Hell! said Pillsbury, furiously wiping his face with his dripping sleeve and spitting out ashes.
Young kettle-drums, he dont love his vittles, observed a trooper, picking up the cap that had been jerked from his head by a whirring fragment.
Rich feedin is the spilin o this here hoss band, added the farrier, stanching the flow of blood from his scalp; quit quarlin with your rations, kettle-drums!
Yorter swaller them cinders, insisted another; they dont cost nothin!
The band, accustomed to chaffing, prepared to retire to the ambulance, where heretofore their fate had always left them among luggage, surgeons, and scared camp niggers during an engagement.
The Rhode Island battery, placed just north of the church, had opened; the cavalry in the meadow could see themsee the whirl of smoke, the cannoneers moving with quick precision amidst obscuritythe flash, the recoil as gun after gun jumped back, buried in smoke.
It lasted only a few minutes; no more shells came whistling down among the cavalry; and presently the battery grew silent, and the steaming hill, belted with vapor, cleared slowly in the breezy sunshine.
The cavalry had mounted and leisurely filed off to the shelter of a grassy hollow; the band, dismounted, were drawn up to be told off in squads as stretcher-bearers; the bandmaster was sauntering past, buried in meditation, his sabre trailing a furrow through the dust, when a clatter of hoofs broke out along the village street, and a general officer, followed by a plunging knot of horsemen, tore up and drew bridle.
The colonel of the cavalry regiment, followed by the chief trumpeter, trotted out to meet them, saluting sharply; there was a quick exchange of words; the general officer waved his hand toward the south, wheeled his horse, hesitated, and pointed at the band.
How many sabres? he asked.
Twenty-seven, replied the colonelno carbines.
Better have them play you inif you go, said the officer.
The colonel saluted and backed his horse as the cavalcade swept past him; then he beckoned to the bandmaster.
Heres your chance, he said. Orders are to charge anything that appears on that road. Youll play us in this time. Mount your men.
Ten minutes later the regiment, band ahead, marched out of Sandy River and climbed the hill, halting in the road that passed the great white mansion. As the outposts moved forward they encountered a small boy on a pony, who swung his cap at them gayly as he rode. Squads, dismounted, engaged in tearing away the rail fences bordering the highway, looked around, shouting a cheery answer to his excited greeting; the colonel on a ridge to the east lowered his field glasses to watch him; the bandmaster saw him coming and smiled as the boy drew bridle beside him, saluting.
If youre not going to fight, why are you here? asked the boy breathlessly.
It really looks, said the bandmaster, as though we might fight, after all.
You, too?
Perhaps.
Thencould you come into the housejust a moment? My sister asked me to find you.
A bright blush crept over the bandmasters sun-tanned cheeks.
With pleasure, he said, dismounting, and leading his horse through the gateway and across the shrubbery to the trees.
Celia! Celia! called the boy, running up the veranda steps. He is here! Please hurry, because hes going to have a battle!
She came slowly, pale and lovely in her black gown, and held out her hand.
There is a battle going on all around us, isnt there? she asked. That is what all this dreadful uproar means?
Yes, he said; there is trouble on the other side of those hills.
Do you think there will be fighting here?
I dont know, he said.
She motioned him to a veranda chair, then seated herself. What shall we do? she asked calmly. I am not alarmedbut my grandfather is bedridden, and my brother is a child. Is it safe to stay?
The bandmaster looked at her helplessly.
I dont know, he repeatedI dont know what to say. Nobody seems to understand what is happening; we in the regiment are never told anything; we know nothing except what passes under our eyes. He broke off suddenly; the situation, her loneliness, the impending danger, appalled him.
May I ask a little favor? she said, rising. Would you mind coming in a moment to see my grandfather?
He stood up obediently, sheathed sabre in his left hand; she led the way across the hall and up the stairs, opened the door, and motioned toward the bed. At first he saw nothing save the pillows and snowy spread.
Will you speak to him? she whispered.
He approached the bed, cap in hand.
He is very old, she said; he was a soldier of Washington. He desires to see a soldier of the Union.
And now the bandmaster perceived the occupant of the bed, a palsied, bloodless phantom of the pastan inert, bedridden, bony thing that looked dead until its deep eyes opened and fixed themselves on him.
This is a Union soldier, grandfather, she said, kneeling on the floor beside him. And to the bandmaster she said in a low voice: Would you mind taking his hand? He cannot move.
The bandmaster bent stiffly above the bed and took the old mans hand in his.
The sunlit room trembled in the cannonade.
That is all, said the girl simply. She took the fleshless hand, kissed it, and laid it on the bedspread. A soldier of Washington, she said dreamily. I am glad he has seen youI think he understands: but he is very, very old.
She lingered a moment to touch the white hair with her hand; the bandmaster stepped back to let her pass, then put on his cap, hooked his sabre, turned squarely toward the bed and saluted.
The phantom watched him as a dying eagle watches; then the slim hand of the granddaughter fell on the bandmasters arm, and he turned and clanked out into the open air.
The boy stood waiting for them, and as they appeared, he caught their hands in each of his, talking all the while and walking with them to the gateway, where pony and charger stood, nose to nose under the trees.
If you need anybody to dash about carrying dispatches, the boy ran on, why, Ill do it for you. My father was a soldier, and Im going to be one, and I
Billy, said the bandmaster abruptly, when we charge, go up on that hill and watch us. If we dont come back, you must be ready to act a mans part. Your sister counts on you.
They stood a moment there together, saying nothing. Presently some mounted officers on the hill wheeled their horses and came spurring toward the column drawn up along the road. A trumpet spoke briskly; the bandmaster turned to the boys sister, looked straight into her eyes, and took her hand.
I think were going, he said; I am trying to thank youI dont know how. Good-by.
Is it a charge? cried the boy.
Good-by, said the bandmaster, smiling, holding the boys hand tightly. Then he mounted, touched his cap, wheeled, and trotted off, freeing his sabre with his right hand.
The colonel had already drawn his sabre, the chief bugler sat his saddle, bugle lifted, waiting. A loud order, repeated from squadron to squadron, ran down the line; the restive horses wheeled, trampled forward, and halted.
Drawsabres!
The air shrilled with the swish of steel.
Far down the road horsemen were galloping inthe returning pickets.