110. CX.
THE NIGHT-HAWKS FLOWN.
About the middle of April I was sent with a confidential
message to General Stuart, who had broken up his head-quarters
at “Camp No-Camp,” and transferred them to the neighborhood
of Culpepper Court-House.
This mission was far from unwelcome to me; for the brilliant
sun of April, after the dreary days of winter, had the effect of
the bugle-note that sounds to horse. The wooing airs invited to
active movement and adventure; and, strapping behind the
saddle my single blanket, in its oil-cloth, I set out, gay and joyous,
for Culpepper, taking the road by Chancellorsville and Ely's
Ford on the Rapidan.
Do you think the words “gay and joyous” rather curious as
applied to a discarded lover? Was it natural that the personage
who had bidden a long farewell to the only woman he had ever
loved, and never expected to look upon her face again—was it
natural that this unhappy personage should be “gay and joyous”
under any provocation, and not pass his whole existence tearing
his hair and exhibiting other evidences of the gloom which
wrapped his soul? Alas! human nature is a poor affair after all,
I think! Men will not sigh always—broken hearts mend slowly;
or, rather, should we not say that hope never completely deserts
us? Was it the April sunshine, the grass starred over with the
first pale flowers—what was it, that said, “Do not despond—it
is better to laugh than be sighing!”
In this gay and philosophic mood I set out on my journey,
and, following the Mine road by Tabernacle Church, struck into
the main highway, and reached Chancellorsville. Scarcely
glancing at this old brick edifice which had then never been
heard of out of the immediate vicinity, I turned to the right
toward Ely's Ford and soon found myself in that country of
dense thickets—the famous Wilderness—in whose depths stood
the lonely house I knew so well.
As I rode on, the bearing of the country told me that I could
not be far from this house; and, yielding to a caprice which I
could not resist, I turned my horse's head in the supposed direction
of the place, and, after half an hour's ride through narrow
bridle-paths, came upon the spot.
Leaping the low brush-fence, and ascending the knoll upon
which the house stood, I checked my horse before the door, and
hallooed. No reply came, and, dismounting, I opened the badly-secured
door, and entered.
The place was deserted. There was no trace of a human
being; but all at once a sound from beneath my feet, as it were,
attracted my attention, and I saw, protruding from a flight of
steps which led into a cavernous region beneath, the head of an
old black hag, with blear eyes, gray hair, twisted into kinks, and
toothless mouth, from which issued a sort of growl.
The growl demanded what I wanted, and, when I asked if any
one but herself was at home, another growl conveyed the information
that no one but herself lived there.
“Where is Mrs. Parkins?”
“Gone this long time,” from the hag.
“And Mr. Fenwick?”
“Dead.”
These words terminated the interview, for the head of the old
hag disappeared; and, having nothing further to detain me, I
issued forth and remounted my horse.
So these night-hawks had disappeared—dead or gone to other
regions. Like some poisonous exhalation, they had vanished
before the gay sunshine, which poured upon me now as I continued
my way toward the Rapidan.
Crossing at Ely's Ford, I pushed on by Stevensburg, and in the
afternoon reached General Stuart's head-quarters, near Culpepper
Court-House.
