The 3rd Zouaves were scheduled to leave early. Celia had only a few hours now and then in camp with husband and son. Once or twice they came to the hospital in the bright spring weather where new blossoms on azalea and jasmine perfumed the fields and flowering peach orchards6 turned all the hills and valleys pink.
Walking with her husband and son that last lovely evening before the regiment left, a hand of each clasped in her own, she strove very hard to keep up the gaiety of appearances, tried with all her might to keep back the starting tears, steady the lip that quivered, the hands that trembled locked in theirs.
They were walking together in a secluded7 lane that led from behind the Farm Hospital barns to a little patch of woodland through which a clear stream sparkled, a silent, intimate, leafy oasis8 amid an army-ridden desert, where there was only a cow to stare at them, knee deep in young mint, only a shy cardinal9 bird to interrupt them with its exquisite10 litany.
Their talk had been of Paige and Marye, of Paigecourt and the advisability of selling all stock, dismissing the negroes, and closing the place with the exception of the overseer's house. And Celia had made arrangements to attend to it.
"I certainly do despise travelling," she said, "but while I'm so near, I reckon I'd better use my pass and papers and try to go through to Paigecourt. It's just as well to prepare for the impossible, I suppose."
Colonel Craig polished his eye-glasses, adjusted them, and examined the official papers that permitted his wife to go to her estate, pack up certain family papers, discharge the servants, close the house, and return through the union lines carrying only personal baggage.
He said without enthusiasm: "It's inside their lines. To go there isn't so difficult, but how about coming back? I don't want you to go, Celia."
She explained in detail that there would be no difficulty—a little proudly, too, when she spoke11 of her personal safety among her own people.
"I understand all that," he said patiently, "but nobody except the commander-in-chief knows where this army is going. I don't want you to be caught in the zone of operations."
She flushed up with a defiant13 little laugh. "The war isn't going to Paigecourt, anyway," she said.
He smiled with an effort. "I am not sure, dearest. All I am sure of is that we march in the morning, and go aboard ship at Alexandria. I don't know where we are expected to land, or where we are going to march after we do land." . . . He smiled again, mischievously14. "Even if you believe that a Yankee army is not likely to get very far into Virginia, Paigecourt is too near Richmond for me to feel entirely15 sure that you may not have another visit from Stephen and me before you start North."
"Listen to the Yankee!" she cried, laughing gaily16 to hide the sudden dimness in her blue eyes. "My darling Yankee husband is ve'y absurd, and he doesn't suspect it! Why! don't you perfec'ly ridiculous Zouaves know that you'll both be back in New York befo' I am—and all tired out keeping up with the pace yo' general sets you?"
But when it was time to say good-bye once more, her limbs grew weak and she leaned heavily on husband and son, her nerveless feet dragging across the spring turf.
"Oh, Curt17, Curt," she faltered18, her soft cheeks pressed against the stiff bullion19 on his sleeve and collar, "if only I had the wretched consolation20 of sending you away to fight fo' the Right—fo' God and country—There, darling! Fo'give me—fo'give me. I am yo' wife first of all—first of all, Curt. And that even comes befo' country and—God!—Yes, it does! it does, dear. You are all three to me—I know no holier trinity than husband, God, and native land. . . . Must you go so soon? So soon? . . . Where is my boy—I'm crying so I can't see either of you—Stephen! Mother's own little boy—mother's little, little boy—oh, it is ve'y hard—ve'y hard——"
[Illustration: "Must you go so soon? So soon?"]
"Steve—I think you'd better kiss your mother now"—his voice choked and he turned his back and stood, the sun glittering on the gold and scarlet21 of his uniform.
Mother and son clung, parted, clung; then Colonel Craig's glittering sleeve was flung about them both.
"I'll try to bring him through all right, Celia. You must believe that we are coming back."
So they parted.
And at three in the morning, Celia, lying in her bed, started to a sitting posture22. Very far away in the night reveille was sounding for some regiment outward bound; and then the bugles23 blew for another regiment and another, and another, until everywhere the darkened world grew gaily musical with the bugle's warning.
She crept to the window; it was too dusky to see. But in obscurity she felt that not far away husband and son were passing through darkness toward the mystery of the great unknown; and there, in her night-dress, she knelt by the sill, hour after hour, straining her eyes and listening until dawn whitened the east and the rivers began to marshal their ghostly hosts. Then the sun rose, annihilating24 the phantoms25 of the mist and shining on columns of marching men, endless lines of waggons, horse-batteries, foot artillery26, cavalry27, engineers with gabions and pontoons, and entire divisions of blue infantry28, all pouring steadily29 toward Alexandria and the river, where lay the vast transport fleet at anchor, destined30 to carry them whither their Maker31 and commanding general willed that they should go.
To Celia's wet eyes there seemed to be little variation in the dull blue columns with the glitter of steel flickering32 about them; yet, here and there a brilliant note appeared—pennons fluttering above lances, scarfs and facings of some nearer foot battery, and, far away toward Alexandria, vivid squares of scarlet in a green field, dimmed very little by the distance. Those were zouaves—her own, or perhaps the 5th, or the 9th from Roanoke, or perhaps the 14th Brooklyn—she could not know, but she never took her eyes from the distant blocks and oblongs of red against the green until the woods engulfed33 them.
Ailsa still lay heavily asleep. Celia opened the door and called her to the window.
"Honey-bud, darling," she whispered tearfully, "did you know the
Lancers are leaving?"
Ailsa's eyes flew wide open:
"Not his regiment!"
"Are there two?"
"Yes," said Ailsa, frightened. "That must be the 6th Pennsylvania. . . . Because I think—somebody would have told me—Colonel Arran——"
She stared through eyes from which the mist of slumber34 had entirely cleared away. Then she sprang from her bed to the window:
"Oh—oh!" she said half to herself, "he wouldn't go away without saying something to me! He couldn't! . . . And—oh, dear—oh dear, their pennons are swallow-tailed and scarlet! It looks like his regiment—it does—it does! . . . But he wouldn't go without speaking to me——"
Celia turned and looked at her.
"Do you mean Colonel Arran?" And saw that she did not.
For a while they stood there silently together, the soft spring wind blowing over their bare necks and arms, stirring the frail35, sheer fabric36 of their night-robes.
Suddenly the stirring music of cavalry trumpets37 along the road below startled them; they turned swiftly to look out upon a torrent38 of scarlet pennons and glancing lance points—troop after troop of dancing horses and blue-clad riders, their flat forage39 caps set rakishly, bit and spur and sabre hilt glistening40, the morning sun flashing golden on the lifted trumpets.
On they came, on, on, horses' heads tossing, the ground shaking with the mellow41 sound of four thousand separate hoofs,—and passed, troop on troop, a lengthening42, tossing wave of scarlet across the verdure.
Then, far away in the column, a red lance pennon swung in a circle, a blue sleeve shot up in salute43 and adieu. And Ailsa knew that Berkley had seen her, and that the brightness of the young world was leaving her, centred there in the spark of fire that tipped his lance.
Now she saw her lover turn in his saddle and, sitting so, ride on and on, his tall lance slanting44 from stirrup boot to arm loop, the morning sun bright across his face, and touching45 each metal button with fire from throat to belt.
So her lancer rode away into the unknown; and she sat on the edge of her bed, crying, until it was time to go on duty and sit beside the dying in the sick wards46.
They brought her his last letter that evening.
"You wicked little thing," it ran, "if you hadn't taught me self-respect I'd have tried to run the guard to-night, and would probably have been caught and drummed out or shot. We're in a bustle47; orders, totally unexpected, attach us to Porter's Corps48, Sykes's division of regulars. Warren's brigade, which includes, I believe, the 5th Zouaves, the 10th Zouaves, 6th Pennsylvania Lancers, and 1st Connecticut Heavy Artillery.
"We've scarcely time to get off; our baggage will never be ready, and how we're going to get to Alexandria and aboard ship is more than I know.
"And I'm simply furious; I'd counted on a dramatic situation,
Ailsa—the soldiers farewell, loud sobs49, sweetheart faints, lancer
dashes away unmanly tears—'Be strong, be br-r-rave, dah-ling!
Hevving watches over your Alonzo!'
"Not so. A big brawny50 brute51 in spurs comes in the dark to stir us with the toe of his boot. 'Silence,' he hisses52, 'if you can't hear that damn reveille, I'll punch you in the snoot, an' then mebbe you'll spread them lop-ears o' yourn!'
"Heaven! Your Alonzo is derided53 by a hireling!
"'Pack up, you swallow-tailed, leather-seated, pig-prodding sons of galoots!' Thus, our first sergeant54, recently of the regulars, roll-call having ended.
"Coffeeless, soupless, tackless, we leer furtively55 at the two days' rations12 in our haversacks which we dare not sample; lick our chops reflectively, are cruelly chidden by underlings in uniform, further insulted by other underlings, are stepped on, crowded, bitten, and kicked at by our faithful Arab steeds, are coarsely huddled56 into line, where officers come to gloat over us and think out further ingenious indignities57 to heap upon us while we stand to horse. And we stand there two hours!
"I can't keep up this artificial flow of low comedy. The plain fact of the situation is that we're being hustled58 toward an amphibious thing with paddle-wheels named The Skylark, and I haven't said good-bye to you.
"Ailsa, it isn't likely that anything is going to knock my head off or puncture59 vital sections of me. But in case the ludicrous should happen, I want you to know that a cleaner man goes before the last Court Marshal than would have stood trial there before he met you.
"You are every inch my ideal of a woman—every fibre in you is utterly60 feminine. I adore your acquired courage, I worship your heavenly inconsistencies. The mental pleasure I experienced with you was measured and limited only by my own perversity61 and morbid62 self-absorption; the splendour of the passion I divine in you, unawakened, awes63 me, leaves me in wonder. The spiritual tonic64, even against my own sickly will has freshened me by mere65 contact with the world you live in; the touch of your lips and hands—ah, Ailsa—has taught me at last the language that I sneered66 at.
"Well—we can never marry. How it will be with us, how end, He who, after all is said and done, did construct us, knows now. And we will know some day, when life is burned out in us.
"Hours, days of bitter revolt come—the old madness for you, the old recklessness of desire, the savage67 impatience68 with life, assail69 me still. Because, Ailsa, I would—I could have made you a—well, an interesting husband, anyway. You were fashioned to be the divinest wife and . . . I'm not going on in this strain; I'll write you when I can. And for God's sake take care of your life. There's nothing left if you go—nothing.
"I've made a will. Trooper Burgess, a comrade—my former valet—carries a duplicate memorandum70. Don't weep; I'll live to make another. But in this one I have written you that my mother's letters and pictures are to be yours—when I have a chance I'll draw it in legal form. And, dear, first be perfectly71 sure I'm dead, and then destroy my mother's letters without reading them; and then look upon her face. And I think you will forgive me when I tell you that it is for her sake that I can never marry. But you will not understand why."
Over this letter Ailsa had little time to wonder or to make herself wretched, for that week orders came to evacuate72 the Farm Hospital and send all sick and wounded to the General Hospital at Alexandria.
A telegram arrived, too, from Miss Dix, who was authorised to detail nurses by the Secretary of War, ordering the two nurses of Sainte Ursula's Sisterhood to await letters of recommendation and written assignments to another hospital to be established farther south. But where that hospital was to be built nobody seemed to know.
A week later a dozen Protestant women nurses arrived at Alexandria, where they were made unwelcome. Medical directors, surgeons, ward5 masters objected, bluntly declaring that they wouldn't endure a lot of women interfering73 and fussing and writing hysterical74 nonsense to the home newspapers.
For a while confusion reigned75, intensified76 by the stupendous mobilisation going on all around.
A medical officer came to the Farm Hospital and angrily informed Ailsa that the staff had had enough of women in the wards; and from forty cots forty half-dead, ghastly creatures partly rose and cursed the medical gentleman till his ears burned crimson77,
Ailsa, in her thin gray habit bearing the scarlet heart, stood in the middle of the ward and defied him with her credentials78.
"The medical staff of the army has only to lay its case before the Secretary of War," she said, looking calmly at him, "and that is where the Sanitary79 Commission obtains its authority. Meanwhile our orders detail us here for duty."
"We'll see about that!" he snapped, backing away.
"So will we," said Ailsa, smiling. But that afternoon she and
Letty took an ambulance and went, in great distress80 of mind, to see
Mother Angela, Superior of the Sisters of the Holy Cross, who had
arrived from Indiana ready to continue hospital duties on the
Potomac if necessary.
The lovely Superieure, a lady of rare culture and ability, took
Ailsa's hand in hers with a sad smile.
"Men's prejudices are hard to meet. The social structure of the world is built on them. But men's prejudices vanish when those same men fall sick. The War Department has regularised our position; it will authorise yours. You need not be afraid."
She smiled again reminiscently.
"When our Sisters of the Holy Cross first appeared in the wards, the patients themselves looked at us sullenly81 and askance. I heard one say: 'Why can't they take off those white-winged sun-bonnets in the wards?' And another sneered: 'Sun-bonnets! Huh! They look like busted82 white parasols!' But, Mrs. Paige, our white 'sun-bonnets' have already become to them the symbol they love most, after the flag. Be of good courage. Your silver-gray garb83 and white cuffs84 will mean much to our soldiers before this battle year is ended."
That evening Ailsa and Letty drove back to the Parm Hospital in their ambulance, old black Cassius managing his mules85 with alternate bursts of abuse and of praise. First he would beat upon his mules with a flat stick which didn't hurt, but made a loud racket; then, satisfied, he would loll in his seat singing in melodious86 and interminable recitative:
An' I hope to gain de prommis' lan',
Yaas I do,
'Deed I do.
Lor' I hope to gain de prommis' lan',
Dat I do,
An' dar I'll flap ma wings an' take ma stan',
Yaas I will,
'Deed I will,
An' I'll tune87 ma harp88 an' jine de Shinin' Ban'
Glory, Glory,
I hope to gain de prommis' lan'!
And over and over the same shouted melody, interrupted only by an outburst of reproach for his mules.
They drove back through a road which had become for miles only a great muddy lane running between military encampments, halted at every bridge and crossroads to exhibit their passes; they passed never-ending trains of army waggons cither stalled or rumbling89 slowly toward Alexandria. Everywhere were soldiers, drilling, marching, cutting wood, washing clothes, cooking, cleaning arms, mending, working on camp ditches, drains, or forts, writing letters at the edge of shelter tents, digging graves, skylarking—everywhere the earth was covered with them.
They passed the camp for new recruits, where the poor "fresh fish" awaited orders to join regiments90 in the field to which they had been assigned; they passed the camp for stragglers and captured deserters; the camp for paroled prisoners; the evil-smelling convalescent camp, which, still under Surgeon General Hammond's Department, had not yet been inspected by the Sanitary Commission.
An officer, riding their way, talked with them about conditions in this camp, where, he said, the convalescents slept on the bare ground, rain or shine; where there were but three surgeons for the thousands suffering from intestinal91 and throat and lung troubles, destitute92, squalid, unwarmed by fires, unwashed, wretched, forsaken93 by the government that called them to its standard.
It was the first of that sort of thing that Ailsa and Letty had seen.
After the battles in the West—particularly after the fall of Fort Donnelson—terrible rumours94 were current in the Army of the Potomac and in the hospitals concerning the plight95 of the wounded—of new regiments that had been sent into action with not a single medical officer, or, for that matter, an ounce of medicine, or of lint96 in its chests.
They were grisly rumours. In the neat wards of the Farm Hospital, with its freshly swept and sprinkled floors, its cots in rows, its detailed97 soldier nurses and the two nurses from Sainte Ursula's Sisterhood, its sick-diet department, its medical stores, its two excellent surgeons, these rumours found little credence98.
And now, here in the vicinity, Ailsa's delicate nostrils99 shrank from the stench arising from the "Four Camps"; and she saw the emaciated100 forms lining101 the hillside, and she heard the horrible and continuous coughing.
"Do you know," she said to Letty the next morning, "I am going to write to Miss Dix and inform her of conditions in that camp."
And she did so, perfectly conscious that she was probably earning the dislike of the entire medical department. But hundreds of letters like hers had already been sent to Washington, and already the Sanitary Commission was preparing to take hold; so, when at length one morning an acknowledgment of her letter was received, no notice was taken of her offer to volunteer for service in that loathsome102 camp, but the same mail brought orders and credentials and transportation vouchers103 for herself and Letty.
Letty was still asleep, but Ailsa went up and waked her when the hour for her tour of duty approached.
"What do you think!" she said excitedly. "We are to pack up our valises and go aboard the Mary Lane to-morrow. She sails with hospital stores. What do you think of that?"
"Where are we going?" asked Letty, bewildered.
"You poor, sleepy little thing," said Ailsa, sitting down on the bed's shaky edge, "I'm sure I don't know where we're going, dear. Two Protestant nurses are coming here to superintend the removal of our sick boys—and Dr. West says they are old and ugly, and that Miss Dix won't have any more nurses who are not over thirty and who are not most unattractive to look at."
"I wonder what Miss Dix would do if she saw us," said Letty naively104, and sat up in bed; rubbing her velvety105 eyes with the backs of her hands. Then she yawned, looked inquiringly at Ailsa, smiled, and swung her slender body out of bed.
While she was doing her hair Ailsa heard her singing to herself.
She was very happy; another letter from Dr. Benton had arrived.
Celia, who had gone to Washington three days before, to see Mr. Stanton, returned that evening with her passes and order for transportation; and to Ailsa's astonishment107 and delight she found that the designated boat was the Mary Lane.
But Celia was almost too nervous and too tired to talk over the prospects108.
"My dear," she said wearily, "that drive from the Chain Bridge to Alexandria has mos'ly killed me. I vow109 and declare there was never one moment when one wheel was not in a mud hole. All my bones ache, Honey-bud, and I'm cross with talking to so many Yankees, and—do you believe me !—that ve'y horrid110 Stanton creature gave orders that I was to take the oath!"
"The—oath?" asked Ailsa, amazed.
"Certainly. And I took it," she added fiercely, "becose of my husband! If it had not been fo' Curt I'd have told Mr. Stanton what I thought of his old oath!"
"What kind of an oath was it, Celia?"
Celia repeated it haughtily111:
"'I do solemnly swear, in the presence of Almighty112 God, to faithfully support the Constitution of the United States, and of the State of New York. So he'p me God.'"
"It is the oath of fealty," said Ailsa in a hushed voice.
"It was not necessa'y," said Celia coldly. "My husband is sufficient to keep me—harmless. . . . But I know what I feel in my heart, Honey-bud; and so does eve'y Southern woman—God help us all. . . . Is that little Miss Lynden going with us?"
"Letty? Yes, of course."
Celia began to undress. "She's a ve'y sweet little minx. . . . She is—odd, somehow. . . . So young—such a he'pless, cute little thing. . . Ailsa, in that child's eyes—or in her features somewhere, somehow, I see—I feel a—a sadness, somehow—like the gravity of expe'ience, the something that wisdom brings to the ve'y young too early. It is odd, isn't it."
"Letty is a strange, gentle little thing. I've often wondered——"
"What, Honey-bee?"
"I—don't know," said Ailsa vaguely114. "It is not natural that a happy woman should be so solemnly affectionate to another. I've often thought that she must, sometime or other, have known deep unhappiness."
When Celia was ready to retire, Ailsa bade her good-night and wandered away down the stairs, Letty was still on duty; she glanced into the sick-diet kitchen as she passed and saw the girl bending over a stew-pan.
She did not disturb her. With evening a soft melancholy115 had begun to settle over Ailsa. It came in the evening, now, often—a sensation not entirely sad, not unwelcome, soothing116 her, composing her mind for serious thought, for the sweet sadness of memory.
Always she walked, now, companioned by memories of Berkley. Wherever she moved—in the quiet of the sick wards, in the silence of the moonlight, seated by smeared117 windows watching the beating rain, in the dead house, on duty in the kitchen contriving118 broths119, or stretched among her pillows, always the memories came in troops to bear her company.
They were with her now as she paced the veranda120 to and fro, to and fro.
She heard Letty singing happily over her stew-pan in the kitchen; the stir and breathing of the vast army was audible all around her in the darkness. Presently she looked at her watch in the moonlight, returned it to her breast.
"I'm ready, dear," she said, going to the kitchen door.
And another night on duty was begun—the last she ever was to spend under the quiet roof of the Farm Hospital.
That night she sat beside the bed of a middle-aged121 man, a corporal in a Minnesota regiment whose eyes had been shot out on picket122. Otherwise he was convalescent from dysentery. But Ailsa had seen the convalescent camp, and she would not let him go yet.
So she read to him in a low, soothing voice, glancing from time to time at the bandaged face. And, when she saw he was asleep, she sat silent, hands nervously123 clasped above the Bible on her knee. Then her lids closed for an instant as she recited a prayer for the man she loved, wherever he might be that moon-lit night.
A zouave, terribly wounded on Roanoke Island, began to fret124; she rose and walked swiftly to him, and the big sunken eyes opened and he said, humbly125:
"I am sorry to inconvenience you, Mrs. Paige. I'll try to keep quiet."
"You foolish fellow, you don't inconvenience me. What can I do for you?"
His gaze was wistful, but he said nothing, and she bent106 down tenderly, repeating her question.
A slight flush gathered under his gaunt cheek bones. "I guess I'm just contrary," he muttered. "Don't bother about me, ma'am."
"You are thinking of your wife; talk to me about her, Neil."
It was what he wanted; he could endure the bandages. So, her cool smooth hand resting lightly over his, where it lay on the sheets, she listened to the home-sick man until it was time to give another sufferer his swallow of lemonade.
Later she put on a gingham overgown, sprinkled it and her hands with camphor, and went into the outer wards where the isolated126 patients lay—where hospital gangrene and erysipelas were the horrors. And, farther on, she entered the outlying wing devoted127 to typhus. In spite of the open windows the atmosphere was heavy; everywhere the air seemed weighted with the odour of decay.
As always, in spite of herself, she hesitated at the door. But the steward128 on duty rose; and she took his candle and entered the place of death.
Toward morning a Rhode Island artilleryman, dying in great pain, relapsed into coma129. Waiting beside him, she wrote to his parents, enclosing the little keepsakes he had designated when conscious, while his life flickered130 with the flickering candle. Her letter and his life ended together; dawn made the candle-light ghastly; a few moments later the rumble131 of the dead waggon3 sounded in the court below. The driver came early because there was a good deal of freight for his waggon that day. A few moments afterward132 the detail arrived with the stretchers, and Ailsa stood up, drew aside the screen, and went down into the gray obscurity of the court-yard.
Grave-diggers were at work on a near hillside; she could hear the clink clink of spade and pick; reveille was sounding from hill to hill; the muffled133 stirring became a dull, sustained clatter134, never ceasing around her for one instant.
A laundress was boiling clothing over a fire near by; Ailsa slipped off her gingham overdress, unbound the white turban, and tossed them on the grass near the fire. Then, rolling back her sleeves, she plunged135 her arms into a basin of hot water in which a little powdered camphor was floating.
While busy with her ablutions the two new nurses arrived, seated on a battery limber; and, hastily drying her hands, she went to them and welcomed them, gave them tea and breakfast in Dr. West's office, and left them there while she went away to awake Celia and Letty, pack her valise for the voyage before her, and write to Berkley.
But it was not until she saw the sun low in the west from the deck of the Mary Lane, that she at last found a moment to write.
The place, the hour, her loneliness, moved depths in her that she had never sounded—moved her to a recklessness never dreamed of. It was an effort for her to restrain the passionate136 confessions137 trembling on her pen's tip; her lips whitened with the cry struggling for utterance138.
"Dear, never before did I so completely know myself, never so absolutely trust myself to the imperious, almost ungovernable tide which has taken my destiny from the quiet harbour where it lay, and which is driving it headlong toward yours.
"You have left me alone, to wonder and to wonder. And while isolated, I stand trying to comprehend why it was that your words separated our destinies while your arms around me made them one. I am perfectly aware that the surge of life has caught me up, tossed me to its crest139, and is driving me blindly out across the waste spaces of the world toward you—wherever you may be—whatever be the cost. I will not live without you.
"I am not yet quite sure what has so utterly changed me—what has so completely changed within me. But I am changed. Perhaps daily familiarity with death and pain and wretchedness, hourly contact with the paramount140 mystery of all, has broadened me, or benumbed me. I don't know. All I seem to see clearly—to clearly understand—is the dreadful brevity of life, the awful chances against living, the miracle of love in such a maelstrom141, the insanity142 of one who dare not confess it, live for it, love to the uttermost with heart, soul, and body, while life endures,
"All my instincts, all principles inherent or inculcated; all knowledge spiritual and intellectual, acquired; all precepts143, maxims144, proverbs, axioms incorporated and lately a part of me, seem trivial, empty, meaningless in sound and in form compared to the plain truths of Death. For never until now did I understand that we walk always arm in arm with Death, that he squires145 us at every step, coolly joggles our elbow, touches our shoulder now and then, wakes us at dawn, puts out our night-light, and smooths the sheets we sleep under.
"I had thought of Death as something hiding very, very far away. Yet I had already seen him enter my own house. But now I understand how close he always is; and, somehow, it has changed—hardened, maybe—much that was vague and unformed in my character. And, maybe, the knowledge is distorting it; I don't know. All I know is that, before life ends, if there is a chance of fulfilment, I will take it. And fulfilment means you—my love for you, the giving of it, of myself, of all I am, all I desire, all I care for, all I believe, into your keeping—into your embrace. That, for me, is fulfilment of life.
"Even in your arms you tell me that there is to be no fulfilment. I have acquiesced146, wondering, bewildered, confused. But, dear, you can never tell me so again—if we live—if I live to look into your eyes again—never, never. For I shall not believe it, nor shall I let you believe it, if only we can win through this deathly battle nightmare which is rising between us—if ever we can find each other again, touch each other through this red, unreal glare of war.
"Oh, Philip—Philip—only to have your arms around me! Only to touch you! You shall not tell me then that our destinies do not mingle147. They shall mingle like two wines; they shall become utterly confused in one another; I was meant for that; I will not die, isolated by you, unknown to you, not belonging to you! I will not die alone this way in the world, with no deeper memory to take into the unknown than that you said you loved me.
"God alone knows what change misery148 and sorrow and love and death have accomplished149 in me; never have I stood so alone upon this earth; never have I cared so for life, never have I so desired to be a deathless part of yours.
"If you love me you will make me part of yours—somehow, some way. And, Philip, if there is no way, yet there is always one way if we both live. And I shall not complain—only, I cannot die—let life go out—so that you could ever forget that my life had been part of yours.
"Is it dreadful of me to think this? But the mighty113 domination of Death has dwarfed150 everything around me, dear; shrivelled the little man-made formulas and laws; the living mind and body seem more vital than the by-laws made to govern them. . . . God knows what I'm writing, but you have gone into battle leaving life unfulfilled for us both, and I assented—and my heart and soul are crying out to you, unreconciled—crying out my need of you across the smoke. . . .
"There is a battery at Cock-pit Point, firing, and the smoke of the guns drifts across the low-hanging sun. It must be only a salute, for our fleet of transports moves on, torrents151 of black smoke pouring out of every tall funnel152, paddle-wheels churning steadily.
"When the fleet passed Mount Vernon the bells tolled153 aboard every boat; and we could see the green trees and a glimmer154 of white on shore, and the flag flying.
"What sadness! A people divided who both honour the sacredness of this spot made holy by a just man's grave—gathering to meet in battle—brother against brother.
"But Fate shall not longer array you and me against each other! I will not have it so! Neither my heart nor my soul could endure the cruelty of it, nor my reason its wickedness and insanity. From the first instant I met your eyes, Philip, somehow, within me, I knew I belonged to you. I do more hopelessly to-day than ever—and with each day, each hour, more and more until I die. You will not let me go to my end unclaimed, will you?—a poor ghost all alone, lost in the darkness somewhere among the stars—lacking that tie between you and it which even death does not know how to sever155!
"I leave all to you, loving you, wishing what you wish, content with what you give—and take—so that you do give and take and keep and hold for life.
"It is very dusky; the lights, red and white, glimmer on every transport. We feel the sea-swell a little. Celia left us, going ashore156 at Acquia Creek157. She takes the cars to Richmond and then to Paigecourt. Letty sits beside me on deck. There were two cases of fever aboard and we went down into a dreadfully ill-smelling cabin to do what we could. Now we are here on deck again. Some officers are talking very gaily with Letty. I am ending my letter to you—wherever you are, my darling, under these big, staring stars that look down at me out of space. I don't want my ghost to be blown about up there—unless it belongs to you. That is the only fear of death I ever have or ever had—that I might die before you had all of me there is to give."
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1
exodus
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| v.大批离去，成群外出 | |
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2
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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3
waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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4
waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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5
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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7
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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8
oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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9
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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10
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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11
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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12
rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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13
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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14
mischievously
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| adv.有害地；淘气地 | |
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15
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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16
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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17
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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18
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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19
bullion
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| n.金条，银条 | |
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20
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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21
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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22
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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23
bugles
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| 妙脆角，一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食； 号角( bugle的名词复数 )； 喇叭； 匍匐筋骨草； （装饰女服用的）柱状玻璃（或塑料）小珠 | |
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24
annihilating
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的现在分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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25
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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26
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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29
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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30
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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31
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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32
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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33
engulfed
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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35
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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36
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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37
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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38
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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39
forage
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| n.(牛马的)饲料，粮草；v.搜寻，翻寻 | |
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40
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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41
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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42
lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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43
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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44
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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45
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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46
wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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47
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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48
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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49
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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50
brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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51
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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52
hisses
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| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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53
derided
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| v.取笑，嘲笑( deride的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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55
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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56
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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57
indignities
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| n.侮辱，轻蔑( indignity的名词复数 ) | |
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58
hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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59
puncture
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| n.刺孔，穿孔；v.刺穿，刺破 | |
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60
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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61
perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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62
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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63
awes
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| n.敬畏，惊惧( awe的名词复数 )v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的第三人称单数 ) | |
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64
tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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65
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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66
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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68
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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69
assail
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| v.猛烈攻击，抨击，痛斥 | |
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70
memorandum
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| n.备忘录，便笺 | |
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71
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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72
evacuate
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| v.遣送；搬空；抽出；排泄；大(小)便 | |
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73
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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74
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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75
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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76
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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78
credentials
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| n.证明，资格，证明书，证件 | |
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79
sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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80
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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81
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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82
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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83
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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84
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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85
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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86
melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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87
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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88
harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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89
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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90
regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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91
intestinal
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| adj.肠的；肠壁；肠道细菌 | |
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92
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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93
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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95
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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96
lint
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| n.线头；绷带用麻布，皮棉 | |
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97
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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credence
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| n.信用，祭器台，供桌，凭证 | |
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99
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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100
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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101
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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102
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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103
vouchers
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| n.凭证( voucher的名词复数 )；证人；证件；收据 | |
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104
naively
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| adv. 天真地 | |
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105
velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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106
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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107
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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108
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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109
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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110
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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111
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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112
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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113
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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114
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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115
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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116
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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117
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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118
contriving
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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broths
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| n.肉汤( broth的名词复数 )；厨师多了烧坏汤；人多手杂反坏事；人多添乱 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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picket
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| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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coma
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| n.昏迷，昏迷状态 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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137
confessions
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| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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maelstrom
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| n.大乱动；大漩涡 | |
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insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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precepts
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| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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153
tolled
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| 鸣钟（toll的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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sever
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| v.切开，割开；断绝，中断 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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