Robert Chambers - Special Messenger стр 3.

The bandmaster assented thoughtfully. Once or twice his worn eyes swept the rooma room that made him homesick for his own. It had been a long time since he had sat in a chair in a room like thisa long time since he had talked with women and children. Perhaps the boys sister divined something of his thoughtshe was not much older than shefor, as he rose, hooking up his sabre, and stepped forward to take his leave, she stood up, too, offering her hand.

Our house is always open to Union soldiers, she said simply. Will you come again?

Thank you, he said. You dont know, I think, how much you have already done for me.

They stood a moment looking at one another; then he bowed and turned to the boy, who caught his hand impulsively.

I knew my sister would like you! he exclaimed.

Everybody is very kind, said the young bandmaster, looking steadily at the boy.

Again he bowed to the boys sister, not raising his eyes this time; and, holding the childs hand tightly in his, he walked out to the porch.

Moses was there to assist him with his long blue mantle; the boy clung to his gloved hand a moment, then stepped back into the doorway, where the old servant shuffled about, muttering half aloud: Yaas, suh. Done tole you so. He bow lak de quality, he drink lak de Garnettswhat I tole yo? Mars Willm, ef dat ossifer ain er ginral, he gwine be mighty quick!

I dont care, said the boy, I just love him.

The negro shuffled out across the moonlit veranda, peered around through the fragrant gloom, wrinkled hands linked behind his back. Then he descended the steps stiffly, and teetered about through the shrubbery with the instinct of a watchdog worn out in service.

Nuffn to scare nobody, scusin de hoot owls, he muttered. Spec hits time Miss Celia bolt de do, long o de sodgers an all de gwines-on. Shoo! Hear dat fool chickum crow! He shook his head, bent rheumatically, and seated himself on the veranda step, full in the moonlight. All de fightins an de gwines-on long o dis here wah! he soliloquized, joining his shriveled thumbs reflectively. Whar de use? Spound dat! Whar all de fool niggers dat done skedaddle long o de Linkum troopers? Splain dat! He chuckled; a whip-poor-will answered breathlessly.

Dar dat scanlous widder bird a-hollerin! exclaimed the old man, listening. Pears lak wes gwine have moh wah, moh daid men, moh widders. Dar de hant! Dar de sign an de warnin. Gway, widder bird. He crossed his withered fingers and began rocking to and fro, crooning softly to himself:

Before dawn the intense stillness was broken by the rushing music of the birdsa careless, cheery torrent of song poured forth from bramble and woodland. Distant and nearer cockcrows rang out above the melodious tumult, through which a low, confused undertone, scarcely apparent at first, was growing louderthe dull sound of the stirring of many men.

Men? The valley was suddenly alive with them, choking the roads in heavy silent lines; they were in the lanes, they plodded through the orchards, they swarmed across the hills, column on column, until the entire country seemed flowing forward in steady streams. Sandy River awoke, restlessly listening; lights glimmered behind darkened windows; a heavier, vaguer rumor grew, hanging along the hills. It increased to a shaking, throbbing monotone, like the far dissonance of summer thunder!

And now artillery was coming, bumping down the dim street with clatter of chain and harness jingling.

Up at the great house on the hill they heard itthe boy in his white nightdress leaning from the open window, and his sleepy sister kneeling beside him, pushing back her thick hair to peer out into the morning mist. On came the battery, thudding and clanking, horses on a long swinging trot, gun, caisson, forge, mounted artillerymen succeeding each other, faster, faster under the windows. A guidon danced by; more guns, more caissons, then a trampling, plunging gallop, a rattle of sabresand the battery had passed.

What is that heavy sound behind the hills? whispered the boy.

The river rushing over the shallowsperhaps a train on the trestle at Oxley Court House She listened, resting her rounded chin on her hands. It is thunder, I think. Go to bed now for a while

Hark! said the boy, laying his small hand on hers.

It is thunder, she said again. How white the dawn is growing. Listen to the birdsis it not sweet?

Celia, whispered the boy, that is not thunder. It is too hushed, too steadyit hums and hums and hums. Where was that battery galloping? I am going to dress.

She looked at him, turned to the east and stared at the coming day. The air of dawn was full of sounds, ominous, sustained vibrations.

She rose, went back to her room, and lighted a dip. Then, shading the pallid smoky flame with her hand, she opened a door and peered into the next bedroom. Grandfather! she whispered, smiling, seeing that he was already awake. And as she leaned over him, searching the dim and wrinkled eyes, she read something in their unwonted luster that struck her silent. It was only when she heard her brothers step on the stairs that she roused herself, bent, and kissed the aged head lying there inert among the pillows.

It is cannon, she breathed softlyyou know that sound, dont you, grandfather? Does it make you happy? Why are you smiling? Look at meI understand; you want something. Shall I open the curtains? And raise the window? Ah, you wish to hear. Hark! Horsemen are passing at a gallop. What is it you wishto see them? But they are gone, dear. If any of our soldiers come, you shall see them. That makes you happy?that is what you desire?to see one of our own soldiers? If they pass, I shall go out and bring one here to youtruly, I will. She paused, marveling at the strange light that glimmered across the ravaged visage. Then she blew out the dip and stole into the hall.

Billy! she called, hearing him fumbling at the front door.

Oh, Celia! The cavalry trumpets! Do you hear? Im going out. Perhaps he may pass the house.

Wait for me, she said; I am not dressed. Run to the cabin and wake Moses, dear!

She heard him open the door; the deadened thunder of the cannonade filled the house for an instant, shut out by the closing door, only to swell again to an immense unbroken volume of solemn harmony. The bird-music had ceased; distant hilltops grew brighter.

Down in the village lights faded from window and cabin; a cavalryman, signaling from the church tower, whirled his flaming torch aside and picked up a signal flag. Suddenly the crash of a rifled cannon saluted the rising sun; a shell soared skyward through the misty glory, towered, curved, and fell, exploding among the cavalrymen, completely ruining the breakfasts of chief-trumpeter OHalloran and kettle-drummer Pillsbury.

For a moment a geyser of ashes, coffee, and bacon rained among the men.

Hell! said Pillsbury, furiously wiping his face with his dripping sleeve and spitting out ashes.