Dora Darling the daughter of the regiment |
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| 31. | CHAPTER XXXI. |
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 | CHAPTER XXXI. Dora Darling |  |
31. CHAPTER XXXI.
“Good news, Dora Darling! The best of news!
Come out here, and you shall know it,” cried Captain
Windsor at the door of the vivandière's tent, one cold
morning, some weeks after the adventure narrated in the
last chapter.
“What is it that makes you so glad?” asked Dora,
smilingly, as she made her appearance fully dressed.
“It's a secret, you know; though, like most army secrets,
every one in this camp, and probably as many in
the rebel camp, know all about it; but, just for form's
sake, I'll whisper it in your ear, and you mustn't tell it
to any one else.”
“I won't tell,” promised Dora, seriously.
“Don't; unless, indeed, you find some one who hasn't
heard it. But, hark! we're going to have a crack at the
graybacks, and a lot of us have got the colonel to promise
to take you.”
“Into action? O, good!”
“He didn't want to; but we asked him, What's the
use of having a vivandière, if she's not to go to the scene
of action? And we've all vowed to take the best of care,
you're to ride in an ambulance, and the old man says
you're not to come within range till the shindy's over.”
“O, but I must! I'm going to help the wounded men
all the time, you know.”
“I know; yes, and I know, too, you'll catch it if you
don't obey orders, miss. It's as much as ever you've got
leave to go at all; and I swore till I was black in the
face that you should be kept out of harm's way. Are
you going to make me prejure myself?”
“You shouldn't promise for other people, and it's very
wrong to swear about anything,” said Dora, solemnly.
“But, my dear little parsoness, this kind of oath is
only wrong when it is broken; so, if you get yourself
into mischief, you will not only suffer in your own proper
person, but will bring deathless torment upon me for
false swearing — don't you see?”
“And I am to put on my flask, and water-keg, and all
the things?”
“Do you call that an answer to my elaborate argument,
you provoking creature? Yes, you're to be rigged
out in all your traps, not forgetting the whistle. That's
the order, by the way, and I was intrusted with it officially,
though you may think my style of delivery somewhat
unofficial.”
“And when is it to be?”
“One would think, to look at you, we were talking of
little creatures?”
“O, Captain Karl, that's not kind! I'm not bloodthirsty
a bit.”
“Now, Do, are you quite certain about that? Don't
you really enjoy dropping a rebel, and seeing him kick?”
“Captain Karl!”
“Well, it was you, any way, that put Picter up to
rigging that poor nigger to the pine tree, that day, and
leaving him there to scare himself to death.”
“Indeed it wasn't! I begged and prayed him to let
him go,” said Dora, indignantly.
“Tell that to the marines! He's escaped — did you
know it?”
“Who, Bonaparte?”
“The bony party, as Pic calls him. Yes, he's escaped;
but whether North or South, is more than I can
tell. Pic vows he'll shoot him the minute he claps eyes
on him, if he should ever be so blessed again.”
“I hope he won't be, then.”
“O, you want to keep him for yourself — do you?
Well, perhaps we shall fall in with him to-day.”
“Is it to-day? Why didn't you say so sooner?” exclaimed
Dora.
“Time enough, young woman. Don't be in too great
a hurry. We don't move till somewhere near noon, and
it's only eight o'clock now. You're to report to the
he's going to use the spare time in giving you good
advice, and reading you a tract or two.”
“Don't laugh at Mr. Brown, Captain Karl. I don't
like it,” said Dora, seriously.
“Laugh at him! I'd as soon laugh at a black-manea
lion. I'm awfully afraid of him — didn't you know it?
Almost as much afraid as I am of you.”
“I believe there's nothing you are afraid of, good nor
bad,” said Dora, petulantly.
“Yes, there is. I'm afraid of teasing Dora Darling
till I come to the end of her patience; so I'm going to
stop short and take myself off. Au revoir.”
“Does that mean good by?”
“It means good by till I see you again.”
“O! Then I'll say in English, Good by till I see you
again.”
Captain Karl, with a laugh, and a feint of boxing the
ears of his saucy playmate, left the tent, and strode
merrily away, singing, —
“O, saw ye the lass with the bonny blue een?”
few patients before making herself ready for the excursion.
A few hours later, a column of two thousand men
wound slowly down the mountain side, with pennons
flashing in the wintry sunshine, while the musicians
pealed forth a triumphal march, until the welkin
rang responsive to the strains of hope and exultation.
In the rear of this brave array came a train of ambulances
— sad memorials of the price that must be paid
before these brave hearts should return as conquerors.
In one of these ambulances rode Dora Darling, doomed,
sorely against her will, to this ignominious conveyance,
instead of her own sturdy little feet. But the colonel
was inexorable. “If the vivandière is to go at all, she
must go in an ambulance,” said he; and no one dared
dispute his law. So Dora was fain to sit in silence, or
to chat with the chance visitors who, once in a while,
rode up beside her carriage, or begged a seat within, if
they chanced to be of the infantry.
Mr. Brown came more than once, and so did Captain
Karl, although the visits of the latter officer had rather
the air of a stolen pleasure, and Dora noticed that he
often looked anxiously forward to the head of the column,
where Colonel Blank's stately figure rode steadily on,
leading the van of the long array.
“I'm afraid you oughtn't to be here, by your looks,
Captain Karl,” said Dora, mischievously, at last.
“Do I look like a truant?”
“Very much.”
“Well, it is true that the old man said I had better
both turn up at Monterey, or some other rebel settlement,
and the whole command would have to leave all to go
and rescue us.”
“Did the colonel give you an order not to talk with
me?” asked Dora, anxiously.
“O, no, — only a sort of jocose warning; but his jokes
are always rather leonine; one doesn't care to have them
carried too far.”
“You had better not come to me, then. I shouldn't
like to have to beg you off again.”
“Beg me off, you little mischief! What does that
mean?”
“Indeed, I shan't tell you. It's my secret, and I'm
not going to share it. But see — the column is halted.
Make haste back to your place, bad boy.”
Captain Windsor, with a grimace of annoyance, obeyed
the counsel of his little friend, and when Colonel Blank,
riding slowly down the column, came opposite Company
Z, its youthful commander stood with military precision
at his appointed station.
A short halt for rest was now allowed, and a company
from the — Ohio was deployed for skirmishers, although
the scouts had reported the rebels entirely withdrawn
from the vicinity of Cheat Mountain.
Dora gladly took the opportunity of escaping from her
moving prison, and scrambled gayly up the steep hill
and wild flowers. Under a great chestnut she found a
group of her own men, among them Merlin, feasting
upon such spoils as the squirrels had left to them.
The vivandière was greeted with cordial exclamations
of welcome, and while Merlin spread his great-coat for a
seat, his comrades collected all the chestnuts they could
lay hands on, and poured into her lap.
Dora laughingly protested against thus depriving her
friends of their treat; but, as the readiest spokesman
of the party eagerly said for the rest, it did them all
far more good to see “the daughter” eat chestnuts,
than to feast on roast turkey themselves.
Dora, in turn, insisted that they should at least partake
with her; and the men, throwing themselves upon the
grass, surrounded her with an admiring circle, where
quiet jokes and modest laughter from the courtiers mingled
with sage bits of counsel, or information from the
little queen.
Suddenly, with a glitter of embroidery, a jangle of
scabbards, a nodding of plumes, a group of staff officers
appeared upon the scene, accompanied by Colonel Blank,
who, pausing in his conversation as his eyes fell upon
the merry circle, frowned and bit his mustache.
“Upon my word,” lisped a fair-haired aide-de-camp,
raising his glass to look at Dora, “these fellows are
more fortunate than their betters. What sunburnt beauty
have we here?”
“It is the vivandière of my regiment, Lieutenant Cyprus,”
said Colonel Blank, so haughtily that the young
fellow, dropping his eye-glass and his flippant manner at
once, merely bowed a reply, and strolled away.
“I have heard of the vivandière of the Twenty —
Ohio,” said, courteously, a fine-looking, gray-haired cavalry
officer. “Will you introduce her, colonel?”
“Certainly, captain. Men, return to your lines, and
be ready to fall in directly. Dora, come here. This is
Dora Darling, Captain Bracken.”
“I am glad to see you, my dear,” said the elder officer,
kindly extending his hand. “I have heard of your
attachment to the Union cause, and the good service
you have done our wounded soldiers, and I am glad also
to thank you, in behalf of all Union men, for your devotion
to the cause.”
“Thank you, sir, for saying so; but it's only a little
that I can do compared with what you and the other
leaders are doing,” said Dora, with shy self-possession.
“Did you ever read about the mouse and the lion, my
dear?” asked the captain, smiling.
“No, sir. Mr. Brown hasn't many books here, and I
never had any others. It doesn't tell about a mouse and
lion in any of them, I think.”
“Well, you must ask Mr. Brown to tell you about it,
when he has time. And what do you expect to do at
Camp Baldwin to-day?”
“Is that where we are going, sir?”
“Yes. We are expecting to reconnoitre there much
after the fashion of the other day at Camp Bartow.”
“There will be fighting, then?”
“I hope so.”
“Then there will be wounded men, and I shall carry
them water and spirits; and if they are faint I shall give
them hartshorn, and let them smell at the salts, and so
keep them up till the surgeons come. That is what they
have me for.”
“O, that is what they have you for! And aren't
you proud of holding so prominent a position?”
“I have nothing to be proud of, sir, for I have not
had a chance to do anything yet,” said Dora, modestly.
“Well, my daughter, I think you will have before the
day is out,” said the captain, good-humoredly. “But
mind that you keep out of the way of danger.”
“I can't do that, sir.”
“And why not?”
“Because, then I couldn't do any good, sir.”
“It won't do any good to yourself to get shot. You
must remember that you have to take care of yourself
first of all.”
Dora's eyes flashed.
“If you really thought so, sir, you wouldn't be here
to-day. That isn't the rule for a soldier.”
“But you're not a soldier, my little girl,” persisted the
captain, laughing.
“No, sir; but I'm not a coward, and it is only a
coward who would leave his duty undone for fear of
getting hurt.”
“And it's only a very brave and true-hearted little
girl who could fill your place, Dora Darling.”
“I'm afraid I don't half fill it myself,” said Dora,
simply.
“Good by for the present, my dear, and remember, at
least, that we who fill important positions have no right
to be other than careful of our lives. The Twenty —
could ill spare their vivandière.”
“Good by, sir,” said Dora, saluting with military
precision.
“Take care of that girl,” Colonel Blank, said the elder
officer, as they moved away. “She's an original, and a
very valuable one, too; a beauty, with all the rest.”
“Beauty is her smallest charm in my eyes,” said the
colonel, enthusiastically. “She is meant for something
better than camp life. I am thinking of sending her
home to my wife for a daughter. We have none of our
own.”
“Not till the war is over. She has a `vocation' for
heroism, evidently. You musn't deprive her of her opportunities.”
“I don't like to have her so much with the men,” said
the colonel, discontentedly.
“It's the very thing many of them need,” replied the
saving of many a wild fellow among them, and no influence
is stronger than that of a young and enthusiastic
woman.”
“Dora is not a woman.”
“It is hard to remember that, when one hears her
talk; and she is of woman's stature already.”
“Still she is but fourteen, and is yet young enough to
be taught all that she lacks. I shall certainly adopt her
as my own daughter,” rejoined the colonel, decidedly, his
previous vague desire suddenly strengthened into a purpose
by his friend's admiration of its object.
The order to fall in was now given, and the column
was soon in motion. An hour later it wound into the
valley of the Green Brier, and Dora, with intense interest,
identified the scene of the battle she had witnessed
some months before.
“There is where the rebels lay in ambush, and just
here is where our men stood waiting for General Reynolds
to come up,” said she to the driver of the ambulance;
“and up there was Loomis's battery, and there was,
Howe's; and O, do you remember how Captain Daum
took his one gun away up there, and how the poor little
German ran away, and Captain Daum whipped him with
his sword? — And now we come in sight of Buffalo Hill.
I never knew, till last night, that the rebels had left their
camp there. Why did they, do you suppose?”
“I guess they was too scart to stop any longer,”
drawled the driver, with a triumphant grin upon his
broad face.
“And up there is where Pic, and I, and poor old Jump
were hiding in the woods. Poor Jump! he took cold
that night, I'm afraid, for he died a few weeks ago,”
added Dora, mournfully.
“The hosses fares as well as the men, only their
widers don't get no pinsions. That's all the odds,” said
the man, a little bitterly.
“O, but the men are fighting for their country, and for
liberty, and for glory, you know. They come to the war,
and go through all sorts of things, because they know it's
right, and they couldn't be happy to stay away; and the
horses, poor things, just come because they can't help it.
So they are to be pitied a great deal more than the men
— don't you see?” argued Dora, enthusiastically.
“Don' know as I do. I didn't come for none of those
things, and I guess there ain't many as did.”
“Why, what else did you come for?” asked the vivandière,
incredulously.
“I come for thirteen dollars a month, rations, clothes,
and four hundred dollars bounty,” replied the driver,
stolidly; “and I guess, miss, that's about all the glory
the most of them fellers trudging along there expect or
care for.”
“I'm sorry you think so, but I don't believe you're
no more conversation with her escort.
Passing over the field of the previous battle, the Union
forces marched without opposition to the foot of the hill
that at their last visit had bristled with hostile bayonets,
and launched flames and death upon them from a
score of iron throats. Camp Bartow lay beneath the
wintry sky, silent and deserted, the lonely burial-ground
of many a malignant traitor, and many a deluded follower
of men more subtle and more wicked than himself.
Again the federal force was halted, and this time
within the deserted camp. It was now eight o'clock in
the evening, and the wearied troops were allowed ample
time for rest and refreshment, although no fires were allowed,
as the expedition was intended to be kept as secret
as possible, until it should reach its destination, now generally
known to be Camp Baldwin, the rebel fortified
stronghold upon the summit of Mount Alleghany. To this
place the garrison of Camp Bartow had withdrawn soon
after the battle of Green Brier, and had there been reenforced,
so that the present garrison was estimated at
from two to three thousand men.
To oppose this force, General Milroy led, as has already
been stated, about two thousand Union troops, and the
plan of operation was now declared.
The Ninth Indiana and Second Virginia regiments,
comprising about half the force, received orders to march
with the purpose of attacking the enemy upon his left,
while the Ohio regiments, with the Thirteenth Indiana
and Bracken's cavalry, were to keep the Staunton turnpike
until reaching a position where they could take the
enemy upon his right, and coöperate with their comrades
on the left.
The different regiments were hardly detailed for these
two divisions, when the order came to march, and was
immediately obeyed by the Ohio and Indiana boys, accompanied
by the dauntless Bracken cavalry.
An hour later the other division followed them, and
Camp Bartow was left once more to the foxes, and the
owls, and the lonely winter night.
| CHAPTER XXXI. Dora Darling | |