48. XLVIII.
THE DEATH-TRENCHES.
A SHORT ride brought us to the battle-field of the preceding
day. The scene which greeted my eyes was heart-rending.
The citizens of Winchester had already been at work, and
long trenches had been dug to receive the Confederate dead.
They were still busily at work; and near at hand were detachments
of Federal soldiers engaged in the same duty toward their
own.
The blustering March wind blew, chill and cutting, over the
great fields of broom-straw, which gave forth a rustling sigh,
like that from some host of invisible mourners; the sky was
overcast by a curtain of dark clouds, through which the dim
light of day scarcely struggled; and on all sides, to render the
depressing influence of the scene complete, were the wounded,
thy dying, and the dead.
There was one feature of the spectacle, however, which affected
me more than all the rest.
With the mayor and citizens of Winchester, there had come
forth to the battle-field a number of ladies. Their object was to
seek for friends or relatives among the corpses—for Jackson's
forces were almost wholly from the Valley; and these mourners
now passed from group to group of bodies, trying to recognize
some husband, father, or brother among the dead.
As the corpses were brought up, carried by two men holding
the feet and shoulders, to be deposited in the death-trench, the
veiled figures bent down, peering with deep sobs in the faces of
the dead; and, as some relative or friend was identified, a wail
would rise upon the air, which sent a thrill even through the
Federal officers who were present.
I was standing with my companion, the young staff-officer,
near the death-trench, superintending the work, when suddenly
a beautiful girl, of not more than fifteen or sixteen, with profuse
auburn curls and a figure as fragile as a blossom, rushed forward
from the group, and, throwing herself upon her knees beside the
corpse of a boy just brought up, burst into such an agony of
weeping, that her heart seemed about to break.
“O brother!” she exclaimed, “they have killed you! I
thought you were spared 1 O God, they have killed my brother!”
And with both arms round the body of the boy, whose lips
were smiling even in death, she drew the cold face close to her
own, and covered it with passionate kisses.
“Oh, I will never see him any more!” sobbed the girl in an
agony of grief; “he will never more speak to me! My dear,
dear brother, that I loved so! Oh, my heart will break! Brother!
brother! Oh, my poor dead brother!”
And, half-fainting on the corpse, she seemed about to expire
from excess of grief.
My companion, the young staff-officer, put his handkerchief to
his eyes:
“This is terrible, Major,” he said.
And stepping forward, he said to the young lady:
“Don't cry so—you cannot bring him back!”
The girl raised her wet face, over which fell the disordered
curls all dabbled in tears; but, at sight of the officer in his
elegant Federal uniform, her cheeks suddenly filled with blood,
and her eyes flashed.
Rising with a bound almost to her feet, her figure grew stiff
and erect as an arrow, and she exclaimed with passionate
vehemence:
“What right have you to speak to me! You killed him!
But for you, he would be alive to love me now!”
The young officer almost recoiled before this outburst.
“Yes, you killed him!” exclaimed the girl. “Why did your
people invade our country, and kill him for defending it?
But you will never conquer us! We will never yield! We will
shed the last drop of our blood before you shall trample on us!”
As she uttered these words, the girl was superb in her passionate
grief and scorn. Her eyes blazed through the hot tears, and
the red lips, half-parted, showed the small white teeth close
set together. Never shall I forget that face.
She was led away by her friends; my young companion looked
after her with a troubled glance, which indicated how much
her grief had moved him; and the work of burying the dead
proceeded as before.[1]
By sunset the bodies were all interred—those of soldiers
related to families in the vicinity having been removed for private
interment—and the wounded were all in hospital at Winchester.
I accordingly bade my friend the mayor and his assistants
farewell, and returned with my companion to General
Shields's head-quarters, where, however, I did not find him. The
lady of the house supplied me with a comfortable supper and
bed; and on the next day an orderly brought a note from Gene
ral Shields, summoning the young officer and myself to Strasburg.
As we approached that place, we encountered the Federal
army slowly falling back toward Winchester, and an officer from
General Shields informed me that I was free to return to General
Jackson.
I rode along the blue line, my gray uniform subjecting me to
numerous gibes, and at last found myself alone on the turnpike.
From a hill I looked back. Heavy detachments of Federal soldiers
were felling trees, dragging them to the road, and barricading
the turnpike in the rear of their column.[2]
