House Divided (86 page)

When she finished there was a moment's silence, and no one smiled till Cinda said briskly: “Well, I should think in plain politeness someone should ask me to sing.” So they laughed, and General Stuart said she must and she asked:

“Do you know
The Four Marys
, General?” He did not; and she said: “It's an old Scotch song my mother used to sing when we were babies.” Anne met Faunt's eyes across the room. Burr was not in the company tonight, was with his own men; but Faunt was attached to
Stuart's headquarters as an aide and scout. “She still sings it, sometimes,” Cinda told them; and she began, so softly as to impose a silent listening upon them all, and Stuart came near her to hear every word while Sweeney with the lightest touch woke faint chords from his banjo.

The song ran its wistful course; and when it was done, in the moment's hush, Cinda bade them all good night. In their room Anne said happily: “Oh wasn't that fun, Aunt Cinda! And I loved it when you sang.” She laughed. “I declare, if war's like this I think I like it.” And then in quick regret. “I'm sorry, ma'am. Please.”

Cinda touched her hand. “There, darling. It was fun, even for me; but I hope we can go on tomorrow.”

Stuart left them next day, moving his headquarters nearer the Ford; but they waited where they were. “We'll follow along when the way is clear for us,” Faunt promised, and early Wednesday morning they set out. Faunt was detailed by Stuart, and Burr by Fitz Lee, to see them safely on their way; and since the horses lent them by Mrs. Forgy had been sent back, they were offered an ambulance for transportation. But they both preferred to ride, if mounts could be provided; so new horses were found.

Stuart, Burr said, had crossed the Ford and would push on toward Stevensburg and Brandy Station. They might find roads less crowded if they flanked his march. So after they crossed the Rapidan, their horses splashing through the wide shallows, they turned aside; but they encountered columns of infantry on the move and Burr and Faunt agreed they should rejoin Stuart.

“It's hard to overtake and pass infantry,” Burr explained. “Even on horseback! Of course if you meet them they'll make room; but when you're overtaking them, they don't hear you coming, and you have to keep shouting to them to clear the road, and they pretend not to hear and make it as hard for you as they can. They don't like the cavalry anyway.”

So they took lanes and byroads, with the mass of Pony Mountain on their right; and they crossed an easy, well-farmed plain. The mountains to the west were in clear fine view today, and nearer, lesser hills bounded the gently rolling valley. They heard presently the distant spatter of pistol shots and the heavier sound of guns as Stuart somewhere north of them herded the Yankee cavalry back across the Rappahannock; and when they came opposite the bold northern end of Pony Mountain, Faunt and Burr agreed they might turn east to Stevensburg. Stuart's patrols would be between them and the Rappahannock, and Jackson's men at Culpeper were filling all the roads that way.

They lodged at Stevensburg that night and next morning rode on toward Brandy Station, and Burr made Anne look back to see Clark's Mountain still watching them around the northern shoulder of Pony Mountain. Leaving Brandy, they followed a slowly ascending byway over rolling hillocks, and kept to the road behind Yew Hills and heard the muffled sounds of the fight at Beverly's Ford beyond those wooded heights; and Anne felt herself part of mysterious events, tremendous and dramatic. Burr and Faunt were forever looking that way, listening always to the sound of distant skirmishing; and once Cinda spoke to Burr, said gently:

“I'm sorry we're keeping you out of all that, Burr. Sorry for your sake. I know you wish you were in it.”

“It's all right, Mama.”

Anne asked: “What's happening, Burr? Can you tell?”

“We're feeling for their flank, trying to get around it,” he explained. “If we can do that, we might hit the railroad behind them, cut their line of supplies.” He added: “They captured some of General Stuart's dispatches at Verdiersville, so Pope knows we hoped to trap him between the Rapidan and the Rappahannock. So he's retreating along the railroad, and we're trying to slow him down so he'll have to fight.”

 

During these long daylight hours in the saddle Anne watched Faunt, wondering and wondering. Her father was right. There was surely a change in him. Yet she thought it a good change. He seemed younger, stronger, more alive. He had used to shave his cheeks, but he was letting all his beard grow now; yet that did not account for
the difference. Once or twice when the chance of the road left him beside her, almost timidly she asked him questions. “Uncle Faunt, why are so many of these country roads like ditches or creek beds, sunk below the level of the fields? Sometimes I can hardly see out.”

“I've never thought,” he said. “I suppose it's because every rain really turns the roads into ditches, especially if they're on a slope; and the water washes the dirt away, and nobody troubles to haul it back again.”

She nodded, seeing the logic of the suggestion. “It really is only on the hills that they're sunk down,” she agreed. “And they're sort of built up, at the bottom of the hills, where the road levels off.”

He did not comment, but she led him into talk, trying to understand why her father doubted him. “Are you always with General Stuart, Uncle Faunt?”

“Why, often, yes,” he said. “I usually report to him.”

“What do you report?”

“Some of us serve as scouts, Anne.”

“What is that?” she persisted. “What do you do?”

“Oh, we work by ones and twos, slipping through the lines, dodging the Yankee pickets, hiding near their camps, trying to find out what they're up to.” Under her prompting, he told her more and more of his duty. “Why, we work as we can. We usually keep hidden in the daytime, sleep in the woods somewhere, travel at night when we're not so apt to run into an enemy picket. Their fires show us where they are, so we can slip around them.” And he explained: “It's important to keep the Yankees from knowing we're near them, so we try not to leave a trail. If we have to cross a muddy road, we dismount and back our horses across, and walk backward ourselves. When we find an enemy encampment we crawl up as close as we can and find out how many there are and where they come from and where they're going to, and take word back to the General.”

“You like it, don't you?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. It's like playing a game—hide-and-seek, or Indians, or something like that. I like being cleverer than the Yankees. And it's interesting to know what's happening, or what's going to happen. The men in the ranks never know.”

She said innocently, “I'm glad you don't have to do any fighting.”

He laughed, and something in that laughter frightened her. “No, fighting isn't our job,” he agreed. “We don't fight unless we must. Our task is to hurt the Yankees all we can—and not let them hurt us.”

 

There were pleasant houses north of Brandy and beyond, and at one of these they were made welcome for the night; and when next morning they rode on, almost at once another man joined them. He was sandy-haired, with curiously steady eyes and a forward thrust of his head, and Uncle Faunt introduced him as Mr. Mosby. Anne guessed that he brought some message from General Stuart; for after he had spoken apart to Faunt and Burr they quickened their pace, riding on more rapidly. There was today no whisper of battle in the air, no faintest pinpricks of sound from distant guns. Their road that for a while had run among tilled fields dipped into tangled woodland. After the wide openness of the gently rolling levels from the Rapidan north, to plunge into this forest maze where the eye could see no farther than the next turning was oppressive and smothering. Anne was glad they rode more rapidly, eager to burst out of this blind meandering into open land again.

They pushed on and came down through the forest to a narrow stream. Burr said this was the Rappahannock, Waterloo Bridge, and Cinda asked:

“Then isn't this the road to Warrenton? Brett and I have visited up here. I've heard of Waterloo.”

“Yes.” Anne saw Burr's eyes shine. “We've slipped around the Yankee flank,” he said exultantly. “Stuart's gone on to Warrenton ahead of us with a strong force, to hit the railroad behind Pope.”

The bridge rattled under the hoofs of their horses; and when they emerged from the shadowed depths of the forest Anne realized that the sky was dark with angry clouds. Cinda asked: “Will we reach to Warrenton before it rains?”

“We may not,” Burr admitted. “We'll have to keep scouting ahead to make sure we don't run into trouble.”

Anne was interested in their procedure. From the river to Warrenton the road was all up hill and down across a series of ridges, so that it might be half a mile from one ridge down into the valley and up to the ridge beyond. Faunt and Mosby rode well ahead of Burr and
Anne and Cinda. When these three reached each crest, they saw the two scouts on the next ridge in silhouette against the sky, waiting to signal them on. Then they let their horses haste down the slopes into the valleys and up toward another vantage; but Burr always checked them short of the summit while he rode ahead to make sure that at least as far as the next ridge the road was clear.

Cinda was forever looking back over her shoulder to where black and menacing storm clouds that had been piled above the bulwark of the mountains now raced to overtake them. Those angry clouds were shot through with fitful lightning glares, and sometimes Anne saw outlined for an instant against the blackness of the clouds the naked lancing flame of the flash itself. There was an electric tension in the air. Thunder murmured behind them like the bass chords of the song of distant battle, and it came nearer. The storm moved faster than they. It sent night ahead, and when they were still a mile or two short of Warrenton they rode in darkness broken only by the spasmodic flickering of lightning, while the thunder like galloping hoof beats trod upon their heels. The hiss and whisper and rising roar of pelting rain rushed to overtake them; the first drops struck singly, then the pressing downpour. As though satisfied that its prey was seized and helpless, the storm ceased its growling; rain brought the blackness of unrelieved night and Anne felt icy threads of water trickle from cheek and throat down inside her collar, over her shoulders and her bosom.

The horses with bowed heads moved at a plodding walk, and Uncle Faunt and Mr. Mosby waited to ride with Anne and Cinda through black and sluicing rain across the last level and up into the town. Anne saw the dark mass of a large building dim against the night sky, and Burr said: “There's the court house.” Mosby led them aside to the wide steps of Norris Tavern, and the men were quick to help them to the ground and up the steps and so to shelter.

Cinda thought they must have a room, but Burr said regretfully: “I think you'd better get as dry as you can at the fire here, Mama. You'll want supper; but you'll have to go on tonight. This damned rain—sorry, Mama. This rain will make it unpleasant, but Uncle Faunt's gone to find a carriage to take you to Centerville.”

“We'll never get to Centerville tonight!”

“No, but you can't stay here. The rain will give Stuart a fine chance to surprise the Yankees. He's going to hit them at Catlett's Station; but he'll come back this way, and they'll be chasing him. There's likely to be fighting right here in Warrenton before daylight, so you'd better be away.”

A brilliant hissing flash lighted the window, and close on its heels came the thunder crash. “I'm a coward in a thunderstorm,” Cinda confessed.

Burr said apologetically: “I wish we could have managed better. You'll probably get wet; but we'll stay near you till we see you meet a Yankee picket. They'll treat you all right.”

“I'm too scared of this thunder and lightning to be afraid of anything else,” Cinda assured him; and Anne wished she could say as much. She rather liked the deafening bombardment from the skies; but the thought that presently she and Cinda would be prisoners of the Yankees was a terrifying one. “But of course we'll do what you say,” Cinda promised, and Burr nodded and smiled proudly.

“I'm not worried about your being afraid,” he said.

When Faunt returned, he had been unable to find a carriage. “But we've got a cart with a cover to keep off the rain,” he said. “And a negro to drive it. The Yankees won't be moving in this wet, so there's no hurry. Mr. Mosby and Burr and I will ride a piece with you.” He added quietly: “If we suddenly disappear don't be surprised. We'll be near you till you're safe in Yankee hands.”

“Will that be safe for you?” Cinda asked.

“Oh, Mr. Mosby and I are as much at home behind the Yankee lines as behind our own.”

 

When they had supped, the cart was ready, and Burr and Faunt helped them in. Anne set her teeth to keep them from chattering, for she was determined not to let Faunt see her terror; but once they were on the road, she took Cinda's hand in the darkness and clung to it. “You may not be scared, but I'm just frightened to death, Aunt Cinda.”

“So am I,” Cinda admitted. Lightning was almost constant, the flickering glares briefly revealing the muddy ruts and the road like a
brook bed deep in water. “I don't mind the flashes so much, but when it thunders I want to pull a feather bed over my head and scream!”