36. XXXVI.
A RIDE IN THE DOG-DAYS.
I HASTENED back to General Beauregard. His horse was at the
door, and he was preparing to mount. In his measured voice
he gave me my last instructions. They were, to return as
rapidly as possible to General Johnston; inform him that the
Federal army was advancing; and urge the necessity of a
prompt junction of the Army of the Shenandoah with that of
the Potomae.
“The enemy's force is now ascertained to be about fifty-five
thousand men,” he added; “mine is somewhat less than twenty
thousand effective. I do not doubt my ability to hold this
position, but more troops are necessary for ulterior operations.”
I clearly understood this allusion. It pointed to the projected
movement of Johnston's force, by way of the Little River
turnpike, against the Federal right flank.
“That is all, I believe, Captain—the dispatch you bear will
convey the rest. Are you well mounted?”
“Yes, General.”
“If your horse fails, impress the first you find. Your message
must arrive to-day.”
“It shall, sir.”
General Beauregard gave me his hand, mounted, and set off
at a rapid gallop for the front, followed by his staff.
In ten minutes I left Manassas, at full speed, following the
road to Thoroughfare Gap.
The first light of dawn glimmered in the east as I looked in
the direction of the Stone House. I almost fancied I could see
it—weird and desolate in the dim light. What was the mystery,
I asked myself, hidden beneath the sombre curtain, a corner of
which I had just lifted? What tragedy was this in which Mordaunt,
Miss Grafton, Fenwick, and the woman Parkins were
all mixed up—and what had that lugubrious stone mansion to
do with the history of all these lives?
All speculation was vain—I pushed on.
My roan was in excellent order, and moved under me like a
bundle of steel springs. The distance I had to go was only about
fifty miles; I expected to accomplish it in six hours. But I had
not calculated upon the oppressive heat of the weather.
Passing through Thoroughfare Gap, I reached White Plains
soon after sunrise, and then, leaving the main road to Salem,
struck across toward Rectortown and Paris.
The sun became burning hot, and my roan was as wet as if he
had just swum a river. His speed was undiminished, however;
and, finally, the Blue Ridge drew near.
At Paris there was a group of loungers upon the tavern porch.
“What news?” they shouted, as I passed at full gallop.
“Nothing,” I replied.
As I left the town, I heard a Dutch-looking farmer say:
“That officer is riding his horse to death.”
It was true. Going up the mountain, my roan began to toss
his head and wheeze: I allowed him for the first time to walk,
and thus reached the “Big Poplar,” but there I resumed the
gallop.
Two miles further I forded the Shenandoah, looking with covetous
eyes upon the cool green turf of the banks, shaded by the
giant sycamores reaching their mottled arms over the current.
The cool bath and long draught of the fresh water gave my
horse new life; but the scorching sun poured down all the hotter
as we entered again upon the interminable, blazing turnpike. The
heat seemed to descend—to rise from the earth in quivering
steam—and the very puffs of air which came at times resembled
the breath of a furnace. The dust filled the air, motionless as
fog; the minute particles burned the face and choked the throat.
Beyond Millwood my horse began to stagger. His jaws were
reeking with foam, his eyes glaring and bloodshot.
Pressing him steadily with the spur, I reached and passed the
Opequon, came in sight of Winchester, and saw across the fields
General Johnston's head-quarters tent.
A hundred yards from it my roan reeled and fell. I saw General
Johnston in his tent, and hastened to him.
“Ah! Captain,” he said, “what news? Are you from Manassas
to-day? It is not possible!”
“To-day, General: the news is important. The enemy are
advancing. By this time they are not far from Bull Run.”
“And General Beauregard?”—
“Says, if you wish to help him, now is the time.”
And I handed him the dispatch.
Johnston read it, asked me a few questions, and then summoned
his adjutant-general.
“Any thing further, General?”
“Nothing, Captain. Thanks for your promptness.”
I saluted and went to look after my horse.
He was dead.[1]
