across a chair, shook out the scarlet, swallow-tailed pennon, and walked slowly toward the door—and met letty coming in.
"mrs. paige," she said, "we couldn't imagine what had become of you—" and glancing inquiringly at berkley, started, and uttered a curious little cry:
"you!"
"yes," he said, smiling through his own astonishment.
"oh!" she cried with a happy catch in her voice, and held out both hands to him; and he laid aside his lance and took them, laughing down into the velvet eyes. and he saw the gray garb of sainte ursula that she wore, saw the scarlet heart on her breast, and laughed again—a kindly, generous, warm-hearted laugh; but there was a little harmless malice glimmering in his eyes.
"wonderful—wonderful, miss lynden"—he had never before called her
miss lynden—"i am humbly overcome in the presence of holy sainte
ursula embodied in you. how on earth did old benton ever permit
you to escape? he wrote me most enthusiastically about you before
i—ahem—left town."
"why didn't you let me know where you were going?" asked letty with a reproachful simplicity that concentrated ailsa's amazed attention on her, for she had been looking scornfully at berkley.
"why—you are very kind, miss lynden, but i, myself, didn't know where i was going."
"i—i wanted to write you," began letty; and suddenly remembered
ailsa's presence and turned, shyly:
"mrs. paige," she said, "this private soldier is mr. berkley—a gentleman. may i be permitted to present him to you?"
and there, while the tragic and comic masks grinned side by side, and the sky and earth seemed unsteadily grinning above and under her feet, ailsa paige suffered the mockery of the presentation; felt the terrible irony of it piercing her; felt body and senses swaying there in the candle-light; heard letty's happy voice and berkley's undisturbed replies; found courage to speak, to take her leave; made her way back through a dreadful thickening darkness to her room, to her bed, and lay there silent, because she could not weep.
