 | CHAP. VI. Seventy-six |  |
6. CHAP. VI.
“Now forward! forward! to the slaughter place!”
Archibald and Clinton were perpetually together
now.—Jasper had arrived, and while the troop was
forming upon the broad, well trodden ground, in front
of the house, Clinton would sit at the window, give the
order, and direct them, in going through the divisions,
while Jasper faced toward him, his back to the troop,
and went slowly over the whole; and such was their zeal
that, before another week had passed, my brother, who
spent the whole of his time in the saddle with Jasper,
or in conversation with Clinton, was able to go through
the attack and defence, with the swiftness and precision
of an experienced swordsman. Jasper declared
that he had never seen any thing like it—`I shall be no
match for him,' said he, `with that light blade of his,
in another week—he parries, cuts, and gives point, all
at the same moment.' And so it appeared to me—for
when they met, and wheeled, there was often one incessant
clatter, and blaze and sparkle, for two or three
minutes at a time, as they went round the enclosure,
with all eyes upon them.
`Admirable!' said Clinton, catching Lucia's hand,
and then dropping it in dismay, as he saw the alteration
in her face—`admirable!'
`What was that?' said I, as I sat upon my horse,
near enough to the open window to hear and see all
that passed within the room, while my horse reared at
the flash of Archibald's sword.—`What was it? I saw
the light, but my eye could not follow the motion.'
`Sword arm protect—bridle arm protect—St. George—
cut in the rear,'—answered Clinton, leaning half out
of the window in his eagerness—`damn this arm of
mine—I am impatient to try that fellow's mettle myself—he
is quicker than lightning—he and his mare
seem to be animated by the same soul.'—
As he spoke, the mare leaped—the line broke, and
she dashed among them, like a mad creature—Archibald's
weapon swinging at his wrist, by the sword knot,
and wounding her at every plunge. Lucia turned pale
as death, and caught Clinton by the arm, but he appeared
unconscious of it, for he leaped headlong from
the window, just as she uttered a shriek, reeled away,
and covered her face with her hands. I now saw the
reason—Archibald had lost the stirrup, and was almost
upon the neck of the mare, who ran straight across the
field, turning neither to the right nor left—for hedge
nor ditch, nor tree. There was a mortal silence—the
horses were all reined up, with a convulsive motion—and
Clinton stood with his arms outstretched—There was
a large tree in front—an oak—the branches low—and
the mare driving directly under them.—Gracious God!
at the very moment when we expected to see Archibald
struck from the saddle—his brains dashed out, we saw
the sword fly from his wrist—the mare turn a little
aside, and Archibald spring to the ground—bring her
about, in a broad sweep, and leap upon her back again,
like a circus rider.—There was a general shout of admiration—`a
winged mercury indeed!' said Mr. Arnauld.
`Yes,' groaned Clinton, contracting his forehead,
with pain, as he restored his shattered arm to the
sling—`but damn such freaks, I say. I would no
more have that fellow in our riding school, than a
lighted rocket in a powder magazine—he and his mare
would play the devil with our sober Connecticut
jockeys—the whole camp would be a place of ground
and lofty tumbling, if they were once among the Virginia
lads. But what the devil set him a going Jasper?
didn't he parry your point?—I could have sworn that
it—ha!'
Jasper held up his sword in reply—it was broken
about six inches from the hilt.
`How happened it? did he parry?'
`Parry—damn the fellow—yes—and before I could
come to offside protect, he gave me a cut, that shattered
my sword—and made my arm numb to the elbow—
(shaking his fingers as he spoke)—zounds! I believe
the bone is splintered—but here he comes.'—
Archibald rode up—flushed with heat, and terrour—
and the mare covered with blood. The point of the
broken sword had wounded her, it appeared, in the
flank. Archibald could have borne any thing better—
`poor Hetty—woa! woa! poor creature,' said he—
(staunching the wound, while the flesh of the animal
shivered, at every touch—and the blood flew in his face
like rain)—`I'd rather be wounded myself—but—
woa! woa! I knew that something must have happened,
and it's well for her,' he added, turning to us—his
white forehead all spattered over with her blood—that
she has a good excuse for such deviltry—or.'—
`What would you have done?' said I.
`Cut her throat upon the spot,' he answered, in the
same tone.
`His very nature has changed,' said Lucia, as she
stood leaning upon her sister, pale as death, her black
hair shadowing half her face.
To which Clara seemed to assent, while she put out
her dazzling hand to adjust it—for their eyes encountered,
and the quick, incessant sparkle of Clara's,
stopped for a moment, with a dash of mournfulness---
and her red lips were slightly compressed---perhaps in
sympathy with some inward contraction---perhaps with
the effort that she made, just then, to thrust the long
comb, into the collected mass of hair, which she had
just parted upon her sister's forehead, and carried back,
and curled up, in the true spirit of a painter.
`But how in the name of heaven, did you get into the
saddle again?---are you accustomed to such evolutions?'
Archibald continued patting the neck of his mare,
while her blood-shot eyes—swelling nostrils—agitated
breath—and quivering limbs—showed that she was not
wholly subdued.—`Woa! woa! Hetty, woa!—
no, it was altogether an accident—the impetus of our
motion carried me back to the saddle—woa!—woa!—
will you—the sword knot gave way—run Simmons,
and find the sword—there by the tree, somewhere—
you will see by the track of the mare.—I shouldn't
have managed her else—never was I so near a sommerset
in my life, and to this moment I don't know how—
woa!—woa!—how I got into the saddle again—my
head is giddy with the effort.—I remember throwing
myself off, as soon as I was able to disengage my wrist,
from the sword knot—and I lost the stirrup by it—
but how I got back again, I know not; it appeared to
me that I kept on—just struck the ground in a semicircle—brought
the mare round, by holding on the rein,
involuntarily—when she took me up again, by completing
the circle.'
`And so it appeared to me,' said Clinton, `it was a
d—d dangerous affair though—a pretty diagram
might be made of it—.'
`Handsome, Bill, wasn't it?—' said Jasper to one
of his own men—`we must try it over in the riding
school.'—`You'd better take that tree with you then,'
said Bill—`aye, and the mare too—and the rider---or
you won't be able to carry it through, my lads,' said
Clinton.—`But look to the mare Jasper---you are
somewhat of a farrier, or used to be, when I commanded
you.'
Jasper touched his hat---and then apologised for such
an unmilitary salute—by bringing up the hilt of his
broken sword, square to his face, the flat of his hand
in front—with that air of military precision, and briskness,
which is peculiar to the drill sergeant and fugleman.
`Keep your men in their saddles, five hours a day.
We shall be wanted soon. Be ready at a moment's
warning.—I will be your commander till a better one
say you? shall he be your captain?' said Clinton.
`Aye, aye!' cried the whole troop---`Oadley forever!---Oadley!
hourra for Oadley?'
Archibald looked up—all the blood of his heart rushed
to his face---and then retreated, as suddenly---leaving
him white as a drowned man---and his eyes filled. Not
a human being had expected it---not one---and from
none had the thought been further, I am sure, than from
him. He went to my father, looked him in the face---
and then round to all the troop, man by man, without
uttering a word---they all understood him---and some
turned away their faces---some passed the back of their
right hand over their eyes---and filed off, one after the
other, as if they had not the heart to interrupt such a
silence.
`Clinton---Clinton---I---I—' he tried to add something
else, but he could not---his lips moved---and he
carried Clinton's hand to his heart.
`I understand you, my fine fellow, say no more
about it---you are their captain.---I will answer for your
confirmation.—Work them hard this week, and Monday
morning next, rain or shine, we will gallop into
camp—. Ah---look yonder---what are they?---red
coats, by God!—Mount, mount your, horses!—'
`To horse! to horse!' cried Jasper.
`Into your saddle Oadley, (to me) and stand by your
brother.---Order out my sorrel---put the holsters on---
see that the pistols are in order. I can still aim a
ball!—away with these infernal trappings —' As
he said this, he tore asunder the sling; but as he did so,
and attempted to straighten his arm, streaks of red
shot up to his temples---and the sweat started out upon
his lips—he could not abide it---he staggered to the
sofa.
In a few minutes after, a fine looking young fellow
rode up, threw himself from his horse, and stood, abruptly
before Clinton, without asking any questions.
`How dare you!' said Clinton, scarcely able to utter
an audible sound, while Lucia stood aside, looking
`there are women here.'
The young fellow blushed—bowed—took off his
high cap, with a gay, rioting air,—and presented a
letter.
`Read it, Clayton,' said the Colonel.—He read
as follows. `Muster your men, if you can sit in the
saddle. The General was alarmed about you. I was
very sad—and, to my notion, you will be dealt plainly
with. The New Englanders, will not be appeased else—
they and the Pennsylvanians are ready to go to loggerheads—.
I saw him—the General—when your
note came—his hand shook on opening it—but he
smiled, or rather looked a little less serious than usual;
when he had done, and handed it to Mercer—who answered,
as he returned it. `You'll never make anything
of him, I am afraid.'
`I am afraid not,' said his excellency, `so Grafton',
`Hush! hush!' said Clinton—read no names, if you
please—what else does it say.—'
`Something is in agitation, I am sure—make haste
in—all may, go well yet.— Yours forever and
ever—.'
`Well Sir,' said Clinton,—`where is the main body
now?'
`At Newark.'
`How many are you?'
`Three thousand five hundred, at the last muster—
on the 22nd.'
`What the devil do you mean, Clayton?—How many
in all?'
`All—upon my honour.—I made the return, with my
own hand—the whole American army under Washington
now, are only three thousand five hundred men.'
`Gracious God!'—exclaimed Clinton, dropping his
arms, lifelessly, over the sofa—`then shall we have
to go, as he told me himself, back of the Alleghanies.—
Well—go where he will—when he will, I will go with
him.—Did you see any of the enemy, in the wood?'
`No—the farmers are mustering though, all about
us.'
`I thought,—were there no red coats on the left,
upon the hill, yonder?'
`I saw none,' was the reply.
`Any men with you?'
`We are about twenty or so—they halt in the wood
there, we are part of a covering party—and have taken
some prisoners.'
`Mount every man of you, this moment—put yourself
under the command of that young fellow, that you
see there (pointing to Archibald, who was leaning forward,
and adjusting the curb of his mare—)—`there
are red coats in the way—follow close upon them—but
hazard nothing:—on your lives, do not bring them to
battle, unless you are two to one.—To horse, Clayton!
to horse Jasper!—and see if we cannot take in some
prisoners to our commander—keep out upon their
flank—watch them—and cut off any stragglers.—To
horse!—'
`I wish to heaven, Colonel, that you could go with
us,' said Clayton, hesitating—`I—.
Clinton shook his head—`no, no, it is impossible—
I tell you!—don't drive me mad—begone to your duty,
Sir.'
In ten minutes more, we were all upon the way—
nearly one hundred and fifty strong, our whole family,
Arthur and all; for I caught a glimpse of him, just
before we came in sight of the enemy—our horses full
of blood, snorting and neighing—and the very earth,
it did appear to me, shaking under them. Even Arnauld,
and my old father, breathing hard, like old
war horses straining upon the bridle, rode side by side
with me—shaming the youthful, brief ardour of all
the young men, with their awful solemnity of forehead
and eyes.
I rode near Clayton, and I observed that he kept his
eye, with an uneasy, doubtful expression upon my
brother; and at last, as if impatient to put his heart at
rest, spurred up abreast of Jasper, and asked him
a loud oath—and then there was a contemptuous movement
of Clayton's lip, that made my blood boil, as he
renewed his observation of Archibald.
`You shall see! if we come off well, there. You
shall see, Clayton,' said Jasper, training his heels, and
heaving up his chest, with a look of the greatest
exultation—`wait a little, my boy, and you shall see
what stuff he's made off.'
Clayton returned to the ranks, with an angry, dissatisfied
look that—there was a wrathful movement of
my heart, for a moment; but I kept it down, and we
rode on peaceably enough, for a whole hour. But our
course was soon interrupted—a man on horseback,
dashed athwart our way, about two hundred rods
ahead, in the uniform that my father knew—for he
was after him, like a bloodhound, without waiting for
the word, over hedge and ditch. Jasper followed—
Arthur—Clayton—and my brother was preparing,
when he saw some appearance on the edge of the wood,
about half a mile off, that arrested his eye; and the
next moment, a boy came up to us, all in a foam, with
a note, which forbad him to advance a step—saying,
that the enemy were out on the right and the left; his
camp broken up; and the country overrun with his
light horse and dragoons.
`Trumpet!' cried my brother.
`The trumpet sounded. A martial quick reverbration
followed, too far off, and too distinctly for an
echo. Our stragglers wheeled, with their prisoner,
whom my father, it appeared, had brought to the
ground, horse and all, with one of his outlandish cuts.
And the next moment, a body of horse, in beautiful
style, came out from the wood at full gallop, as if
reconnoitring us; wheeled, in a circuit of nearly
half a mile, and then trotted, and then halted—though
much less numerous than ourselves—as if in defiance
—nay, some of the rascals, after waiting awhile, had
the impudence to dismount in our faces, as if to turn
their horses loose.
`What say you, brother?' said I, `shall we down
upon them?'
`Not yet,' he replied, keeping his eye upon them,
`we are not double their number—my orders are
strict—we are now in actual service—I have too
much at stake—there is some stratagem there—`fellow!
(to the prisoner) how many are there?'
He smiled sullenly, and threw a ferocious glance at
my father, who—heaven bless the old man---sat upon
his horse, precisely as he used to, of a Sunday, when
going to church; with the same substantial, deep
gravity—a little more sorrow and sternness, perhaps;
but with no appearance of emotion.
Archihald soon learnt the truth. Cornwallis, was
out---Washington had struck his tents, and was retreating
before him, bag and baggage. Every moment
was invaluable. `Ha!---I thought so!' said my brother,
`Form!---form! Father!---brother!— cousin
Arthur!---Mr. Arnauld!---hither!---hither!---we must
ride abreast!'
The enemy appeared to be preparing for a charge,
and one after another, came galloping from the wood,
until their number appeared rather larger than our
own. I looked at Jasper, and Clayton, and the regular
troopers---their lips were all compressed---their
eyes rivetted upon the enemy---their horses reined up
---and swords resting, with the hilt, just in the hollow
of their thighs. I looked at our men---there was no
difference---there seemed to be the same promptitude,
coolness, and precision in one as the other. Even
our old father brought his heavy broadsword to a
carry, as if he had done nothing else all his life, than
carry sword.
`Prepare to guard!' said my brother.
The swords flashed, all at once; and every man sat,
at the same moment, with his bridle hand, and sword
hand, in front of his breast. It made my very heart
leap to see it.
`Look to your pistols,' said my brother, `but never
your swords fail you.'
The horses became strangely impatient---snorting,
stamping, and straining upon the bits---the enemy,
too, as if disconcerted by our coolness, or suspecting
ambush, or waiting a reinforcement, held back. Their
appearance was beautiful---the ground was all covered
with snow, far and near---their dazzling uniform, and
large showy horses, full of mettle, and impatient to
snuff the wind and smoke of battle:---altogether, it
was a sight well fitted to thrill the blood, and give
that deep, delirious feeling of terrour and passion to the
the young heart, which rouses it, like fire thrown into
the den of a wild animal.
One of the enemy, stationed upon a hill in their
rear, now gave some signal, that changed their course,
for they reined short about; and trotted slowly along
the side of the hill, while he kept upon its verge, as if
watching the movement of some other body, below, in
the opposite plain.
`This will never do,' said Archibald; `they may be
leading us into ambush---we must take higher ground,
and always be prepared to come to battle, or not, as
we please. Carry swords!---right wheel!---trot!'
`Right wheel!---trot!---' echoed behind us---rank
after rank---as they wheeled, from the line, where we
stood, six deep---and trotted gallantly round, to a more
commanding elevation.
`What think you, now?' said Jasper, falling a
little out of place, to exchange a word with Clayton.
`Think!—damn it—I think that you have been humming
me—he a raw recruit!—no—I knew better, the
first time that I saw him in the saddle. He has seen
service!'
`So they say,' was the reply; and Jasper spurred
to his place again.
I could not but look behind for a moment—where I
saw Jasper's red face shining, with the honest exultation
of his heart—his little eyes twinkling, as if Archibald
had been his own son: and there was Clayton,
line; and whenever he could get an opportunity, trying
to adjust himself to the saddle, and sit like Archibald.
For myself, I can hardly tell what my feelings were.
First, there was a rush of fierce, terrible delight—and
then, a brief alarum in my heart; followed by a sort
of religious fervour, exceeding wrath and indignation,
tranquilized and subdued, as if God and his angels
were fighting with us. Nay, at the very onset; when
the word had been given to charge!—and all the hills
round, rung with the melody of trumpets—the neighing
of horses, and the shouting of their riders—when we
had joined battle, and I heard nothing but the shriek
of women—saw nothing but the pale, wasted face of
my poor mother—and the dead body of Mary, under
the hoof of trampling horses—there was no feeling of
terrour, in all this—none!—but there was a sublimity,
that distended my whole heart, as with fire, and flood,
and tempest—and when, in the thick of the battle, our
ranks were broken, and each was wrestling, man to
man, with his adversary, on foot, or on horseback—
the face of my father and brother, and that of the death
struck Arthur, went by me, in one rank, as I thought—
and all fled before them! After all this, I know not
what happened, until my horse stumbled among the
dead bodies, and threw me into a mass of human blood
and trodden snow. God! how the field looked. But
stay!—I am anticipating. Is it not wonderful. I had
stood, and gazed upon my brother, not a minute before,
after the blood of one man was upon him—and listened
to his composed voice, and fancied that there was something
preternatural in it—but now, I was dripping with
it, from head to foot—and I felt no other emotion than a
little loathing and sickness. Is it not wonderful! that
timid and peaceful men, who had never seen the red
blood run trickling from the bright blade of a butcher
knife, without a quick trepidation of the heart—youthful,
too, like Archibald, and Arthur, and myself, in the
very spring tide of our gentleness and compassion—
beautiful hushed tranquillity of a farmer's home, that
had never seen the gleam of a broad-sword, nor heard
the bugle call—nor the neigh of cavalry, nor the loud,
quaking reverberation of heaven and earth, beneath the
tread of horses and horsemen, rushing to battle—that
such men should sit as we sat, breathing hard, and
straining, like blood hounds in the slip—all our veins
swelling with impatience for the outcry of death!—.
O, is it not past all belief that such changes should be
wrought with such instantaneous suddenness! Yet so it
was—the grey hair of my mother whistled about my
face, and I felt as if the shadow of Mary rode at my
side, with one incessant moaning cry of violation.—
What Arthur felt, I know not—but there was the settled
aspect of death upon his forehead, wherever I met him;
and wherever he appeared, the very horses made way
for him—for his riding was that of one commissioned
of God—no sound, no cry, escaped him—But
drugged to the very lips, saturated to the very skin
with blood---he still smote his way onward, and
wrestled and dealt giving no quarter, showing no mercy.
And my father too---I saw him only for a moment---after
the enemy broke through our little squadron---riding,
with all his might, breast to breast with
Archibald, and—O, there are passions and passionate
thoughts in the human heart---veins and vessels,
innumerable and delicate---unseen and hidden---unknown
and unsuspected---till a preparation of blood
and fire hath been poured into it. Then, like the morbid
anatomy of death—the secret and mysterious winding
of every channel---with all its subtle and exquisite
ramifications---becomes slowly articulate and vivid,
with the rush of the infusion.
But let me have done with this, my children, and return
to the preparation in hand. We were coming
along, in a slow trot, as I have told you, upon the brow
of a hill---apprehending no danger, and sure of our
power to retreat at pleasure---when, all at once, the
man on the hill gave a signal, which we had reason to
enemy, for he immediately set up a shout, wheeled at
full gallop, and approached us, in a most gallant style.
`Masterly! by God!'—cried Jasper—`rein up! rein
up!'—
`Gallop!' said my brother—`Gallop!'—He was instantly
obeyed and we came round where we could only
be assailed in front—a high bank sheltering us in the
rear—a broad ditch, and several heavy broken stone
walls covering our right, and the left entirely open to
us, if we chose to escape.—The enemy grew stronger
and stronger, as he approached—I saw Jasper throw a
troubled look at Archibald—and the next moment, Arnauld
spurred up to him at a headlong speed, pointing
to another party, that were just dashing athwart the
creek— one after the other—about a mile off.
`It is too late now,' said my brother—`we have
nothing left but to do our duty,'—then, in a loud voice,
he proclaimed his intention—`to conquer or die.'
The words were scarcely out of his mouth before the
front rank of the enemy fired their pistols almost in our
faces, wheeled, and were followed by a second, and a
third without drawing a blade.
Several of our men fell; two or three of the horses
broke out of line, or ran back upon their fellows—
and Archibald, who had never been apprised of this
mode of attack, appeared confounded for a moment—
when, just at that time, a covered wall, in our front,
which we had not seen till then, and against which the
snow had drifted, brought up the front rank of the enemy,
as they were preparing to wheel upon us and to follow
up the charge with their swords—and a universal
confusion and embarrassment prevailed.
`Now is the time!' cried Archibald—`now is the
time!—down upon them my brave fellows!—remember
Mary Austin!'
At the sound of that cry, out leaped a horseman,
from the middle of the front rank, and the whole troop
rushed headlong upon the enemy, shouting `Mary Austin!—Mary
Austin!—Down with the Hessians!'
We were instantly among them—disordered, it is
true, and utterly broken up, by our own impetuosity,
and the nature of the ground; but the enemy were more
so—their horses were weaker—and less accustomed to
the snow; they stumbled at every step—fell, and rolled
over us, and about us in every direction. Not a shot
was fired now—every man joined battle, sword in hand,
with whoever was nearest to him; and such was our
tremendous desperation that twice, before I could suspend
the blow, or see my man, I exchanged a cut with
one of our own troop. In the middle of this—the
whole field, as far as I could see covered with horse
and horsemen—battling in their saddles—on foot—or
rolling over on the ground, like so many gladiators—
I saw one rank, the only unbroken one, rush by us—
and I had just time to see all the faces in it that were
dearest to me—when Archibald's voice was heard again
shouting—`form! form!—trumpet!'
`They are rallying!' cried Jasper—`in upon them
now!—the day is our own!—hourra, my boys?—hourra
my fine fellows!'—And then, by heaven, there was a
sound afar off, martial and wild—it was the sweetest
melody that I ever heard in my life—it seemed as if a
rank of bugles had been blown all at once, above our
heads. There was a general pause of astonishment and
delirium—but the pause was only for a breath; a party
of the enemy appeared rapidly forming anew, and all
at once, there came, thundering round the hill, another
body—`Virginia forever! Virginia!—hourra for
Virginia!' cried somebody at the left.
`By heaven and earth!' cried Clayton, and another
named Crawford, both of whom were wounded and one
unhorsed—`now, my boys you shall see some fun!'—
I reined up—and twenty others did the same, while the
enemy endeavoured to rally in two or three places—but
the Virginians gave them no time, for they actually
rode down the first party, without exchanging a shot,
and then divided and scoured the field. It was then that
my heart failed me—my head swam. I could no longer
distinguish friend from foe—my horse tumbled, and
with the blood and brains of a poor fellow, upon whom
I had fallen. I arose and attempted to stand—there
were at least thirty or forty human beings about me,
dead and dying—the snow all stained and trodden---
here a wounded horse snorting and pawing—and sweeping
his blood red mane over the snow, and shuddering
so, as to throw the blood from it like spattering rain, all
about him,—there a rider trying, again and again, to
disentangle himself from a struggling animal—A
loud groan—a suffocated neigh—a deep harrowing execration—a
word or two of prayer---and now and then
a shriek that went through and through me, I could
hear.----I arose upon my feet—astonished to find
life enough left for it—I was frightened too, to find it
so late—the stars were already beginning to appear—
merciful heaven!—could it be that we had been so utterly
defeated!—I stood and listened—but there was no
sound of pursuit. Then it was that I would have lain
down and died—stiffened and cold as I was—for I
began to feel that I had been stunned—and that our
party must have been cut to pieces, or we should not
have been left to perish in the snow. I was not then
aware how late it was in the afternoon when, we met—
but my disordered memory made me feel as if I had
been left a whole day to die. My blood grew warmer—and
I saw another man, and another moving, as if
they would soon be able to arise. One of them succeeded—I
know not what he felt—but all my hostility was
dead—I could as readily have struck a knife into the
heart of my own brother, in the presence of God himself—as
to strike hands in wrath, under a sky so cold
and blue—in the awful stillness of evening—after such
a day of peril and wrath. We advanced—he hesitated—it
was one of the enemy!—poor fellow—he was
as little disposed as I, for another mortal encounter—
for though, while he put one hand to his forehead, and
staggered, like one giddy and blind with pain—the other
fall to his left hip, by a sort of mechanical motion—yet
it was almost as instantly withdrawn, and extended.—
fellow! We were so weak, both of us, that we leaned,
for a moment, upon each other's bosoms—and then,
he sank upon the snow, reaching his hand to me again
—and uttered, in a broken, inarticulate voice, `um
Gottes Willen!' I had taken him by the arm, with a
feeling of brotherhood; for that never deserted me
yet, blessed be God—but a groan, that I knew, thrilled
my blood, and wrought, like returning animation, to
a frozen man—ten thousand inconceivable pains.
I dropped the poor fellow's hand—it fell like that of a
corpse---and followed, as well as I could, in the sudden
darkness and terrour of my mind, the melancholy
sound that I had heard.
It was my father's voice—it was!—he was just able
to show that he knew me—to put out his hands to me,
as if with a blessing, when the bugle rang again, and
down came a body of horsemen—two hundred, at least
—friends or foes, I cared not—I never left my father
—nor lifted my eyes—nor dislodged his venerable head
from my arms, till I heard the voice of Archibald, in a
tone of distraction, crying to `dismount!—dismount!
and collect the dead.'
`O, my father!—my father!—my brother!' he cried
—running hither and thither, about the field—`O!'
He heard my voice—it was very feeble, but he heard
it—and we were instantly weeping in each other's
arms.
`Unhurt? my dear, dear brother?' said I.
`O, I know not,' he replied—`nor care—Jasper!
—Jasper!—here!'
We soon found, to our unspeakable joy, that our
father was not mortally wounded, as we had reason to
believe, but was rather faint from the loss of blood;
and, perhaps, a dislocated shoulder—and we were
soon on our way. I was unable to ride. We soon
understood the cause of the delay. Our party had
been victorious, and while our division pursued the
enemy, taking a number of prisoners, and marking
their route, by dead bodies—another had ridden about
the wounded. I was put into one tumbrel—with my
father; on each side of us, rode a horseman—one
of whom I knew, but the other was a stranger. `Archibald!'
said I; to the first, `where is Arthur?'
`Arthur?'
`There!' was the reply; pointing to the horseman
on our right.
`Not in the cloak?'
`Yes—that cloak he took, with his own hands, from
an officer, and hurled him, headlong to the earth, at
the same moment.'
The horseman fell back, as if just recollecting where
he was---threw off his cloak—rode past us, in silence,
and flung it into the carriage.
`Poor Arthur!' said he, `his heart is untouched yet.
How has he escaped?'
`Wrap it round his body,' said Archibald, coming
up, as I began to envelope my father with it. `He
escaped miraculously; but his roan was killed, and
himself a prisoner, once.'
`And you—'
`I know not—the pistol bullets troubled the mare for
awhile—I felt sorry for her—the smell of gunpowder,
is rather unpleasant, when burnt near enough to singe
her eyelids—poor Hetty!—woa—woa.'
I turned about, willing to make him feel that such
levity was horrible, at such a time, in one so young—
but there was such a mortal lividness in his face, that,
struck with terrour at the thought of his being deranged,
I had well nigh shrieked aloud; but he rode on—
the cold moonshine coming down upon our cavalcade,
with every variety of light and shadow, as we wound
our way over the dazzling snow—the steel scabbards of
the horsemen, ringing and glittering at every step—
the solemn trampling of the horses—their blowing—
the crushing snow—the heavy lumbering of the loaded
wagons, loaded with the dead and dying, friend and
foe—the hour—the awful stillness about—and, in truth,
to this, such an overpowering sense of mortality.
The household were already apprised of our approach;
yet, who can describe the meeting. Daughters
and fathers—husbands and wives!
Arnauld was wounded too, and very seriously—for
he had fought, with a desperation that appalled the
stoutest of the young men—perhaps, from the terrour
of falling alive into the hands of them, to whose prince
he had probably sworn allegiance, as he had taken his
protection. His daughters ran to him—but their
grief, bitter and cruel as it was, had nothing of the
unutterable sorrow of the wife. Lucia fell upon her
knees, held his pale hand to her lips—wiped away the
frozen blood from his temples, (for he had fallen near
my father, and lain there, motionless and stiff, till the
dead carts came by,) with her own hair, and wept upon
his forehead and eyes. Clara sat down by him, and
pressed her delicate hands, with all her might, upon
her heart—holding her breath, as if the first sound
would be a shriek. The mother—the wife—the beautiful
and passionate—O, who shall tell the sorrow of
her spirit? She tore open the bosom of her lord,
called distractedly upon the surgeon!—Clinton!—Oadley!---and
her children! Then, while the tears gushed
out of her beautiful eyes, till they blinded and choaked
her, she would yield to the gentle violence of Clinton,
who sat by her, and held her hands in his, until Lucia,
herself, leant upon his bosom, and not as upon the
bosom of a brother. Archibald's tread sounded behind
me—he had already been with our blessed mother—and
I—I had not. I rushed by him, but the hue
of his face, frightened me—he stood, with his eyes upon
Lucia, unable to speak, or move. I ran in to my mother—I
found her calm, patient, awfully collected,
sitting by the bed, upon which my father lay; and
stayed no longer, than to hear our surgeon pronounce
him in no danger—and to see her—who had been so
collected and immovable, till then—at the sound of
that judgment, throw herself upon his neck, stranger
own son—nay, her only son—and then, sink down
upon her knees, with an expression of the deepest
thankfulness, and bury her agitated, altered face, in
her hands, till—I was fain to fall upon my knees
beside her, and kiss her wasted forehead—and then
leave her—for—it may as well be told, the natural
yearning of my heart, in a measure appeased by this
duty to my mother, I had others—another—the whole
force of which, I knew not till that moment. Poor
Clara—poor, dear Clara—thou! the haughtiest of
women—thou, whom I had sworn, in my own heart,
five years before, when I was an awkward clown,
to humble to the dust—O, now I saw thy proud
spirit, brought down with consternation and sorrow—
tenderness and—and—love?—yes, it was love—it
could be no longer concealed. She hid her face in
my bosom, and I felt her warm tears, trickling into
my very heart—her trembling hands giving way, at
last, to the convulsive expression of long smothered
feeling—her heart beating vehemently against mine,
and her warm cheek, unconsciously resting against
mine---the same blood circulating, I almost believed,
through both of our frames, at the same moment. I
wept too---I will not deny it---wept the more, for having,
like herself, so studiously concealed my passion,
for whole years---and yet, sorrowing as I did, that
one I loved, should sorrow as she did---rejoicing,
nevertheless, to see one, prouder than Lucifer---colder,
it was thought, than the unsunned snow---reposing,
with the helpless and enchanting confidence, of tried
love, upon my bosom---mine!---where I had never
hoped to feel the forehead of any woman, reposing;
and last of all, a woman, whose very hand I had not
dared to touch; whose very name, I never could bring
myself to pronounce, but with an affection of dislike
---or at least, of qualified friendship.
`But where is Archibald?' said Clinton, putting
his lips to the forehead of Lucia---by heaven, it is
true!---and I told Archibald of it, and that the colour
touch. But he only shook his head, patiently, and
smiled---poor fellow---so that it brought the tears into
my eyes.
`He was here, a few moments since,' said the
surgeon, and the next moment, as if the sound of his
name brought him into sight, he stepped forward---
advanced, as if to offer some assistance; dropped his
eyes, as if unwilling to meet the eyes of Lucia; who,
just becoming sensible of her situation---so young---
so beautiful---her black hair all dishevelled---and
dashed eyes, swimming in light and tearfulness---and
cheeks burning with shame; was endeavouring to
draw her shawl over her partially exposed bosom,
with an agitated hand---a—
`Archibald!' said she faintly, `you are not wounded,
I hope?' without daring to look up. Her hands
were just at that moment, employed in parting her
hair upon her forehead, to keep it out of her eyes.
`Not mortally, Lucia,' said Archibald, with a tone
that went to my heart, (her hands fell into her lap,
motionless as death), `but deeply, irretrievably.'
I know not if Archibald meant it---or observed
what I did; but Lucia's head dropped, and I saw the
tears fall, drop after drop, upon the dark dress of her
mother, upon whose bosom she leant.
He went to her; took her hand---it lay passively, in
his---and fell not, even when he opened his own, as if
to relinquish it. `Lucia, hea---heaven bless you---
farewell!' said he; carried it to his lips, and left the
room.
| CHAP. VI. Seventy-six | |