The Girl at the Halfway House | Page 4

to appear in the woods before the trenches the figures
of men, at first scattered, then becoming steadily more numerous. There
came men bearing other men whose arms lopped loosely. Some men
walked with a hand gripped tightly to an arm; others hobbled painfully.
Two men sometimes supported a third, whose head, heavy and a-droop,
would now and then be kept erect with difficulty, the eyes staring with
a ghastly, sheepish gaze, the face set in a look of horrified surprise.
This awful rabble, the parings of the defeated line in front, dropped
back through the woods, dropped back upon the young reserves, who
lay there in the line. Some of them could go no farther, but fell there
and lay silent. Others passed back into the fields where droned the
protesting bees, or where here and there a wide tree offered shelter.
Suddenly all the summer air was filled with anguish and horror. Was
this, then, the War?
And now there appeared yet other figures among the trees, a straggling,
broken line, which fell back, halted, stood and fired always calmly,
coolly, at some unseen thing in front of them. But this line resolved
itself into individuals, who came back to the edge of the wood,
methodically picking their way through the abattis, climbing the
intervening fences, and finally clambering into the earthworks to take
their places for the final stand. They spoke with grinning respect of that
which was out there ahead, coming on. They threw off their coats and
tightened their belts, making themselves comfortable for what time
there yet remained. One man saw a soldier sitting under a tree, leaning
against the trunk, his knees high in front of him, his pipe between his
lips. Getting no answer to his request for the loan of the pipe, he
snatched it without leave, and then, discovering the truth, went on none
the less to enjoy the luxury of a smoke, it seeming to him desirable to
compass this while it yet remained among the possibilities of life.
At last there came a continued, hoarse, deep cheering, a roaring wave
of menace made up of little sounds. An officer sprang up to the top of

the breastworks and waved his sword, shouting out something which
no one heard or cared to hear. The line in the trenches, boys and
veterans, reserves and remnants of the columns of defence, rose and
poured volley after volley, as they could, into the thick and concealing
woods that lay before them. None the less, there appeared soon a long,
dusty, faded line, trotting, running, walking, falling, stumbling, but
coming on. It swept like a long serpent parallel to the works, writhing,
smitten but surviving. It came on through the wood, writhing, tearing at
the cruel abattis laid to entrap it. It writhed, roared, but it broke through.
It swept over the rail fences that lay between the lines and the abattis,
and still came on! This was not war, but Fate!
There came a cloud of smoke, hiding the face of the intrenchments.
Then the boys of Louisburg saw bursting through this suffocating
curtain a few faces, many faces, long rows of faces, some pale, some
red, some laughing, some horrified, some shouting, some swearing--a
long row of faces that swept through the smoke, following a line of
steel--a line of steel that flickered, waved, and dipped.
CHAPTER III
THE VICTORY
The bandmaster marshalled his music at the head of the column of
occupation which was to march into Louisburg. The game had been
admirably played. The victory was complete. There was no need to
occupy the trenches, for those who lay in them or near them would
never rally for another battle. The troops fell back behind the wood
through which they had advanced on the preceding day. They were to
form upon the road which had been the key of the advance, and then to
march, horse and foot in column, into Louisburg, the place of honour at
the head being given to those who had made the final charge to the last
trench and through the abattis. Gorged with what it had eaten, the dusty
serpent was now slothful and full of sleep. There was no longer need
for hurry. Before the middle of the morning the lines would start on the
march of the few short miles.

During the delay a young officer of engineers, Captain Edward
Franklin by name, asked permission of his colonel to advance along the
line of march until he came to the earthworks, to which he wished to
give some examination, joining his regiment as it passed beyond the
fortifications on its march. The colonel gave his consent, not altogether
willingly. "You may see more over there than you want to see, young
man," said