The two boys darted off, the others following them at a little distance. They reached the open field. The shooting was still going on in the woods on the other side, but they no longer thought of it. They ran down the hill and dashed across the little flat to the branch at the nearest point, washed the blood from the canteen, and filled it with the cool water.
"I wish we had something to wash his face with," sighed w.i.l.l.y, "but I haven"t got a handkerchief."
"Neither have I." w.i.l.l.y looked thoughtful. A second more and he had stripped off his light sailor"s jacket and dipped it in the water. The next minute the two boys were running up the hill again.
When they reached the spot where the wounded man lay, he had slipped down and was flat on the ground. His feeble voice still called for water, but was much weaker than before. Frank stooped and held the canteen to the man"s lips, and he drank. Then w.i.l.l.y and Frank, together, bathed his face with the still dripping cotton jacket. This revived him somewhat; but he did not recognize them and talked incoherently. They propped up his head.
"Frank, it"s getting mighty late, and we"ve got to go home," said w.i.l.l.y.
The boys" voice or words reached the ears of the wounded man.
"Take me home," he murmured; "I want some water from the well by the dairy."
"Give him some more water."
w.i.l.l.y lifted the canteen. "Here it is."
The soldier swallowed with difficulty.
He could not raise his hand now. There was a pause. The boys stood around, looking down on him. "I"ve come back home," he said. His eyes were closed.
"He"s dreaming," whispered w.i.l.l.y.
"Did you ever see anybody die?" asked Frank, in a low tone.
w.i.l.l.y"s face paled.
"No, Frank; let"s go home and tell somebody."
Frank stooped and touched the soldier"s face. He was talking all the time now, though they could not understand everything he said. The boy"s touch seemed to rouse him.
"It"s bedtime," he said, presently. "Kneel down and say your prayers for Father."
"w.i.l.l.y, let"s say our prayers for him," whispered Frank.
"I can say, "Now I lay me."" But before he could begin,
""Now I lay me down to sleep,"" said the soldier tenderly. The boys followed him, thinking he had heard them. They did not know that he was saying--for one whom but that morning he had called "his curly-head at home"--the prayer that is common to Virginia and to Delaware, to North and to South, and which no wars can silence and no victories cause to be forgotten.
The soldier"s voice now was growing almost inaudible. He spoke between long-drawn breaths.
""If I should die before I wake.""
""If I should die before I wake,"" they repeated, and continued the prayer.
""And this I ask for Jesus" sake,"" said the boys, ending. There was a long pause. Frank stroked the pale face softly with his hands.
""And this I ask for Jesus" sake,"" whispered the lips. Then, very softly, "Kiss me good-night."
"Kiss him, Frank."
The boy stooped over and kissed the lips that had kissed him in the morning. w.i.l.l.y kissed him, also. The lips moved in a faint smile.
"G.o.d bless----"
The boys waited,--but that was all. The dusk settled down in the woods. The prayer was ended.
"He"s dead," said Frank, in deep awe.
"Frank, aren"t you mighty sorry?" asked w.i.l.l.y in a trembling voice.
Then he suddenly broke out crying.
"I don"t want him to die! I don"t want him to die!"
CHAPTER XVIII.
When the boys reached home it was pitch-dark. They found their mother very anxious about them. They gave an account of the "battle," as they called it, telling all about the charge, in which, by their statement, the General and Hugh did wonderful deeds. Their mother and Cousin Belle sat and listened with tightly folded hands and blanched faces.
Then they told how they found the wounded Yankee soldier on the bank, and about his death. They were startled by seeing their Cousin Belle suddenly fall on her knees and throw herself across their mother"s lap in a pa.s.sion of tears. Their mother put her arms around the young girl, kissed and soothed her.
Early the next morning their mother had an ox-cart (the only vehicle left on the place), sent down to the spot to bring the body of the soldier up to Oakland, so that it might be buried in the grave-yard there. Carpenter William made the coffin, and several men were set to work to dig the grave in the garden.
It was about the middle of the day when the cart came back. A sheet covered the body. The little cortege was a very solemn one, the steers pulling slowly up the hill and a man walking on each side. Then the body was put into the coffin and reverently carried to the grave.
The boys" mother read the burial service out of the prayer-book, and afterward Uncle William Slow offered a prayer. Just as they were about to turn away, the boys" mother began to sing, "Abide with me; fast falls the eventide." She and Cousin Belle and the boys sang the hymn together, and then all walked sadly away, leaving the fresh mound in the garden, where birds peeped curiously from the lilac-bushes at the soldier"s grave in the warm, light of the afternoon sun.
A small packet of letters and a gold watch and chain, found in the soldier"s pocket, were sealed up by the boys" mother and put in her bureau drawer, for they could not then be sent through the lines.
There was one letter, however, which they buried with him. It contained two locks of hair, one gray, the other brown and curly.
The next few months brought no new incidents, but the following year deep gloom fell upon Oakland. It was not only that the times were harder than they had ever been--though the plantation was now utterly dest.i.tute; there were no provisions and no crops, for there were no teams. It was not merely that a shadow was settling down on all the land; for the boys did not trouble themselves about these things, though such anxieties were bringing gray hairs to their mother"s temples.
The General had been wounded and captured during a cavalry fight. The boys somehow connected their Cousin Belle with the General"s capture, and looked on her with some disfavor. She and the General had quarrelled a short time before, and it was known that she had returned his ring. When, therefore, he was shot through the body and taken by the enemy, the boys could not admit that their cousin had any right to stay up-stairs in her own room weeping about it. They felt that it was all her own fault, and they told her so; whereupon she simply burst out crying and ran from the room.
The hard times grew harder. The shadow deepened. Hugh was wounded and captured in a charge at Petersburg, and it was not known whether he was badly hurt or not. Then came the news that Richmond had been evacuated. The boys knew that this was a defeat; but even then they did not believe that the Confederates were beaten. Their mother was deeply affected by the news.
That night at least a dozen of the negroes disappeared. The other servants said the missing ones had gone to Richmond "to get their papers."
A week or so later the boys heard the rumor that General Lee had surrendered at a place called Appomattox. When they came home and told their mother what they had heard, she turned as pale as death, arose, and went into her chamber. The news was corroborated next day. During the following two days, every negro on the plantation left, excepting lame old Sukey Brown. Some of them came and said they had to go to Richmond, that "the word had come" for them. Others, including even Uncle Balla and Lucy Ann, slipped away by night.
After that their mother had to cook, and the boys milked and did the heavier work. The cooking was not much trouble, however, for black-eyed pease were about all they had to eat.
One afternoon, the second day after the news of Lee"s surrender, the boys, who had gone to drive up the cows to be milked, saw two hors.e.m.e.n, one behind the other, coming slowly down the road on the far hill. The front horse was white, and, as their father rode a white horse, they ran toward the house to carry the news. Their mother and Cousin Belle, however, having seen the hors.e.m.e.n, were waiting on the porch as the men came through the middle gate and rode across the field.
It was their father and his body-servant, Ralph, who had been with him all through the war. They came slowly up the hill; the horses limping and f.a.gged, the riders dusty and drooping.